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There was something ominous in your tone
as you sent us in
to the secret zone;
far too quiet on the long walk in,
no familiar sounds or insects call,
a den of scorpions a foot long and black
some twenty miles from the trail,
an eerie place with a hint in the air
that violence and mayhem
were lurking somewhere.

A premonition perhaps we had
that the secret place
could only be bad;
but orders were orders
and so we pushed on,
deeper and deeper
into the shades,
through razored bamboo
and dappled light glades.

And as the kiss of darkness came
we dug our trenches in the damp,
and fleeting shadows came in black
across the track to kill us all,
the night now ripped in tracer fire
and screaming men hit hard;
and a longer night I'll never know
as the fight raged to and fro
across the shuddering land.

In the deeps of night I still wake up
bathed in a chilling sweat,
as in my dreams the secret zone
looms up in the mists,
and the brains of a man
who once stood there are bloody dripping down,
in the breast of the jungle far from home
and the street lights of my town.

John A. Moller
Whiskey Two Company RNZIR


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