NEW ZEALAND

kusza@ihug.co.nz 

The Dead Guerilla

They dumped him down at my feet,
gutshot neat, and cold stone dead,
then laid his body in a dusty heap,
beneath the bright green leaves of a Mopami.

Just one more guerilla for the body count,
in a communist uniform caked in blood,
and the dark red dirt of the Rhodesian veld,
and the soft warm breeze of an African morning.

Caught in an ambush the Stick Commander said,
as the Fire Force crew did a weapons check,
and rearmed the stick for the next patrol,
one wounded, one K.I.A. and one bastard got clean away.

Not even a fuckin' AK on him, the Corporal said,
just a couple of grenades in his belt,
as we checked his stiffened body,
and took fingerprints for the special branch in Salisbury.

Strange said the Trooper as we turned him over,
to roll him in the grave,
there's an exit wound in his brain old chap,
I guess a pistol in the mouth sure simplifies the paperwork.

No more the guerilla songs, I hummed,
no more the war trail from Zambia,
and no more the freedom fighter for this young man.
Somewhere a Matabele mother's heart is broken...
but yet she doesn't know it.


Mike Subritzky 1980
NZATMC - AP Lima

(Copyright Mike Subritzky - The Flak Jacket Collection)

A Cigarette Comrade

A cigarette comrade -
before I die
my face is torn
and my eyes are gone
but if you hold it to my lips
I can still draw the flame.

It matters not comrade -
that we are foe
I'm comfortable here
in your hospital tent
quietly bleeding into the dirt below.

Forgive me comrade -
if I call my mothers name
but it's so lonely here
on your hospital floor
and it helps me with the pain.

You weep for me comrade -
please don't be sad
the cowbells sound
I hear the doves
it is a good day for my life to end.

The butt is sodden comrade -
and I leave you now
goodbye my friend
until we meet again
far, far away from this African hell.

Mike Subritzky
NZATMC AP Lima 1980

(Copyright Mike Subritzky - The Flak Jacket Collection)

BATTALION OF THE DAMNED

March Battalion March!
     March the long African day,
          sing me the freedom songs,
               as we die bravely on,
                    March the Battalion of the Damned.

Stolen away as children in 1976 -
to the training camps of the North
where the comrades taught us
the songs of revolution
and the weapons of the cause.
We were like rows and rows
of fresh buds of young mealie corn
nurtured and green in the 
early sunlight of an African dawn.

March Battalion March!

We trained hard -
under the harsh discipline
of the sjambok, and the bullet 
in the back of the head at midnight.
We learned in the camps
there was no place for pity
or surrender in the guerilla war.
We were like rows and rows
of unripened mealie corn
strong and slender in the
burning sunshine of an African day.

March Battalion March!

We marched South in 1978 -
to wash our bayonets in the
blood of Smith's men
in the Tribal Trust Lands of home.
In contact and running firefight
we cried and died
as the helicopter soldiers
of the Rhodesian Army sought
us out in relentless pursuit.
We were like rows and rows
of shattered and strewn mealie corn
devastated and torn in the
splintered lightening of an African storm.

March Battalion March!

At wars end in December 1979 -
we camped at Assembly Place Lima
with the New Zealand Peacemakers.
Tired and victorious
we rested at Mhadlambudzi
where we sang songs of revolution
and cleaned our weapons after battle.
We were like rows and rows
of sun jaded mealie corn
lethargic and spent in the
afternoon glow of an African sunset.

March Battalion March!

In April 1980 -
we advanced from our camp at
Essexvale to fight against
Mugabe's men at the
Bulawayo. Ambushed by remnants
of the Rhodesia African Rifles
our lead armour was struck
by rockets and then the gunships
fell upon us, with their frightening
sound and endless cannons.
We fell like rows and rows
of ripened mealie corn
harvested in blood and bullets in the 
red gloom of an African twilight.

March Battalion March!

