Chapter 4

Deacon felt around in the dark, found a tree, and sat with his back against it. Sandy, an A-1E, arrived about an hour later, orbiting somewhere to his left, far way. He took his radio out again, and listened.

“...gotta get you to move to your south about six hunerd meters. There’s a clearing there. Wait until morning, though. Not a good idea to go stumbling around in the dark. Gomer might surprise you. If they’re down there. Over.”

“Roger on the morning move” the voice was whispering. ”I‘ve been hearing noises downhill of me for the past few minutes. Over.”

“Okay. If you have to move right now, go uphill and try to be quiet. Over.”

“I‘m gonna sneak uphill some. Put some distance between me and the noise. Over.”

“It‘ll be light in couple hours. Help is on the way. Don‘t worry, buddy. Over.”

“Roger that. Out.”

Deacon sat there holding his pistol, listening to the static on the radio, the far away Sandy orbiting, the insect noises. Breathing slowly, quietly, waiting for the sunrise. Nothing else happened for the next three hours. That three hours seemed like a week.

Finally, early morning twilight gave Deacon the ability to make out his surroundings. Trees, vines, dead and dying flora littering the ground. Visibility was down to five yards or less. He could make out the shape of his parachute hanging from a branch in front of him. Gotta take that down sometime soon. It’s a marker for gomer. Would make some noise though. Maybe I should save that task for later. Hell, leave it there and move away from it. Nope. No. Take it down. Make it look like I’m not here. I’ve never been here. This never happened. No bread crumbs for gomer to follow. If this wasn’t so fucking scary it might be absolutely boring.

Deacon crossed his legs, sore ankle over the other leg, massaged it with his free hand, and found that it felt a little better. He sat there for another half an hour, waiting, finally re-holstered his gun, turned the radio off, zipped it in it‘s pocket, and tried to stand up, bracing himself against the tree. So far, so good. He tried a tentative step. Sore, but doable.

He made his way slowly to the hanging parachute and gave it a soft tug, a harder tug, finally put his full weight into it. Shit, it’s part of the tree now. May as well move uphill away from the parachute. Leave the helmet here, too? Won’t stop a bullet. Worse than useless to me now.

He fished his compass out of a zippered pocket on the combat vest and unfolded it. It was difficult to make out the markings on it but he thought uphill was to the northwest. He refolded and stored the compass, made his way uphill sometimes limping sometimes crawling. He used his hands to move vines and branch

Now it was full fledged morning. He was still in the tree line, on the edge of a clearing of tall elephant grass and thousands of saplings, perhaps fifty yards wide by two hundred yards deep. An ancient Laotian village clearing? More likely where a slash and burn farm was. Sweating, breathing heavy, ankle pulsing with a dull ache, he decided to change out of his warm wear and get a drink of water. He dug a hole in the forest floor debris and buried his long johns, flight jacket, and extra socks, covering the mound with leaves. Lacing up the right boot, tight, he winced. He drank one of his water bottles empty.

Sitting cross-legged there, resting against a tree, watching across the clearing, he heard a snap close behind him. He froze. Took out his pistol using slow, quiet moves. I wondered what dying was like. Now it’s going to happen to me. This is it. This is what it’s like to die. It’s going to happen to me. Right now. Not what I want, but I don’t have much choice. I’m taking at least one of ‘em with me. They’re not getting me without a fight. Five bullets for them and one for me.

Time seemed to stand still, colors seemed brighter, he could smell the air, the jungle, the dank musky stink of rotting vegetation. He felt his heart beating, felt his breath entering his lungs. His hands and arms tingled, seemed to vibrate.

The noise was coming closer to his right behind the tree. Moving nothing but his head and his eyes, he looked over his right shoulder. The bark of the tree was rough against his cheek. A tiny light brown ant was descending the tree slowly past his line of vision. He shifted the gun from his right hand to his left hand so he could shoot across his body. So hard, so loud, was the beating of his heart, he was sure it must be audible nearby. He heard his pulse racing in his ears.

Past the edge of the tree he saw the tip of a black boot being placed slowly, quietly on the jungle floor not five yards away. Then the person was visible. It was Horton, holding a compass and a water bottle. Deacon let out the breath he was holding, closed his eyes for a second. He put his pistol away, then he stage whispered:

“Choi Oi.”

Horton whirled, the water bottle and compass went flying. He went into a sideways roll and came up holding his pistol. Pointed right at Deacon’s head.

Grinning, Deacon raised his hands in surrender. Horton lowered the pistol.

