4 – AirMobil
“Gentlemen! You are on A Ship of War!
Designed to do Battle…
Designed for Battle.
YOU are trained to Battle,
You are on This Ship… Airmobil
You WILL to DO or You will DIE
In Battle…
That is all”…
Play: THE PRIVATE WAR OF HARRY GRIGSBY
Bzzt: Zambezi Air Traffic to AirMobil – acknowledge
Bzzt: AirMobil – over
Bzzt: Glidepath is 442 617 … inbound artillery On your field… stay clear… Twenny seconds
Bzzt: AirMobil acknowledge … Twenty
Pause…
Bzzt…..Five…
Bzzt: Clear to go, AirMobil… acknowledge Field is yours. Acknowledge…
Bzzt: AirMobil acknowledge in Two… One…
Bzzt: Good batting hitman – give em one for me…Le-e-e-t-s-s-s play Ba-a-alll!
This account is written for my brother Michael, lost friends, fallen comrades and forgotten soldiers everywhere.
Soldiers fighting so that men may be free…
It is about “nothing less than love – not erotic or romantic love, but the love of comrades in arms, who share a kinship that excludes all others.”
“I now know why men who have been to war yearn to reunite. Not to tell stories or look at old pictures. Not to laugh or weep.
Comrades gather because they long to be with the men who once acted their best, men who suffered and sacrificed, who were stripped raw, right down to their humanity.
I did not pick these men. They were delivered by fate. But I know them in a way I know no other men. I have never given anyone such trust. They were willing to guard something more precious than my life. They will carry my reputation, the memory of me.
It was part of the bargain we all made. The reason we were so willing to die for one another.
I cannot say where we are headed. Ours are not perfect friendships; those are the province of legend and myth. A few of my comrade’s drift far from me now, sending back only occasional word. I know that one day even these could fall to silence.
Some of them will stay close, a couple, perhaps, always at hand.
As long as I have memory, I will think of them all, every day. I am sure that when I leave this world, my last thought will be of my family, and my comrades… and such good men.”
“Killardrigh”
There’s a little ivied ruin whose walls are crumbling low,
where the thistle and the brier all in wild confusion grow.
There’s a withered tree beside it with branches bare and high,
where the wintery tempests shiver and the summer breezes sigh.
And I often seek that ruin, and sit beneath the tree,
for the music of the breezes sound sadly sweet to me.
But ’tis not for the ruin or the old tree that I care,
but for those whose sleep is shadowed by ivy growing there.
Maj. W.F.Butler Keynsham Light Horse Cavalry
…………………………….
What follows? Play: THE MOLDAU – Smetana
A story of I, a Machine amongst Machines: The Story of The Loneliness of the Long Distance Android::
There’s something magical about a gun-ship. So special, and so quiet… It’s almost a secret. Like murder and revenge. So Sweet, It has a certain sweet premeditated passion.
It is almost as if…
you mention the word “gun-ship”,
it inspires awe and fear. And, in polite society… quiet.
And a desire to be away from a visitor of disaster::
Scriptum:
Day: bright and filled with pain
Scene: burned out countryside
Enter: “AirMobil” Gunship. Stage centre. Straight down…
We fall out of the sky dropping fast.
Fields of fresh craters and hedges of razor wire.
And overhead, half-hidden in the mist and refraction… Us.
So magnificent and so perfect.
Such a certain elegance and a balletic quiet.
The ships look like carrion insects. With bulging eyes and whirling wings.
Like devils.
Like fukken gods….
whispering amongst themselves. ZZZZZzzzz zzt
In a secret language as ancient as war.
Whispering
of the feast they were soon to have…
Whispering Death:
”Johnny rousen up your bow
And play that fiddle hard –
The Devil’s broke loose in Georgia
And the Devil plays the cards
I bet this Fiddle of Gold
Against Your Soul
‘Cos I’m Th’ Best That’s Ever Been”
A story about a country no one understands, and a secret war we cannot remember.
Play All Along the Watch Tower:
The scene is horrific, yet it has the purity of a stanza from a ballad sung to life.
A ballad about some tragic events on the Border of Hell.
If I had to paint it I would need a canvas as large as the scene itself.
And I would have to include the slow, swirling boil of the mist.
The hypnotic metronome of the rotors. The whine of the turbines, the ring of the chain-guns, the grunt of the mortars.
No detail could be omitted.
There REALLY ARE DRAGONS… > watch…
Musta been about 05:00 hours. We coming in steep over The Valley. Flying into the north. Mocambique. Tete Province.
Chakka.chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka. chakka.
Flying into the light rainfall feels like razors coming thru’ the door. Pull on my goggles
The blades of the Aerospatiale’s are chopping more war meat out of the lightening sky. The sound of Jimi Hendrix singing “I caint Get no Relief…. Aall along the watch tower…. No reason to get excited….” is cranking off the portable tape deck. Cabin doors open on both sides. The rush of super-cooled dawn, pink as young girls nipples from my last memory…”cept she’s been replaced by this high velocity nightmare.
Here we go again.
eroticizing?
No! not at all. We see what we choose to see.
There must be some kinda way outta here
Said the Joker to the Thief
There’s too much confusion
I caint get no relief
No Reason to get excited
The Big B kindly spoke
There are many here among us
who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I have been thru that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late
I see your face, your lower lip trembles each time we say goodbye. I can see you trying not to cry,
.
Being brave so I don’t see you cry…sister… don’t. I love you, little sister…
the smell of your black hair is like Christmas…this One’s for US and Ours.
Even if I die. I can smell your sweat… I want to kiss you… too late gotta go
EVEN if I die.
”She wore – blu-u-u-u-e-e vel-vet…” my dressing gown, still damp with your sweat from our bed
”kiss me…kiss me…let me tell you love me-e-e-e … Kiss me kiss me.. she cries to me “
“I’m in love with you..
Hold me… Thrill me”
Now she tells me….
“…………come back! I love you!” she cries… I cry inside as I mount the bus. For all of two seconds.
God! I hate this… your eyes in my back as I walk away and I have to go. No choice, love. I love you…
All along the watch tower – we fly
Two riders are approaching
An’ the wind begins to HOWL…
“Perception is a hypothesis. If you can change the hypothesis, the perception… Nu!”
Life in My Fathers House ::
So I see part of you in the sky?
That’s how my mind works.
You are never far away from me my beautiful love.
About 100m off our left flank, “Vato Loco”, is doing a little swoopy-doop ballet. Little left little right pendulum and each time just slacks off the tail-fan enough to let the ship swing out in a swerve to the direction he swings.
You can tell Vieira’s style. ‘Ts his signature! The “Vatos Locos” Dago Patrol
and other side flies “Puff” the Magic Dragon, Augusta heavy lift.
