By Bob Hammond, 57th Field Artillery Battalion, 7th Division

T'was the night before Christmas
and all thru the tent
was the odor of diesel
since the stovepipe was bent.
The stockings were hung
rather close to the fire
in hopes that by morning
they'd be somewhat drier.
The squad was asleep
bundled up in their sacks
and dreaming of goodies
like cookies and snacks,
Like crispy fried chicken
straight out of the South
and a midwestern steak
that would melt in your mouth.
When out on the hill
there arose such a clatter..
a Commie machine gun
had started to chatter,
The Sgt. Grabowski
appeared at the door
"People", he yelled,
"get your feet on the floor,
Grab rifles and flares
and bring me a BAR,
you're climbing that hill
but you ain't goin' far,
Let everyman here
take along a grenade,
and when you get back
don't expect a parade,
I've had it to here
with this damn nightly riot,
So we're gonna make sure
that tomorrow it's quiet".
Then off we went hunting,

Us seven through snow
On a night where the wind
made it twenty below.
Now, Allen and Russell
and Clyde McElroy
had the priviledge of being
our only decoy.
They got some attention
with the Hell they did raise
I suppose I'll remember
for the rest of my days,
While Sutton and Smitty
and Connor and me
provided surprises
that was ugly to see.
It was over in minutes
and when it was done
there were four bloodly bodies
and a busted up gun.
Grabowski was waiting
as 'ere we came in,
and that tough weathered face
had managed a grin,
"People," he said,
"I think you done good
by striking a blow
for our brotherhood,
So, let everyman here
get back in his sack,
go back to his dreams,
and forget the attack.
It's now Christmas morning,
so be of good cheer.
Merry Xmas to all,
May you live till next year!"

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