“You fucking...“ then Horton remembered to lower his voice. ”It‘s not funny, shit head. If I’d had my pistol in my hand, you‘d be dead now. Don‘t ever do that.”

“Talk about grouchy” Deacon whispered.

“You stupid fuck. You don‘t know how close I came to shoot’n your ass. I can‘t believe...I don‘t....man. I about shit a brick. May have pissed my pants. Asshole.”

“Well, I’m sorry. Dip me in shit when we get back. I thought it was kinda funny.”

“Help me find my compass. Least you can do. Stupid fuck.”

“Over there. And your water bottle‘s over there.”

Horton bent to retrieve his stuff. Brushing debris from his hair and shoulders, he came over to where Deacon was sitting, plopped down, and let out a deep sigh. His right temple was bleeding and his chin was bruised. He put his pistol away.

“Water bottle’s empty now, thanks to you.”

“I gotta full one I can share with you.”

“Least you can do.”

“I said I was sorry. You gotta admit it was funny though. Right?” He fished out his full water bottle and handed it over. Horton glared briefly but took a drink, handed the bottle back.

“Well. Maybe it will be, later. Right now I‘m still pissed.”

“This is a good spot. Rest some. Besides, I had the drop on you. I was a gomer, you‘d be dead now. Look on the bright side.”

“Point well taken. Okay, we‘re even. Good news is, our chances of get’n outta here more than doubled. Now there‘s two of us.”

“Right. By the way, you know your chin is black and blue?”

“Yeah. I took a hit coming through the trees. It hurts. I‘ll live.”

“I twisted my right ankle. It‘s sore. I‘ll live.”

“Well, okay then.”

“Well, alright then.”

“What d’we do now.”

“I donno. Let‘s...inventory the stuff we got. I ditched my chute and helmet somewhere a couple clicks that way.” He jerked a thumb over his left shoulder.

“I left my helmet and chute somewhere down there.” He pointed across his body with his left hand, away from the clearing. “I couldn’t get my chute outta the tree. It’s still there, hanging there.”

“Shit. How far away?”

“I donno...maybe, half a click.”

“I suggest we move.” Horton made motions to get up.

“Okay.” Deacon started to get up.

“No wait. Dammit. This is a great spot for a pickup. It‘s daylight now. Sandy is orbiting somewhere close to our southeast. Maybe we should just wait here. Can‘t be long now.”

“Whatever you want to do. You‘re more experienced at this than I am.”

“I never been shot down before. What? How am I more experienced?”

“I donno. Sounded like something I should say. Look, whatever you decide, I‘m game.”

“Well. Let‘s see can we raise Sandy.” He took out his radio, turned it on and held it to his ear. Deacon couldn’t hear anything but grass swaying in the breeze, birds chirping faraway, and a Sandy orbiting somewhere. He waited. Finally Horton put the radio to his mouth and whispered:

“Sandy two four, Spectre three two India. Over.” He put the radio to his ear.

“India? What‘s....” Horton held up one finger. Deacon waited.

“Roger on the Jolly Green. Be advised that India has moved. India and Juliet are in the same spot now. We found a great clearing for the pickup. Over.” A pause while he listened. “Yeah, two of us here. Over.” Deacon opened his mouth to say something but Horton waved his finger back and forth. “Okay. Doing that now.” He held down the transmit button while he whispered to Deacon. “What’s your question?”

“India? You said you were India?”

“Each crewmember has the call sign of the aircraft with a letter suffix. Pilot is alpha, co-pilot is bravo, and so on. You’re Juliet.”

“That might have been something nice to know. Before this I mean.”

“Yeah, well....”

They both listened to the approach of a Sandy, about two clicks away.

“How‘s that, Sandy two four? Over.” A pause. “Okay, continuing now.” He held down the transmit button some more. The sky was clear so it wasn’t difficult to pick out the aircraft as it came closer, about 5,000 AGL, an A-1E, wings loaded with all kinds of ordinance. It passed almost directly overhead.

“Sandy two four, you are overhead now. Over.” Deacon saw the plane roll into a steep right-hand bank. ”Yeah, we’re in a corner of that clearing. The southwest corner. In the tree line. Over.” The plane straightened out and flew off to the west. “Okay, will do. Over.” And to Deacon: “He says we‘re to hang tight, a Jolly Green will be here in about a half hour.”

“Outstanding.”

“I‘ll say. Gimme another drink, wil‘ya?” Deacon handed over the bottle.

“Feel better? Still sore about my scaring you half to death?”

“Nah. Hell, it was funny, now that I think about it.”

