Ambush!

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 Kalashnikov.

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.

©Mike Subritzky

1970