War Poems

	The Letter Dear Mr Subritzky, sorry to be a bore, but we're sending your son Danny to the Bosnian War. Yes, we know you did Rhodesia, your cousin Bill did Vietnam, but we're running out of soldiers and we need a few good men. Sure, your uncle Jack the Anzac, was in the Battle of Chunak Bair, and Bob Subritzky caught a packet on the Somme. But we need a few good men, to send to Europe once again, and we'll kit them out and send them with a song. Cousin Fredo got a head wound in the Monte Cassino fight, and poor old Archi, he went crazy on the wire one stormy night. Yes, your family's done its' bit, but it doesn't count for shit, and when your son gets back, we'll give the lad a gong. Now you know the bloody score, it's just another friggin' war, and we're off in a couple of days, to the blood and smoke and haze. Of course your boy should be alright, unless the Serbs decide to fight, because the Moslems in his sector seem OK. Mike Subritzky (This poem was written by Mike Subritzky, himself a veteran during a journey to farewell his son when he was posted on Operations to Bosnia in 1998, and served with B Battery, Royal Horse Artillery).	.	..	The Sentry . The wind is crisp, it blows from the West, and the moon slips behind a cloud. It is 4.45 as I rise half alive, feet numb, fingers numb, and the barrel of my rifle a dark silhouette against the grey dawn sky...Duty! Tussock cold and wet about my legs, webbing tight about my waist, boots stumbling blindly towards the machine gun post. Test the phone, check the gun, turn up the collar of my combat jacket, back resting against the wet clay walls of the pit...One hour till dawn. Eyes blur, mind wanders, thoughts of home wife and kids; water bottle presses against my back, knees draw up, helmet and head resting between them for warmth. Time drags, mind plays tricks on my vision, heaven would be a warm bed or a hot cup of coffee...Half hour till dawn, test the phone. Dawn nears, hills take shape, trees take shape, to my front is the back menacing shadow of a field gun; lethal against the skyline. The tannoy clicks, the phone rings, "Stand To!" is quietly passed by word of mouth, human shapes move quietly, each in the direction of its' own slit trench...Silence. Experience shows this to be the most likely time for an attack. Time lapses, nothing moves, save only the chill wind blowing gently through the tussock...Silence. Birds break into song, the first rays of the new dawn sun burst forth spreading warmth and life into everything it reaches out and touches; and for the Regiment another day begins..."Stand Down!" Mike Subritzky
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AIR ASSAULT

Thumping down the valley floor, contour flying - open door.

Squadron's choppers in a line, the Air Assault goes in on time.

Heart is pumping - temples too, Cobra Gunships - standing to.

Caribina locked in place, try to hide my fearful face.

Check my bag and check my rope,
God give me some bloody hope.

Rifle slung behind my back, Grenades and ammo in my pack.

Machine gun belts cut in my neck, join the Gun Group on the deck.

Two fingers up - two minute test, check my kit and do my best.

Chopper flaring - out the door, stand on skids and count to four.

Throw my bag - back and behind, Go! Go! Go! - you're on the line.

Thumb up bum - rappel to earth, clear the line and hit the dirt.

Pull the pack strap roll away, God just get me through this day.

Mike Subritzky©

Kiwi Peacekeepers

There's death all around me, there's death in the air, I can smell it and feel it - and I know now the fear.

The road could be mined, or an ambush await, it may be the end - our appointment with fate.

The escorts have left us, we're now on our own, I'm as frightened as hell - and we're all so alone.

Our armour is moving, we're leaving the town, Rhodesians are waving, yelling - "Keep your heads down!"

I look at the Gunner, his face is all drawn, his machine gun is loaded - and the safety catch on.

We drive through the war zone, on dirt roads blood red, past African kraals - with children unfed.

Expecting a tank mine, or bullet to tell, or a Russian made rocket - to take us to hell.

At Assembly Place "Lima", the site of an old kraal, we finally halt - and put our backs to the wall.

Raise the stars of our Nation, raise the Brit's Union Jack, put the dread right behind us - for there's no turning back.

Not there for the fighting, not there for the fall, we are the friend of no one - and the enemy of all.

...We are the Peacekeepers.