Such a long time ago when we went to war
  across the beautiful South China Sea.
We flew into the fray with conscience yet unborne;
  my ticket, flight F2C3.

Our duties, quite different from those stateside,
  put us often in moments of stress.
Though the incoming rounds were quite often outnumbered
  by the boredom and sheer loneliness.

A typical shift was long and boring,
  observing from gun bunkers and towers.
Or perhaps walking K-9, or riding patrol,
  we kept each other awake and alert for hours.

From town patrol to "shakedown" control,
  from mortar pit, maintenance, or QRT.
From flight line "Ramp Rats" to those three man SATs,
  to the flight chief, and don't forget CSC.

Occasionally we'd escort a convoy and provide safe passage,
  a questionable break from routine.
But the memory most droll was on clearance patrol,
  when aiming stakes were too often seen.

But nothing that good lasts forever,
  and sometimes the bad guys would hit us.
While mostly we kept old Charles at arms length,
  we could never quite make him forget us.

Both seasons would pass (hot and wet / hot and dry),
  and the creatures were all out for blood.
Through venomous spiders, and most-deadly snakes,
  and leeches that lived in the mud.

From rice-eating beetles and flesh-eating rats,
  and lizards that kept you awake,
to centipedes, scorpions, mosquitos and ants,
  sometimes it was too much to take.

The inclement weather could well last all season,
  while bringing the wind and the wet.
The poncho you wore could keep out the downpour,
  but you ended up drowning in sweat.

The sandblasting monsoons arrived with due force,
  eroding once elegant facial features.
But what the sand didn't take, and the sun didn't bake,
  was attacked once again by the creatures.

Yet we answered the call, and it wasn't a ball,
  but we managed to walk through that door.
Though no flags were unfurled for my trip back to the world,
  I salute you, flight F2C4.

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