All heavy laden and proud, burdened pregnant with the machines of our trade.
War.
From the door St Jon is blowing the “Reveille”. The sound for cavalry to advance.
Ta tara ta ta ta ta ta taaaa… Ta tara ta ta ta ta ta taaaa. Taa ra ta taa ra ta taaa ra ta taaaaa taaaaa taaaaa
The Devil’s come down to Long Beach…
take me There
And so here we are flying over Zambezi Long Beach, eating omelette tacos from yesterday. No coffee. Just Benzedrix and
Durophet M’s. Dysoxin to cocktail on the side. With warm Coca Cola. Small Amyl Nitrate as a chaser and a joint of good ol’
Malawi Chapter Five to cool the edges of our desperacion..
Comprende? Ese?
Qui se?!
We dance…Shall we?
The world is made of Darkness, and all men must come to its End. I fight for my brother my captain my king.
We SHALL die to protect this ship…
For I am brother captain and king to them.
Somewhere. Even if we are out of our skulls on reds and amyl nitrates.
Fuk – Ken – Po – Et – Ree. In Mo-Shunnnnn!
Here’s to the Air Cav!!!!
All we have is “The Game”
The clock is ticking…. Tik tok…
Bustin’ Surfboards:
Bzzt: Zambezi Air Traffic to AirMobil – acknowledge
Bzzt: AirMobil – over
Bzzt: Glidepath is 442 511 … inbound artillery On your field… stay clear… Twenny seconds
Bzzt: AirMobil acknowledge … Twenty
Pause…right on time
Five explosions, heavy artillery seconds apart pounds the area we are heading into – clearing out any would-be ambushers
Bzzt…..Five…
Bzzt: Clear to go, AirMobil… acknowledge
Bzzt: AirMobil acknowledge in Two… One…
Bzzt: Good batting hitman – give em one for me…Le-e-e-t-s-s-s play Ba-a-alll!
We drift out, nap of the earth… whap whap whap…rising… turbulent in the early morning mist and rain. Like a dream..
They been shelling the landing zone for ten minutes before we get here. Its just smoke. All mirrors are broken now. This Is IT.
Shells still drop every forty seconds, for the 5 minutes of our operation, compliments of the lads manning the Loading Zone..
We are in the Dance of Fire.. in the Hold…
Bzzt:: ”AirMobil to Loading Zone…we are on station…on station, …stand down… repeat stand down…over”,,,
before we fall in to our own fukken fire. Idiota!!
When The Music is Over…
As we follow the lead ship into the dense black smoke, I can hear guys singing in the back of the cab start to chant the battle hymn I started:
“To the ever Lasting Glory of the cavalry…
Original words of Frank Loesners ballad were: was the ‘ever Lasting Glory of the infantry’ dedicated to Private Rodger Young of the Ohio Buckeyes.
I changed the words….
“Oh we got no time for glory in Air Cavalry…
Flying blind for a few seconds,
I whisper to my Sergeant at Arms to make them quiet:
Time to Give The Speech – I know it by heart… I LOVE my speech…
Here goes…
“Gentlemen! You are on A Ship of War!
[I must intone… I cannot falter before them even as I am afraid for them]
Designed to do Battle…
Designed for Battle.
YOU are trained to Battle,
You are on This Ship…
You WILL to DO or you will DIE
In Battle…
That is all”…
“make fast on the ready lines… SOLDIERS!!! –
Like they don fukken know alreddy… fukkk we about to get killed…
I feel like Rodger Young today watching the smoke thin out ahead of us. The sun clears the horizon in a bright pale lemon blast
“Do you want to dance with meeeeee???”
“Lets Play Ball….!!!”
And here: “On-the-Go – 00 -od Lo Lee Pop”…sung to Shirley Temple’s “ Good Ship Lollipop”,
We’s awl just Fine. Maybe tired a little…strung out on these fine little ol’ red and brown Duraphet M’s and a hit Dysoxin. Porra!
Fatigued a little…18 straight days of hard times….six fire-fights…eight cas-Evacs… four emergency supply drops… two air strike support stand-offs. 18 drunken nights. 18 packs of cigarettes. 18 whores. 18 bad breakfasts. 18 shit dinners. 18 nights of bad sleep.
18 Fukken Days in Hell’s Gate. Roadhouse Blues.
(you, my precious little espaniola – will be 18 soon)
“Greek Boys – you are Kill Zone North… AirMobil you are Kill Zone South.
This is Zambezi Air Traffic ordering you to proceed…
Proceed…
You have One Eff Zee…”
An we aint dead yet?
One EffZee… hold on to yore knickers ladies… we’re goin INNNNNNNN
Riding under the spinning wheels of God’s Clock.
We tick each tock…
With a bowel-loosening, fear inducing, dream poisoning metronome of advancing inevitability.
When you can hear this sound? This special symphony that talks to your lizard limbic system? Speaks directly to your anus?
And you’re onna ground?
You got about 8 to 12 seconds, hombre, perhaps less…to figure out your next move.
We can see you.o.o.o.
I pull on my yellow cow hide gloves…less… you have less…there’s always less
It has the whap. Whap. Whap. Of the blades.
My Finger is in the cowl…
The HHHMMMMwwweeeee of the turbines and th’ high pitch back steel cling chinnga chingachinga chinga of the stabilizers on the blades.
Pull the belt tight in the chamber… give it a little twist…
There is no sound like it in the world.
Push up the sight
Superman an Green Lantern
Got Nothin on me
A sword drawn every eighth of a second. I can feel the pressure. I want to squeeze you
And you Will Know. That Death And Vengeance.
Surely Walk Amongst You.
This Day.
FlIck safety to “off”
The END OF DAYS.
Glittering blades
”Shari Adonai” – It is Begun…
Shining blades
“Shari Adonai….
“My GoD
Spinning
What shall we wreak…?
“Shari Adonai…
The Music is your Special Friend
It’s happening…
“AirMobil stand by
“Shari Adonai….
Baptized In A Storm Of Swords
I made the choice between my Captain and my Conscience..
Mercy from god… not from us.
“Shari Adonai…
“Get this ship into the fight…!”
“Ship on Glidepath…we’re goin’ in… Lord have Mercy Upon Them we Strike Down Now…
We not in da mercy biz niz. This is Texas Radio
My thumb caresses over the Fire button. It knows the way
Music is yore only friend
Until; the end
“AirMobil. One Eff Zee… Last marker. AirMobil – Out!”
I will never live with me/ as my Captain…
I Serve my PERSONAL god… I live on my ship
“lock belt to cycle #1… all chambers are live… click
load weapon active… “Shari Adonai….
Gatling gun is spinning hot. Show Me!
