I want a copy of the Riflemans Creed. I searched the web but was unable to find a page that had it. I had it memorized when I was a Marine, but alas thats been over 20 years ago. I saw a poster once that showed a Marine sitting on a foot locker cleaning an M1 or M14 and the Riflemans Creed was superimposed. I think it was in Brigade Quartermaster or US Cavalry.
Riflemans Creed...
- Thread starter Arrell
- Start date
"My Rifle: The Creed of a US Marine", along with a biographical article on its composer, General H. Rupertus, USMC, was published in the recent Oct., 2000 issue of "Precission Shooting". It was written shortly after Pearl Harbor.
"My Rifle: The Creed of a US Marine"
This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will...
My rifle and myself know what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit...
My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...
Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are saviors of life.
So be it, until victory is Americas's and there is no enemy, but peace!
[This message has been edited by Herodotus (edited October 22, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by Herodotus (edited October 23, 2000).]
"My Rifle: The Creed of a US Marine"
This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will...
My rifle and myself know what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit...
My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...
Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are saviors of life.
So be it, until victory is Americas's and there is no enemy, but peace!
[This message has been edited by Herodotus (edited October 22, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by Herodotus (edited October 23, 2000).]
Not to be outdone, the U.S. Army Markmanship Training Unit offers this:
The Man with the Rifle
Men may argue forever on what wins their wars,
And welter in cons and pros,
And seek for their answer at history's doors,
But the man with the rifle knows.
He must stand on the ground on his own two feet,
And he's never in doubt when it's won,
If it's won he's there; if he's not, it's defeat.
That's his test, when the fighting is done.
When he carries the fight, it's not with a roar
Of armored wings spitting death.
He creeps and crawls on earthen floor,
Butt down and holding his breath.
Saving his strength for the last low rush;
Grenade throw and bayonet thrust;
and the whispered prayer, before he goes in,
Of a man who does what he must.
And when he's attacked, he can't zoom away,
When the shells fill the world with their sound,
He stays where is is loosens his spade,
And digs his defense in the ground.
That ground isn't ours till he's there in the flesh.
Not a gadget or bomb but a man.
He's the answer to theories which start afresh,
With each peace since war began.
So let the wild circle of argument range
On what wins, as war comes and goes,
Many new theories may hold the stage,
But the man with the rifle knows.
Now, who sez we ain't cultured and read poetry?
The Man with the Rifle
Men may argue forever on what wins their wars,
And welter in cons and pros,
And seek for their answer at history's doors,
But the man with the rifle knows.
He must stand on the ground on his own two feet,
And he's never in doubt when it's won,
If it's won he's there; if he's not, it's defeat.
That's his test, when the fighting is done.
When he carries the fight, it's not with a roar
Of armored wings spitting death.
He creeps and crawls on earthen floor,
Butt down and holding his breath.
Saving his strength for the last low rush;
Grenade throw and bayonet thrust;
and the whispered prayer, before he goes in,
Of a man who does what he must.
And when he's attacked, he can't zoom away,
When the shells fill the world with their sound,
He stays where is is loosens his spade,
And digs his defense in the ground.
That ground isn't ours till he's there in the flesh.
Not a gadget or bomb but a man.
He's the answer to theories which start afresh,
With each peace since war began.
So let the wild circle of argument range
On what wins, as war comes and goes,
Many new theories may hold the stage,
But the man with the rifle knows.
Now, who sez we ain't cultured and read poetry?