(Submitted for "Intelligence Agency Blues" Competition) †
(Glossary of terms are now added at the bottom in comment section) †
As the days turn into months and months into years,
I do my job with many obvious fears.
From Taliban fighters and insurgents in Iraq,
I tell few truths and report simple facts.
I first started at Benning learning basic Infantry,
Listening to the mantra of ďBe All That You Can BeĒ.
As the years moved forward my skills began to grow.
Then I was contacted by S-3 in the know.
They reviewed my 201 and asked a lot of stuff.
Ten months went by so it wasnít a bluff.
I was given the spiel and an SF-86
That was before I got to learn new shit.
They spoke to my teachers and spoke with some friends,
They spoke to my employers and my parents again.
I was never to speak of it as another year went by.
The waiting game was grueling. I wanted to cry.
I trained at Quantico for a year but left with no trace.
You can find folks like me in every little place.
I was taught to fight in close quarters, with a gun or a knife.
And lived in austere conditions brimming with strife.
I gather intelligence; my role in this world.
I ready myself when things unfurl.
I collect the secrets not known to everyone.
Like a bad spy flick without girls or guns.
I learned the art of deception and the art of the kill,
My handler calls upon me when I fit the bill.
I do the dirty things that no one will know.
But thatís alright itís the natural flow.
From laser guided cluster bombs to a simple folding blade,
Iím never in the limelight but always backed up in the shade.
I learn the languages and blend really well.
When I get my orders, Iíll unleash the Hell.
I hide in the shadows and take notes with my mind,
And contact my Handler only when in a bind.
I observe and report only what I see and hear,
But itís filtered for DCI and his selective ear.
Iím considered HUMINT, just a cog you see?
And not as overt as a Chair Force UAV.
Just a simple asset that has boots on the ground.
I direct the Shooters by SIGINT to what I've found.
At times, a Tango outside Islamabad
Calling in Shooters to come in armor clad.
With Helos staged in Kabul with the need to know,
And Shooters in black, all ready to go.
Iíll sneak in the AO from the west you see,
And mark it ten clicks out with a VS-17 .
The slicks will go black, the missionís a go.
And all Iíll see is the faint IRís glow.
My assets near the IP, taking it all in stride,
Painting the LZ with IR for the Pilotsí stealthy ride.
Suppressed rifles flashed at once, taking out some sentries,
Clearing the area for the teamís dynamic entry.
Snatch-n-Grabs are gambles with a chance of blue on blue,
Rather a blue on red with a simple CBU.
If the intelligence is solid, everything will go well.
Then weíll see what our Tango will tell.
I race back to a safe house and wait as Iím told,
Only an hour has passed but I feel so old.
Then to my delight, someone rattles my cage;
ďMissionís a go, proceed to next stage.Ē
ďTango is secured, Mission A-OK!Ē
ďTwenty-two are down with no KIA!Ē
ďAO destroyed, Going Phase Line Black!"
My cover was blown, there's no going back.
I landed a day later out in Kandahar.
I left my world, which seemed so far.
I meet my handler and was shuffled away,
I got my debrief the very next day.
My job is over and ordered on vacation,
I picked up a hobby and thought of my vocation.
But in four months time, Iíll be called once more,
To go to a place that was once a bore.
This is what I am; another asset or cog.
My job is solely intel and to clear the fog.
Iíll never get news stories or meet POTUS one day,
Because Iím just a lowly asset for the DIA.