“Fire Control Engaged… transmitting co-ords”
You are alone on your own…
I always told them:
“pride will NOT save you… only stealthy speed… like a hawk… FLY “
Barrels on speed…
“Engage targets ….”
depress…
Shari Adonai….
Drrrrrrt Drt Drt Drrrrrrrrrt ……………… ……… …… … …. Drrrrt drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtrt 1000 rounds
Firing into the dense bush and jungle. Any thing that escaped the artillery will not escape this !
We ARE a reign of fire…
If you imagined that Dragons were myth. They exist…
We exist…
We Breathe… chhik –*ting!* Belt empty……..
“clear belt”
Loading dance to the negroes in the azure forest
Out here we are stoned. Immaculate.
There really are Dragons,
Free, In your life now. Short as it is…. We are free
Is it possible that there are no coincidences?
Or do we just get lucky?
“Air Mobil be advised we are Ranging targets on Fire two… prep now!
Can you smell my breath? And live? Lock ‘n Load
…… ……… ……… ……… ………… …… … ……………………………………… ….. …. Drrrrt drrrtrt 1000 rounds
”Shari Adonai – clear the passing of His Way.
Shai Halud!”
“Ranging targets on Fire two – stand by…”
Life in slomo… whirling… turning slow and sliding softly from the mist, hunched deep to the ground… we prepare to rise like the Sun…. and like the Sun, we lay out the fire from both doors, both pods and the mini gun all at once in one orchestrated burst and rise like a comet…
Fok! We are taking fire………”traffic we’re taking fire… incoming… WE’RE TAKING FIRE”………………My Conscience!
Swopping belts… I can hear the bullets bounce off her skin… tik tik tik tiktik tik
MAG cycles belt to “ARMED” position…
Trigger Safety BACK to “OFF”…
Swivel Mount screwed down to “soft turn”. Better aim control…
Ship makes slow bank falling to left drift.
We slip out of the sky at terminal velocity… falling on our side… we drop sickeningly fast…
The earth rushes to meet us
Leveling… path flat… everything on the ground is on fire
Green light comes on…*Dink*… *Dink*… *Dink*… *Dink*…
“AirMobil – you are One Eff Zee… coming up”
I have to tell my men: “Be aware – this is not the obligation that we would have wished for, Gentlemen… “
*Dink*… *Dink*… *Dink*… *Dink*…
“ready line ten seconds”
“Thissiz Zambezi Air Traffic… You are approaching Outer Marker 79… Squadron on glide-path four seven one…
ETA Hellsgate izinnnn…… TEN sekkinds, over”
“Roger that Zambesi…”
“ We have hostile zinbound your position ETA six minniits… youave two minnits of air, Mission…over”
“Back Up? Werezour fukken backup?”
“Zero. Aaah… that is aaaaaa negative, Airmobilll… Closest air strike iztwenny minnits, stand by”
Fuck puss shit arse rat fuck. We got three minutes of dancing in all fire. Angels of desire.
The Blue Bus is taking us.
“ Dri-ver where are you tak-ing us? The mini-ster’s daugh-ter is in love with a snake…
*Dink* Ten Seconds pass in a flash…
one Eff Zee… Beeeeeeeee…
In my parents house we had a vinyl record of Burl Ives. An American singer of Ballads. There was always one particular song that stuck with me all these years. And particularly at the time that this story is set. It was the story of a brave young man, Rodger Young, a Private, 148th Infantry, 37th Infantry Division (the Ohio Buckeyes); who died 31 July 1943, on the island of New Georgia, in the Solomons, South Pacific, while single-handedly attacking and destroying a Japanese enemy machine-gun pillbox.
His bold and gallant action, in the face of overwhelming odds, enabled his team-mates to escape without loss; he was awarded posthumously the Medal of Honor.”
The song went like this:
“No, they’ve got no time for glory in the Infantry.
No, they’ve got no use for praises loudly sung,
But in every soldier’s heart in all the Infantry
Shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young.
“Shines the name–Rodger Young!
Fought and died for the men he marched among.
To the everlasting glory of the Infantry
Lives the name of Private Rodger Young.
I was a young hippie then. Went into this bedlam. Got out alive. I wish I knew then what I understand now.
One of the commandos we’re taking in passes me the joint that’s going around:
“Here’s to the Fukken Air Fukken Ca- val-ree -Yeeee—haaa!”.
These guys are S.A.S. Out of Llewellyn Barracks. You don’t even wanna know where they are going.
Where ever it is –‘s not gonna be nice, man. I hand out the Black Bombs with a belt of scotch.
And the other 2? R.L.I. Commando 3 Brigade out of Cranborne One Battallion
We are
Stoned Immaculate…
Yeah as I fly over the Valley of Death – I shall bring fear and terror…
For surely darkness and death shall FOLLOW YOU all the days of your short fukken life.
“O Angel of Gravity. Bless this Thy Holy Gunship. In our Hour of need that you will Protect us as we Strike down Your Enemies with Fire…
Wonder if that will work. Minchia! I’m as high as a kite.
*Dink*… *Dink*… *Dink*… *Dink*…
“… ready line in five”
Meanwhile….by the grace of God Almighty, there’s a crawling King Snake in the room upstairs…inbound 15 tons of hurtling high kite boys all locked and loaded, primed and humming with the pure Zen of ready to live by the sword.
“ By the Sword” our chant
All goes quiet, No talking.
Clip.
Snik. Lok. Chikka…chik.. . . . . . klik…. *
No looking at each others eyes…private time now.
We never look.
Four
No faces. No eyes. No memory.
There will BE no last memory before engagement..
But I just gotto wonder how many times we gotto land on the letter “H”. (for hospital)
Two casualties on this boat. And I’m not one. Yet. And I never been so scared in all my life.
Well I maybe exaggerate. At times like this scared keeps you alert and alive. Hopefully. Maybe it’s the ground fire, yesterday. maybe it’s the good old Chris “Dizzy” Desfontein, pilot of this Vomit Comet.
That’s his siganatura. Drop steep, level out fast, sideways swerve that lifts the out going side of the K-car up, like the dress of a fandango dancer as she gracefully swirls out …
then back in easy like, on the center line, back to the arms of her lover.
Three!
Like you step back in to me.
Oops! Erotic again. See what you do to me lady
But for the guy on the door at the inside sweep? If you’re not braced and holding on – you’re gonna go out. Big time. Maybe only a 50m fall. I don wanna do it, man. So do all who live to see such times. But all you have to do is do with the time that is given to you.
Two!
Put her down gentle as a feather. On this SHIP – each other is all we are, all we have
So much love and tenderness. Lay her gentle, my love, in these fields of grass…
and shed her sons to the mercy of our kind for not all return.
And those that do.
They love the sound of rescue
Yearn for the beat of her wings…
Our sweet Angel of Mercy lifteth us out of dark places and delivereth us to safety.
