 To listen to background music please click HERE ( Real Audio File )  I thought of you this morning beloved - in the shattered dawning light as we 'stood-down' from the alert and I secured the starlight scope; and we rested from last night. I thought of you later beloved - as Pete Shaw (the medic) and I checked African kids for scabies and pregnant African mothers and old African men with TB...who were waiting to die. I thought of you just after twelve beloved - as we stopped to wash and take a break but then they brought the wounded guerillas in from Francistown; with blood and bile and bandages... and then I thought no more of anything. Mike Subritzky 1980 NZATMC - AP Lima Rhodesian War Midnight Movie A quiet night in the barracks, around midnight he starts it again, he's yelling about some damned ambush, and calling some Viet woman's name. He always yells out he's sorry, so sorry for all of the pain, but every night around midnight; he kills her all over again. His life's in a kind of a freeze frame, he can't move on from the war, and every night just after twelve, he's back in the Nam once more. Back with the old 'Victor' Company, back in that same Free-Fire-Zone, and no bastard told those young Kiwi Grunts; they patrolled near a wood cutters home. When the Lead Scout signals it's Charlie, the Platoon melts quietly away, the 'Immediate Ambush' signs given, and the Safety Catch slips onto 'play'. There's five in the group in pyjamas, as black as a midnight in May, and the Killing Ground moves into picture; then the Gun Group opens the way. Black figures are falling around him, now he's up on his feet running through, and they're sweeping the ground where they dropped them, as he 'double taps' a screaming torso. At the Re-Org his fingers are trembling, the Platoon Sergeant gives him a smoke, then it's back to the bodies to check them; and his round hit a woman in the throat. There are blood trails leading behind them, and entrails are spilled on the track, but the woman who screamed once is silent, two rounds exit right through her back. The jungle seems silent and empty, as they dig down and bury the mess, then it's check ammunition and weapons; and don't dwell on the past just forget. Another night in the barracks, and Jimmy is yelling again, it's that same old Vietnam movie, that's spinning around in his brain. He always yells out he's sorry, so sorry for all of the pain, but every night around midnight; he kills her all over again. "To Jimmy B from Huntly - I hope you find Peace mate". Sergeant Mike Subritzky RNZA Cassino Barracks 1974 Waiouru NZ Kiwi Peacekeepers There's death all around me, there's death in the air, I can smell it and feel it - and I know now the fear. The road could be mined, or an ambush await, it may be the end - our appointment with fate. The escorts have left us, we're now on our own, I'm as frightened as hell - and we're all so alone. Our armour is moving, we're leaving the town, Rhodesians are waving, yelling - "Keep your heads down!" I look at the Gunner, his face is all drawn, his machine gun is loaded - and the safety catch on. We drive through the war zone, on dirt roads blood red, past African kraals - with children unfed. Expecting a tank mine, or bullet to tell, or a Russian made rocket - to take us to hell. At Assembly Place "Lima", the site of an old kraal, we finally halt - and put our backs to the wall. Raise the stars of our nation, raise the Brit's Union Jack, put the dread right behind us - for there's no turning back. Not there for the fighting, not there for the fall, we are the friend of no one - and the enemy of all. ...We are the Peacekeepers. Mike Subritzky NZATMC - AP Lima 1979 Rhodesian War Soldiers Farewell I've saddled up, and dropped me hooch, I'm going to take the gap, my Tour of Duty's over mates, and I won't be coming back. I'm done with diggin' shell scrapes and laying out barbed wire, I'm sick of setting Claymore Mines, and coming under fire. So, no more Fire Support Base, and no more foot patrols, and no more eating ration packs, and sleepin' in muddy holes. I've fired my last machine gun, and ambushed my last track, I'm sick of all the Army brass, and I sure ain't coming back. I'll hand my bayonet to the clerk, he ain't seen one before, and clean my rifle one more time, and return it to the store. So, no more spit and polish, and make sure I get paid, and sign me from the Regiment, todays my last parade. Mike Subritzky NZATMC - AP Lima 1980 Rhodesian War (The above poem is often read at military funerals) A Cigarette Comrade A cigarette comrade - before I die my face is torn and my eyes are gone but if you hold it to my lips I can still draw the flame. It matters not comrade - that we are foe I'm comfortable here in your hospital tent quietly bleeding into the dirt below. Forgive me comrade - if I call my mothers name but it's so lonely here on your hospital floor and it helps me with the pain. You weep for me comrade - please don't be sad the cowbells sound I hear the doves it is a good day for my life to end. The butt is sodden comrade - and I leave you now goodbye my friend until we meet again far, far away from this African hell. Mike Subritzky NZATMC AP Lima 1980 Rhodesian War The Dead Guerilla They dumped him down at my feet, gutshot neat, and cold stone dead, then laid his body in a dusty heap, beneath the bright green leaves of a Mopami. Just one more guerilla for the body count, in a communist uniform caked in blood, and the dark red dirt of the Rhodesian veld, and the soft warm breeze of an African morning. Caught in an ambush the Stick Commander said, as the Fire Force crew did a weapons check, and rearmed the stick for the next patrol, one wounded, one K.I.A. and one bastard got clean away. Not even a fuckin' AK on him, the Corporal said, just a couple of grenades in his belt, as we checked his stiffened body, and took fingerprints for the special branch in Salisbury. Strange said the Trooper as we turned him over, to roll him in the grave, there's an exit wound in his brain old chap, I guess a pistol in the mouth sure simplifies the paperwork. No more the guerilla songs, I hummed, no more the war trail from Zambia, and no more the freedom fighter for this young man. Somewhere a Matabele mother's heart is broken... but yet she doesn't know it. Mike Subritzky 1980 NZATMC - AP Lima Rhodesian War The Flak Jacket Collection (NZ war poetry) Table of Contents Poetry, Page One ] Poetry, Page Two Poetry, Page Three ] Poetry, Page Four Poetry, Page Five ] Poetry, Page Six Poetry, Page Seven ] Poetry, Page Eight Poetry, Page Nine ] Poetry, Page Ten ~ Featured Poets ~ Gary Jacobson Mike Subritzky If you have an appropriate poem that you would like to contribute, please send it to texastwister@texoma.net You will be given proper credit, and a link to your site if you have one.  |