Sergeant Major
Posted on 10/23/2008 4:47:59 PM PDT by SJackson
Sunday morning was like a holiday. It was the only day of the week when the Marines could sleep in, the only day they got hot food, remembers retired Master Gunnery Sgt. John Nash.
"We really looked forward to that Sunday morning, and the terrorists knew that," Nash said.
At 6:22 the morning of Oct. 23, 1983, Nash was lying in his cot, talking to a fellow corporal about whether they should go to the chow hall for breakfast. Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted by a boom Nash called "totally indescribable."
"It blew us all out of our racks," Nash said. The men lay on the ground for 30 or 40 minutes, afraid to move.
"If I had done anything else that morning, I wouldn't be here today," Nash said.
Nash, who was on the first floor of the Battalion Landing Team 1st Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment building that morning, was one of the lucky ones. A suicide bomber had detonated a five-ton truck full of explosives inside the four-story building, causing the headquarters to implode and crumble into a pile of rubble.
While Nash suffered a concussion and shoulder injuries, 241 others -- 220 Marines, 18 sailors and three soldiers -- were killed.
"Welcome to terrorism. Beirut, Lebanon, 1983, Oct. 23rd," Nash said.
(Excerpt) Read more at military.com ...
The problem with the Arabs is that they have never experienced total war. We should left a few Syrian cities smoldering like Dresden. The reason Arabs keep picking fights with everybody is because nobody punishes them completely.
Sergeant Major
Today, October 23, 1983 was the worst attack on Americans until September the 11th. A harbinger of the terrorist attacks and Jihadist enemies that we face today. We must never forget about the Marines, Sailors and Soldiers who fought and died in Beirut. For they were the first in a long, long fight. Hezbollah, the Iranian and Syrian governments...may they all burn in hell.
FOR MY BROTHER: REPORTED MISSING IN ACTION, 1943
By Father Thomas Merton
Sweet brother, if I do not sleep
My eyes are flowers for your tomb;
And if I cannot eat my bread,
My fasts shall live like willows where you died.
If in the heat I find no water for my thirst,
My thirst shall turn to springs for you, poor traveller.
Where, in what desolate and smokey country,
Lies your poor body, lost and dead?
And in what landscape of disaster
Has your unhappy spirit lost its road?
Come, in my labor find a resting place
And in my sorrows lay your head,
Or rather take my life and blood
And buy yourself a better bed —
Or take my breath and take my death
And buy yourself a better rest.
When all the men of war are shot
And flags have fallen into dust,
Your cross and mine shall tell men still
Christ died on each, for both of us.
For in the wreckage of your April Christ lies slain,
And Christ weeps in the ruins of my spring;
The money of Whose tears shall fall
Into your weak and friendless hand,
And buy you back to your own land:
The silence of Whose tears shall fall
Like bells upon your alien tomb.
Hear them and come: they call you home.
Beautiful poem. Where was he reported MIA?
Thank you very much!
Semper Fidelis,
fontman
[Where was he reported MIA?]
Father Merton’s brother was a pilot or crewman on a Canadian Air Force bomber that was damaged by hostile fire over Europe and crashed into the Channel trying to return to England. Merton’s brother—badly wounded—and some of the crew ended up in a life raft. Merton’s brother died on the raft and his comrades committed his body to the deep. Later the surviving crewmen were rescued.
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