[Congressional Record Volume 165, Number 124 (Tuesday, July 23, 2019)]
[House]
[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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