Crawling with his stomach in the mud,
he cranes his neck to look
behind him
at the others with their guns.
Sergeant radios,
"Keep going, but slow."
Right, he thinks,
sure of the leeches on his skin.
Forward, always forward.

The mines come like the night,
just after sunset,
quietly,
unnoticed till you're in them.
The gunners sigh in relief.