The Phantoms of The Jungle

  The Phantoms of the Jungle we were named by all who came from the north.
  We were the elite, the best; the specially trained, quite prepared to go to war.
  Our Sandy Berets, shining shoes, rifles cradled in our arms.
  But the question on everybody’s mind was where the hell is Vietnam?
  At Nui Dat we emerged from the ‘plane cautiously, all of us veterans of conflicts past.
  We patrolled the boonies ferociously, fire and death spitting from our SLR’s.
  Then time for the hot extraction, the Huey’s came flying low.
  Though it was time to leave the action, the blood would continue to flow.

  Although we hated getting shot at, that’s not why we were afraid.
  Nor was it the possibility of a snipers bullet being hastily sent our way.
  For 5 years we never showed it but inside we were all afraid.
  Not only had we been forgotten, for 5 years we had been fighting in vain.
  I’m sitting here in my foxhole, my rifle cradled in my arms.
  But now the question on my mind is will I ever get out of Vietnam?

  Dedicated to all the members of the Australian SAS who fought in Vietnam, and also those that never returned.

  By Daniel Jewell (aged 14)