He tells me it is ok. That was an affirm:
“You are well clear of the friendlies.”
Well clear, well clear,
Well clear of the friendlies.
He says that we were all well clear.
I see multiple vehicles, flatbed trucks,
Some green vehicles I can’t quit identify.
“Roger. That matches our intel.”
I hear him clear over my radio:
“Roger that matches our intel.”
I still hear him,
“Roger that matches our intel.”
I got a four ship of vehicles
Spaced along a road going north
Up along the canal,
Coming up south of the village.
My wing speaks up
They have orange panels on
He told me, they told me,
There’s nobody north of here.
Ask again
Multiple riveted vehicles,
Flatbed trucks,
Are those your targets control?
“That’s affirm.”
“That’s affirm.”
And we need to think about getting home,
Before our fuel runs too low.
My wing comes off west, I roll in,
It looks like they are what we’re talking about.
We’ve got a visual.
Get that first one
Before he gets to town.
Get him – Get him!
My wing urging me on.
Again,
Get it!
I put my A-10 into a dive,
Strafing the column,
Destroying two vehicles.
I hear my guns,
My wing confirms
Good hits.
Gotcha.
As the vehicles sprint south
I dive once more
More gunfire more explosions
Then a voice, a controller,
Who the fuck are you?
“Roger, be advised,
You have friendly armor,
In your area, friendly armor,
Be advised.”
Ah shit ...
“Abort your mission,
We’re blue on blue.”
…Fuck. God bless it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The controller,
“Did you copy?”
“We have friendlies,
Did you copy?”
I did, I did. I did.
Confirm those are friendlies
On that side of the canal.
Shit.
“Standby.”
God dammit. Shit.
Were those friendlies?
“On the berm up there,
That is where we have our friendlies.”
God dammit.
Let me know how those friendlies are.
Let me know.
Fuck.
Fuel running low.
Fuck.
We got to go home,
Me and my wing,
Fuck,fuck
We’re fucked.
Control, let me know what’s happening!
“We’re getting that information, standby.”
We’re getting that information, standby.
Fuck, fuck, double flying fuck.
“One killed, one wounded.”
“One killed, one wounded.”
“One killed, one wounded.”
“Over.”
“Over.”
Never.
I’m going to be sick.
Ah fuck.
My wing asks,
Did you hear?
Did you hear?
Yeah, yeah, this sucks,
We’re in jail, dude.
AAAAHHHH
Another controller
-- Where is he so distantly observing --
“The A-10s are running against friendlies.
“Tell them to abort!”
Mine: “Abort! Abort! Abort!”
Abort.
Fuck. God fucking shit.
Dammit. Fucking damn it.
God dammit. Fuck me dead.
I taste my tears,
My wing hears me weeping.
You with me?
Yeah
Are you with me?
They did say there were no friendlies.
A moment later,
Your tape still on?
Yeah.
Mine is end of tape.
Inside my head,
The only place that counts,
The tape runs always
And the transcript never ends.
God dammit. Fuck me dead.
Then beat the drum slowly, and play the Fife lowly.
Have six pretty maidens to sing me along,
Take me to the valley, and lay the sod o'er me,
For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
-- Streets of Laredo
This is the transcript of the death of Lance Corporal Matty Hull.
The pilots of the A-10s were a Lieutenant Colonel and a Major,
Both new in theater from the National Guard.
They are joined by Marine Corps forward air controllers,
And an AWAC jet in charge of the battle space.
Still not enough to stop a death from friendly fire.
If anyone was at fault, it was the commanders of the war,
And their ill designed rules of engagement,
Not the green pilots who killed young Matty Hull.
Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^
The only way to have fun with a Mac
is to poke its insufferable owner in the eye.
-- Charles Cooper
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^
looking back
The Cheaper Alternative
Say what you will,
But when the mob
-- The family --
Was everything,
The garbage was picked up,
The schools taught students,
And drive by shootings
Were targeted, not random.
Irish or Italian,
The world worked,
And there was none of this
Bullshit nonsense
That elected officials
Should be left in charge.
Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^
more traditional
Night as Such
Night, as such,
Covers us with sleep:
Let us pretend
We are young again
And all our troubles
Our parents will mend.
Morning too soon
Finds us always
Beginning to remember
What we so briefly forgot.
Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007
Current Issue 