“Wonder what happened to our plane.”

“You see the fuel leak? Probably exploded in mid-air. Hope everybody made it off.”

“Stezel. Was he still alive? Before we jumped?”

“Stezel? I think he was already dead. I‘m almost sure. Shit, I don’t really know.”

“He wouldn‘t have survived the jump anyway. His condition, you know?”

“Yeah. Had holes all over. Would’ve bled to death if he’d made it to the ground. Still, I feel like shit about that whole episode.”

“What else could you do? You did what you could. What I would‘ve done.”

“Yeah, well. I just...I donno. It sucks. What happened to him, that‘s all.”

“If you beat yourself up, can I watch?”

“Yeah, you‘re right. Nothing anybody could’ve done. I just....” Horton looked at his left wrist, which was lacerated and had bled at some point. “Fuck. Lost my watch somewhere. Wonder what time it is.”

“You got an appointment? Gonna miss a meeting are you? I‘d tell you what time it is but....” Deacon showed him both his bare wrists and grinned. Horton grinned back, holding the radio to his ear.

They listened to the grass waving back and forth. Birds were chirping. It was turning out to be a really nice day; sun was bright, sky was clear. They sat like that listening, watching, for perhaps fifteen minutes. Sandy was busy somewhere to the southeast of them, but the sound of his engine grew suddenly louder. Deacon pointed it out as he watched it roll into a bank and come back their way. Horton held up his finger again. Something on the radio. “Roger, Sandy two four. Understand to my east. Over.”

Deacon saw a small formation approaching from the southeast, several kilometers away. A Jolly Green helicopter flanked by two more Sandy’s.

“Roger, will do. Over. Sandy says he spotted some movement downhill from the other side of the clearing. Thinks it’s bad guys, maybe a squad of them. He wants us to get ready to hotfoot it to the west. But hang tight for now. He‘s going to go check it out. See can he sanitize them. Says the chopper will be here any minute now.”

“Yeah. There it is, right there.” Deacon pointed to the group of planes.

“Well, well. That‘s a sight for sore eyes. Won‘t be long now.”

“Well, I must say, we weren‘t on the ground very long.”

“Yeah, and it‘s a good thing too. Caster told me one time that if they don‘t get picked up soon they usually don‘t get picked up at all.”

“Really?”

“We‘ll be home in time for breakfast at this rate. Well, maybe lunch. Might have more to pick up than just us.”

“I‘ll settle for lunch. In fact, I‘ll even buy you a beer. Two beers. How‘s that?”

“And I‘ll buy you a cheeseburger.”

“With fries?”

“Deal.”

“But before we do lunch I wanna take a shower.”

“Good idea. Shower, fresh change of clothes.”

“Get my haircut.”

”Get my boots shined.”

“Check my mailbox.”

“Take in a movie.”

“What‘s showing?”

“Whatever it is I‘ll watch it.”

“Twice.”

“How‘s the ankle?”

“Better. I forgot all about it. Comes and goes. How‘s the chin?”

“Still sore.”

“Your forehead is bleeding. Still.”

“I know. Don‘t know where I got that.”

“Maybe when you did that John Wayne thing over there.”

“If that‘s where I got it, you owe me those two beers.”

“I was going for it anyway. That mean I owe you four beers?”

“You do four beers and I‘ll do two cheeseburgers.”

“With fries?“

“Deal.” Horton held up his finger again. Deacon saw that Sandy was in a strafing pass. A smear of light gray smoke trailed both wings. The sound of impacts across the clearing from them. Then the rattle of gunfire from the plane.

“Sandy says there’s some bad guys in the tree line over there but he’s going to put them outta business. We’re to keep our heads down and....”

A .51 caliber weapon began firing at the Sandy from the tree line diagonally across the clearing from their position. After so much quiet the machine gun sounded like a tank. Deacon and Horton took out their pistols. Horton got up into a half crouch and waved his gun, a signal that Deacon was to follow him behind the tree they were leaning up against.

“They‘re too close. Let‘s get the hell outta Dodge. That way. C‘mon.”

Deacon got up and hobbled downhill after Horton. They weren’t concentrating so much on being quiet anymore, just distance covered. Horton was almost running and Deacon was falling further and further behind. Horton discovered he was alone, turned around and backtracked. He came upon Deacon who was leaning up against a tree, one foot off the ground, his cheeks wet with tears, in obvious pain.

“Horton, you go on. I‘ll stay here and buy you some time.”

