We will meet again in Fiddler's Green

A memorial service was held Friday afternoon for our four fallen soldiers. A few days ago, some of the soldiers went around the FOB gathering up all the chairs they could for the ceremony. Needless to say, when the memorial service started, all the seats were full and people were standing in every available space and were spilling out of the building. Earlier in the week, the small stage was supposed to have held four comics who would have filled the room with laughter. Instead, the stage now held the helmet, rifle, boots, and dog tags of our four fallen heroes.


Many people spoke, offering a memory of those departed. They spoke of their smiles and jokes, their hard work and soldiering skills, their determination and willingness to fight, and most of all their friendship. One speaker spoke of how we shall never forget these brave men; this was how we were to honor them. That we should not think of how bad it was that these men died, but rather how great it was that men like this lived.



The ceremony carried with it many of the military’s dearest traditions. The most poignant of these was the roll call tradition. The first Sgt of the company of the fallen soldier stands at attention and begins to call the roll. As each name is called, the soldier stands to attention and says, “Here.” When the name of the fallen soldier is reached, his name is called three times with a pause between each call. Upon the third calling of his name, a soldier in formation is suppose to announce, “First Sgt, SPC/SGT_______ who was once a Rough Rider, is now reporting to a much higher authority. May God bless him.” Taps was played by one of the soldiers here and a twenty-one gun salute was given in three volleys by seven servicemen. Bagpipes played our four brave soldiers a prayer of amazing grace as many mourned such a great loss. You could tell from the faces of everyone present that these guys were loved tremendously and that they will be sorely missed. May God bless the family and friends of these courageous soldiers, these boys will live on in all of our memories.



The fallen soldier from E troop asked for this poem to be read if anything should happen to him.

Fiddler’s Green
Halfway down the trail to Hell,

In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers' Green.

Marching past,
straight through to HellThe Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.