A cold December day, just like any other... - Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community

Sparhawk · 12-25-2003, 06:49 PM

I took this from my <a href="http://www.tfproject.org/tfp/journal.php?s=&journalid=18245&action=view">journal</a> and decided to share. I hope you all like it...

It is a cold December day, just like any other...

"Bearers, Tench-hut!"

The six men snap to attention as the hearse slows to a stop, one of them offering a salute as it passes.

The procession halts, and men and women slowly gather around the hearse, as the funeral director opens the backdoor and pulls the casket out a foot.

"Step!"

Six feet rise in unison, and softly place themselves down. The men slowly approach the hearse, prepared to do a ritual as old as war itself.

"Bearers, Halt!"

The six center themselves on the casket, all but one slowly lowering their heads in respect to their fallen comrade. The last slowly approaches the head of the casket and stops a pace from it. He raises his fists to his chest, then lowers them, unclenching his white-gloved hands as he slides them over the clean, crisp American flag - Old Glory draped proudly over the coffin of a man who spent his life defending it - before grabbing the handles and pulling the casket out of the hearse, one measured step at a time.

The other 5, his brothers in arms, reach out to help as he pulls the casket completely out. He steps to the side, keeping a firm grip at all times.

"Ready, up!"

The six men raise their heads, each making eye contact with the man across from him.

"Ready, face!"

They face forward as one, and slowly march forward to the gravesite. The few scattered men and women in uniform that have come to pay their respect raise their arms in salute.

"Haaaaaalt..."

The men center themselves, once more making eye contact with their opposite, before they carefully sidestep over the burial mock-up.

"Haaaaaalt..."

They stop once more, before gently lowering the casket onto the metal infrastructure. As the men slowly rise back to attention, they bring the flag up with them. The only noise you hear is that of the medals over their left breast when they strike against one another.

The sergeant in charge makes a quick snap with his wrist. The men quickly fold the flag in half, then in half again. The sergeant and his opposite begin folding the flag, bringing the blue of the Union slowly towards them, all you can hear is the rustle of white gloves sliding over the crisp red and white.

Soon the flag is completely folded in the traditional triangle, white stars on blue background. The sergeant takes it from his opposite and, ever so slowly, runs his left hand along one edge, before bringing his arm under and cradling the flag like a child. He then slides his right hand down the other edge, before grasping it and raising it just above his right eye.

It now resembles a cocked hat, evoking the soldiers who gave their lives over two hundred years ago so that all Americans could live free.

The sergeant slowly lowers it, and with both hands gripping it, turns to face his commander. He lowers the flag, and presses it into the commander's hands, left hand over the flag, right hand under it. The sergeant snaps back to attention, but allows his eyes to drift down to the flag as he slowly raises his right hand to the brow of his hat. Lowering his hand, he turns to resume facing his opposite, as the commander brings both hands under the flag, then brings it up to his chest, cradling it.

"Bearers, Post!"

The commander steps to the side, as the six bearers turn in unison to begin the fifty paces to their weapons.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters."

The six men fall in beside their weapons, joining the seventh and their firing party commander.

"He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."

The seven bend down and grab their weapons. Simultaneously they all stand back at attention.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me."

As one the seven turn to the right and ready their weapons.

"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."

Following movements that have become so ingrained that they are now muscle memory, the seven fire three volleys. The brutally loud fire makes even the hardest veteran in attendance flinch.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever."

The seven present their weapons in salute, as a bugler raises his bugle to his chapped lips and begins the achingly lonely notes of Taps. One of the old men in attendance asks a young man for help standing up. When he stands, his left arm resting on the shoulder of the young man, his right crisply executes a perfect salute.

As the last note fades, the commander walks over to the widow, draped in black, and kneels before her.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation..."

He brings her left hand up and over, cupping it on top of the flag of her husband. He can't look her in the eye...

"...we offer this flag for faithful and dedicated service to God and Country."

...he raises his eyes to hers, they both see tears welling up, threatening to run free. Making sure she has a firm grasp of the flag, he gets back to his feet, snapping to attention, and slowly renders that ancient symbol of military respect. One last time the widow catches his eye, and watches in awe as a tear slowly slides down the man's face.

It is a cold December day, just like any other...

J.R.V.A. · 01-31-2004, 02:29 PM

Nice.....reminds me of....

