You must be one hell of a cyclopaedia, if you can remember every thing that happened in History, have you not referred to a statement used by someone else, in a History book or the internet for you information, and then using it in your context, even if it not copy and paste, its still using another person information. I will log out now, I will try to log in on later.
Very well said.
Parts of it should be inscribed above the tombs of forgotten soldiers, where it will be seen as profound by later generations, and above military recruiting offices, where it will be ignored by people who will become good but ultimately forgotten soldiers, whether dead or disabled.
As for Dulce et Decorum est, the Great War poet and soldier Wilfred Owen, MC (killed in combat about a week before the Armistice) summed it up in his poem of the same title.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Quite the reverse.
The US upheld the SVN regime, which was a SVN creation.
Had the SVN regime been a US creation, the Vietnam war undoubtedly would have progressed rather differently, and probably more successfully.
When I went through basic the DI’s ensured the “targets” we trained against were personalized - the targets were the VC, Gooks, Slopes, Commies and other non PC Words - and we were to kill them, because they were damn sure going to kill us.
“Politicians” did have something to do with my entering the Army - I was drafted, but they had nothing to do with me staying in the Army.
I do agree with you about the young being easily duped, that goes far to explain why the US has the current Political Administration is has. Unfortunately I also believe that “…at least 60% of all people are stupid” and age does not factor into that. I can state and demonstrate through test results, however, that significantly fewer of the 60% are in the Military.
Your tone is suggestive of soldiers having choice - where, when, who the enemy is - and to what level he should engage this enemy. If you believe a soldier can decide which enemy to engage in every situation then you are going to get some people killed - probabley yourself, but you could choose to the like PFC Robert Garwood, that seems to fit you philosophy.
I’ve known of soldiers who think they can “choose” what orders to obey.
A few years back a young US Army Sp4 Medic refused to deploy, I believe it was to the Balkans. His reasoning was that it was un lawful for him to serve under “foreign” officers. I am ashamed he was allowed to enlist in the first place.
US troops have served under “foreign” officers throughout our history. He was a Sp4 Medic ! He was to treat any casualties-our own, foreign or civilian - how does what country the Dr. he works for enter into him doing his job? As a Sp4 he does not have the luxury of choosing where he goes, or even, up to a limit, what capacity he serves.
When you enlist, and he was a volunteer, you take an oath and you understand you loose some of your civil rights. Part of that oath is to obey the orders of those placed above you.
The young Sp4 was wrong, recently PFC Manning was wrong. The Army has internal channels to address problems, most of the time these channels succeed but even if they don’t satisfy the soldier it does make his plight public.
The Medic and Manning choose to disobey orders, and in Manning’s case commit treason. In no military service, in no country, can this be tolerated.
You do not join a military service in a time of war and then say you have the “right” to choose who you fight. You cannot be surprised (unless you are a fool) that you are sent to the war. You can’t volunteer and then say you don’t want to get your hands dirty, let somebody else do it while you draw you pay and benefits.
The subject is the Viet Nam War and I’m guessing you meant why so many of us went to that war (remembering that the great majority of men in Combat Arms were not draftees), the same can be said of any war. Despite the current acclaim the “Greatest Generation” has gotten the truth is most of the military of WWII had no real idea of where they were going or why. How many had heard of Guadalcanal, Kazerine Pass, or Anzio? How many Airmen could find Schweinfurt or Manheim on a map? What did they really know of the Japanese or Nazi’s other than what they read in the papers or heard on the radio, both extremely biased. How many Americans were even aware of why Pear Harbor was a target?
Almost without exception in every country, in every war there are those men who will step forward, to blame all of it through history on “Politicians” leaves a lot to be desired.
Again some men are soldiers, perhaps it is in our genes, but we follow the drum. We are not all the fools the media sometimes makes us out to be. None of us want to die young but killing and being killed is sometimes part of what we do.
We accept all the bad shit that goes along with our profession, but our worse enemy is not the one trying to kill us - it is those who will not serve (or manipulate their service for future gain (Sec of State Kerry)) and, after the current emergency is over, go to any length to demean our service to make themselves look good.
