AS WE WERE...ODE TO MORRIS POWELL

 As I leave this drawing of my last sight of your remains, as Fletcher stood above you; I have this feeling that you
stand above me somewhere nearby, and watch as I hold back tears.
As we received our parachute wings together at Ft. Benning,
I will always cherish the pride we felt, and the way we stood tall. You were the quiet one, the one with the inner peace.
As we served together in Germany, the 509th Airborne, I would always come to you for advice. We were both new.
You were the quiet one, the one with inner strength.
As we descended by chopper into the jungle on that nineteenth day in May, I remember the fear as I looked to you for strength.
You were the quiet one, your eyes said that it would be okay. As we fought with different platoons, I often thought of you
and how you were. I wished that I could have spoken with you at night, when I feared the dark.
As I stared down at your limp body, the fear, the anger raged within me. I wished that I could have spoken with you then,
for I feared death. You were the quiet one, the one at peace.

AS WE WERE...ODE TO GARY MABREY

 As I leave this rendering of us in the A Shau Valley, that is; your remains and my shadow as I say good-bye from a distance so long ago. I also leave behind at this wall, this sacred place, all of my guilt, fears and pain.
At this tree, as yet unscathed by war, majestically stands guard over your remains so long ago; I too stood watch overnight as darkness came upon us. I couldn’t bear to see you loaded, but I ran to get that last glimpse of the chopper.
As I acknowledge my sister’s birthday on August 5th, that day shall forever be sacred to me, for on that day, you began another leg of our journey. You ascended to God and were exalted to honor.
As we gazed toward the chaplain’s tent on August 3rd, we both saw Jesus Christ on the cross; and He was crying, and He was glowing. At that exact moment, we both knew that we had just witnessed a miracle.
As we sat together, while the phantoms pounded that hilltop, you told me that the message was for you, and that I was to be a part of it. You said that you would silence that gun, but it was not to be.
As Paquin, Vandergrift, Doc Robbins, and I carried your remains to the highest point of this mountain, we all had an unspoken understanding that this was Mabrey’s mountain in the valley of the 101st, the valley of the shadow of death..

 Note: The author, Ex-Sergeant Bob Airwyke, left both of the above poems and artwork at “The Wall” in Washington, D.C. on July 27, 1996 in honor of his two fallen friends. Troopers Morris Powell and Gary Mabrey were killed in action in the A Shau Valley fighting for their country and their fellow Strike Force soldiers.

Sgt. EUGENE MORGAN SUTTON JR  C/2/502 Inf. 101st Airborne

by Robert Airwyke

I believe him to be a good man, though we got off to a bad start together. It may have been a personality clash. From the very depths of my soul, I feel driven by the Holy Spirit to try to bring healing to his family and to all the paratroopers that were in the mortar attack that killed him on the 19th of May. I have posted the true story of Sgt. Sutton's death at my website. He did not die of gunshot wounds, but of fragmentation schrapnel from the very first mortar round that landed as we dismounted the chopper on our first day in the jungle. There was no defense possible as the sound of the rotar blades covered up the sound of the mortar tubes popping. It happened less than two minutes after leaving the bird. The men of the unit didn't even know who the new guy was until they searched his personal posessions. He never saw the enemy, he never had a chance; but that makes him no less brave than the rest of us. He was one of us. He would have died for us if he was given the chance.