A battered wooden jetty
Mist wrapped around its base
The landing craft set bow to beach
Looks oddly out of place.
The shoreline and the shallows
A mud and shingle mix
That tests your balance as you wade
And teaches you new tricks
The sheep shed by the dockside
Now full of troops and gear
The houses on the hillside
Stand Sturdy yet austere
The icy wind that billows
Blow cobwebs from the eyes
The mountains now revealed
Against the grey and golden skies
The track leads up the hill side
More dwellings in the lea
Troops in new dug trenches
Taking shelter and brewing tea
Piles of stores and ammo
With cam nets set around
The Local settlers tractor
taking men across the ground
Sand bag filled positions
Weapons set to fire
Officers giving direction
Keeping order in the mire
A hollow ‘tween the hillsides
Our place to set up store
Dig in and take the measures
As defense against a war
Masts for communication
The workshops set to go
The scene looks like an ant farm
With its constant to and fro
two men, five radios, six hours
then patrol or digging in
then back onto the net again
the words rewind, begin
The constant threat of hostiles
The shout of AIR RAID RED
They scream across the wave tops
Quite often tracer led
The darkness lasts forever
the daylight hours are few
The routine automatic
Blends the old day into new
The fear of life takes backseat
Better here on solid ground
Then that of duty target
Bobbing round San Carlos sound
The conflict’s in the moment
At the time it’s so surreal
No battle cries or loud hurrahs
Each second’s yours to steal.
David Capps