Agreed. The final regime of Theiu was being pushed a bit to liberalize and reform. But after the U.S. withdrew all monies after 1973, there wasn’t much teeth of influence left…
A strawman argument now? All I asked you to do is to cite any text you borrow. If that’s too difficult, I can’t help you…
Interesting. Over history, people have come to the battle line in different ways. Certainly, many volunteered freely. Many others were, in one way or another, conscripted by a “competent authority”; or were conned into armies; or were in one way or another impressed; or were compelled to do a “duty” to a personal lord or some sort or other. The list could go on, I have no doubt. Those compelled in one way or another have often run away; as often, they have stood their ground in the face of likely death.
The Russian army under Kutuzov, that faced Napoleon at Borodino, comes to mind. Kutuzov is, deservedly, a Russian hero yet, at Borodino, he showed little interest in the survival of his troops. In contrast to more “modern” commanders like Wellington, he arrayed the bulk of his infantry on open, slightly sloping ground, within reach of the French artillery. No Russian commander would have been unaware of the capacities of artillery; the excellence of the French artillery was matched only by that of Russia, where that arm was professionalized and held in better regard than in most armies of the time. The rank-and-file Russian infantry in question were, for the most part, conscripted, or else peasants informally impressed by local authorities, or compelled to follow their “lords” in medieval style. Yet, in spite of the obvious danger of horrible death or injury, most of them stood in their ranks as the French guns mowed them down in rows like skittles. Few ran away. When they were required to meet heavy French infantry and cavalry attacks, the survivors fought fiercely. In the end, an army largely composed of soldiers more used to used to the plough than to the musket fought the French to a “draw” and, in the process, saved their country or, in fact, an autocratic regime that had, to date, shown little regard for the welfare of their class as human beings.
Even the most reluctant soldiers often stand their ground. Cultural factors, the quality of command at all levels, and particular circumstances may all play a part in deciding whether they do, or not. That they have often done so is beyond doubt. Best regards, JR.
One of the particular circumstances which can produce better than expected performance is probably fighting an invader directly threatening, or in, your homeland, such as the Russians you mentioned at Borodino and countless other examples throughout history.
That doesn’t diminish the conduct of professional and “civilian enlistees for the duration” / conscripts in other circumstances, but there are levels of effort and willingness to take risks and make sacrifices which can change with the circumstances.
Defending one’s homeland and one’s family within it seems more likely to produce the greatest levels of effort, risk and sacrifice across the board than, say, being in an undeclared “we won’t fire at you if you don’t fire at us” zone facing the enemy across trenches in WWI or in the South West Pacific Area in WWII where there isn’t much point putting yourself at risk to no purpose.
Agreed.
But a mate of mine who served in Australian infantry in Vietnam around ?1967-68? as a conscript found that it was the volunteer regulars who usually had what was called ‘gangplank fever’, being a reluctance to get on the ship transporting them to Vietnam. As he said, and as I know from personal experience, some of these blokes were pretty ordinary country boys who joined the armed services because it offered them a peacetime life (with a six year enlistment starting before Vietnam was on the horizon) where they didn’t have to think too much and had their lives ordered for them at much better rates of pay and conditions than they got on a struggling farm run by their parents, which was ironically outlined in this fictional letter which has had counterparts in various nations.
LIFE IN THE AUSTRALIAN ARMY
Letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad. (Eromanga is a small town west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland)
Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin’ on the farm - tell them to get in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don’t hafta get outta bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all yagotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin’!! Ya haz gotta shave though, but its not so bad, coz there’s lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing! At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there’s no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don’t get fed again until noon, and by that time all the city boys are buggered because we’ve been on a ‘route march’ - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin’ - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum’s bum and it don’t move and its not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target - its a piece of piss!! You don’t even load your own cartridges - they comes in little boxes and ya don’t have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy - it’s not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster. Turns out I’m not a bad boxer either and it looks like I’m the best the platoon’s got, and I’ve only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he’s 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I’m only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin’ wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.
