Hope of a Medic

by Glenn (Doc) Clark
D company 1/ 11 1968-69

The sun had shown bright, 
    that musty day. 
The coolness of the night, 
    they hoped would stay. 
The men had fought long, 
    and hard for hours. 
The tanks were circled. 
    the drinking water smelt sour. 
The smell of human waste, 
    death lingered in the air. 
A hot meal was served, 
    eaten in the midst of despair. 
The day had been long, 
    for many it marked their last. 
The night settled in, 
    men dreamed of the past. 
Men would sleep, 
    but none would rest. 
To spend the night in an enemy camp, 
    would be the real test. 
A medic claimed his spot, 
    on the back of the tank. 
Infantry huddled below , 
    in silence they they gave thanks. 
That bunker is not clear, 
    came the mournful cry. 
If not cleared quickly, 
    could cause someone to die. 
The word was passed, 
    the bunker was to be clear. 
The situation was evident, 
    what was needed was a volunteer. 
Two were chosen , 
    from the tired and the weary. 
They knew that this task, 
    would soon become eery. 
The charges were as set, 
    the grenades were thrown. 
What happen next, 
    of little is known. 
When one was thrown, 
    did it return. 
Too late now, 
    to cause much concern. 
Cries of pain, 
    as it sounded. 
Sent a fear of loss , 
    to be well founded. 
The scream of "Medic", 
    echoed through the night. 
The medic understood the call, 
    and was frozen with fright. 
His legs found their feeling, 
    and over the side he jumped. 
Towards cries of pain, 
    his heart began to pump. 
He tripped, stumbled, and fell, 
    towards sounds of fright. 
The night was dark, 
    things hidden from sight. 
So follow he did, 
    down a lonely trail. 
To fine someone, 
    who hurt and ail. 
Around him guns roared, 
    which caused his ears to pound. 
Suddenly in front at the base of a mound, 
    lay two bodies upon the ground. 
In the midst of chaos, 
    he assessed the situation. 
To loose his supper, 
    he resisted the temptation. 
His heart blocked his throat, 
    and his eyes started to water. 
The pain must be so great, 
    upon unbearable must border. 
A leg was gone, 
    the foot held on with a piece of skin. 
A tourniquet applied, 
    the needle stuck in. 
"Give me some light," 
    were the words he spoke. 
But nothing came, 
    the night was not broke. 
The words came slowly, 
    "Hail Mary Full of Grace..." 
The medic looked soberly, 
    into the wounded boy's face. 
"Don't start that now, 
    we have a long way to go." 
He felt he had to stopped, 
    the blood flow. 
One shot of morphine, 
    was all it took. 
To remove the soldier, 
    from pain's hook. 
On the mound above, 
    a figure loomed. 
To the medic below, 
    the results looked gloom. 
"Speak English or I'll shoot!" 
    he started to cry. 
The medic had no weapon, 
    knew he would die. 
A flare went up, 
    the figure went down. 
A distant rifle barked, 
    with repeated sound. 
Another enemy lay dead , 
    within his sight. 
The medic had no time , 
    to give into fright. 
The needle must come out, 
    as he thought it might. 
"Hail Mary, Full of Grace and Truth..." 
    the wounded soldier repeat. 
The medic thought, 
    time was at a creep. 
Explosions above his head, 
    brought the thought of death certain. 
He must stay alert, 
    until the final curtain. 
It sounded again and again, 
    as shell casings struck his head. 
He soon realized, 
    he was not dead. 
"Am I dying?" 
    asked the wounded soldier. 
"Not this time," 
    the medic was getting bolder. 
"How bad is it? Will I walk again?", 
    was the man's plea. 
"You've nothing to worry ya", 
    was a lie as anyone could see. 
To keep him talking, 
    of shock less chance. 
To pack the wound, 
    his hand had to dance. 
"How serious is it?",
    He asked with tears in his eyes. 
"No pass to the States", 
    The medic was still telling lies. 
The enemy who he may be, 
    had done his job well. 
The soldier would head stateside, 
    any fool could tell. 
The chopper blades sounded, 
    as it descended from above. 
Upon the stretchers, 
    the wounded were shoved. 
"This man needs an I.V.", 
    the medic to the chief. 
"He'll get it now," 
    pulling it from sheath. 
The chopper made a jerk, 
    an upward sore. 
The medic fell backwards, 
    out of the door. 
As the blades chopped, 
    through the tree branches. 
The medic held his breath, 
    and looked up anxious. 
The medic began to breath, 
    as the chopper hovered above the trees. 
It moved on, 
    leaving a mighty breeze. 
The medic returned, 
    to his place on the fender. 
In hopes once again, 
    his rest "Charlie" would not hinder