The First Time

I saw him fall, blood gushing from his chest;

He was due to go home; he was one of the best.

I fired a burst as I ran for a place to hide;

That’s when I felt the burning in my side.

Then I saw our medic, we called him Doc;

He was lying dead, sprawled over a rock.

They were all around us, we had to stick and fight.

The only thing worse was the coming of the night.

“Get on the horn,” someone yelled, “Get us the hell out of here!”

They were the bravest of men, now filled with fear.

The birds were on short final, coming in fast;

The sixty gunners cut loose with a thunderous blast.

The birds came in low at a four foot hover;

Door gunners blasting as we ran from our cover.

We grabbed our wounded along with the dead.

The floors of the choppers now stained blood red.

It was a long flight back, too damn long;

What was this all about, what did we do wrong?

I couldn’t stop the tears as I looked into their eyes;

It was the first time I realized that the good guys die.

Michael D. Monfrooe