Into the Line

The desert's glazed with the moonlight glow
All the stars are out for this fateful show
And the men string out in a long black row
The Jocks going into the line.

The only sounds are the muffled tread
The whispered order urgently said
The dislodged stone at the wadi head
The Jocks going into the line.

The fronds that swayed on the palms by day
Are rigidly still, their arms aspray
Dim black streaks on silver grey
The Jocks going into the line.

The Boche is cursed under laboured breath
The bastards are promised a ling'ring death
Shell smoke hangs like a ghostly wraith
The Jocks going into the line.

What fate's in store on that ridge ahead
Will the welcome be a hail of lead
"Why the hell can't we stay in bed?"
The Jocks going into the line.

The fitful light of a dropping flare
A sentry's "Halt" and "Who Goes There?"
A bayonet gleams in the sultry glare
The Jocks going into the line.

Stillness reigns, the stumbling row
Is sited, ready for the foe
Keen eyes search dawn's breaking glow
The Jocks have gone into the line.