Firefight

On my list for the day of Things To Do That Don't Involve OChem Or Physics, hiding between the "searching for bird nests" and "swimming laps", I came across this entry. "Write an epic poem." Epic, I thought, epic. Exaggerated metaphors, limited rhyming, heroes, impossible tasks, ending with both death and victory. Sure, why not? I could use some heroism right about now.

Roaring scream of a thousand banshees
Blind rage and death, valkyrie-swift and hot
Hell-bent on its destructive blast
Streaking down the mountain towards the line
And the nine stood fast.
Frail bulwark against a seething fury
Dried blood and sweat, burns and the reek of fear
Voices raised in ragged shouts
Who could have run yet chose to stay
Gave up their only way out.
Cool valley below waits in dread
Blocked off roads, smoke-choked trees
Holding off until they receive aid
For the telltale drone of an airplane's engine
And the people in the valley prayed.
The brilliant wall drew nearer to the nine
The few brave souls, laboring in its path
The monster seemed to span the very sky
And still no help arrived to rescue
The nine prepared to do and die.
And back they beat the raging flow
Foot by foot, they stopped it in its tracks
It snarled beyond their fragile break
Wind-whipped inferno swirled higher yet
And gave the nine all the fight they could take.
They labored for the lives of those below
But yard by yard, they lost the fight
Gave up precious ground at enormous cost
Muscles strained for the valley's fate
And pushed harder as their hope was lost.
One last ridge to have and hold
To keep the valley free of the demon's touch
The nine fell back and there arrayed
A brief respite only before the wind rushed in
As the people in the valley prayed.
Faster and faster up the mountain poured
The living wall, fury and vindictive might
Out of time and short of breath
Wild yells as the nine finally faced
The witch-light of approaching death.
Hard-pressed they fell before the coming glare
One by one, the nine became less
To a man selling their lives dear
In triumph the brilliant monster roared on
Topped the ridge above the valley near.
But the nine had held the line to the last
And bought the time for the call to go
Airplane engines split the sky
As their liquid load fell like rain on the ridge
And the valley watched the wildfire die.
So remember and recall the nine
Who stood their ground and held their line.