“No. I‘m not leaving you behind. Shit. Look, let‘s...here, lean on me. Let‘s keep going.” He grabbed Deacon’s arm, draped it over his shoulder, pulled him along, downhill. They went another fifty meters crashing through brush and vines, fell down twice. The sound of heavy gunfire further up the mountain, punctuated by somebody blowing a whistle.

“This is no good” Horton said. “This won’t work.” They were both breathing heavy, scared.

“Horton, I think we‘re being followed.”

“Let‘s get between the roots of that one big tree and bury ourselves in leaves and shit. Here, stand right here for a minute. Keep watch.”

“Okay.”

Horton put his radio in a pocket. Swept aside leaves and debris, quickly, making a place for them to lay down between two large roots. He grabbed Deacon. Helped him to the spot. Laid him down, head toward the tree. Covered him to the neck with leaves. Made a huge mound of leaves on his lap and legs. Took out his survival knife. Cut down several leafy saplings. Handed them to Deacon. Laid down to Deacon’s right. Used the mound he built on Deacon to cover himself. Grabbed a couple of the saplings from Deacon to hold in front of his face.

“Got your gun?” Horton whispered.

“Yeah. Got your radio?”

“Yeah.” By feel Horton found his radio and put it too his ear.

“This‘ll work.”

“Better work. Hey look. We get into a shooting match, you cover from nine to twelve and I‘ll do twelve to three.”

“Got it.”

They lay still, listening. More gunfire uphill. Another strafing run. More blowing of a whistle. Some crumps, explosions. Maybe five minutes passed.

“Horton.”

“Yeah?”

“I‘m...I‘m glad we got to work together.”

“What?”

“I‘m glad...that I got to know you.”

“Shut up. We‘re getting outta here. We‘re gonna make it outta this shit.”

“Okay.”

Maybe a full minute passed.

“Me too” Horton whispered.

Another full minute passed. Silence, except for the planes orbiting overhead. Horton noticed that the birds weren’t chirping anymore, had flown away. There was the sound of footsteps to the right, behind them, uphill. More footfalls to the left of them. Then the NVA squad came into view, passing their tree on both sides, moving slowly, carefully. There were five of them. Pith helmets, yellowish brown uniforms, tire tread sandals, holding AK-47’s. They were facing outward, five yards away. The one in the middle was searching the ground, found something that demanded his attention. He squatted down to get a closer look. He shuffled around, facing the tree, his eyes followed some invisible trail on the ground. He looked Horton straight in the eyes. His mouth fell open.

Horton fired first. The guy in the middle dropped immediately, a hole in his forehead. Deacon started firing. Seemingly, in slow motion, Horton saw the other squad members whirling around, falling down, dropping rifles, helmets flying off heads. The squad member just to the right of the middle guy got a burst off just before he died. The burst hit the tree on both sides of Horton’s head; bark flew off, lacerating his right cheek.

Horton leapt up, put his gun away, and grabbed the nearest AK-47. Scanning the immediate area, he noticed he was shaking. He ran around checking out the members of the squad. The NVA on the far left was unconscious, still breathing. Horton stomped him without mercy, boot on his windpipe, crushing the larynx. Deacon. He looked at the tree, saw that Deacon had dropped the saplings. He hadn’t moved. At all. His head was bleeding. Oh no. God, no. He went over to Deacon’s side, saw that a round had clipped along the left side of his head, ripped the flesh open. Blood coursed past his ear, was dripping off the line of his jaw, his chin. He was still breathing. Horton laid down the rifle, took out his knife, cut off Deacon’s flying suit sleeve, just below the shoulder, used it as a bandage to wrap around the wound, tied it off. He searched around with his hands, found his radio, put it to his hear.

“...I say again. If you can‘t speak just click twice. Over.”

“Sandy two four....” Then he remembered to press the push-to-talk. “Sandy two four, Spectre three two India. I’m...we‘re still here. We had a shoot out. I don‘t know if we got ‘em all. Over.”

“Can you move India? Are you...where are you? Over.”

“I‘m...we’re just downhill from the clearing. Juliet is hit. He’s unconscious. I can carry him, though. Over.”

“Don’t panic, India. We‘ll put some PJ‘s in there to help you. Sit tight. We got the gomers on the other side of the clearing busy. For now. Over.”

“Roger. Moving uphill now. Out.” He stored the radio in a pocket, got his arms underneath Deacon and tried to life him. No go. Shit. He squatted down next to Deacon, pulled Deacon’s right arm around his shoulder, stood up. Leaves cascading off Deacon, he almost fell over face first. No good. Fuck. He set Deacon down against the tree. Okay. We stay here. Make the best of it right here. The sound of a helicopter uphill. Might as well grab all these weapons. Make it cost gomer big time.

