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.