Dead or Alive. We are leaving!!!!
The green light stays on….
ONE!
“AirMobil – you ARE One Eff Zee… Hit an’ Run… proceed”
“We are One Eff Zee… One Eff Zee… ready line… ”
“Geddon the Ready Line Soldiers…ho.. ho.. ho.. ho.. ho..”
“READY LINE”
Then the buzzer goes >>Dink>>>dink>>dink>>>dink…and the flashing light comes on for
“drop zone… SECURE STATION… Fire at discretion….”.
I make them go to die:
“Troopers! on the Ready Line!”…” Arming…”
“One Eff Zee – confirmed…
I make them go to die:
“Get On The Skids!...”
The guys step out on to the skids … we make a slow spiral decent
Boogaloo down Broadway: We’re in the Pipe. Five by five… “gonna take some chop… DCS ranging five by five… hang on… poling station…”
Another fukken hit an run. Liabilities Zero. Packed trouble One… shaddup an die like a soldier…
Ready LINE-e-e-e-e-!
“Sky Bolts armed…”
“Drop stations secured…prep to One…stand bye!!!!!!!!…”
We Are Hot….
We been out so much that we haven’t even had time to hose this cabin out. The blood from all the last airlifts is starting to look like part of the permanent paint job. My socks feel like perma-shape from no laundry.
We got no spare gear. We been in the same clothes for 18 days. Cast Iron Underpants, also
Went out one morning on a Med-Supply drop and got reeled into this god-awful nightmare…in the Room uPSTAIRS
Feel like I woke up one morning and lost everything…
So the joke goze: “Its “casualty camoflage”. We put it on so that the enemy wont be able to tell whether we bleeding or not”.
“?”
So here we are in this alien craft doing a maneuver you can only ever do in a flying saucer – over all this alien vegetation you can hide a whole fukken battalion of Boogs down there…or if you are really stoned, If you loose it out here, you’re in a whole world of hurt. In the blood bath behind we got six commandos who are soooo speeded up and raring to rock. All singing along to Santana’s Black magic Woman… “Got a Black Magic womaaaaannn….” yeah rite on man.
We all got a Black Magic Woman some where… I got mine.
My sweet little Chiquita, hair the color of deep space. Small hard round arse, with a dancers muscles. Hard round breasts to match. And the eyes. Dark and smouldering. Fire burned so deep I never coulda imagined that such a young girl as you, could have so much fire. So much passion. It makes me burn. For you. I burn for you, … I burn.
I thank God each day that you live in this world, esita. Thank God for you my sister of my soul.
I cannot mess up here, man! Cannot die. Not now.
Thank God for you, donna…
I jus wanna be there. Just lay my face down on your stomach and just listen to you breathe.
I jus wanna feel your fingers in my hair and listen to you softly singing Latina voca santa,
Softly to me… And bring me back to life.. our life…but that might as well be in another galaxy. Completely
No time for that now. Recoil from the gun is like a kind of bizarre sex. It pumps back every time I squeeze off a shot. Just like you on me, on every stroke. Just like you. Bang – I get 1700 a minute…how about you?
I am so casually flicking the gate of my door mounted MAG open and cutting my name on to the first round in the belt with my bush knife.
Tradition.
Never give up a good ritual.
“Live in the Air. Die by Fire”. We all chant…
I will rather go down with my ship. Let It Rolll!!! All nite long-g-g-g-g-g-
Gate closed…closed and locked…Locked and loaded and ready to Get It ON!…
One of the commandos wants to know what I am doing.
I tell him that if I carve my name on the bullet…I got the bullet with my name on it, in my gun!
So no one out there has got the bullet with my name on it…comprehede?
They all checking me like I am some kind of crazy. Laugh.
Then you see realization dawn on their faces. Then they not laughing so much anymore. Caralhos!
They have no bullets with their own name on? Then some one must have. Si?
Walking the Dog:
We’re hot! Space, at the opposite door lets out a whoop of joy and arms his weapon…chikka…clik..clik!!!. I arm mine and the Jump Master hands us each 3 rappel leads.
“Your Balls, Frankie!” he shouts over the rotors. “on the Ready LINNNNNNE!!!! Soldiers!”
I heft the weights of the rappels in my gloved hand.
“My girlfriend says the same thing” I shout back, ”But she means it!”
And in the distance the sun is just clearing the horizon… all so smoothe and fleshly tanned bronze just like her backside as I remember it
Aw fuck this game…killit – killit- killit
We all laugh… Then we not laughing anymore. We gotta work now. Someone leads the chant::
“Yea, as we fly over the Valley of death we shall bring fear and terror…”
(“we salute your courage, you who are about to die”)
The guys going in finish:”For we are the Meanest Sunz’a Bitches in The Valleeeee!”.
Pat on the shoulder…”Bring down Fire my friend. Fa ‘Aan Dap!” We covering yore sorry ass!”
My Sergeant Calls: “Soldiers! I am your Jump-Master-r-r-r-r…
They are all on the skids I throw out the rappels throw them in a wide arc the ropes twirl and trail… streamers of gossamer… leap of faith and they’re falling fast falling on a 50 meter trail as we swing in hard dropping fast spin out the tail bank to station…
Tilt a little, settle…and the 3 guys on my side click off their brakes dropping into the clearing…
“Three. Two-o Away-y-y-y!”
I wished them luck they fall like honey straight into the Devils Playground we are drifting at about 2 meters a second so they gotta hit the ground running from about two metres… Nice try.
“On orestas mano… Go…speed of God…For us and ours…” I intone like the priest I am s’pposed to fukken be. Why me? I not cut out for dis jaab, mon! Foders the job…
They may not come back. Hmmmm….
They drop under our cover.
This is the worst of times. We are almost stationary. Drifting slow
The guys on the ropes ar’n mid-fall. We cn’get blown out the sky inna nex 5 seconds. The wash from the rotor is so strong I feel like I c’n get sucked outta the cab and the fukken noise is going to follow us into Eternity.
I call Dizzy to “Lift Out!”
“We live by The Grace”
Die by the Fire… we rise on the storm
CALL is in AirMobil… contact is Terminated…Count Kill Debris… Airstrike is coming in One minute hot…. Gettout now… get hot…
Our guys’r just down when “Puff” – the Magic Dragon, with the heavy equipment pulls in. In the door I can see “Vlaga” Gregory Yanakis, the chain gun keeping watch. I know its him tapping the start button on his gun. Light flickering off the barrels as they spin and lock. Spins and locks. I c’n justa’bout hear the whine from here.Brrrr=eee. Must be my imagination. Fukken Vlaga crazy Greek. He just waiting to shoot at sumthing. Any-fukken-thing. The only guy I know who can click the trigger with out loosing off a round.
