Before The Counter-Attack

Before The Counter-Attack

Pale, drawn faces beneath chin-stubble
Dark rings around eyes
Lids puffy with lack of sleep
Men transformed into frightened, nervous trolls
Clutching rifle barrels with bony-white knuckles
Grime, shivering, aching bladders
Armpit sweat gone cold and clingy
Frozen feet cramped inside badly fitting boots
Glowing fag ends
Stink of fag smoke, unwashed, stale fear.

Menacing crump of heavy cannon
Punched with whip-crack of gunfire
Wet, mud-covered floor
Walls vibrate
That was a close one
Eyes closed, try to sleep
Amidst nerves quiet consternation
And incessant whisper of conversation
Helmet weighing heavily
Making cold, stiff neck ache
Hunch-shouldered
Arms folded, fists tucked up into armpits
Yearning for a bed, clean white sheets

Dull footfalls along hollow corridor
Scraping bootsoles against the dark
Stepping gingerly over recalcitrant bodies
Muttered apologies and rumour
After rumour whispered down the line
All kinds of fanciful stories
Wrought as if from Holy Bible direct
Dripping water from fractured pipes
The never-ending rumble of the guns
Counting the hours
Sitting with the fear
Waiting for the order to move
Waiting, waiting, waiting&;#8230;