Young Kiwi soldiers, lying so quietly,
merged into the rotting jungle floor.
Spaced in a line, rifles in hand,
machine guns steady, silent and still.

Platoon detailed as the Ambush Group,
covering a jungle trail.
Waiting for the little Asian man,
dressed in his black, bag of rice, armed with a Klashnikov.

The hours tick so slowly by,
insects bite, birds and monkeys call.
But still they lie so silent,
on the rotting jungle floor.

A first footfall! the snap of a twig!
minds alert, eyes focused, safety catches off.
Place the foresight in the centre of the visible mass,
take the first pressure, silent prayer, the killing begins.

(C) Copyright 2000
Mike Subritzky
All Rights Reserved