'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through SASCO
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Airsofter;
The C4 were hung by the Smelter with care,
In hopes that Tan soon would not be there;
The Green Team were nestled all snug in their Base,
While visions of Drug Money danced in their heads;
And players in there 'gear, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long fight ahead,
When out near the smelter there arose such a clatter,
Tan sprang from the base to see what was the matter.
Away to the pillars they flew like a flash,
Tore the first wave and threw up red rags.
The blood on the breast of the dusty flat land
Gave the lustre of battle to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a combat brigade, and thirty tan players,
With a little old commander, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Old Scrooge.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, CT! now, Saguaro! now, Tan and Green!
On, Phantom! on 52 Zulu! on, 49th commandos and everyone else!
To the top of the Hill! to the top of SASCO!
Now fire away! fire away! fire away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the smelter-top the coursers they flew,
With the Nissan full of toys, and Old Scrooge too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the radio
The clicking and firing of each little gun.
As I drew in my pistol, and was turning around,
Down the Mountain came with a bound.
He was dressed all in camo, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with sweat and blood;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a terrorist just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they dulled! his dimples how scary!
His grenades were like pineapples, his guns he did carry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a tight lip,
Must not forget CSI unit was as white as the snow;
The pace of their walk was like grinding teeth,
And the coms gear it encircled the head like a wreath;
One had a grenade launcher and a little round bombs,
That shook, when they launched like a bowlful of bbs.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old softer,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his finger,
Soon shoot me out but I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the next bomb,
And diffused all the explosives; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his gun,
And giving a nod, up the hill he rose;
He sprang to his Nissan, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the frags from a grenade.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
