NikiAlex Zander

Rookie (california)

NapalM inthe RaiN


Hello, My Name is John. My Men call Me, 'The Lance'.
I'm a Sargent in The Tank Corps. We are fighting here in France.
I have Three M~100 style ShermanTanks, in My 'Battle Clutch'.
We have burned a lot of Gas, haven't done much.

I'm from Utah, USA. Its RealWinter here.1945 Sept. Twentyfourth.
We are Hunting GermanTanks in France, near AnnaCore.

The Germans have Sixty MarkVI Panthers, fresh off the factory floor.
Our Military Intelligence says, 'May~be They have Eight, can't be too many more'.
The Weather is so Bad, No Planes can fly.
HeadQuarters says, 'There can't be too many'. 'Do a 'Drive~By'.

The Shermans have good speed, but there's not much else there.
The Stock 76mm Gun is weak. The Germans, They don't care.
The Armor Piercing Rounds aren't that bad, You have to get in real close.
Our strategy is, 'To Fight Like A Ghost, .

I have Eight 'HellCat', TankDestroyers held in Reserve for My Team, available to Me.
It was so foggy that Winters Morning, No~one could See.
Our tracks clank~out, heard through the Early Morning Dew.
The German is out there, Hope its just a Few.

Paul is to the Left of Me. Its just Us Three..
We are Rolling into the Killing Zone, Hope its not Me.
Its so foggy its like Soup, like Split~Pea.
Move Left. Ten Yards. Paul, Don't bump in to Me.

A call comes through, TwentyFive Panthers, South of Blue Hill.
Call~In all the HellCats. Gunner, Load Her~Up. Sabot,
We are moving in for the Kill.

We are in Eastern France, its such a Beautiful place.
You can smell the Flowers as They grow.You can Smell the Diesel too.
The Germans are Here also. It is a Death Race.

Cannons Roar, there's Chatter, Smoke, Fires burning All~Around.
Move To Brown Hill. Get the Hell Out of This Town.
TwentyFive or Thirty Panthers, are out there Prowling around.
In this Snowy Weather with no Planes, They won't be Found.

Will Death Freeze My Very Soul? Are there somethings I can't Control?

You believe You are safe wrapped in Twenty Ton of American Steel.
When the Worlds Imploding all~around You, Its Hard to feel, Safe.

HeadQuarter is in Trouble, about to be OverRan.
I sent Three Stuarts that way, There is No Plan.
Move into the Trees, Don't Take a Chance.
An Explosion Rings~Out, Joe says, 'I'm Done, Go get~em Lance.'

Our moment arrives. The fog lifts enough to give Our Pilots sight
Our Planes attack, ThirtyTwo GermanTanks, explode and burn
Through~out the Smoke Blackened Night.

Napalm In The Rain, It Is A Hot Mess.
Stay out of Their Way, Our Pilots Don't Like To Guess.

Five Days of Killing how much longer will this go on?
Rendezvous with Red Three, South of the frozen pond.

You Hope Someone gets Out, But You Know They Won't.
I want to Paint My DeathMask, My Comander says, 'Dont'.

Night is Day with Dead twisted metal burning away.
You try to be Their Leader, 'Dont Give~Up', is all I can say.
We fight against each other from over a mile away.
Will Today be, My Death Day?

The air is filled with the Stench of Burnt Flesh, it allaround.
If We are alive tomorrow, We will all get drunk in this stinking town.

I Hate That Smell... I Can't Get Clean.
I try to Wash it off, CAN'T, Even With Gasoline..
This is the worst five days of My Young Life,
I wrote Three death letters to My Beautiful Wife.

Our Planes can no longer Fly. The air is thick with Snow.
There are Burning Hulks of Metal everywhere. We have nowhere too go.
You try to Stay Alert, to do Your Job for Your Men who are Your Friends.
It is so Hard to Think straight. There are so many things, I just Don't Know.
Do You think My Deamons, Will ever let Me Go?

Brett, Try to raise Command. We need more Ammo and Gas.
The Germans are on the Run. Tell the Major, We kicked Their ass.

Our supplies are getting scarse, Our food is running very low.
It will be Christmas soon, We All need to Go
HOME

Submitted: Wednesday, April 02, 2014
Edited: Sunday, April 20, 2014

Topic of this poem: black african american


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#55 written 2~25~14

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