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by Gary Jacobson 
A greenie awaits his first “Eagle Flight,” Helicopters to carry combat infantrymen To battles beyond sight... Waiting, Listening, Laughing, Emptily joking, Sweating, Of what’s soon to come not speaking, That whomp whomp whomp sound dreading Yet ready for the cry rallying, Waiting for the eagle flight To carry us to wage the good fight. We’re combat infantrymen bravely ignoring This herd of elephants down there stomping Butterflies in the pit of our stomachs On gossamer wings floating... In our innards plummet Romping, Cavorting. While we young boys, in full battle gear Now and then cocking an ear Are listlessly waiting, Waiting, That awful whomp whomp whomp In nightmarish daydreams hearing Drumming, drumming, drumming in the fearing. Knowing somewhere out there in the blue Eye-in-the-sky choppers flew, Keeping an eagles eye looking, Looking, Looking for troops in black pajamas. Looking for action embattled dramas Searching for Vietcong moving Searching for Charlies concentrating. A bevy of huge olive birds Sent mid dust blown confusion blurred Would sweep down and pick us up Giddyup. Giddyup, and we're off to the war 'Cause war's what we're looking for... I look out a wide Huey door to try seeing Where we’re going.... Where this sky trooper is being driven But logistics are given On a basis of need-to-know, And grunts just don’t need-to-know! Flying high in the sky... Emotionless as panorama’s pass by Thinking this war Sure ain't no bore... Totally by the awesome sight chilled In fascination below the clouds skimmed, Mesmerized at the site hypnotized Feeling down our necks the heat In a whomp whomp whomp Rhythm of jungle beat... Feeling safe, for the moment... Each buried in his own thought wondering What the next moment Would be bringing As for the moment of truth readying... Armaments mentally checking... Face-to-face, silent prayers saying... Whomp whomp whomp Six brothers ride to war in each Huey. Not a one thinking now of liberty, Just hoping to live thru the next few moments, Adjusting again our armaments, Hoping to survive To come out the other end alive Drawn faces disregarding Peasants knee deep in rice paddies working, Ignoring, Peasants on the road to market to go, Vietnamese boys riding water buffalo... Earthbound beings surrounded by green walls Moving on cut-from-the-jungle halls. Grim boys psyching for the killing, No time now for philosophizing, Watching as horizons closed, Above earth superimposed. Far above this microcosm called war. Strangely “The world” spinning on just as before. Knowing somewhere out there people are living In routine lives dying, Of our little bullshit predicament, Of our life and death involvement, Of the fear we daily bear, Totally unaware Just living their lives without thinking Wholly without comprehension or care... Of heartaches America’s boys far away bore In this war-to-end-all war! Though battle is far, Quite suddenly here we are. Suddenly copters are lowering Brothers climbing on chopper skids readying To the blow-torched floor to go jumping Watching rising malignant earth Praying of Vietcong there’s silent dearth, Hoping the LZ's cold Calling up spirit's bold Bestial hearts pounding, Adrenaline pumping Red blood flowing, Readying for their very lives running... Choppers drop us suddenly, dispassionately, In the same moment leaving Suddenly we’re up, we’re moving. Midst din suddenly quieting Harsh reality replacing dreaming. The beat of the beast in bodies vibrating Hearts throbbing Immediately involved in war’s demolition Lives soon to be lost in bloody attrition Civilization’s abolition War's unholy perdition... Nobody tells us where we’re going, Where we’ll be toiling. After all, we’re only grunts, An Army war-dog that hunts. We’re not paid the big bucks for thinking Just for weapons toting Good only for dying... We're battle pawns of callous numbers, Ground-pounding brothers! Awaiting us is our goal... An underground village of Main Force Vietcong Once annihilated a Vietnamese regiment whole Who our destiny’s to meet all along Who great carnage dealt in that melee By these fighting men, Who once obliterated the French easily, Men the French called Viet Minh Just all in all, right friendly folk, You just had to see...no joke! When Infantrymen came to