Poetry

The VCP

By 22nd October 2008December 9th, 2019No Comments

The Irish Border lay ahead
A half mile to the south
‘ Bandit Country ‘ this was named
Passed on by word of mouth

Our job to stop the smuggling
Of ‘ Arms ‘ from The Republic
Arms used by The IRA
To kill and maim the public

This was a dry, but frosty night
A full moon lit the road
An unmarked border crossing
A car appeared, and slowed

The ‘ Intel ‘ warned us of this car
An ‘ Escort ‘, rusting red
We ‘ cocked ‘ our weapons, waiting
A sound the players dread

The car was ‘ four-up ‘, Army code
They wound the windows down
A smell of ‘ Hate ‘ came from the car
Miles from the nearest Town

‘ Why ‘yer stopped me Soldier boy ? ‘
His eyes they showed no fear
I watch his hands beneath the dash
His mates move in the rear

‘ Please step out the car Sir,
And switch the engine off ‘
His face remained impassive
He raised his hands to cough

I knew it was a pistol
Encircled in his palm
My weapon didn’t hesitate
This ‘ Player ‘ meant me harm

My ‘ round ‘ went through the driver
And through his mate as well
My lads all opened fire
The road it turned to ‘ Hell ‘

‘ Gone Noisy ! Screamed into my ‘ Mike ‘
‘ Have contact ‘ I did shout
‘ QRF requested,
ASP, wait out ! ‘

We cannot set an ‘ Ambush ‘
The politicians say
But once we see a weapon
It then becomes ‘ Fair play ! ‘

Four more ‘ Players ‘ lying dead
Four less to kill and maim
The game was on, they knew the risks
And lost their deadly game !

***

Tom Mcgreevy

Author Tom Mcgreevy

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