Reminds me of a sergeant we had in basic training telling us: “Remember out there! You fukken shoot any thing that moves! ‘Fits not moving, then fukken shoot it ‘til it duz move!” Gregory is one trigger-happy Greek. 45 seconds
Our guys are down safe on the money, in seconds. We dust off. 30 seconds
“Vatos Locos” dusting off to the far side facing in the opposite direction and we are following each other tails around in a big anti-clock-wise circle around the “Puff”, dropping to off-load the heavy goodies. We keep frosty for the next few seconds. Space keeps the c-kers in the bush to keep them down. Loosed off a few Zulu grenades from his FN. I am on the inside of the circle so I have to pull in all the rappels and stow them.
Spanish Harlem:
All of this life is in slomo:
Like dancing with my little esita,
MY red rose in Spanish Harlem
I want to pick that Spanish Rose
And watch her as she in my garden grows
Fields of fresh craters and hedges of razor wire. And overhead, half-hidden in the mist and refraction – us. So magnificent and perfect. Such a certain elegance and a quiet. The choppers look like carrion insects. With bulging eyes and whirling wings. Like devils.
Like fukken gods. Whispering amongst themselves in a language as ancient as men have made war.
Whispering of the feast they were soon to have. Whispering Death.
10 seconds….
Silence
5 seconds
The scene is horrific, yet it has the purity of a stanza from a ballad sung to life. A ballad about some tragic events on the Border of Hell. If I had to paint it I would need a canvas as large as the scene itself. And I would have to include the slow boil of the mist. The hypnotic metronome of the rotors. The whine of the turbines, the ring of the chain-guns, the grunt of the mortars. No detail could be ommitted. The slow, swirling drift of smoke.
Airstrike! The jets are here! We clear back. It is all on fire!
The shimmer of rising sun reflected off the insect like flight visors of the pilot and navigator. The lazy swirl of the chopper blades in time with the flamenco castanet chatter of the door mounted MAG’s…the secret, magical splendour of war – all of it a glimpse into the heart of the devil of all hells…
and of course as a joke I will paint myself in this picture, so that every one can see, as some sort of irony, the artist painted into his painting.
I remember green.
Green fields… green as your dress… and a blue sky as wide as your smile… spread to infinity like your dancers legs… ai ai ai ya-a-a-a-iii… spread so invitingly wild – calling me on to prove my Self
Prove This!
Holy Moses! Fukkyah! Fukken revenge or wotteveryou wanna callit. Clit. Clit. Clik…clikkk..chhikka..load n fire
WHUP!
Bowel-loosening roar that seems to be happening inside my bones and the floor is generating its own wave cycle.
Jailhouse Rock:
The ship does a quick half pirouette left and then right. Rounds off the performance with a darting jette in a high arc. Drifting to reverse. I am so freaked out, Space is yelling about the tree line about the tree line the tree line inna fukken treeline…and I bring my weapon to bear on the tree line at the edge of the basin with out even hearing him clearly… loose off a hail – three bursts – 400 rounds and chop the tree line to 1200 pieces
We are all psychic now – tuned to each other.
Brothers in arms. Dancin’ to th’ Jailhouse Rock…. C’mon ever’body dance wit me
Psychic bond is all.
Psyche… She leaps free amongst us now, and we are all connected now, like magic.
“AirMobil descending heavy on eight zero… we’re taking fire… descending heavy. Holding…
All times and men must have known this in dire circumstance.
You see it in football matches you see it in your life when things just fit.
Psyche set free for her spell amongst mortals.
I order Dizzy to follow my sight. Swing the MAG, so smoothe in the swivel, just like with you, before your small, whimpering, pre-orgasmic gasp…aa.aa..and…klik…p..re..sS!. b r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r….. loose off a thousand rounds, 076, penetration, hollow case, Flat tipped, threee bursts.. into the rising tell-tale swirl from the enemy launcher.
“taking fire… descending heavy… stand by
Dizzy swings the ship ‘n locks onto my tracer path, swinging hard and falling with the grace of a hawk, Along The Dotted Line…
“Sign here, asshole!”
Two contrails…small white corkscrews going into the tree-line. ”Birds away”!
Whup! Whup!
from the pod under my feet as Schultzie pops off two Sky Bolts. Like Lucifer’s dream set free…
“I bet this fiddle of gold against your soul…”
And the air is full of trees and mud and body parts as we flash by overhead .
Rise above the fire… we are swinging high and wide… ship is almost on her side…. We all hang in… level out falling fast and low
7 metres – firing from both doors…. Sky Bolts loosing off on both sides… there can be NO survivors…
BANG
“cos I’m the best that’s ever been”
Rolling rolling rolling Thru rain an wind an weather
Hell bent for leather Wishing you at my side
All the things I’m missing
All the thrills love an kissin
Are waitin at the end of my ride
Keep movin movin movin
Tho they disapproving
Move em on
Head em up
Cut em out
Ride em in
Whole field on fukken fire. We jus burned out 2 square kilometers of brush. I can almost hear screaming. Dave the Rave and Space start off singing: “why was he born so beautiful, why was he born at all…”
Vatos Locos behind us …following with a covering strafe from both doors. Lead flies everywhere thick streaks of endless red. Schultz loosens off four more SkyBolts. Trees and brush razed to the ground. Everywhere.
Take 4 guys in tractors six days to do what we just cleared in 90 seconds. And no rest onna seventh!
Are we not God? Amongst you now…
We breathe as dragons breathe… a short breath
And fall back to the fray…
Space is swiveling his MAG around – alert, but still got the joint hanging on his lip. S’we go back in – clean this nest out till it is just dirt and blood. Clean. Raze it to dust.
The Cleaners are Back!
Dizzy all anorexine wired high watchful, Schultzie calling in all clear: “Area sanityized”, ‘n reloading, mouth yammering on the comm.. the click chatter of the chain guns dropping their belts, chambers cycling to re-arming position clik …spin and whine…drr-r-r-r-r-r—r-r-r-r-r—r-rr—r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-
Where has all the love gone? All these people hurt and dying?
V: Lucifer is fallen.
R: Kyrie eleison.
V: Lucifer is fallen.
R: Christe eleison.
V: Lucifer is fallen.
R: Kyrie eleison, Eleison imas!
Sic transit gloria Mundi. Eleison IMAS!!!!
“Puff” lifts out of the drop zone…up…up… tail drops as she lifts the nose to reverse out of the tree line in front, rises above us to cover us… and we jet out of there. All shouting “Up! Up! And Awaaayyyy!!!!”… and Space is at the door with his bugle. Doing the Batman Theme: Da da da da DA DA dada.. Da da da da DA DA dada..” and we go in ”BAT MAAANNN”…
Every time we pull out of a drop zone, Space does his Batman Theme
And the second joint of the morning is going around. Its 05:25 hours and we are in-bound on the base… only 25 minnits. Minchia!
