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MOST ATTACKS WERE AT NIGHT
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Falklands 82 Tracer danced across the skies
Red, green, and white
Arcing, dipping, bouncing back up into the night.
Schumulie’s whizzed and 2 incher’s plopped.
Star shells screamed to make you stop.
Flames in the gorse,
With smoke in your throat
Your feet splash through puddles
As you try to keep in line.
Hoping to find some cover.
Knowing,
there was no chance of finding sanity.
Confusion and shouting
Head for the voice
Don’t bunch up, though often no choice.
Questions! Questions ! Questions !
Do you know where we are?
Do you have any link ?
Where’s the fire support?
How soon till dawn ?
Most attacks were at night.
I go along, reading through the random selections, then suddenly I'm halted by a real emotion or train of thought. This made me think of the times I watched my ex, in his hellish nightmares...long after "the war" was behind him. And thinking of how still, after so many years, he rises from his nightmares and does his twenty miles daily.
Hello Jim, Another good write, it so reminds me, War always a complete "cock up", does it never alter, and is it always necessary?.General Confusion, O/C.and then everything turns out well. Thanks Jim. David.L.
this is such a moving piece..... I have people that I know... and they were there..... they won't even talk about thier time there.... but when you least expect it they share with you stories that make the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up.... this did just that.... good vision in this