The Captain Poem by Gert Strydom

It’s the third day of the battle
and around us there are enemy tanks
of which the canons keep clapping
and Stalin organ rockets
that falls at places among our men.

Next to me there’s a Captain
with a three day old beard
and his eyes is red of tiredness
while he gives instructions
over the radio.

We shoot till darkness
and through the night
and thunder clap flashes
keep on shooting
the enemy out.

The morning dawns
and the sun rises over the battlefield,
that is soundless and grim
and like two ghosts
we walk around in the bushes.

He wipes dust from his face
while we drive further
through the bushes
and we look out
from the top of the Ratel IFV
and in the distance,
a single rifle shot resounds
and the Captain is dead.


[Reference: Ratel IFV= Ratel Infantry Fighting Vehicle]