Shells start to whistle in from the Loading Zone. Falling about a click away.. our brothers in arms calling in a baptism of fire on their own target. There’s so many different worlds. And so many different songs.
But no different words
When the nightmare call comes: “AirMobil. AirMobil. Thissiz Zambezi Air Traffic…state your position, over”
…. … clik … ..
“Dominus vobiscum. Et cum spiritu tuo…
Schultzie is on the mike. “Lieutenant” he says – his face looking complaining…passes me the mike ”o fuckit shit damn blasst piss rat-fuck!!!”
“ I hate this JoB!”
And in that time its already: “copy that Zambezi Traffic, over”, and we are peeling off, away from the sunrise, dropping into the river, and in about 2 minutes we are flying nap of the earth along the bank of this sheet of glacial crocodile flavored water. Heading toward the Mocambique Tete direction and I know we’s gonna meet a whole bunch ‘a trouble. Medals in this. Only. After we are dead!
The water looks like ice but you can see the hippopotami moving so big and graceful and they get the sound of our rotors and dive. Likewise crocodiles off the banks. This is not a river to fall into. Out here you can see more crocodiles in 5 minutes from a gun ship than any person alive will see in a life time.
Evil that does not sleep, Swims. – always on safari.
Rumble In da Jungle
After about 10 minutes flying, we down river a hundred or so clicks almost to Tete Province an spot a tupperware [patrol boat] coming up the river and we have our contact. I pull out the stretcher winch, strap the girdle on and step out on to the skids as we drop. Space is on the winch drive and he drops me slow and surreal like, to the deck of the patrol. I feel like Superman…and I am humming Donovan’s “Sunshine Superman” to my self and flying down to the boat…trust the man trust The Man Trust mah lahf in yo han’s honkey.
Sunshine came softly
Thru my window today
Coulda tripped out D.C.
But I changed my way
It’ll take time
I know it – but in a while
You gonna be mine
An I know it
We’ll do it in style
Any trick in the book…
Kin hear the chatter of small arms fire. Above me Space lets off a few clips on the mini gun. Both sides are half-hearted. More noise than kill
I get the first guy – he’s all taped up with a blanket and a drip and I connect the stretcher to the hoist and he is air-borne to the ship. And while that is going on I am inspecting the second casualty. He’s on a ventilator. He got a hole in his chest I can put my fist into. He’z some one I use ta go to school with. Used to…
He sees me like I’m a long los frend, mano!
He thought I was a dago grease-ball. Fukken ass-hole – All Porras are ‘Grease balls”, al Jews’r Jokes…because we are laminated hair with Brylcreeem… I thought he was a wanker wyte dutch fuck-pig.
I am on the ship that is bringing him in. His goddam Angel of Mercy> He wants to live. I can see that if he makes it will be a miracle
I have My Ship…Air Mobil…he aint got none. I have got my ship:…we bring home the dead.
“Carry me caravan
Take me away
Take me to Portugal
Take me to Spain
On the Maria with hulls full of gold…”
Where is the love. I think of her. Her hair. I can still smell her hot breath…She sings to me for me:
“Foi por vontade de Deus
Que eu vivo nuesta ansiedade
Que todos os ais são meus
Que é toda minha a vontade
Foi por vontade de Deus…”
Her fingers…
I want you so bad, esita mi, reach out. Touch me.
Doca Me…
doca me…
All the way back to base I sit on the floor next to him and hold his hand and listen to his mind tape un-reel. I knew he would not make it. We get to know these things as we go along, as part of the tapestry we are woven into. The inevitableness of it all, as well as the breaks. So we broke out the bottle of scotch we carry for such occasions. I give him a hit off the bottle and we all have one with him. He musta figured he was on his way out…but he was brave. He wanted to stay awhile and drink with his old soldier friends. He didn’t want to go just yet, but he was being called. Told him he was safe…with us…we bring them home, the dead
We always go back for our own. We Bring back our own. We Bury our own. They fly WITH dragons when they fly with us. Live amongst Dragons.
When you die amongst us
He bought the farm before we made ground zero. Poor dumb asshole bastard.
Out here fighting a secret war in a secret location. Against a secret enemy. For purposes that are always just a little blurred from the secret truth and the real truth which is what all the propaganda has been about since Genghis Khan.
And Genghis baby, did it with the same bunch of crazies on small, rugged Mongolian ponies. And got his name in history books.
This mano is scared as hell. Fukken poor show arsehole!
So was I. I don’t like for people to die on my watch.
Because I have to report what was his last words. For his family and for just incase. Done that enough. I should be a priest
“Tu absolvere meo figlo. In Nomine Patriis. Et Filis. Et Spirituu Sanctum.– and Fuck You Too” Amen…
I always kiss the letter “M” in AirMobil – when I get off the ship. It is a ritual.
I count the times I kiss that hot cold steel skin.
That sweet, smoothe, hot cold skin that separates us from life and keeps us away from death.
We live in a limbo – not living – yet not dead.
Living in the sky / to die from fire / a secret phoenix / with no ashes / Born of Desire
My self and my own men do not exist
Except in death – when others bury us
We are better than that
Except to the world out there that does not even have any idea of where we even fukken been, and the only reason that I am alive is that some petite little Hispanica somewhere awaits my return.
But not in a Jiffy Bag…
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt
(On the side of a hill in the deep forest green)
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground)
Without no seams nor needlework
(Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain)
Then she’ll be a true love of mine
(Sleeps unaware of the clarion call)
Tell her to find me an acre of land
(On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves)
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Washes the ground with so many tears)
Between the salt water and the sea strand
(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun)
Then she’ll be a true love of mine
Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather
(War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions)
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Generals order their soldiers to kill)
And to gather it all in a bunch of heather
(And to fight for a cause they’ve long ago forgotten)
Then she’ll be a true love of mine
Love imposes impossible tasks
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Though not more than any more than any heart asks
And I must know she’s a true love of mine
Two weeks later on the same ship, in the same zone we were compelled to radio in:
“Lucifer is Fallen”.
Code to call an air strike.
The sky is a hazy shade of winter…. Look around… piece of ground… a hazy shade of winter…
Drinking my vodka and lime… el condor pasa! I can see snow on the ground.. a hazy shade of winter
Covering artillery – would level Everything. Kill Everything. Burn Everything. Leave Nothing.
Massive Retaliation. Air strike of Hawkers to put down all they could drop…
Air Platoon 10 – Ground Forces – 0.
And now this secret private war is real public. It would be news and a lot of people were going to die.
For seven hours we pounded and punished every single position along both sides the Zambezi Bed. From Kariba to the Tete Border.
Every village, every goat, every granny on a bicycle, every one. All of them.