He went around slinging AK-47’s over his shoulders, carried them to Deacon‘s position, stood them up against the tree. Then he reloaded his pistol using the bullets in the leather shoulder strap on Deacon’s combat vest. He put his pistol away, found, and reloaded Deacon’s pistol. Fight my own war with all this shit.

He heard a sound coming from uphill, somebody crashing through underbrush. Somebody coming downhill fast.

“India.” Somebody was yelling out loud. Fearless.

“Over here. Down here, you guys.” Horton stood up, waiting.

“You alone? What‘s your name?” Whoever it was, he was coming closer, maybe ten yards uphill.

“Horton, David. Jones is here with me. He‘s hit.”

“What‘s your favorite color?”

“Uh...orange.”

“Okay, we‘re coming in, hold your fire.”

“Right.”

A PJ appeared to Horton’s left, holding an M-16. The other one fell through some vines to his right.

“Man, am I glad to see you guys.”

“Save it. We gotta get outta here. Right now.” He slung his weapon on his shoulder. “Sam, grab his feet. I‘ll get the head. Let‘s beat feet, gentlemen.”

“Okay I grab one of these?” Horton pointed to the line of AK-47’s.

“Good Idea. Can you carry more than one?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay. Let‘s do it.” The PJ’s carried Deacon’s inert body, Horton led the way back uphill. Soon they were in the tree line to the southwest of the clearing. The helicopter was sitting there, elephant grass flattened in a fifty meter circle around it. They ran out into the sunlight toward the open cargo ramp. Horton found the sun very bright, surprisingly warm on his head and shoulders. The guy manning the mini-gun was waving ‘c’mon’ vigorously.

The PJ’s were fumbling with Deacon, trying to get aboard when the mini-gun opened up on the tree line to their east. When everybody was aboard, the onboard crew chief said something into his mike and the helicopter lifted off immediately. Horton lost his footing and crashed down to the deck, hit his head on something, broke the little finger on his right hand. The noise was overwhelming. A PJ came over to him, squatted down, and yelled something Horton didn’t hear. The PJ saw him holding his hurt hand, reached up to the bulkhead, grabbed a plastic container, opened it. He was wrapping Horton’s hand with medical gauze. Horton’s field of vision narrowed to a small tunnel. Everything turned gray, his ears stopped working, silence fell over him. He felt really cold. Then he fainted.

Quiet sounds. An awareness. A pressure somewhere to his left. On his left hand. A finger on his left hand. Horton opened his eyes slowly, still drowsy. Bringing his left hand into his field of vision he found he couldn’t see out of his right eye. Something blocking his vision. There was some kind of plastic thing on his left forefinger, trailing a wire. He pulled it off, dropped it. Ripping at the cloth bandages around his head to clear his vision, he could see again, but now there was a wetness, a warm wetness. He saw blood on his fingers.

“Easy there, big guy. Take it easy now.” A nurse, a first lieutenant, female, filled his vision, grabbing his hands. “Woke up, did you?”

“What‘s...where am I? What is this place?”

“You‘re in the hospital at NKP. Just rest now. You’re gonna be fine.”

“NKP?”

“Nakhon Phanom.” She was replacing the bandage on his head. “You got some cuts on your head, broken finger, you’re dehydrated, and you’ve suffered a concussion. Other than that, you can go fly, slugger. You went into shock on the helicopter, but you‘re back among the living. You had quite an adventure, wouldn‘t you say?”

“The other guy? Deacon? They bring him in here too?”

“You mean Jones?” She checked his IV drip.

“Yeah, Jones. He okay? Where is he?”

“He‘s right there.” She stepped back and pointed. He could see past his feet to the other side of the ward. She was pointing to an inert form, laying on a hospital bed, naked to the waist, covered with a sheet, head wrapped in bandages. “He’s in a coma, but we’re hopeful.”

“Coma? What‘s....”

“His prognosis is good. He‘s already moved several times. That‘s a good sign. Really.”

“He said something about his ankle. You guys....”

“Yes. It was swollen and turned black and blue. Probably was sore as hell. We‘re taking care of that too. Don‘t worry. You’re in good hands. You‘re both in good hands, now. Can I get you anything? Do you hurt anywhere?”

“I‘m sore all over. My head hurts.”

“I‘m not surprised. You took quite a bump, big guy. Rest now. I‘ll go get you some aspirin.” She left. He closed his eyes and a moment later, he was asleep again.

