Emil "Gene" Schultz

 

 

What is a Lucky Duck?

 

This brought many thoughts into my mind

the first of which is called the firing line

a remote place just north of California

across the Ady Canal onto a long dirt road

this was out in the sticks and to our six

the Lower Klamath National Wildlife Refuge.

 

It was affectionately called the firing-line

because scores of eager hunters in fine camo

armed with shiny shotguns and lots of ammo

staked their claim to the spot they thought

would bag them the most ducks on that day.

 

Darkness began to fade, and the sky turned gray

the sound of eager hunters chambering rounds

broke the chilled silence like a crack in the air.

The sky almost became light before turning dark

with wave upon wave of ducks and geese

as far as you could see blocking all the light

have you ever seen such a sight?

 

Bang, boom, bang bang, they did shoot

the only thing that fell was the expended lead

falling on the dried crops in the adjacent fields.

The game birds at 50,000 feet, probably on oxygen,

as they approached a steep glide path to the safety

of the game preserve just to the south.

 

Bang, boom, bang, bang the hunters did shoot,

box after box of empty shells fell to ground,

and yet, with all the lead that flew

not one feather ever fell.

What the hell!

 

My thoughts then turned to Jack

on the morning of our first mortar attack.

It was a cool gray morning on Ubon Air Base

when the dull, hollow, low thud of a fired mortar

the calm silence broken with shouts

Duck, Duck, get down, take cover.

followed by a faint whistling sound as it flew

ending with a Big Boom

that was looking for you.

 

I was still in the rack when I heard

that unmistakable sound

and rolled onto the floor

pulling my mattress to cover my back.

 

Johnny had just arrived at work

when he heard that sound

and dove to the floor

trying to get under ground

he heard the sound of shrapnel

passing through the wall

it went through the filing cabinet

and landed hot on his back

 

He was one lucky Duck.

 

Richard is another story.

We would walk to breakfast

and work each day.

When I arrived at his hooch

I thought he had gone away.

 

Much to my surprise

I found him perched atop

a locker dressed in skivvies

and a look of fear on his face.

Oh, what a place!

 

When he awoke to the alarm

and reached for the clock

he was alerted by a soft hiss

and looked through the screen

to see what was amiss.

 

A king cobra standing tall

swaying with hood expanded

ready to strike.

 

Rich jumped onto the locker

just as the cobra struck

and hit the screen -

a lucky blocker.

 

Rich was one Lucky Duck!