12-25-2003, 06:49 PM	#1 (permalink)
Sparhawk Dubya Location: VA	A cold December day, just like any other... I took this from my <a href="http://www.tfproject.org/tfp/journal.php?s=&journalid=18245&action=view">journal</a> and decided to share. I hope you all like it... It is a cold December day, just like any other... "Bearers, Tench-hut!" The six men snap to attention as the hearse slows to a stop, one of them offering a salute as it passes. The procession halts, and men and women slowly gather around the hearse, as the funeral director opens the backdoor and pulls the casket out a foot. "Step!" Six feet rise in unison, and softly place themselves down. The men slowly approach the hearse, prepared to do a ritual as old as war itself. "Bearers, Halt!" The six center themselves on the casket, all but one slowly lowering their heads in respect to their fallen comrade. The last slowly approaches the head of the casket and stops a pace from it. He raises his fists to his chest, then lowers them, unclenching his white-gloved hands as he slides them over the clean, crisp American flag - Old Glory draped proudly over the coffin of a man who spent his life defending it - before grabbing the handles and pulling the casket out of the hearse, one measured step at a time. The other 5, his brothers in arms, reach out to help as he pulls the casket completely out. He steps to the side, keeping a firm grip at all times. "Ready, up!" The six men raise their heads, each making eye contact with the man across from him. "Ready, face!" They face forward as one, and slowly march forward to the gravesite. The few scattered men and women in uniform that have come to pay their respect raise their arms in salute. "Haaaaaalt..." The men center themselves, once more making eye contact with their opposite, before they carefully sidestep over the burial mock-up. "Haaaaaalt..." They stop once more, before gently lowering the casket onto the metal infrastructure. As the men slowly rise back to attention, they bring the flag up with them. The only noise you hear is that of the medals over their left breast when they strike against one another. The sergeant in charge makes a quick snap with his wrist. The men quickly fold the flag in half, then in half again. The sergeant and his opposite begin folding the flag, bringing the blue of the Union slowly towards them, all you can hear is the rustle of white gloves sliding over the crisp red and white. Soon the flag is completely folded in the traditional triangle, white stars on blue background. The sergeant takes it from his opposite and, ever so slowly, runs his left hand along one edge, before bringing his arm under and cradling the flag like a child. He then slides his right hand down the other edge, before grasping it and raising it just above his right eye. It now resembles a cocked hat, evoking the soldiers who gave their lives over two hundred years ago so that all Americans could live free. The sergeant slowly lowers it, and with both hands gripping it, turns to face his commander. He lowers the flag, and presses it into the commander's hands, left hand over the flag, right hand under it. The sergeant snaps back to attention, but allows his eyes to drift down to the flag as he slowly raises his right hand to the brow of his hat. Lowering his hand, he turns to resume facing his opposite, as the commander brings both hands under the flag, then brings it up to his chest, cradling it. "Bearers, Post!" The commander steps to the side, as the six bearers turn in unison to begin the fifty paces to their weapons. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters." The six men fall in beside their weapons, joining the seventh and their firing party commander. "He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake." The seven bend down and grab their weapons. Simultaneously they all stand back at attention. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." As one the seven turn to the right and ready their weapons. "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over." Following movements that have become so ingrained that they are now muscle memory, the seven fire three volleys. The brutally loud fire makes even the hardest veteran in attendance flinch. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever." The seven present their weapons in salute, as a bugler raises his bugle to his chapped lips and begins the achingly lonely notes of Taps. One of the old men in attendance asks a young man for help standing up. When he stands, his left arm resting on the shoulder of the young man, his right crisply executes a perfect salute. As the last note fades, the commander walks over to the widow, draped in black, and kneels before her. "On behalf of the President of the United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation..." He brings her left hand up and over, cupping it on top of the flag of her husband. He can't look her in the eye... "...we offer this flag for faithful and dedicated service to God and Country." ...he raises his eyes to hers, they both see tears welling up, threatening to run free. Making sure she has a firm grasp of the flag, he gets back to his feet, snapping to attention, and slowly renders that ancient symbol of military respect. One last time the widow catches his eye, and watches in awe as a tear slowly slides down the man's face. It is a cold December day, just like any other... __________________ "In Iraq, no doubt about it, it's tough. It's hard work. It's incredibly hard. It's - and it's hard work. I understand how hard it is. I get the casualty reports every day. I see on the TV screens how hard it is. But it's necessary work. We're making progress. It is hard work."

01-31-2004, 02:29 PM	#2 (permalink)
J.R.V.A. Junkie Location: Utah	Nice.....reminds me of.... __________________ And as she plays, her sweet song of laughter floats through the air and warms my heart