At that moment, recently promoted 1st Lieutenant Gary Suddith was lining up on the runway at NKP, landing. He was Sandy two four, returning from a SAR in northern Laos. It was late afternoon. They had picked up several crewmen from Spectre three two. There were two that were going to be guests of the Hanoi Hilton. One was known to be dead. That accounted for everybody. He had been up since 04:00 and was tired. Exhausted, was more like it. He bounced. Touched again. Stayed down. Rolled out, gentle on the brakes, slowing. Another landing I can walk away from. He turned off the active at the end of the runway, taxied into the run up area following the marshaller‘s guidance, set the parking breaks, checked, again, that the master arm was off, put his hands on the canopy sill.

The weapons mechanics scurried underneath the wings to safety pin unexpended ordinance. There wasn’t much for them to do, they were done in seconds. Released to the taxiway, he S-taxied to his revetment and shut down the engine.

“You look like you took a beating, sir.”

“Feels like it, too. I think we may have a problem. I took a hit in the back there somewhere. Sorry about that.” He started to get out.

“I‘ll fix it, sir. Don‘t worry about a thing.” The tire kicker got down off the wing, watching him dismount.

“Thanks. Pencil whip the paperwork for me wil’ya? I‘m beat.” He grabbed his flight bag, climbed down off the wing.

“Not a problem. Lemme buy you a beer, LT” He handed the helmet over.

“Hell, I guess I still owe you a beer, don‘t I, Donnie?”

“Yeah, but who‘s counting. Really, sir, you look like shit warmed over.”

“I hear you. Imona go crash somewhere RSN. Later, gater.”

“Later, LT.” Donnie went aft to count the holes as Suddith stumbled toward the flight line bread truck to report the damage done to his aircraft. Fuck it, Donnie will do that. I gotta get my feet up real soon now or I’m gonna fall over and hurt somebody. He made his way instead to Sandy ops. He entered the airconditioned building, dropped his gear, fell against the counter top. He caught the attention of the duty officer, who gave Suddith his full attention.

“Sandy two four has returned.”

“I see that.”

“I need something else to do, what‘s cooking?”

“Take the rest of the day off, you‘re over hours now.”

“Any word on the crew we were after? Who they all were?”

“Yeah.” The duty officer retrieved a sheet of paper from a nearby pile. “Here’s the list we just got. Couple of them are in the hospital here, Doug says.”

“Yeah?” Suddith scanned the list of names. Horton, David, TSGT. Teems, Johnny, SGT. Jones, Terry, SSGT. “Oh shit.”

“Somebody you know on that list?”

“Yeah. This guy...Jones.” He stubbed a finger on the list. “I gotta use your phone. Okay?”

“There’s a phone right here, sure, but you gotta be quick on it. I’m using it, you know?”

“Okay. What‘s...Ubon. You got the number for Spectre? What‘s the number for the Spectre squadron? There at Ubon.”

“16th SOS? Here. Here‘s the phone book. Help yourself.”

He scanned the book, found the number, dialed it. Busy.

“It‘s busy. I‘m gonna go dump this stuff. Be right back.” He grabbed his stuff, went to the armoury, checked in his firearm, radios, parachute, stored his combat vest, hung up his helmet. Grabbed his wallet and patches from his locker. He asked the airman across the counter:

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“Knock yourself out, sir.” The airman handed it across the counter. Suddith picked up the phone. Then he set it down.

“I can’t remember the number for 16th SOS at Ubon.”

“I ain‘t gotta phone book here, sir. Sorry. Somebody borrowed it. Never got it back.”

“S’okay. Thanks anyway.” Suddith was leaving.

“Glad to...“ Suddith had disappeared through the doorway. “...help. And you’re welcome” the airman said to nobody.

Suddith went to the scheduling duty desk again.

“Gimme that phone again.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Gimme the phone, please, asshole.”

“Sorrrrry. Here.”

“And the phone book again, too.”

“S’cuse me for living.”

“I‘m sorry. This day has really sucked. And I‘m tired. And this guy Jones....”

“Forget it. I understand. Really. Buy me a beer sometime and we‘ll be even. My fault too, now that I think about it.”

Suddith looked up the number, again. Dialed again. Busy again.

“Fuck. Busy.”

“Well, Doug said there were two of those guys, right here. Here at the hospital. Maybe one of them knows something. Simmons is the duty driver. He can give you a ride over there. Maybe one of ‘em will know something about...what’s his name?”

