The best of the best? A Cavscout, damnit!
We have to "master" more combat and specialized skills than anyone in the US military. Just read the link below. We are " flexible, intelligent,
resourceful, courageous, and crave danger." You know, like Chuck and Rambo! I heard a nasty rumor that Rambo wanted to be a scout didn’t have a
high enough GT score.
And, we are just so damn good looking!
I have heard that even the devil himself will stand at attention when he sees a cavscout. Good thing for him we don’t go to hell like the infantry
and marine (see Fiddler’s Green below.)
To be a Cavalry Scout is to be the commander’s eyes and ears of the battlefield. To do this requires a unique soldier. He must be flexible,
intelligent, resourceful, courageous, and crave danger to do the unique job of Scouting. Their units are tightly woven groups, able to depend on one
another at any time, irrelevant of rank, which is critical to their survival. They take great pride in both their history and traditions. They must
still earn their spurs and it is not an uncommon site to see the occasional black Stetson and saber worn for certain events and occasions.
The number of common and specialized skills that they are required to know, even at the lowest rank, outnumbers any other job on the battlefield. The
job of gaining and maintaining contact with the enemy without being spotted, mounted or dismounted, and reporting all this intelligence to the
commander so he can mass his forces to defeat them requires this tremendous amount of knowledge.
Because the Cavalry Scout is such an invaluable asset on the battlefield, he is not usually used in the traditional combat role. He fights as a last
resort and rarely as a combat multiplier, but has a tremendous amount of combat resources available to him to insure his survivability. It is not
unusual to see a young Cavalry Scout coordinating both direct and indirect fires to decisively engage and destroy the enemy because he is the one with
the eyes on the target. The term " Recon** out front " exemplifies the dangerous job and continuous threat of exposure to the enemy while working on
or behind enemy lines.
Halfway down the trail to hell
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler's Green.
Marching past, straight through to hell,
The infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.