Bandit Country

They lie concealed within a ditch
They’re filthy, they itch, and life’s a bitch
They’ve been there for three days now
Their only company a cow
But still they watch, still they wait
Knowing he may walk through that gate

They can’t have a hot meal, wash or shave
Their soggy ditch feels like a grave
In a plastic bag they piss and shit
Lest wildlife come to sniff at it
It’s hard but hell this life they chose
But anyway goodness knows
Thousands would like to take their place
Had they the strength to stand the pace

Predawn on the fourth day he hears a squeak
As the gate swings open with a gentle creak
Through the starlight scope sees a man walking
Is this the bandit that he’s stalking?
Nudges his sleeping mate awake
Cannot afford to make a mistake
They don’t exchange a single word
For fear of being overheard

His comrade looks then nods his head
Confirmation positive but left unsaid
Man reaches the arms cache looks about
Then pulls a sub machine out
Man in the ditch takes careful aim
In the final move of this deadly game
Through his night sights things look so much bigger
Takes up the first pressure on the trigger

Then squeezes gently, rifle’s blast
The terrorist has breathed his last
The bullet goes through the target’s head
As instantly the man falls dead
The operation end’s in a rare success  
For the troopers of the SAS