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Posted On:
Nov 12 2007 1:52am
To those who fought, died and won - We Remember. We honor your sacrifice, your victory was ours.
Thank you.
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Posted On:
Nov 12 2007 4:39am
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, 1918.
The war to end all wars came to an end. The guns fell silent, the thunder of their silence a deafening salute to those who would not rise to march again. Servants of France, Russia, Germany, the Russian Empire, America, Austria-Hungary, and so many others perished in a struggle for dominance that none won. In many ways, the war was preferable to peace - in the war, you knew who your enemies were, you had clear and concise goals, you had friends you knew you could count on. In the peace that followed, daggers found backs and peace drifted across the battlefield as if a breath of a wind, only to be whisked away barely two decades later. The face had changed, a new generation would fight, but the horror and glory of war stayed the same.
I dedicate this day to my great great grandfather, Generalleutnant Baron Kurt von Chill who in 1918 ended the war as a Rittmeister in the Guards Hussar Regiment.
I would also like to dedicate to the veteran of the American side of the conflict who is also by some convolusion of geneology related to me, Sergeant-Major Harold W. Knapf of the 28th American Infantry Division.
Enemies in life, brothers in death.
I pray we remember all who fought and fell for their nations, regardless of allegiance.
Gloria Imperium. Sieg heil fur den Kaiser und Reich
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Posted On:
Nov 12 2007 5:21am
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— John McCrae