Posted on Dec 15, 2015
Does anyone else have a military themed Christmas stories?
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This is my favorite, for all of you Tankers out there..
A Tankers' Christmas Story
T'was the night before defense and all through the tank,
not a crewman was stirring so there wasn't a clank.
Our ammo was stowed in the turret with care,
In hopes that some targets soon would be there.
The crewman were sleeping out on the back deck,
I pulled the first watch, figured oh what the heck.
CO's in his HUMVEE and I'm on the steel,
I'm watching our sector cause I know the deal.
When out in the EA there arose such a clatter,
I went to my sight to see what's the matter.
To TRP RED I slewed like a flash,
Flipped it off stand-by (this sight's worth the cash).
When the thermal cut on with it's eerie green glow,
Gave the luster of midday to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But an M60 tank I could see quite clear.
With a crusty old TC so lively and quick,
I could tell in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Now faster than lightening in a dust cloud he came,
He cursed and he shouted and called out some names: Now Sherman!
Now Stewart! Now Abrams and Patton!
On Walker! On Christie! On Pershing and Lee!
To the top of the hill we're in some soft dirt,
If I throw a track the driver gets hurt.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle they blew right on by.
So up to the hill top from the backside he drew,
With a tank full of Class VI, and St. Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling on my turret roof,
the old man sat down and let out an oof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down through the hatch came St. Nick with a bound.
From his old black beret to his Graff jacket worn,
you could tell he's a tanker since the day he was born.
A bundle of FMs he had flung on his back,
He looked like a Mike Golf just opening his pack.
St. Nick is a tanker, in this I have faith,
He reeked of old diesel, had grease on his face.
His demeanor was rude his clothes were a mess,
When his boots last saw polish was anyone's guess.
A cigarette butt is held tight in his teeth,
If I tell him to lose it I might get some grief.
His moustache was too long, it's not by the Reg.
This crusty old Mike Golf sure looked like a dreg.
He was filthy, ill mannered, but a happy old self,
And I knew he would help me in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a look in my sight,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to fright.
He spoke not a word but went right to his work,
Boresighted my tank, said "Your gunner's a jerk."
And laying a wrench aside of his nose,
And giving a nod out of the hatch he rose.
He sprang to his copula, gave his driver a curse,
And away his tank roared like he'd just stole a purse.
But I heard him exclaim as he roared ought of sight,
Merry Christmas to all and to all...
DAMMIT DRIVER I SAID TURN RIGHT,
WHAT ARE YOU ............
A Tankers' Christmas Story
T'was the night before defense and all through the tank,
not a crewman was stirring so there wasn't a clank.
Our ammo was stowed in the turret with care,
In hopes that some targets soon would be there.
The crewman were sleeping out on the back deck,
I pulled the first watch, figured oh what the heck.
CO's in his HUMVEE and I'm on the steel,
I'm watching our sector cause I know the deal.
When out in the EA there arose such a clatter,
I went to my sight to see what's the matter.
To TRP RED I slewed like a flash,
Flipped it off stand-by (this sight's worth the cash).
When the thermal cut on with it's eerie green glow,
Gave the luster of midday to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But an M60 tank I could see quite clear.
With a crusty old TC so lively and quick,
I could tell in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Now faster than lightening in a dust cloud he came,
He cursed and he shouted and called out some names: Now Sherman!
Now Stewart! Now Abrams and Patton!
On Walker! On Christie! On Pershing and Lee!
To the top of the hill we're in some soft dirt,
If I throw a track the driver gets hurt.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle they blew right on by.
So up to the hill top from the backside he drew,
With a tank full of Class VI, and St. Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling on my turret roof,
the old man sat down and let out an oof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down through the hatch came St. Nick with a bound.
From his old black beret to his Graff jacket worn,
you could tell he's a tanker since the day he was born.
A bundle of FMs he had flung on his back,
He looked like a Mike Golf just opening his pack.
St. Nick is a tanker, in this I have faith,
He reeked of old diesel, had grease on his face.
His demeanor was rude his clothes were a mess,
When his boots last saw polish was anyone's guess.
A cigarette butt is held tight in his teeth,
If I tell him to lose it I might get some grief.
His moustache was too long, it's not by the Reg.