None lived.
.
.
.
None
I wish there had been CNN News then, Or I was doing this now! Just to SEE the truth
I clowed out three weeks later…And I was fled with you, in your mothers belly still. Left the country for outer space.
Vanished.
Fled. To paradise, with my little mamasita. And you yet to be born…pregnantly floating around in your pre-natal paradise.
Secretly listening in to our private talk. Secretly a part of our life, my beautiful spoil of war.
Bathsheba.
Bath’sh’va?
You were born in a war and now you report on wars. My Child. Be a girl. As I know you go and dance and forget this merda!
My gift of the universe, Other wise how would you contrive to know so much?
My parents never knew about this. You never knew about this.
And my own brothers who went in after me found out about it on their own time.
Being a legend was not always financially gainful. Job of “private Enterprise” requires some steadfastness.
But some times it paid off. I/we were adequately compensated. Don’t you love your MOM to love a soldier?? Sh’va?
“I am not being a hard bastard, my little Batsh’va, I am telling you a truth.
Sh’va, you are not broken yet. This thing that happened in your beautiful life is a heavy load to carry, to be sure.
It may break your back – but not your spirit. It is just a divorce. Love gone, but not lost.
“None of us has been able to bear that pain, girl. I have not. Nor your mother, nor any before us.
Or you, it now seems. Could it be any different?
You are special to us. But not so special to Life’s plan.
“But I have tried and I have been tried.
It will try you to destruction, daughter – but you are here for just that. All of humanity has only ever been here for that.
This family, of which you are a part, has had people of gold, of cold tough steel, corroded lead even, and none of us was able.
“The gold got battered and tarnished, the steel got brittle and broke, and the corroded lead was stamped into ashes by heaven.
Me, I’ve been lucky, Sh’va. Lucky enough to be quicksilver:
I spatter. But then I run back together again. Somehow. I want you to be like me.
“Quic*K Sil*Ver. Basha. Like QuickSilver.
Steel screams when It is forged, it gasps when it is quenched. It creaks when it goes under load.
Even steel wants to give up, Sh’va. Even steel can be afraid!
“Upon my heart has settled the history of 5000 years.
No longer remote, Basha, but become as the history of my life time. Burden pressed on me by others.
What it must weigh! I imagine:
less than the cross that some Judaic upstart carried up the hill in Golgotha.
I have imagined putting my shoulder to it and tried to heave, testing the bulk of it:
I am a man and a human and therefore accountable to humanity. It crushes the spine this burden.
Too much for any person to bear. And all we have is the fabricated savior of religion?
“To be crushed for a faith is a burden enough. To bear the curses is possible. But then to accept the illogic behind the curses and the system which calls one to task, not only for ones self, but for every member of his race or faith, for their actions as well as ones own?
To accept that, too?
NO, NO, NO…and you want to kill your self over this merda de la puta!
This is nothing. Wait! Do you know how many people you will piss off, Sh’va?
Me. Your crazy mother. The rest of your family. Your mother and I will track you down and we will kill you as true as we brought you here.
From Eternity.
You straighten up, beautiful girl. Fly straight. Fly straight to us.
We love you.
You were born from our hearts and, and from our love of each other. And if you are so cheap and nasty… to take the life we gave you…we Will Hunt You And We Will Take Away…from you what is ours.
So you get straight now, to me. I am the man who will love you… forget that filha da merda.
I am the man who loves you. I am your father. Daughter!
You want to end your days over this – I understand that. You read some of my letters when I was in that place where you are now
The only reason that you are alive today is because of the passion between your mother and I.
Our wild fornicating and indiscretions perpetrated in the name of our Love for each other,
and our desire to satisfy each other, brought you to us.
A gift from the Universe. A gift of War. Read your BOOK…Your name is there… 5000 years…
Bathsheba, 5000 years. Don’t waste it.
You are the picture of our love. I saw your face in her eyes before you were born. You would waste our love if you are to crack, girl.
This thirty years has been hard for each of us, Sh’va.
Our world has been a more beautiful place because of you…
You are the answer to our prayer.
Remember – we will catch up with you.
Being dead does not mean you have escaped the Wheel of Heaven…
“So let your heart break my pretty Sh’va. Scream and groan even
But the spirit, Your spirit, like a Phoenix, Rise… be loved. Basha
Beloved daughter, be loved…”
Her mother thought my approach a little harsh? Like the other mother of my beautiful manzana apple
What is it that daughters are more receptive than their mothers?
Happily, Bathsh’va is yet in this world and I love her with all my heart and that is enough to make my heart sing.
I explain to her mother:
“I love her. I fell in love with her the minute I laid my eyes upon her, for no other reason than she is my own child”.
My daughter. Mea sanguena. My Blood. Qui se…
Besides… what will I do without the stories of our little Scheherezade in our life?
Notes:The Name AirMobil = was acquired by the courtesy of the US Air Cavalry. We flew the French built Aerospatiale Allouette III’s. Aero [Aerospatiale]= Air? Mobil +Mobile – never standing still.
Nu! Thru the negotiations of my commanding officer, Capt. John Theodore Round, Quarter Masters Services Corps KG VI and Col. Ron Ried-Daly at 1 Battalion Rhodesia Light Infantry , we were able to be allowed to use the name as a
“proxy agreement” for “soldiers everywhere”
Steel Beach Picnic: C’est la vie. You Never can Tell – Chuck berry
Sunday. 10:00 hours landing after 3 hour sortie. The sun is fukken hot enough to be unfriendly.
We take a walk from the pad to the bar. There is some half-hearted, half-baked idiot pool game going. Out side a fully baked fuck-up game of 5 a side cricket. But today its picnic day. Sunday. Sixty or so Born Killers are having a Bar Bee Cyew down at The Mercury Pool.
We gonna have ourselves a “Steel Beach Picnic” I coined the term from some article I had read about, concerning the U.S. Navy and aircraft carriers. And watching all these guys lying around on the roofs of all this heavy metal hard-ware.
Over a matter of days way back. they shot and ate all the crocodiles in the pool and then fenced the pool off from the river. “No Crocodiles Allowed”, says the sign. The hides are all over the camp. I bought one and had boots made by Freddie back in Salisbury. And a Levi pattern Jacket and teensy-weensy shorts for my irmana Octavia and my sister Oriana. And a bikini for Heather K. And boots for Victoria McCorran-Campbell. Same Skin!! And a belt for Mac the Knife. Macky Mac.
Here all the APC’s (armored personnel carriers) are parked. Bring them down to the river to wash them. Then lie on them to sun tan. To get away from the fukken ants, lizards and snakes. Two guys already pegged it from snakes so there’s no messing around with them…
And all this steel you can cook on it. No joke. But they make a fire anyway. A barbecue is nothing if there is no fire, smoke and smell. Some one shot a big antelope from a gunship yesterday. So here we are.
