The guys in front, with their polished black boots, always seemed to get theirs. Grunts stood in the mud at the end of the line. Grunts were last for everything it seemed. Most, never heard the call. That all changed in '81.
Grunts are first and foremost on The Wall.
You may think I am bitter, a tad jealous. I suppose I am a bit green. Of course, now that the mud has washed from my soul, and the long nights are but themselves a dream, I can see things more clearly. It could have been worse. I could have been a grunt in the Straight Leg Infantry.