Friday, May 23, 2008

sandy boots - on patrol

the sun hasnt come up yet on a dry chilly night
he puts on his fatigues and boots after a shower
thru out the base on is not a solitary light
he can hear the roar of a choppers power
they all run to the pad prepared to get it right
before the sun beams on rock and sand and tower

he loads and takes his seat with the rest of the team
as there is a quiet enveloped by the whipping sound
the silhouttes of a distant jagged skyline it would seem
distant sounds of rumbling as rockets slam the ground
their fear of the faceless throwing many a light beam
as the choppers reach their target behind a large mound

one by one they jump out and go to where the point leads
he hits the ground again nervous as boots meet the sand
just as planned they take their positions before time exceeds
one by one they search the premises scouring the land
the sun cracks long trodden ancient roads as the team proceeds
the backdrop of a landscape without the days light is quite bland

nothing stirs in this desolate village but for the scurrying at their feet
no one thinks about what runs in the night in this place far from home
as it gets brighter a shadow appears around a corner of the street
theres a tingle in the air as the bullets fill the air like a metal foam
a few comrades hit the sand falling back when flak jacket and lead
meet the blood soaks into the land to turn this dusty unholy dirt into loam

as he goes door to door only to find one empty house after another
the information he received was obviously false and fabricated
but then so much from this part of the planet weighs as much as a feather
he changes objectives, to a suspicious building, that his lieutenant delegated
frantically hurrying he must as his notices the ever changing weather
with small windows and ever so slight movement to be investigated

shots pass perilously close as he turns a corner adjacent to his target
the team communicates their observations to the platoon leader at base
hearing a heated conversation in arabic of words he could not forget
the order to gaslight a firefight comes down to leave the place
to waste he sees the vehicle spoken of by a faceless enemy they want to get
on their way to the care is laced with an array of exploding devices they race

the insurgent is dropped with a hot flying piece of angry american metal
his sole shot turns the tide of a bloody rampage between hated enemies
evacuation to save the lives of the innocent as the dust begins to settle
before the air strike to remove the weapons from the fanatical crazies
the chopper pilot leaves the base in a flash putting metal to the peddle
the team falls back to the LZ site as the invisible strike force succeeds

they climb in shaking and tired yet pleased at the small victory they attain
upon return to what they now call home a distant smoke does rises
the commander upon debreifing lays an angry call to which will complain
of faulty information of what was a quiet peaceful in all its evil disguises
they have eaten and fallen asleep to the sound of the peaceful desert rain
removing his bloodstained uniform and dusting off sandy boots are his prizes

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