“Jones. Yeah. I‘ll do that. Thanks.” Suddith left the counter, going outside. The duty officer slapped him on the shoulder.

“You‘re welcome. Hope everything works out okay.”

Suddith found the duty pickup, woke up Simmons, who was asleep behind the wheel, caught a ride to the hospital. He entered the front door, found the information desk. An A1C was working there putting the finishing touches to an updated list.

“Can I hep you, sir?”

“Yeah. I‘m looking for the crewmembers of Spectre three two. They‘re supposed to be here. Two of ‘em.”

“Yeah, they brought ‘em in ‘bout two, three hours ago. Down there, sir.” He pointed to his left.

“You got their names?”

“Yes, sir. Let’s see now...Horton and Jones.”

“Jones? He‘s here?”

“Jones, Terry, Staff Sergeant. That‘s what the list says.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Suddith walked through several patient wards, five beds on each side, no windows, found the duty nurse on the other side of some double doors.

“Can I help you Lieutenant?”

“I‘m here to talk to Sergeant Jones.”

“Well, I can let you see him, but....” She got up from her desk and was walking toward Deacon’s bed. Suddith followed.

“But? What, but?”

“Well, he‘s unconscious. He‘s in a coma.”

“Coma? Really? Oh, man....”

“But, he has moved slightly several times. That‘s a good sign. Really. It means there is still CNS functionality. He’s had cranial trauma but his prognosis is good. He‘s just resting. His brain is resting. He also twisted his right ankle. He‘s going to be okay, though. Are you a relative of his?”

“We went through high school together. On the wrestling team together. Track. Cross-country.”

“Well, here he is. I‘ll get you a chair.”

“Thanks.”

Suddith didn’t know what he had expected, but this wasn’t it. Deacon’s head was wrapped in bandages, a bloody spot on the left side. His left eye was black and blue. Naked from the waist up, Suddith could see that he was breathing. Slow. Shallow.

“Here‘s a chair. Stay as long as you like. Talk to him. He can hear you even if he doesn‘t respond. By the way, this guy over here...” She stepped aside and pointed to Horton. “...was brought in with him. They were on the same helicopter on arrival. You may want to talk to him. He might know what happened to Jones out there.”

“That‘s...who‘s that?”

“David Horton. Technical sergeant. He’s dehydrated, has a mild concussion, and on top of everything else, broke his finger.”

“Did I hear my name?” Horton asked.

“Awake again, huh? Do you have time for a visitor, big guy?”

“Visitor?”

“Okay I ask you some questions?” Suddith asked. He dragged his chair over to Horton’s side of the ward.

“Sure. Ask me anything. You have any aspirins on you, Mam?”

“I‘ll go get you some.” She left.

“How goes it Sergeant?”

“My head is killing me.”

“Feel like talking?”

“I‘m glad to be alive. That‘s enough for now. You here to see Deacon, sir?”

“Deacon?”

“Jones. His nickname is Deacon.”

“I didn‘t know that. Deacon huh? Well, well.”

“Fucker saved my life, sir.”

“Really? What happened out there.”

The nurse arrived holding a small paper cup with some tablets in it. Horton washed them down with water he drank through a straw from a glass. Suddith waited. The nurse left.

“Want me to begin at the beginning?”

“Yeah, I got time.”

“We’re tending to business. Walking though the valley. Slow night. Socked in big time. Had to divert ’cause of the weather. A radar guided gun came on line real sudden like. No warning, see? Took a hit in the left side. Killed the engines on that side. Killed one of the forward gunners right off. Fuel was sloshing down from the wing root fuel manifold. We were ankle deep in jet fuel before you could say, oh shit.”

“Damn.”

“Then, pilot says we gotta bail. Ship‘s gonna blow any second. Guys in the booth turn their shit off, get in the back of the line leaving the plane. Deacon jumps and then I went last. I‘m his boss, see? So....”

“You‘re his boss?”

“Right. Head of gunner section, 16th SOS. So I went after him. Seemed like I should be the last gunner off the plane.”

“Right.”

“So we‘re drifting down, see? I pick him outta the ground clutter on the fall. Wasn‘t easy, either. Darker‘n the inside of a witch‘s heart. Anyway. I see where he lands and then I‘m in the trees myself. Got this going through the branches.” Horton pointed to his chin. Suddith winced.

“Sore as shit. Ripped my clear face shield clean off. Lost my watch then, too, I figure. Anyway. I get outta my chute, roll it up, bury it. You know? How they taught us in survival school? By the way, most of that stuff came in real useful. Anyway. So here I am wondering around in the dark. Can‘t see my hand in front of my face. I crawl uphill slowly, real quiet like, most of the night. Towards morning Deacon finds me and....”

