(There is a lot of tecno-speak in this poem - but I hope the gist is clear. I was never in the Faulklands conflict but I did work closely with the pilots who flew off our angled deck carriers. I think this is how any one of them, flying his first combat mission, might have felt.)
OVER GOOSE GREEN
Bogies closing in from Southward,
Climb, make Angels Thirty five,
Vector Starboard, one eight zero,
Strangle parrot, missiles live.
This is the moment, this the real thing,
No more mock-ups, no more training,
Nerves are jangling, self-doubts thrive.
Mother steaming South beneath you,
Radars scanning, watchful eyes,
Gun crews closed up to their stations,
Lookouts searching darkening skies,
This is the time of confrontation,
No more doubts, no hesitation,
Dry the mouth and brave the lies.
Zero two from Section Leader,
Watch my tail and keep behind,
Save heroics till much later,
In the bar and in the mind:
This is how we'll come back through it.
Tuck in closer: Do it! Do it!
Now break formation, take the high one,
No! Not the Mirage; that one's my one,
Lock on! Target now assigned.
Green the cursors on the radar,
Blips of light and bleeps of sound,
Bleeps which quicken, get much louder,
Missiles telling target found;
This is now - now man takes over
From machine and gives the order,
Unleashes rockets - retribution,
Violent death and fragmentation,
Fireballs, falling to the ground.
Zero two to Section Leader,
Judy, Judy; I have a kill;
I feel like puking in my face mask,
And, down again, I guess I will;
Now is the time of realization,
Him or me; annihilation,
The instinct, but, of preservation,
Pulled me through to fight on still.
Steady, Boy; and keep formation,
Don't let your thoughts or feelings roam,
Zero three's not coming with us,
The one you took out, took out Don,
Now's not the time to count the cost,
Of sacrifice, the young lives lost;
Let's get the Fuck and get back home!
Next Poem