At A Enemy Airfield Poem by Gert Strydom

Camouflaged, hidden in some underbrush
we lay and watch with special binoculars,
scanning the enemy facilities
while the night is setting in
and twilight has magic pertaining to it

some bright lights are being switched on
and some oil or another mechanical liquid
gleams out on the tarmac
where we see some enemy Mig-23 fighter jets
being readied for war

and then some more taxiing out
standing ready for takeoff on the runway
waiting on the arrival of
a small private jet,
(maybe with military officers landing)

and with a small device
exact positions are obtained,
that we report
over a frequency hopping
two way radio system

Johnny the second in command
says that he will almost do anything
to be able to smoke a cigarette right now.

We are asked to confirm the target positions,
by another party
which is now connected to us
and we recheck and confirm
while the sound of the landing
private jet is almost deafening

and positions of other targets
and installations are asked for,
which we supply
including the control tower

and I see stars falling, falling at high speed
from the sky
making the night gleam
going off like lightning
in brilliant colors of flaming orange,
white and red
with ultra loud exploding sounds

and howitzer canon projectiles
from G5 and G6 guns are coming in,
destroying the Migs and a lucky shot
hits the commercial jet right on target
and craters are left
and the next volleys
set some of the buildings ablaze,
rips hangers open
and those deadly manmade stars keep falling,
while functioning like machines
we keep giving targeting directions.