Twas the Night before the Night before Christmas…

‘Twas the night before the Night before Christmas, when all through the Mall

not a creature was stirring, not even a Janitor.

The Surveillance cams were hung by Starbucks with care

In the hope that a Burglar soon would be there.

The Snipers were nestled all snug in their hides

While night visions and lasers danced at any head.

And the LT’s in his shemag, and I in my tactical cap,

Had just settled down practicing double taps

When out by Sears Lawn & Garden arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the mat to see what was the target.

Away to the window I threw a flash bang,

it tore open the shutters and blew up the glass.

The green hue of the new-bought infra-red

Gave the luster of kryptonite to targets below,

When, what to my hunting eyes should appear,

But a tactical sleigh, and eight Terr friends,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Tactical Nick.

More rapid than Predators his Tangos they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Ali! now, Mohamed! now, Pancho and Viktor!

On, Carlos! on Aamir! on, Hanni and Feodor!

To the top of Borders to the top of the Gap!

Now blast away! blast away! blast away all!”

As dry debris that before the wild backblast fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, blow it to the sky,

So up to the house-top the food court they flew,

With the tac sleigh full of ammo, and Tactical Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The bouncing and falling of each hot brass case.

As I drew in my HK USP .45, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in Marpat, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with blood and soot;

A bundle of grenades he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a trainer opening his Versipack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! he was running out of breath!

His cheeks were sunken, I am sure he popped Meth!

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a scowl,

And the beard of his chin was as dark as his soul.

The stump of glass pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

Full of gravy, ketchup and grease and it was quite smelly.

He was dangerous and armed, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A spakr of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know that I had to go ahead;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his guns,

And filled the mall with huge amounts of lead.

And laying his finger, heavy on the triggers

And giving a howl, made the mayhem bigger;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew shooting off one last missile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he extricated out of sight,

“Happy Tactical Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

By Gecko45.