Twas’ The Night Before Christmas, Remix

 

T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the land,
no operations were stirring, not even for Taliban.

The 240’s were load with tracer to bear,
in hopes that those savages would soon be there.

The Operators were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of slaying terrorists danced in their heads.

With First Sergeant and his coffee mug and the CO his cap,
Had just watched the Predator feed, in hopes of an attack.

When down in nearby Wadi came some distinct AK clatter,
The Operators sprang from their beds, to see what was the matter.

Running to the gun trucks, they flew like a flash.
They loaded their rifles and all prepared to smash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave a luster of midday to an attack on the go.

When what to their wandering eyes did appear,
but Al-Baghdadi and 12 more ISIS commanders coming up from the rear.

They climbed towards the FOB, nimble and quick.
The Operators prepared themselves for a joyful tick.

More rapid than camels the savages came,
Al-Baghdadi hooted and hollered and sounded insane.

“Now Hasan, now Jamal, now Osama and Mohammed,
On Jihad, on Abdul, on Aziz and Al Ahmed.

To the top of the FOB, and over this wall!
Now blast away, blast away we will kill them all!”

But the Operators were ready, with 120mm in hand,
upon the enemy’s head those mortars did land.

3-5 seconds their machine guns did flutter,
they ran without the stoppage, talking to one another.

The savs died one by one and began to take off,
a few of them exploded thanks to Ol’ Carl Gustave.

But as the Operators ceased fire and were turning around,
up came Al-Baghdadi with one courageous bound.

He was dressed all in rags, from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

Bundles of explosives he had slung on his back,
He looked like a martyr just opening his pack.

His eyes how they twinkled, his turban how scary!
His cheeks were like dried plums, all wrinkled and hairy.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a hag,
the beard on his chin was scraggly and sad.

The stump of some hashish was held tight in his teeth,
and smoke encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when a coughed like a bowl full of jelly.

He was diseased and sad, an inbred old guy
The operators laughed, he was a sight for sore eyes.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
was all that happened when that bullet knocked him dead.

He spoke not a word but laid there in mud,
He was no longer a threat, all covered in blood.

First Sergeant laid a finger on the side of his nose,
And giving the nod, the American flag rose.

He sprang to his gun truck, to his team gave a command,
they were done for the night, in the land of the sand.

The commanded exclaimed as he disappeared out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

RE Factor Tactical



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