visit, Charlie in his forested pit Charlie had dee-dee’d His jungle home abruptly abandoned. Though brave Infantrymen loudly plead... Charlie, what gave you your first clue, We’re here looking for you? Was it Cobra gunship’s raining fire, Artillery bringing down your fetid empire, Jolly Green Giants' with mini-guns blazing, Spewing rockets to rain on somebody’s parade Building a hot lead barricade? Was it air strikes overhead screaming The jungle all around you exploding, Hundreds of troops in your house streaming, Hunting for game, Armed to the teeth assaulting, Just looking for someone to blame And Charlie's the name... Charlie, did we make the situation For you most dire? Please won't you give us an explanation Did we your escapade inspire Spur your ignominious retreat? Or maybe You were just going out for a bite to eat. American infantrymen spent the day humping, Searching Hastily abandoned hooches For weapons, documents, food caches. Then farewell bade, Dropped in a grenade, “Fire in the hole,” Don’t even turn to watch the place blow, Then as evening fell, Eleven platoons took off like bats out of hell. Leaving one raggedy platoon to man the fort? Gotta say, didn’t give much comfort. What’s up with these day-trippers Catching commuter choppers, Taking them away from the war... Back to where a semblance of sanity will restore, Transporting them to an LZ’s pre-dug foxholes To piece together what’s left of their souls. This night, 27 brave men would live...or die. Why did the army hang us out to fry? What's that you say? Impossible is not a term used by the infantry. You say, “Not mine to question why! Mine just to do or die...” Bull hockey! Still, what ya gonna do with the hand you’re dealt Shrivel up like cowards and melt? We won’t be the last, or the first, Whose innocent bubble has burst, Who danced to a bitter song In this cruel war gone wrong. So dig defensive foxholes in this alien village, Moments before wreaked and pillaged. Two thousand surrounding Charlies mad as hell at us Had to be enraged in a hell of a fuss. What we did had to make somebody awful mad, Just a tad... So, what am I doing here, Burned the thought in the eyes of 27 desperate men. What the hell am I doing here In the home of the Viet Minh. There's no room for warning trip flares... No room in the jungle to set claymores. Army's left us as nothing more than expendable bait? How soon before we’d know our fate? Not long I fear... Not long... Before Charlie, whose coming I hear Tears youthful souls asunder, Makes us pay for seeking plunder Makes us pay for our combat blunder. Listen to him out there cursing, Enraged men Yelling, Shooting, Fear to inspire Trying to draw our fire, That they might determine just where we are... How many of us there are... They’d likely bust a gut if they only knew How few Huddled in the middle of their alien destruction Once their homes before our unholy conflagration. Surely, they’d laugh and laugh As like a hot knife through butter they overrun us. In only a minute bestial legions will kill us, If they only knew How few! But they never knew... So I’m here to tell the tale, How I jumped out of the belly of the whale. The next morning we just humped on out... Leaving behind frustrated hue and shout. Moving swiftly through elephant grass eye high Jungle canopies reaching almost to the sky, Humping meadows just right for ambushes. Acres of wait-a-minute bushes Thick walls of bamboo Reach out to grab you, Hold you, Tear at you. Two Cong up a tree. Clambered up to see what they could see, Saw more than they wanted to see. Surprised just a bit, By our hasty exit, Cong snipers fired on our platoon, Knowing full well suicide Would visit soon So we gladly complied Blowing them away, Making sure they couldn’t fight another day. Hovering over them face-to-face, Soldiers grimly saw They had no face. M-60 machine guns had stripped them clean. These were the first bodies I’d ever seen. Only a tatter of clothes remained, On riddled bodies maimed, A pink mass of blood and gore... Nothing more, Terrible fruits of a terrible war! And deep in my heart I cried... Something in me eternally died. As in the jungle called Le Hong Fong Life’s plans played tragically wrong In life’s most fatal song... each poem with more action graphics and Pictures
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