BILL

The call came through 'bout half past five
as we landed at the Dat.
A patrol out near Diggers Rest
had caught some VC flack.
We'd just commanded an insertion
in Albatross Zero One
so all the command radios
had to be removed before the run.

The quick release catches
never lived up to their job.
It seemed to take forever
for the bloody things to move.
But move they finally did
and we took the radios out.
I raced to get the litter
while the blokes refuelled the craft.

We took off in a hurry
loaded with ammo, litter and fuel
and headed east to Diggers Rest -
towards the clearing patrol.
When we raised them on the radio,
we told them to throw smoke.
They confirmed the smoke was thrown.
God! We hoped it was a joke.

The smoke was red which meant
that a winch job was required
and the pick-up area was insecure.
We were likely to come under fire.
Robbo, the pilot, asked us all
if we were prepared to take the risk.
We all agreed! Well we were there.
It'd be a piece of piss.

So Shippy lowered the litter
but it hung up in the trees.
The jungle canopy was too dense -
we'd have to try a free release.
I held onto the litter
while Shippy released the drum.
When forty yards of cable looped
I threw the litter down.

The message came from down below
that the first bloke was dead and cold.
The poor bastard that they'd strapped in
was raised to create a hole.
But that didn't really matter,
the guy was just dead meat.
He'd received a burst of bullets
from left shoulder to right cheek.

We lifted the covered body
and shoved it behind the pilots' seats
then sent the litter down again.
So far - so good - no sweat.
The second bloke came up
and we hauled him into the craft.
Five bullets in one thigh
and three in the other calf.

He screamed as we lifted him
from the litter to the floor.
"Hurry up you bastards!
I can't take no more!"
Shippy sent the litter down again
to pick up the third guy.
But the second guy had fainted.
I wasn't about to let him die.

I took off my flack jacket
and covered him with my vest
then sat on the floor of the chopper
cradling his head upon my chest.
Up came the litter with the third bloke
but it was swinging out of control.
Shippy leaned out and grabbed it
and hauled it through the door.

Just as the litter was half way in
we started taking fire.
"We're out of here!" the skipper said,
"Before we're a funeral pyre."
I grabbed the hand of the bloke I held
and wiped his face with my sleeve.
His eyes turned up and looked into mine
"I can't die mate - save me please."

I cradled his head in my lap
and stroked his sweaty hair,
and gently squeezed his hand in mine.
But all he did was stare.
A burst of seven rounds
had come up through the floor.
Five had got him in his back,
through my foot, the sixth had torn.

We found the seventh bullet
lodged in the litter frame.
I've still got it somewhere
and somewhere it can remain.
I can clearly hear the words
and still see the metal tags
of Bill who died in my arms
and went home in a body bag.

But my friend Bill, who I met just once,
is a large part of my life.
I've dreamed and screamed
and smelt and felt
the pain of inner strife.
And now he is immortalized
inside my heart forever.
For now I have exposed myself
to the reality of his power.

Other powers still infect my mind
from since I was just a boy.
And when I can cope with countless more,
my mind may sing with joy.

©Copyright July 26, 1995 by Anthony W. Pahl