Memory of a Soldier:
As a platoon, we were on a patrol,
Finding the enemy was our main goal.
Once they were spotted, we hit the ground,
We lay so still, not making a sound.
With cocking handles all pulled back,
The enemy position went under attack.
When we fired, we fired to kill,
That was no mere practice drill.
They fired at us with blood red eyes,
We aimed at them and heard their cries.
We lost some men but they lost more,
In a battlefield of blood and gore.
Adrenaline was pumping from head to toe,
Would we survive? We just didn’t know.
We fought knowing that could be the end,
Maybe for us, maybe for a close friend.
But we’re British Soldiers, who’ve trained hard,
Twenty-four-seven we are on our guard.
We fight believing that we are in the right,
This faith kept us going night, after night, after night.