mere children

The sun shines upon my face.
I take little heed,
as I'm in a hellish place.
The firing stops
rather abrupt.
I see the forest suddenly erupt.
The flames climb high
in the sky.
And a searing heat
washes by.
Finally, At last,
it's a napalm run.
Maybe they'll take out
those Vietcong.
We've been holding them
here for days
While the gods of war
decide their next plays.
Half the company is dead
and the other half in bad shape.
We were pinned down
and couldn't escape.
Finally our backup has arrived.
If it hadn't,
we would surely have died.
Helicopter gun ships swing through
like larks.
Heavy machine guns rip through the forest
looking for marks.
The choppers land
with their 60's belching smoke and fire.
We grab the wounded
and splash through the mire.
Out in the open,
there's no place to hide.
We climb on board,
come on, let's go, let's ride.
Once in the air,
I count the wounded
and make a mental list.
Then I turn my attention
to all the dog tags in my fist.
Half a company,
gone for a country that they held dear.
Most were so young
they couldn't even buy a beer.
Tell me,
do you think it's right.
That mere children
were made to fight.