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A HOT LZ AT NIGHT

Rotors swimming in the air,
my feet towards the skids;
flying fast in darkness. 

Pack tight against my body,
one hand for the bird,
one hand for the rifle.

Tracers lazily float upward
feeling the sky for prey,
our sound their only target.

These deadly green fireflies,
green streaks when they pass,
silent in our windy passage.

Darkness hides the bird
from these crisscrossing tracers
hungrily searching our sound.

Charles also has this darkness
and he will use it to catch us
if we can’t quickly slip away.

In this game of hide and seek
to be tagged by the enemy
is a touch of deadly force.

The bird rocks and rotors flair
signalling a leap from the skids;
feet to hit dark unfriendly ground

The darkness our only sanction,
the unseen ground our uncertainty,
unless we can run fast and far.

If they sit quietly and hold the LZ 
green tracers will blossom brightly
their sudden much unwanted welcome.

If hit the bird may never lift away
our option stay with the crew;
all this makes for a short patrol.

I often live this nightly madness,
watching buoyantly rising tracers,
playing the odds in our year of fate.

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