I can’t complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,
Laura xx
The problem was that some of these blokes were fools. They signed up for a military career during a peaceful period with the expectation that they’d never be required to fight.
Depending upon the battalion or unit you were in in the Australian Army during the Vietnam war, you could be pretty much included in the battalion’s / unit’s move to Vietnam without being given a choice; or given a choice on a parade where you’d be shamed by stepping out to confirm you weren’t going; or, at the other extreme, discouraged from going if you didn’t want to because the other blokes didn’t want to be serving with someone who wasn’t 110% committed.
Personally, I prefer the last choice. I don’t want a bloke beside or behind me who isn’t prepared to take the risks I’m willing to take, so I’m not totally opposed to the notion that people can decide whether they’re prepared to serve or not, at least in wars where my nation’s survival isn’t in the balance in which case everybody is in and if they don’t perform they cop what’s coming to them from the people they’ve let down in their half section, section, platoon or maybe company, because local understanding and punishment doesn’t go much beyond platoon or maybe company level.
The same mate told me of his surprise in dealing with an American unit composed largely of blokes from some backwoods hillbilly country who knew they were outside America but had very little grasp of where they were geographically and of why they were there militarily, let alone politically. These were not people who read newspapers and kept up with current affairs outside their own narrow lives.
Probably not all that different to some of the Australian country boys who joined the army from their own narrow backgrounds and were surprised to find that they were off to a war in a place they’d never heard of.
This is not mine, or is copy and paste, or off the internet, well I did look but could not find it, and Rising Sun, that’s one of my favourite’s Dulce et Decorum est,
Here’s another one I like:
I have been silent a lifetime
As a stabbed man,
And stolid, showing nothing
As a refugee.
But inwardly I have wept.
The blood has flown inwardly into the spirit
Through the gaping wound of the world.
And only the little worm,
The small white tapeworm of the soul,
Lived on unknown within my blood.
But now I have this boom to speak again,
I have no more desire to express
The old relationships, of love fulfilled
Or stultified, capacity for pain,
Nor one or other of the old compulsions.
For now times are gathering for confession.
First, then, remember Faith
Haggard with thoughts that complicate
What statesmen’s speeches try to simplify:
Horror of war, the ear half-catching
Rumours of rape in crumbling towns:
Love of mankind impelling men
To murder and to mutilate: and then
Despair of man that nurtures self-contempt
And makes men toss their careless lives away,
While joy becomes an idiot’s grin
Fixed in a shaving mirror in whose glass
The brittle system of the world revolve.
And next, the rough immediate life of camp
And barracks where the phallic bugle rules
The regimented orchestra of love;
The subterfuges of democracy, the stench
Of breath in crowded tents, the grousing queues,
And bawdy songs incessantly resung
And dull relaxing in the dirty bar;
The difficult tolerance of all that is
Mere rigid brute routine; the odd
Sardonic scorn of desolate self-pity,
The pathetic contempt of the lonely for the crowd;
And, as the crystal slowly forms,
A growing self-detachment making man
Less home sick, fearful, proud,
But less a man.
Beneath all this
The dark imagination that would pierce
infinite night and reach the waiting arms
And sooth the guessed-at tears.
And then the final change. For discipline
Becomes a test of self; one learns to bear
Insult as quietly as if it were
A physical deformity. But hope
Has left the calm humanity that waits
In silence for the zero hour.
That first great ordeal over,
New resolution grows
In shell-shocked minds of frightened boys
To live again, within the heightened vision
Of life as they saw it in the hour of battle
When the worn and beautiful faces of the half-forgotten
Came softly round them with the holy power
To raise the wounded and the dying succour,
Making complete all that was misbegotten
Or clumsily abused or left neglected.
And as the burning town falls down the wake
And white waves spread their fans and day grows bright,
Then sea and sky and wheeling gulls commingle
In the smiles of dying children and the joy
Of luckier babies playing in the cot,
Soldiers who died, are never forgotten, you have only to look at the WW1 and WW2 Cemeteries, and the work of the CWGC, to see that they are not.