THE SAINT

The Saints

~In memory of the fallen soldier~

The siren wails at Grand Reef base
Electric in its effect,
Troops emerge at lightning pace
Equipment and weapons checked.
With quiet precision
We take position
Ready to climb aboard,
Whether Alo or Dak
We’ll take the flak
Put the enemy to the sword.

The chopper blades begin to turn
As the pitch of the turbine changes,
The oily smell of kerosene burn
And the prospect of enemy exchanges.
The troopies emplane
We show the strain
Boys in a deadly war,
With spirit and grit
We’ll never quit
Forged by an esprit de corp.

Nap-of-the-earth we fly our course
Our airborne convoy races,
It carries forth the Fire Force
No emotion on our faces.
We know the drill
We have the skill
It’s moments ‘til we alight,
The enemy scatters
As the chopper clatters
Onto the stage of the fire-fight.



A lightning strike on an enemy redoubt
Conceals the agents of fear,
Is precisely called by a forward scout
As the flying armada gets near.
A pregnant Dakota
Disgorges its quota
And the jumpers’ ‘chutes snap open,
Our warriors elite
Will plug the retreat
When the will of the enemy’s broken.

The pilot’s headset fills with static
And the tune of the rotor blades,
AK’s firing on automatic
And the rumble of enemy grenades.
Orders yelled
As rockets propelled
Go streaking through the sky,
The battle rages
As the enemy engages
The soldiers of the RLI.

The crack and zing of flying lead
And the whiff of cordite acrid,
Assaults the senses in our head
As we drive the insurgents backward.
We count our friends
As the fury ends
It’s the soldier’s battle score,
One is taken…
And he’ll awaken…
With the other Saints of war.


Gary Albyn© 2007