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Merry Christmas, My Friend
James M. Schmidt (1986)
'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone, in a one-bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give and to see just who in this home did live.
As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see, no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree. No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand. On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.
With medals and badges, awards of all kind, a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen. This was the home of a U.S. Marine.
I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more, so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door. And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone, curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.
He seemed so gentle, his face so serene; Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine. Was this the hero, of whom I'd just read? Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?
His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan. I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night, owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.
Soon around the Nation, the children would play, and grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year, because of Marines like this one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone, on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home. Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye. I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.
He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice, "Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice, I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more.
My life is my God, my country, my Corps!"
With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep, I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still. I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.
So I took off my jacket, the one made of red, and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold, with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.
And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride, and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night, this guardian of honor so willing to fight. But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure, said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right, Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.
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Old Navy Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas, compartments were still, the sailors were sleeping, as most sailors will.
The ditty bags hung by the lockers with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there
The men were all peacefully dreaming in bed; As visions of liberty danced in each head.
The Chief in his skivvies, hopped into his rack, having just came from town and a quick midnight snack.
When out on the deck there arose such a roar, I ran to the porthole to find out the score. I stuck out my head and started to shout, "Just what in the world is this noise all about?"
A moon made for boondocking showed with a glow, It was downright cold out, 'bout seven below.
What I saw out there looked like those Mardi Gras floats! 'Twas a Captain's gig drawn by four white Navy goats.
In the boat was a man who seemed quiet and moody, I knew in an instant St. Nick had the duty. As quickly as Monday his billy goats came, he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
"Now Perry, now Farragut, Dewey and Jones. What's the matter John Paul, got lead in your bones?
A little to Starb'rd, now hold it up short. No fluffing off now, or you'll go on report!"
He was wearing dress "Reds" that fit like a charm. His hash marks they covered the length of his arm.
The gifts to be issued were all in his pack. The gedunk was ready to leave on each rack.
His eyes they were watering, his nose caked with ice. He wiped it with canvass, then sneezed once or twice.
He opened his mouth and started to yawn. It looked like the Sun coming up with the dawn.
The stump of a pipe, he held tight in his teeth and took a small nip from a bottle beneath. He wasn't so big, but he must have been strong. I figured he'd been in SEALs early and long.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Tar, Who said "Evenin' Matey, here have a cigar."
He filled every seabag with presents galore, and left us all leave papers, right by the door.
With "Anchors Aweigh" he climbed back into place. A broad smile was creeping all over his face.
One look at his watch and he started to frown, "This mid watch is certainly getting me down."
Then out to the breakwater and into the night, the gig started fading, the landscape was bright.
"Merry Christmas" he said, as he drove on his way; now I'll finish my rounds and sack in for the day." |
Air Defense Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies, Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.
Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds, as enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.
Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube, was triply-redundant linked to the Blue Cube, And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense
That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.
When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter, I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter;
I dialed up the gain and then quick as a flash fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.
And there found the source of the warning we'd heeded:
an incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded. "Alert status red!" went the word down the wire,
As we gave every system the codes that meant "FIRE"!
On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk! And scramble our fighters -- let's send the whole flock! Launch decoys and missiles! Use chaff by the yard! Get the kitchen sink up! Call the National Guard!
They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged. Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,
And the sky was lit up with a demonic light, as the foe became pieces in the high arctic night.
So we sent out some recon to look for debris, yet all that they found, both on land and on sea, were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot, broken sleigh bells, some gloves, and a ripped parachute.
Now it is not quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down. There are unhappy kids in each village and town.
Can the Spirit of Christmas even hope to evade all the web of defenses we've carefully made?
Just look how the gadgets we use to protect us in other ways alter, transform, and affect us.
They can keep us from things that make life more worth living, Like love for each other, and thoughts of just giving.
But a crash program's on: Working hard, night and day; all the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.
So let's wait for next Christmas, in cheer and in health, and be good boys and girls, as Santa goes STEALTH! |
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