The Final Victory.

[thestoryteller]

THE FINAL VICTORY

With boots locked in the stirrup irons I braced down for the jolt,
well knowing that he would explode that young unbroken colt.
My head spun ‘round as rails flashed by, he put up such a fight,
but I would surely hang in there, til victory was in sight.

Loud cheers from my mate Johnny were disrupted by a yell,
“We are at war!” the Boss cried out and meant it I could tell.
“Was this our ticket out of here”, was what then crossed my mind.
“No breaking horses anymore, we’ll leave the bush behind”.

With rudimentary training we were soon shipped off to France
where ninety thousand Anzacs troops took up a fighting stance.
Could German might be halted though at this spot there and then.
We stopped them there but it had cost some sixty thousand men.

Both sides had charged the no man’s land and neither made a gain
and corpses lay in muddy graves throughout that scarred domain.
It seems that a machine gun nest had stopped us getting through
“It has to be destroyed!” I cried, “There’s little else to do!”

Young Johnny yelled, “I’m with you mate but this I’ll have to say
that breaking horses ain’t as tough as what we’ve faced today.
Men scaled the trench with chilling cries and bravely charged ahead.
They hadn’t gone two rifle lengths when four good lads lay dead.

We came across an obstacle a barrier of wire
and young Tim Johnson screamed in pain; a victim of their fire.
His body fell there on the wire, a human stepping stone.
My heart felt sick to step across and hear the crunch of bone.

Then one more lad was torn to shreds and toppled in the mud.
His youthful face was mostly gone and veiled in crimson blood.
Then old Bill Murphy slumped and fell. He had a wife and kid
and only joined to fight this war ‘cause all his brothers did.

The ground was sprayed with flying lead that sprayed mud in our eyes
and echoing throughout the air were sounds of deathly cries.
It seemed that time had just stood still since we had climbed that wall,
but suddenly in front of me I heard young Johnny’s call.

“Keep going mate, it’s just we two the other lads are dead.
That murdering gun is pretty close and maybe just ahead.
Then as he pushed on with the fight I saw a sight that hurt,
some blood stained flesh that spatted from the back of Johnny’s shirt.

Next instant I was kneeling by his dying, khaki frame
and heard him whisper painfully, “Mate, tell them I died game.”
A burning pain then filled my arm; my teeth began to grit,
and by the blood that filled my shirt I knew I had been hit.

I’d forged too far to give up now and lost a darned good friend
and failure was no option I would fight on to the end.
My dimming sight then saw ahead the barrel of that gun
and with my last remaining strength I knew it could be done.

Then gunner stopped an instant though, as he sensed all were dead,
but saw me and resumed his fire as I raced on ahead.
My mind screamed it’s for Johnny boy and all the other lads,
for all their wives and children too and all their mums and dads.

A seething pain tore through my chest but tossed my last grenade,
no feeling left, just one last breath, too numb to feel afraid.
My head spun ‘round I hit the ground, but I’d put up a fight,
that gun would stop its chattering and vict’ry was in sight.

We’ll not forget those lads who rest in graves on foreign shores.
For them they went to fight a war they thought would end all wars.
So recognize their sacrifice and listen to the wise,
and turn your swords to ploughshares please, for there the vict’ry lies.

Merv Webster.

From the book In Days Gone By.
http://users.tpg.com.au/thegrey/InDaysGoneBy.htm