TheFew

FROM THE GATES OF HELL

A Sergeant lay upon the sand

And nursed his bleeding head,

While all around to left and right,

His brave platoon lay dead.

And here and there and everywhere,

In Front and on the flanks,

The bombs fell down upon the ground,

And onward rolled the tanks.

The Sergeant rolled a wary eye

And ducked a strafing plane

He caught a flying hand grenade

And threw it back again.

He crawled and rolled along the line

Through dead men rank on rank,

To man a 40mm gun and

Bust a thousand tanks,

He heaved upon a Browning gun

With many a groan and then,

Turned loose a stream of flying lead

That slew ten thousand men.

With rifle, mortar and grenade

Amidst the crash and roar,

He crept along his platoon front,

And waged a one-man war.

The bombs rained down upon the ground

A plane zoomed overhead;

He led it like a flying duck,

And shot the pilot dead.

He gazed upon the bloody field,

(It was a horrid sight);

The foe reformed upon his front,

More tanks to left and right.

And high above the fighter planes

Did swoop and soar and wheel,

While bombers hastened just below,

To loose their bursting steel.

The non-com wiped his blistered brow

And heaved a weary sigh,

Said he, "Now this is a lousy place

For a man like me to die.

If I had just one human soul

To stand and watch this fight,

I'd stick it out to the crack o' doom,

And finish the damned thing right.

Though I have followed this bloody game,

From Spain to Singapore,

I never tried this lonesome stunt

Of dying alone before."

Then, up there rose from a pile of dead,

A riddled, bleeding form

That swayed and shook on trembling knees

Like a reed before the storm.

"Now I will stand and watch you die."

This apparition croaked.

"And I can only stand and watch,

Cause both my arms is broke."

The Devil Dog spat on the sand

And wiped the pallid lips,

Unhooked his canteen, then he said,

"Here take a shot of this."

The private drank, and with a gasp

He shook his battered head:

"I thought that I was 'tout fini',

But I'm very far from dead.

My head is bust, my arms is broke,

But I can breathe and speak,

So, pull a yard of my shirttail out,

And plug these cussed leaks.

There's just one thing that I can do

If you're bound to see this through,

But you'll have to go with them that comes,

And, By God, it's up to you.

My old man fought with Jimmy Bones

Way back in seventeen,

And now he's guarding the gates of Hell

With some of us late Marines.

There's a few of the boys from Midway Isle,

And a dozen or so from Wake,

And a squad of Aussies from Singapore,

With a terrible bellyache;

There's a flying man from Mandalay,

And a guy from Macassar Straights,

A full gun crew from off Luzon,

Just down from the Pearly Gates.

Now all these guys has been checked in

Where the streets is paved with gold,

But the Devil's crew went on a strike,

And the pit was getting cold.

So Captain Bones sent my old man down

To straighten the matter out,

And he took a bunch of new recruits

To put the fiends to rout.

And now fires is blazing high

With grease from heathen skins,

While Old Nick squats upon his throne,

And wags his tail and grins.

Now I have died and come to life

And seen what I have seen,

And I have looked on Heaven and Hell

And the spaces in between.

And this I know and this I've heard

By the words of Jimmy Bones:

When a Leatherneck goes out to die,

He doesn't have to die alone.

Shall I call up this grim detail

The guards the flaming gates?

Think fast, think well, my sergeant bold,

Before it is too late.

For once this detail is recalled

And Peter checks 'em in,

There ain't no power in Heaven and Hell

Can bring 'em back again.

The Sergeant gazed across the plain

And saw the serried ranks - -

Nine hundred columns, row on row

Of infantry and tanks.

He bit a chew off his plug

And scratched a blood-caked ear,

Said he, "My friend, your guard from Hell

Has got a job right here.

The orders were to hold this point

Until the crack o' doom,

So whistle up your bully boys,

And you better make it soon

I've lived this life of sin and strife

From Maine to old Shanghai

And judging by the looks of things

My time has come to die."

The private gasped through blanching lips,

"Now I have got to go,

But shove your whistle in my face,

And I will give a blow."

He blew a blast that shrieked and screamed

Across all worldly space,

He blew again and then he fell

Right down upon his face.

He sank down dead and where he dropped

A smoking crater grew.

And from this rent in the tortured Earth

There streamed a ghastly crew.

A grizzled Corporal led this band,

His blues were neat and bright,

But the men who followed at his heels

Bore signs of a bloody fight.

For some had shirts and some had none

As they strode along in pride,

And you could see the daylight through

The wounds from which they died.

Without a word, without a sound,

They wheeled to face the foe,

The ghostly corporal raised his arm,

And shouted, "Forward Ho!"

The sergeant leaped to head the line

When that command rang out,

He leaped, but stumbled to his knees,

With a wild despairing shout.

His limbs grew numb his faltering hands

Reached up to close his wounds

While the earth sky reeled round and round

And all his senses swooned.

A diving plane had placed a burst

Full in his heaving chest,

And then it skimmed along the earth

To finish off the rest.

The flying man from Mandalay

With one prodigious bound

Leaped up and seized it by a wing

And dragged it to the ground.

He plucked the pilot from it's seat

With one tremendous yank,

And swung him three times round his head

And threw him at a tank.

The Leathernecks all set them down

To sight their rifles in,

At every shot they killed a man,

And sometimes eight or ten.

The Corporal tried some long-range stuff,

Four thousand yards or more,

And when he failed to plug an eye,

Most bitterly he swore.

A flock of brass hats came in range,

He found his shooting eye

And every time he cracked a cap,

A slant-eyed general died.

The Aussies rage among the tanks,

Like lumberjacks in town,

They'd grab one by it's clanking treads

And turn it upside down.

MacArthur's men from off Luzon

Grabbed off a seventy-five,

Of all the gun and tractor crews,

Not one was left alive.

They turned it round to face the tanks,

And every time it cracked,

It left a row of twisted steel

From here to there and back.

Like breakers dashing on the rocks

And reeling back in foam,

The enemy rolled in and broke

Then turned and fled for home.

All this the dying Leatherneck

Observed with dimming sight,

To keep his fluttering soul within,

He summoned all his might

And while he strove with waning strength

To stand against the pain,

That grim detail from the Gates of Hell

Came marching back again.

The corporal halted them in line,

"Attention, men " he said,

"A new recruit will join our ranks

As soon as he is dead.

For he has fought a fight of which

The likes was never seen,

And he has been a credit to,

The UNITED STATES MARINES.

And we will take him with us where,

The streets are paved with gold,

With T-bone steaks three times a day

And the beer is always cold.

And he can wake up at reveille

And turn and sleep some more,

Or watch details of angel gobs

Mop up celestial floors."

The Devil Dog looked up and grinned;

"Come on let's go," he sighed,

His chin sank on his riddled chest;

He shuddered once and died.

And where he went or how he fared,

No man will ever know

We hope he dwells in realms of bliss

Where scented breezes blow.

But just as sure as judgement day,

And God sits on his throne,

When a Leatherneck goes out to die

HE NEVER DIES ALONE.

---------author unknown.