Retiree Kirk Johnson wrote of the American infantry man,

The average age of the Infantryman is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either. He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm Howitzers. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less----in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime. He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

In a supporting role my Tank Platoon fought along side of many that were just as you describe them. Mine were cocky and insisted on being called "Airborne Infantry". But none the less they were Infantry and I considered them to be Best of the best.

We Tankers referred to them as "OUR Infantry" weather they were to our flank, rear or in front. I have a great deal of respect for the Infantry and to this day I tolerate no Disrespect towards any of them.

My hats off to My Airborne Infantry and the rest of the Infantry, nothing but respect to them all.

Nice post jeffro.

BTW-

One last note on this:

I remember way back when I joined my first Tank Unit in Germany as a young recruit there was a sign entering the Barracks that Read something like this, "To be a good tanker and carry out a successful Mission, you must first love your Infantry". Then it went on to say other things that I can't remember but it was signed by General Patton.

Jinks my dad was a tanker with Patton in the big one.

And with that comes alot of Respect.

I salute you and all that would get in those *am things.

Boom, boom .Clank clank I'm a tank. My train was with the 512th armed inf co of the 51st Inf B, 4th armored div. I was trained as a light weaps specialist at that time the mos was 111.11 after serving a tour as a infantryman assigned to a Engineer Bn. I was reasined to the third armored cavalry regiment. cavalry tactics call for the infantry squad to protect the tanks at al time.Lead in wooded areas and follow in clear areas which means youhave to run your ass off behind the tanks and mell the exhaust and get beat by the mud and dust. I decide to become a scout and get the glory of the infantry and get away from work of the tankers. with a tank every hour of operation calls for four hours of maintenece. Whin infantry and scouts are going on pass the tankers are in the motor pool. Thats why we say if you ain't cavalry you ain't Sxxx Follow me.

Yea jeffro

The Infantry called us Bullet Magnets!

Although I could sure use one of them big RVs now. You taken a look lately at what the I-75 looks like in both directions since we lost the Bridge in Ellington? I can walk to St. Pete faster than I can drive!

Its a Nightmare, reminds me of rush hour in Los Angeles! Why they called it Rush Hour I have no idea because no one went faster than 20MPH