Nancy L. Meek

FIFTEEN METERS TO HEROISM, AND COUNTING

The explosion!
The odor of cordite still stinging the air,
Troopers on the ground, hunkered here and there,
Hot, sweating… expecting the small arms fire,
Mentally preparing for all hell to transpire.

The tracer round!
Hearts pounding as, suddenly, one rose,
A triggered frag grenade stuck to his clothes,
As he broke into a run, frantically tearing at his vest,
Yelling, “Grenade!” as it bounced against his chest.