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Rated: E · Poetry · Military · #2236654
For my team.
"Buster Seven, Buster Seven; This is Ranger."
The Radio cracks, airwaves filled with danger.
"Ranger, Ranger; Seven by."
In the night an F-15 is flying high.

Below they huddle just to keep warm,
they're the nameless men that guide The Storm.
Deltas, Seals and S.A.S.,
tonight they face another test.

They stole behind the enemy line,
past soldier, sailor and deadly mine.
Then quietly hid in the sandy hell,
waiting for what only time would tell.

"Seven your signal is Bravo, Ranger by."
(Ranger leads them -- he's the spy)
"Ranger, Seven -- problem here;
sandstorm below, target not clear."

"Standby Seven, break for the pup."
"Bulldog copies -- lighting it up!"
In response to this bizarre exchange,
a flare ignites -- lighting the range.

A launcher glows in the Iraqi night,
"Seven's got it, target in sight!"
And so it goes night after night,
the nameless men directing the fight.

You'll see them someday, I have no doubt.
When others tell tales they'll be sitting it out.
They'll speak not a word -- true to their form,
for they were the men that guided The Storm.
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