“AirMobil. Air Support with a difference… Hot beer And cold whores in 25 minnits” Just jokin’ That’s Hot whores n cold beers….
… compliments of AirMobil. Shit. It’s Sunday man. We flew in with 20 crates of beer and ten really pretty little whores. That was “our mission, man”. They don’ call me “Private Enterprise” for nothing.
The first joke was about me being a Star Trek fan and the “Enterprise”. The second joke was because I worked in the Quarter-Master Stores and I could sell you new gear cheap, replace so-so gear with new gear for a price – declaring your gear redundant when it was only okay. (Still sell the okay gear onto guys - cheap – when they had lost gear and would rather pay cheap for so so, when new was about 6 weeks away).
Enterprising Business. Enterprise is business. Private enterprise is your own business. And Private Franco First Class is alias Private Enterprise.
Started off with uniform items from the QM. Then food and bevarage from the Gen Stores. Then cigarettes. Then Playboy and Hot Shot and Penthouse girlie magazines. Then alcohol. By the bottle. Finally by the case. Then Hookers.
Then the Green lady “Maria Juana”… for a while, but the guys on Ops North had better dope. So we made a deal. We stuck to contraband and chicks, and they did the grass, speed and acid. And between us we set prices to cross deal. Like a bottle of scotch is worth so much dope. Or two playboys swop-back and a carton cigarettes get this much acid. So much this and that gets you a woman. Or so much every type of thing gets you some kinda armament or ammunition or guns ‘n stuff you aint supossed to have. But Want. We used to buy Soviet, Israeli and Italian made weapons off the Battle-Field Recovery Teams to sell to guys who just wanted those guns. As Extras you understand?
By far the most popular weapon was the US M16 combat ex Vietnam rifle, and the Israeli Uzzi Sub-Machine gun. The Avtomat Kalashnikov 47 AK 47, was popular in The Valley because it worked after you pulled it out of a river, It worked even if it been buried in dirt all year, it worked even if you pissed in the barrel, it took three calibers of bullets, it worked if you dropped it off a 20 meter rock, it worked covered in dried blood. It worked covered in dry shit. It worked like a gun should. AK 47.
When you pull th’ trigger…clik.brr.brr.brr….brr….brr….brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbbr…………
“Puff the Magic Dragon?”
This is Nuts, man! Who calls a gunship “Puff the Magic Dragon”?
All the pot-heads. That’s who. All the boys in green waiting for the Green Lady to come to them with her sweet perfume and promise of green hazy dreams out here in the dark green Valley of our Death.
The Pilot and one of the guys are dope dealers. They deliver the stuff …”man….# #puff * * * puffpuff this izzz sum uth*r fukkin grass ma*nn!! “Take two hunderd ‘n forry six/// tswwww * twss twsss * tss www ***twwwioos aaaaah. MhI
Fk ths zzz sm othr fkkn grasss man!.Psheeewww……………….. Sheeeit!
Puff the Magic Dragon brought joy to the hearts and minds of all the boys in the Valley.
See this ship come in, and all the guys are humming:
“ Puff the Magic Dragon
Brings us all the weed….
and helps us spend our hard Mon-eee…..”
On more LSD and Speed…”
And now:
“The smell of ganga in the air,
little red ants every where.
We had joy
We had fun
We had niggers on the run
The only place we like to star
Is with hookers at the bar”
Time For the Weekly Tupper-Ware Party
Round about 15:00hours one of the guys from the river patrol gets out a “Tupperware” -fibre-glass patrol boat – and everyone is water skiing. The music is full blast Doors and there is no relief from the cerveca. When its not shooting , its high end beer and whiskey guzzling, pretty little whores and card games…
“Compliments…AirMobil!”
Theres this game, see. Down the middle of the river are a whole string of floating yellow marker bouys. The Border between Rhodesia and Zambia. And we ski in and out between them. And the enemy on the other side…we can see their fire and if we turn our music down we can hear theirs…takes pot shots at the guy on skis with a 50mm mortar. Not to hit him, understand. Aim just behind and try to knock him off his skiis.
Then after two or three sorties, they head out on their patrol boat to ski and we pop off a few Zulu grenades to try and knock their guy off his skis
At the end of the afternoon we have to go out and repair any lines that might have been damaged and here we are floating out in the middle of the fukken river with the fukken enemy only about hundred meters away, smoking a joint of Malawi Gold or Chapter Five fixing marker buoy lines./ Next week end it will be their turn to fix lines for the border marker buoys. And tomorrow we will be shooting at each other.
Firing commences at 08:00 and continues till 17:00. Just like a real job. Except with guns and launchers. And you really can get fired. And come back…
“Back In A Jiffy!”
A tongue-in-cheek phrase often used by guys going out on bush patrol. The quaint old phrase took on a rather sinister aspect, due to the fact that the body bags that were supplied to the army were made under contract by the Jiffy Bag Company, which of course was manufacturing all the nice little sandwich bags, that we had taken lunch to school in….”We’ll be back in a jiffy!”
A throw-a-way line uttered with complete nonchalance, often by men who had only a day or so before been loading body bags containing their comrades, onto a Med-Evac cruiser or a Gunship.
Drive.baby. Jus drive this SHIP!
Stone me. Rock me. Never leave me ‘Sept you Fok me…
Shorter of breath and closer to death…
I owe my soul to The Company Store
So now I am out here deep unnnerground. Looks like stars and sky. But that’s all I ever see.
Cept wen Im onna day shift than its all blazing lapis lazuli blue
I learned from a harder mistress than any of you. I learned by loving the One I have only imagined…
I recall lifting off that green floral dress with trembling hands, my face against your young breasts (or was it your pale pink nightie) – with my mouth kissing your belly button.
I cant remember…No thought control here. Drop to nap of the earth……tracking… “hunter tracker is on line, three thousand meters. Ten seconds to glide path. Gentlemen, we will be landing under fire. Do be careful. I expect kills… you will come back and you WILL be accountable. Stations…! I am your Jump Masterrrrrrrr!
Just Fire…
Posted in honor of my Brother Michael Raymond Franco this day 2002 19 12
Heads down for The Last Post………………………………………………..
Guard Force – 3 Commando, Rhodesia Light Infantry – 1 Battalion
Posted by:
Moreno Franco. Lieutenant. #857 167 – 122nd B Company – 3 Supply Platoon – AirMobil 3 – 2nd Battalion, Rhodesia Army Quartermaster Services Corps – 1 Rhodesia Regiment. Anno 1972…
Still brothers in Arms after these 20 years
For Us and Ours
and to the Everlasting Glory of The Infantry
“We are the Best – Kill the Rest!”
…
merde….
