Large Fierce Mammal

On this Day of Remembrance I will be offering you three poems. Two have previously appeared here on other dates, but I deem them suitable for purpose and so, here they are again. The third, appearing as the final act on today’s playbill, was written specifically for debut here. I will leave it to you, Goode Reader, to fathom how these brain droppings of mine relate to the matter under consideration, however I will certainly entertain any and all comments and queries with the utmost pleasure.

Our first perspective is that of A Choir of Crows, a timeless sentiment first uttered here on 24 October 2012.

A Choir of Crows

By LFM

Deep within a forest once
I heard the strangest thing.
What must have been a hundred Crows
Had gathered there to sing.

What some might find disturbing
And offensive to the ear,
I heard to be an ode of joy
To all that Crows hold dear.

Curious, I closer crept
To watch the swirling choir,
And seek to learn what wondrous thing
Such passion could inspire.

Then as though it would explain
This joyous song to me,
One member of the choir came down
To perch where I could see.

Within its beak it held a ring
That glittered in the sun,
And through it was the finger
That the ring had rode upon.

With twinkling eye my messenger
Seemed calling me to follow,
And soon atop a hill I came
To gaze into a hollow.

The winter wind was at my back,
So not the slightest breath
Of charnel stench assailed my nose
Affording news of death.

Yet fifty men or more slept there
On crimson beds of snow,
Beneath the serenade of joy
Well known to every Crow.

The Crows sang on, as they will do
Whenever sabres rattle,
For such as they know more than most
The greatest joy of battle.

My next offering was released into the wild on 19 April 2015. Take the Fight to the Enemy is viewed through the lens of a Man’s perspective, and asks a more timely question. As I said at the time, “Mark Twain said, ‘History doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.’ This poem does neither.”

Take the Fight to the Enemy

By LFM

“The sky is falling!” came the cry.
“Enemy at the gates!” echoed from the hills.
“War! Fear! Doom!” boomed from the ramparts.
Ears ringing, I left my work and made haste to the wall.

Mounting the stair to the battlement, I stood
And looked across the plain, the sweet wind in my face.
Upon the land below, cattle grazed, and men moved about their business –
Some good, some bad, most neither and both.

Of the Dread Enemy spawning warnings so dire,
None could be seen, and yet every act of mayhem is Theirs.
In the streets, Their name is spoken in whispers hidden in shadow
For fear that to name Them is to invite being marked as one among Their number.

The walls have ears, but none are Theirs, and few notice
That the spears of defense have come to point ever more inward rather than out.
Soldiers are sent with great fanfare to deal pinpricks hailed as triumph –
Muzzled War Dogs best kept leashed if they are not to slake their ravening thirst in blood.

In lofty halls, forked tongues entwine the words of conflict,
At once invoking the name of War whilst insisting the Soldiery
Stand upon the field for reasons otherwise.
That a Soldier exists as the bloody finality of his Nation’s tolerance is forgotten.

An Enemy so offensive yet so weakly pursued,
In concert with the noble quest for avoidance of offense.
So empowered that we must fear our own children, and throw open our homes
To the benevolent vipers sent to lurk protectively beneath our beds.

That the Enemy hath power to change the hearts of men
And turn them to ignoble cause seems strange to me,
For have there not always been those among us who would
Cleave to any cause offering excuse to release whatever particular evil they hold dear?

Standing there upon the wall, the wind stirs my hair
As I ponder how such an evil is granted the power of cowering fear
Instead of a righteous outward vengeful flood with but one goal –
To ride until we find them, and kill them all.

Now on to the main event, Black Devils,  inspired by the First Special Service Force.

The 1st Special Service Force (also called The Devil’s Brigade, The Black Devils, The Black Devils’ Brigade, and Freddie’s Freighters), was an elite American-Canadian commando unit in World War II, under command of the United States Fifth Army. The unit was organized in 1942 and trained at Fort William Henry Harrison near Helena, Montana in the United States. It fought in the Aleutian Islands, Italy, and southern France before being disbanded in December 1944.

The modern American and Canadian special operations forces trace their heritage to this unit. In 2013, the United States Congress passed a bill to award the 1st Special Service Force the Congressional Gold Medal

The nom de guerre “Black Devils” is a matter of legend and some controversy, but no matter the reason or origin, its effect on the minds of those who had to face them in battle is undeniable.

While carrying out beachhead operations at Anzio, legend has it that a member of the Force uncovered the journal of a German lieutenant from the Herman Goering Division. The journal contained the following entry: “The Black Devils are all around us every time we come into the line. We never hear them come.” This legend was never verified as fact by any member of the brigade; however, the force was known as the Black Devils and as the Devil’s Brigade. The members of the brigade preferred the latter. General Frederick had cards printed up with the unit’s insignia on them and the words Das dicke Ende kommt noch! or “The worst is yet to come” printed in red ink down the right side which the Force would leave on the bodies of dead Germans as a form of psychological warfare. This was so effective that Sergeant Victor Kaisner reported hearing a German soldier whisper “Schwarzer Teufel” (“Black Devil”) as the German’s throat was being sliced on the beachhead. However, recent historiography surrounding the unit debates whether or not Frederick and his general staff made up the nickname in order to instill fear in the enemy.

After you’ve soaked up what follows, I encourage you to peruse the official website of the First Special Service Force. The documentaries on their video page offer a cornucopia of history, and as the ranks of the unit’s members dwindle before a common enemy more relentless and sure than any faced in their youth, bear a message that won’t be heard spoken by any of them for much longer. Read, then watch, learn, and never forget.

Black Devils

By LFM

Six comrades sit beneath the moon,
Through anxious hours ere comes the sun.
Dawn will find but three that live –
We’ve taken every other one.

We find you where you seek repose,
We find you where you stand on guard,
We hunt you as you hunt for us,
And leave you with our calling card.

We Devils black who hunt by night,
You never see nor hear us come.
Your vanguard of the “master race”
Now lives despair, with fingers numb.

So any morn you see the sun –
It doesn’t mean we’ve dropped the fight.
That’s just because we let you live
To bleed for us another night.

Believe the grin from ear to ear
Your comrade wears ‘neath lips struck dumb,
And heed our mark upon his brow.
Believe – The worst is yet to come!