Answering the call?

Message from the Afghan mission

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I, a Canadian trooper Stan,

Soldier in Afghanistan;

Ready at the call of duty

To forsake back home my cutie,

And at need to risk my life

To protect my future wife.

When I'm summoned, never fear,

I shall answer loud and clear

As would any decent man

That detests the Taliban.

And who doesn't hate the guts

Of these mad, disgusting nuts

That will place explosive charges

Under bridges, tanks and barges,

Improvised and deadly traps 

To assassinate our chaps

And by underhanded means

Shatter them to smithereens? 

It can cause a minor crisis

Driving over such devices.

Often have I seen a jeep

Wind up in a twisted heap

Fire-blackened and ignited,

Blown to bits when gelignited. 

Of the passengers and driver,

I will wager you a fiver,

Not one-half that take their chances

Will survive such circumstances.

If I am that out-of-lucker,

Well — call me a blowed-up sucker!

Still, don't worry or get hyper:

Send for bagpipes and the piper.

There is glory, quite enough in

Being flown home in a coffin

In a great big Hercules,

Having drunk life to the lees.

Think of it! As you lie cold

Stretched out in the airplane's hold

All be-medalled and in drag

Wrapped up in a bloody flag,

En route to an army base,

They will play “Amazing Grace”

And enhance their martial tooting

With some decorous saluting.

Politicians and newscasters,

The whole bunch of nosey bastards,

Add their patriotic purring

While the cameras are whirring.

Generals and ranking brass

Who once kicked, now kiss your ass

And declare to all that hear: “O,

This lad lived and died a hero.

How his bravery entices

Others to make sacrifices!

Let none greet with cynic laughter

His departure to hereafter;

What he did was not insane,

For he did not die in vain!

Hand a medal to his mother —

Dig a hole — and send another!”

           

Life is short and war is risky,

So I dose myself on whisky

To stave off attacks of panic

In this hinterland Satanic

Never giving in to fears

For all my one-and-twenty years.

If with luck I'm still alive at

Tour's end, I should be no private

But a sergeant or a noncom —

Or else what they say is bunkum.

In the meantime, as I've told'ya

Like a good obedient soldier

I will carry on undaunted,

Albeit despised and taunted

And laughed at by all who laugh can

At us, suckers of the Afghan. 

 

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