Carlos Hathcock

09 July 2001
By Christopher Ziebarth

Through this jungle there lurks a soldier
One man who's smarter, stronger, bolder

A match grade rifle in his hand
He is known as White Feather through this land

He's the best soldier of his breed
One with very special skills indeed

He's crept along in the brush for hours
Along the floor he quickly scours

He has his mission, its set in its ways
He's been in the jungle alone for six whole days

Ever so slowly he's getting very near
The enemy hears something and is stricken with fear

The leader searches in the grass like hay
But he won't find his man for he's a mile away

He sets up his hide and gets his rifle ready
On two sandbags his rifle rests steady

He can't find the enemy and doesn't know the distance
But he searches the jungle with everlasting persistence

He finds the enemy, four in all
The first one is hit, the rest stricken with awe

One tries to run after he fired
But little does he know he'll only die tired

The others run for cover behind a massive rock
Way in the distance lies Carlos Hathcock

There he lays for two hours ready
His rifle to his shoulder, his cheek rested steady

In a little while they come out from cover
To little surprise, two dead comrades they discover

He works his magic one more time
The last one lets out a chilling cry

Even though that scene may give you a chill
That was the last for Carlos, his 93rd kill

Even now at home, he is remembered as brave
Not for the lives that he took, but the lives that he saved

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