We get ready for another patrol,
Gun, rifles, ammunition and gear.
Patrol briefings are normal,  And lastly, 
"Move Out!", tells us the time to go is here.

Our patrol is undermanned, always undermanned,
But go we must, and go we do.
We keep in mind the patrol briefing,
And the enemy activity in this area.

"Incoming!" someone shouts,
The voice sounds like me.
Suddenly the night is ablaze with explosions,
and bullets are flying everywhere.

We fight back hard,
But there are to many of them.
The sounds and smells, of death overwhelm, 
But there is no time to help our wounded.

We are losing the battle, we will lose,
Something Marines hate to do.
But we will fight to the very end,
As we were trained to do.

It's been a hard battle, 
I am sweating and it's so very hot.
At last the battle is over, 
I am knocked on the ground hard.

Several move in for the kill,
I see many moving down the hill.
I quickly look around,
All but me are dead on the ground.

I cannot resist, I am held to tight,
He holds up his bayonet and lunges forward.
Just then I am saved, as I am each night,
My wife wakes me, and holds me tight.
 

©Ben Drake (1999)