- About Us
- Troop Overview
- Documentary Video
- Troop 8 in the news
- Facts & Figures
- Parent Information
- Joining Info
- Volunteer Info
Missiles spiral overhead,
Their now dull explosions integrating
With the patterned clicks of guns,
And the insidious crackle of hidden land mines
Enfolding in a column of death and smoke
Its petrified prize.
The symphony of sounds
Into a ridiculous melody:
One of laments and agony,
Its harsh sounds
Imbuing the shredded landscape
With a nightmarish quality.
My tortured senses protest,
Their cries of indignation lost
Amidst the clamour of soldiers,
Rigid in place,
Their minds and bodies slowly succumbing
To the inevitability of death.
All previous remnants of glory,
Of patriotism- gone,
Obliterated by the incessant screaming
Of the battlefield.
This is what war feels like but it is also what Patrol E feels like when we are forced to get up at 6 in the morning to cook breakfast.
A better description of the patrol is to close your eyes and think of:
Unicorns leaping through the clouds and prancing through meadows of green grass