This crusty old Mike Golf sure looked like a dreg.
He was filthy, ill mannered, but a happy old self,
And I knew he would help me in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a look in my sight,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to fright.
He spoke not a word but went right to his work,
Boresighted my tank, said "Your gunner's a jerk."
And laying a wrench aside of his nose,
And giving a nod out of the hatch he rose.
He sprang to his copula, gave his driver a curse,
And away his tank roared like he'd just stole a purse.
But I heard him exclaim as he roared ought of sight,
Merry Christmas to all and to all...
DAMMIT DRIVER I SAID TURN RIGHT,
WHAT ARE YOU ............
Humor
Christmas
Posted 9 y ago
Responses: 7
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SFC John Birks
The Sailor's Christmas Story
Twas the night before Christmas, the ship was out steaming,
Sailors stood watch while others were dreaming.
They lived in a crowd with racks tight and small,
In a 80-man berthing, cramped one and all.
I had come down the stack with presents to give,
And to see inside just who might perhaps live.
I looked all about, a strange sight did I see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stockings were hung, shined boots close at hand,
On the bulkhead hung pictures of a far distant land.
They had medals and badges and awards of all kind,
And a sober thought came into my mind.
For this place was different, so dark and so dreary,
I had found the house of a Sailor, once I saw clearly.
A Sailor lay sleeping, silent and alone,
Curled up in a rack and dreaming of home.
The face was so gentle, the room squared away,
This was the United States Sailor today.
This was the hero I saw on TV,
Defending our country so we could be free.
I realized the families that I would visit this night,
Owed their lives to these Sailors lay willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
And grownups would celebrate on Christmas Day.
They all enjoyed freedom each day of the year,
Because of the Sailor, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve on a sea, far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The Sailor awakened and I heard a calm voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice."
"Defending the seas all days of the year,
So others may live and be free with no fear."
I thought for a moment, what a difficult road,
To live a life guided by honor and code.
After all it's Christmas Eve and the ship's underway!
But freedom isn't free and it's sailors who pay.
The Sailor says to our country "be free and sleep tight,
No harm will come, not on my watch and not on this night.
The Sailor rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent, so still,
I watched as the Sailor shivered from the night's cold chill.
I didn't want to leave on that cold dark night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight.
The Sailor rolled over and with a voice strong and sure,
Commanded, "Carry on Santa, It's Christmas, and All is Secure!"
The Sailor's Christmas Story
Twas the night before Christmas, the ship was out steaming,
Sailors stood watch while others were dreaming.
They lived in a crowd with racks tight and small,
In a 80-man berthing, cramped one and all.
I had come down the stack with presents to give,
And to see inside just who might perhaps live.
I looked all about, a strange sight did I see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stockings were hung, shined boots close at hand,
On the bulkhead hung pictures of a far distant land.
They had medals and badges and awards of all kind,
And a sober thought came into my mind.
For this place was different, so dark and so dreary,
I had found the house of a Sailor, once I saw clearly.
A Sailor lay sleeping, silent and alone,
Curled up in a rack and dreaming of home.
The face was so gentle, the room squared away,
This was the United States Sailor today.
This was the hero I saw on TV,
Defending our country so we could be free.
I realized the families that I would visit this night,
Owed their lives to these Sailors lay willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
And grownups would celebrate on Christmas Day.
They all enjoyed freedom each day of the year,
Because of the Sailor, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve on a sea, far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The Sailor awakened and I heard a calm voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice."
"Defending the seas all days of the year,
So others may live and be free with no fear."
I thought for a moment, what a difficult road,
To live a life guided by honor and code.
After all it's Christmas Eve and the ship's underway!
But freedom isn't free and it's sailors who pay.
The Sailor says to our country "be free and sleep tight,
No harm will come, not on my watch and not on this night.
The Sailor rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent, so still,
I watched as the Sailor shivered from the night's cold chill.
I didn't want to leave on that cold dark night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight.
The Sailor rolled over and with a voice strong and sure,
Commanded, "Carry on Santa, It's Christmas, and All is Secure!"
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SFC John Birks Great post and story - unfortunately I don't have one and it's pretty sad about the childish post you received. Thanks for sharing your story and hopefully you will get more grownup responses going forward in the day.
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