The men had their mission, they knew it well, Willing to march into the jaws of Hell; Rucksacks packed and 16’s cleaned; Camouflaged faces - loam and green; 


Birds on call, 15 minutes ETA, No one has a lot to say; Make small talk, grab a smoke, Horse around and tell a joke;

The mission is there - foremost in thought, The men are tense, but don’t get caught, Displaying emotions of dread or fear, Regardless of thoughts, their minds are clear;

Get it on, the birds are here, Down to the pad, the time is near; A team lifting off is really a sad sight, Those six Rangers won’t be back tonight;

You give them the sign as they leave, They give it right back and you believe, that instead of six, they’re seven now, ‘cause God is there with them, somehow;

Legs dangling and windblown hair, No talking or laughing, only silent prayer; Chamber a round at Alpha-4, Everyone exit the same door;

The bird is hovering high off the ground, An enemy weapon speaks silent death, a bird is down; Out of six, one survived, God had taken the other five;

Five men who together had humped many clicks Now we only have a memory of KILLER 1-6

Poem Author: SSgt George "Dave" Gates

Dec, 1969 - Co. P (Ranger) 75th Inf.