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| My Dad bottom right |
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| CHRISTMAS CAROL
BY Darrell T. Rahbun Twas the night before Christmas and all through the tent. Was the odor of fuel oil, (the stove-pipe was bent). The shoe soles were hung by the oil stove with care. In the hope that they'd issue each man a new pair. The weary GI's were sacked out in their beds. And visions of sugar-babes danced through their heads. When up on the ridge-line there rose such a clatter ( A chinese machine gun had started to chatter). I rushed to my rifle and threw back the bolt. The rest of my tent mates awoke with a jolt. Outside we could hear our platoon sergeant Kelly. A hard little man with a little pot belly. "Come Yancey, com Clancey, come Conners and Watson. Up Miller, up Shiller, up Baker and Dodson". We tumbled outside in a swirl of confusion. So cold that each man could have used a transfusion. "Get up on that hilltop and silence the Red. And don't you come back 'til you're sure that he's dead". Then, putting his thumb up in front of his nose Sergeant Kelly took leave of us shivering Joes. But we all heard him say in voice soft and light. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND MAY YOU LIVE THROUGH THE NIGHT". |
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