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[Pages H7164-H7165]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
{time} 1215
HONORING THE LIFE OF CORPORAL WILLIAM ``BILL'' McMILLAN, III
The SPEAKER pro tempore. The Chair recognizes the gentleman from
South Carolina (Mr. Norman) for 5 minutes.
Mr. NORMAN. Madam Speaker, I rise today to celebrate the life of
Corporal William ``Bill'' McMillan, III. Corporal McMillan was a combat
medic serving in Iraq when he lost his life in an IED attack on July 8,
2008.
The death of Corporal McMillan prompted his father, Lloyd, and Brad,
his older brother, to write a poem about his sudden death entitled
``The Medic's Last Patrol.'' It goes like this:
As your Stryker rolls, you remember many missions through
this long, tough fight.
[[Page H7165]]
You know the last task will come, last work be done, then
home. All right!
You will mount up to take that last patrol with fellows all
well tried;
That honor roll of troopers you have come to know with love
and pride.
You have all talked, laughed, wept, and fought hard, side by
side.
Many times before, you've watched them play, work, fight, and
bleed.
You've patched them up, cheered them on, and sent them back
to lead.
You've been there for them in the dust of day and in the cold
of night.
Then on to the next patrol, with that honored roll. Back one
more time to fight.
You remember. The report was out. They were all about, and
they had planted one to three.
On late guard, near break of day, an IED you see they start
to lay.
You call Sarge, ``Hey! Look close over there. Can you see?''
Sarge runs right out, and starts to shout, ``That's it!'' And
you do the follow me!
Later, you patch the enemy then work smart, fight tough, to
get yourself free.
You ask, ``Is this the last patrol? Is this it for the Sarge
and me?''
Experience kicks in. You both fight hard and win. Clearly,
the last patrol it's not.
You and your team will see lots more patrols, as that's the
soldier's lot.
As you're grouped the next day, the General praises your
brave acts.
You and Sarge got four, and the team got nine more, in those
all-out attacks.
Your team did its job. They fought hard and did so very well.
You've sent the enemy on their last patrol, their justly
deserved death knell.
Now, you are rolling on this new daytime mission. The light
is oh so bright.
Your patrol is off to guard the convoy, checking all that is
in sight.
You laugh at stories told as along you roll and grab a snack.
All right!
Then that flash of light, that blast of might, your eyes they
see now closed so tight.
For four, the last patrol has come. The rest for a moment
numb, a truly terrible plight.
Later, the caisson rolls. The cannons boom. Overhead, the
Blackhawks fly.
We honor you as we stand in place. But we ask, O God! Tell us
why.
We find some comfort as we hear ``Amazing Grace,'' our eyes
very far from dry.
It was a one-way ticket, but we know you're in a better
place.
Now, you are with our dear Lord and holy master.
You have passed from last patrol to honored guard of God's
most holy pasture.
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