How we died that day -
there at that dusty ambush
outside of Bulawayo.
800 Regulars and 200 Guerillas.
The lifeblood of our entire Battalion
is now but a ghost from another African war.
Our bones lie like rows and rows
of skeletal mealie corn stalks
stark and silent as we lie here, in the
moonlight of an African night.

March Battalion March!
     March the long African day,
          sing me the freedom songs,
               as we die bravely on,
                    March the Battalion of the Damned.

Mike Subritzky
NZATMC - AP Lima 1980

(Copyright Mike Subritzky - The Flak Jacket Collection)

In memory of:

1st ZIPRA BATTALION
Zimbabwe Peoples Revolutionary Army
Formed:  1976 from Rhodesian children stolen by Joshua Ngkomo.
Operational:  1978 - 1979 Tribal Trust Lands of Matabeleland.
Annihilated:  April 1980 on the outskirts of Bulawayo.
Average Age:  16.

South Pole Station

One day at the South Pole a plane touched down,
and I got out, and I stood on the ground.

And all about me the earth was still,
not a bird in the sky, not a tree or a hill.

Just bright white snow that was frozen and cold,
and a radio mast, and a barber shop pole.

Mike Subritzky 1973
US Navy Task Force 43

(Copyright Mike Subritzky - "The Flak Jacket Collection")

The Tethered Goat

Gentlemen - Welcome to this lesson on small arms instruction.
"Instruction Sergeant!"
This weapon is the 7.62 millimeter Self loading Rifle.
"Self Loading Rifle Sergeant!"
It has a muzzle velocity of 2,800 feet per second.
"2,800 feet per second Sergeant!"
With a 20 round magazine attached, it weighs 12 pounds.
"12 Pounds Sergeant!"
It is capable of rapid snapshot fire at short range opportunity targets.
"Rapid snapshot fire Sergeant!"
Excellent quick and accurate individual fire at a range of 100 metres.
"100 metres Sergeant!"
Accurate individual aimed shots up to 300 metres.
"300 metres Sergeant!"
Effective section fire at ranges up to 600 metres.
"600 metres Sergeant!"
I used this weapon in Vietnam and it was very bloody deadly.
"Very bloody deadly Sergeant!"
It has the capability to cut through rubber trees.
"Cut through rubber trees Sergeant!"
It can penetrate concrete gentlemen.
"Penetrate concrete Sergeant!"
It shows no mercy to the Viet Cong.
"No mercy Sergeant!"
Now look downrange and observe the tethered goat.
"Downrange and observe Sergeant!"
I will now engage the tethered goat with my SLR...Bang!
"Tethered goat...Oh Shit Sarge! Yuk!"

Mike Subritzky 1971
BAA No: 92

(Copyright Mike Subritzky - The Flak Jacket Collection)

Kiwi Peacekeepers

There's death all around me, there's death in the air,
I can smell it and feel it - and I know now the fear.
The road could be mined, or an ambush await,
it may be the end - our appointment with fate.

The escorts have left us, we're now on our own,
I'm as frightened as hell - and we're all so alone.
Our armour is moving, we're leaving the town,
Rhodesians are waving, yelling - "Keep your heads down!"

I look at the Gunner, his face is all drawn,
his machine gun is loaded - and the safety catch on.
We drive through the war zone, on dirt roads blood red,
past African kraals - with children unfed.

Expecting a tank mine, or bullet to tell,
or a Russian made rocket - to take us to hell.
At Assembly Place "Lima", the site of an old kraal,
we finally halt - and put our backs to the wall.

Raise the stars of our nation, raise the Brit's Union Jack, 
put the dread right behind us - for there's no turning back.
Not there for the fighting, not there for the fall,
we are the friend of no one - and the enemy of all.
...We are the Peacekeepers.

Mike Subritzky
NZATMC - AP Lima 1979

(Copyright Mike Subritzky - The Flak Jacket Collection)

© All Copyright, Pan Michael Subritsky-Kusca.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.