This poem is an epic of the Vietnam era. It is a tribute to the soldiers who were part of any and all air assault operations in the Vietnam War. It was written as a special tribute to the memory of MACVSOG members.

AIR ASSAULT

BY
DENNIS W. LID

The morning fog
Hung,
Mystically,
Over the red clay strip.

The ships lay
Dormant,
Deceptively,
Before the deadly trip.

The slicks gleamed
Wet,
Broodingly,
Seeking the sun’s first glint.

The guns sat
Cold,
Moodily,
Awaiting their deathly stint.

Fog and ships,
Slicks and guns,
Time draws near
To make the run.

The men stood
Still,
Patiently,
Trying to keep their cool.

The old man feigned
Calm,
Inwardly,
Straining to trigger the duel.

The sun’s rays
Probed,
Searchingly,
Through the misty grip.

The air burnt
Clear,
Permissively,
Prompting action on the strip.

Men and leader
See the sun;
Now it’s time
To start the run.

The CO’s order
Barked,
Commandingly,
Setting action to the scene.

The ships’ motors
Coughed,
Reluctantly,
Spinning blades to silver sheen.

The special teams
Mounted,
Anxiously,
Intent to meet the enemy.

The rotor blades
Strained,
Triumphantly,
Propelling all to destiny.

Order and team,
Motor and blade,
Action is taken
To launch the raid.

The ships flew
High,
Steadily,
Seeking out the landing zone.

All eyes looked
Down,
Searchingly,
All ears were racked with engine drone.

The landing site
Fixed,
Unerringly,
The ships descended to the spot.

The guns’ anger
Blazed,
Voraciously,
Because the landing zone was hot.

Ships in flight,
Eyes on site,
Guns blazed forth
With deadly might.

The slicks went
In,
Fearlessly,
The teams debarked and met the foe.

The ships took
Flight,
Successfully,
By breaking right and keeping low.

They took some
Hits,
Luckily,
No major damage was sustained.

The ships re-
Grouped,
Dauntlessly,
Heading home though teams remained.

The slicks went in
And made the hit,
Re-grouped again
But shook a bit.

They all looked
Back,
Anxiously,
For signs of team security.

The teams fought
On,
Aggressively,
Baptized in bloody purity.

A trail of
Corpses,
Prophetically,
Proclaimed the cost of victory.

The beaten
Foe,
Despairingly,
Withdrew from glorious history.

All the teams
Fought the foe;
The enemy losses
Professed their woe.

The sound of
Battle,
Reluctantly,
Gave way to calm serenity.

The battle
Won,
Victoriously,
Yet no team formed an entity.

The old man
Lay,
Lifelessly,
With jungle canopy his vault.

The men were
Mute,
Respectfully,
Viewing impact of air assault.

The battle won,
The old man dead,
Assault by air
Put us ahead.

(Drafted: Oct. 1969; Final: Oct. 2002)