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 deul.
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 ship's 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, steadly, 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: October 1969; Final: October 2002

(Also See Lid's Lair at http://www.dennislid.com published works page.)