Lumbering Chinook Poem by Chris Lane

Caught in a firefight
Young soldiers from afar
Scared confused, being picked off
As each bullet meets its target.

Towards a mountain pass
The “enemy” had lured them
And spilled their blood upon sandblasted rocks
That flowed to congeal upon the sands.

Terrified and alone, eight young warriors
Fight on as one
As thoughts of Mothers
Wives or lovers race onwards throughout their minds.

Evacuation is called for
An airlift is in order
Nine minutes pass, here comes the chopper.

A lumbering Chinook
Claps from above, creates its own sandstorm
Quickly now all visibility is lost.

A barrage of RPGs fly up to greet her
One penetrates the rear turbine, another splits the rotor
Spinning, twirling - this Chinook is disintegrating.

Like a Dreadnought battleship of old
Wounded in a fight, her rivets pop
She fell from out the sky.

Exploding before crashing, just above the ground
shrapnel flies cuts and slices
Thud, the sands rise.

Now the mountain is silent
Much like it had always been
The blood of the Youth -
Spilled upon the rocks
Congealed upon the sands.

A mountain is still a mountain
And around, over or through it
A person may freely pass.
Are not the plains of Armageddon
Reserved for battles such as this?

© Calac

Chinook: A medium lift helicopter
RPGs: Rocket-propelled grenades