Stories&Poetry:Falklands War & French Foreign Legion

[Jock Love]

http://britains-smallwars.com/Jim-Love/intro.htm
FLY SOUTH FOR THE WINTER
The inky blackness of the night's sky, was slowly giving way to the deep blue of the dawn. The stars, spluttering like candles. Giving one last flicker, then once again, lost in the depths of space. Behind him , the moon. Like some silvery white disc, suspended on invisible wires, giving shape and shadow, but no definitive colour. The water. Still, Unmoving. It's surface akin to a giant mirror, reflecting images, so out of place, so foreign, that, had it not been for the cold crisp air that bit with each breath. If he blinked. It would surely vanish before him. Numbed , not only with cold, but with what was about to take place. He stood like the others, bent slightly forward. Head bowed, like some pagan ceremony, designed to appease the gods. However it was not the burden of responsibility, that caused this seemingly mass display of humbleness. It was the massive weight of their Bergen's, weapons, ammo. For this was the 21 of May 1982, 0200hrs Zulu. Their destination: "BLUE BEACH TWO".

Bend and Kiss me now,
For it may be the last before our death.
And when that's over, we'll be different;
In Perishable things, a cloud or a fire.
And I know nothing but this body, nothing
But that old vehement, bewildering kiss.
Keats.