Book Two: On the verge of war
(This is a fictional poetic series and short story about events that never take place and about people that have never existed. Any representation of an actual event or person is purely coincidental in nature.)
Mission Five: The night my friend died
The militants attacked us late on Tuesday.
The sky was lit with gunfire and tracer rounds.
Camp Anaconda men came alive right away.
They put five dozen militants in the ground.
The militants attacked our position.
The base settles down for the fight.
They somehow found our location.
Twenty more militants died that night.
One of the militants jumps on the outer wall.
I am posted out of sight in the guard tower
I shoot him in the head and watched him fall.
That is the ninth man killed in just one hour.
The general sent a platoon out in the night.
To flank the enemy and move in for the kill.
This was our best chance to win this fight
The platoon came running over the hill.
'Seven dozen militants brutally killed in firefight.'
At least, that is how the major newspapers read.
The army did not reveal the truth about that night
Two U. S. Army Rangers were among the dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Jesus Man I feel for you. Excellent write, on it infact. Afganistan I assume? Take care, I am sorry you had to go through this, but people must know what WAR actually means. I heard a statistic recently that British forces are in direct threat of being shot every seven minutes of their shift. It is sickening from all sides. Tai