March Battalion March!
March the long African day,
sing me the freedom songs,
as we die bravely on,
March the Battalion of the Damned.

Stolen away as children in 1976 -
to the training camps of the North
where the comrades taught us
the songs of revolution
and the weapons of the cause.
We were like rows and rows
of fresh buds of young mealie corn
nurtured and green in the
early sunlight of an African dawn.

March Battalion March!

We trained hard -
under the harsh discipline
of the sjambok, and the bullet
in the back of the head at midnight.
We learned in the camps
there was no place for pity
or surrender in the guerilla war.
We were like rows and rows
of unripened mealie corn
strong and slender in the
burning sunshine of an African day.

March Battalion March!

We marched South in 1978 -
to wash our bayonets in the
blood of Smith's men
in the Tribal Trust Lands of home.
In contact and running firefight
we cried and died
as the helicopter soldiers
of the Rhodesian Army sought
us out in relentless pursuit.
We were like rows and rows
of shattered and strewn mealie corn
devastated and torn in the
splintered lightening of an African storm.

March Battalion March!

At wars end in December 1979 -
we camped at Assembly Place Lima
with the New Zealand Peacemakers.
Tired and victorious
we rested at Mhadlambudzi
where we sang songs of revolution
and cleaned our weapons after battle.
We were like rows and rows
of sun jaded mealie corn
lethargic and spent in the
afternoon glow of an African sunset.

March Battalion March!

In April 1980 -
we advanced from our camp at
Essexvale to fight against
Mugabe's men at the
Bulawayo. Ambushed by remnants
of the Rhodesia African Rifles
our lead armour was struck
by rockets and then the gunships
fell upon us, with their frightening
sound and endless cannons.
We fell like rows and rows
of ripened mealie corn
harvested in blood and bullets in the
red gloom of an African twilight.

March Battalion March!

How we died that day -
at that dusty ambush
outside of Bulawayo.
800 Regulars and 200 Guerillas.
The lifeblood of our entire Battalion
is now but a ghost from another African war.
Our bones lie like rows and rows
of skeletal mealie corn stalks
stark and silent as we lie here, in the
moonlight of an African night.

March Battalion March!

March the long African day,
sing me the freedom songs,
as we die bravely on,
March the Battalion of the Damned.

Mike Subritzky
NZATMC - AP Lima 1980
Rhodesia

In memory of:

1st ZIPRA BATTALION
Zimbabwe Peoples Revolutionary Army
Formed:  1976 from Rhodesian children stolen by Joshua Ngkomo.
Operational:  1978 - 1979 Tribal Trust Lands of Matabeleland.
Annihilated:  April 1980 on the outskirts of Bulawayo.
Average Age:  16.

There's death all around me, there's death in the air,
I can smell it and feel it - and I know now the fear.
The road could be mined, or an ambush await,
it may be the end - our appointment with fate.

The escorts have left us, we're now on our own,
I'm as frightened as hell - and we're all so alone.
Our armour is moving, we're leaving the town,
Rhodesians are waving, yelling - "Keep your heads down!"

I look at the Gunner, his face is all drawn,
his machine gun is loaded - and the safety catch on.
We drive through the war zone, on dirt roads blood red,
past African kraals - with children unfed.

Expecting a tank mine, or bullet to tell,
or a Russian made rocket - to take us to hell.
At Assembly Place "Lima", the site of an old kraal,
we finally halt - and put our backs to the wall.

Raise the stars of our nation, raise the Brit's Union Jack,
put the dread right behind us - for there's no turning back.
Not there for the fighting, not there for the fall,
we are the friend of no one - and the enemy of all.
...We are the Peacekeepers.

Mike Subritzky
NZATMC - AP Lima 1979
Rhodesian War