“He found you?”

“Damn right. I was lost. He found this outstanding spot for a pickup. How he did that I‘ll never know. Anyway we‘re saying hello, how you doing, that kinda thing. Then this .51 cal across the clearing from us opens up on the Sandy.” Suddith gets a new insight on his job. That was my plane that got fired on. This guy right here, is Spectre three two India. Jones was Juliet. I’ll be damned.

“Gomer’s coming to get us. Deacon decides we should didi mau big time. But he isn‘t doing too good on that foot. Twisted his ankle you know.”

“Yeah, the nurse said....”

“So he says to me, I swear to God he said this Lieutenant, he says ‘Horton go on. I‘ll stay here and buy you some time.‘”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. So I‘m ready to leave him, see? Then I think, nah. They get one of us, they‘ll get us both. Just a matter of time anyway. Might as well go down fighting. He finds this one great spot to bury ourselves. In leaves and shit. Between the root structure of this one big tree. We‘re laying there catching our breath, you know? Then these five NVA guys holding big fucking guns come walking by. I‘m thinking, oh shit. Then one turns around and sees us. See us laying there. Well, I‘m slow on the draw, I‘m so scared, see? Deacon blows them away with his pistol. Most of ‘em. I got a couple, maybe. One of ‘em got a burst off at us, with his AK. Deacon caught a round in the side of his head. Kind of a grazing hit, didn‘t penetrate anything important. Thank God. Anyway. The PJ‘s. That‘s another thing that I find unbelievable. Those fucking PJ’s are fearless. Truly with out fear. Anyway. The chopper arrives and we’re beating feet up the hill. PJ’s carried Deacon. I’m stumbling around trying not to fall on my face. Somehow we make it into the chopper. They tell me I passed out then. I don‘t remember anything else until I‘m here. I’m laying here now ‘cause he saved my life.”

“Holy shit.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Would you be willing to put all that in writing?”

“Yeah, hell, yeah.”

“I‘ll help you. Thanks, Horton. I‘m glad we talked. I want to get him a medal. Get both of you guys a medal. Anything you need?”

“Anybody deserved a metal, it‘s him, I‘d say. You wouldn‘t by any chance have a beer on you?” Grin. ”That you‘d be willing to part with?” Two big grins.

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Lemme see what‘s to be done with you guys. Thanks.” Suddith stuck out his hand.

“Go easy, sir. Broke my finger on that one.” Horton shook his hand, gently.

“Later, alligator.”

“While, crocodile.”

Suddith approached the desk nurse. She was rubbing both her eyes with both hands.

“Excuse me again.” She looked up, blinking rapidly.

“Yes, lieutenant? Did Sergeant Horton tell you....”

“I would like to know the disposition of those two.”

“The disposition?”

“What‘s to happen to them now? They stay here a while? A hospital in Japan? Back to Ubon? You know.”

“Oh. Well, I guess now that Horton is stable he‘ll probably go back to Ubon. They will probably give him some leave time. But Jones...well. You‘d have to ask his doctor. Doctor Parker.”

“Jones is a real live hero.”

“Really?”

“In the flesh.”

“Oh my.”

“I want to get these guys a metal. Especially Jones. At least a DSC for Horton, maybe the big one for Jones.

“Really?”

“Horton has quite a tale to tell.”

“Really?”

“He‘s dying to tell it to you.”

“Oh my.” She got up to go see Horton.

“Can I ask you for a favor? A big favor?”

“Sure”

“When he tells you his story, is there someway we can tape record it, get it written down or something, somehow. He‘s gotta broken finger and well....”

“I‘ll write it down for you.”

“Would you? That‘d be great.”

“I would be glad to do it if I can be some small part of getting these guys a metal. They deserve it.”

“I wanna go find Parker, ask about Jones. Then, I promised Horton a beer. Guess I owe you one, too.”

“You’re on. Doctor Parker is probably that way.” She pointed, full arm, to the right, finger extended.

“Later. And thanks again.”

Suddith made his way past the double doors, left, to the ambulatory ward, asked a nurse there; was told that way, maybe, ask at the desk. He continued on. Asked again, was redirected again. Finally caught up with the doctor in the canteen. The good doctor, yellow oak leaves on the lapels under the white overcoat, was having yet another cup of coffee. He was sitting by himself near the window, reading someone’s chart.

“Doctor Parker?”

“Yes?” He was in a rare good mood.

“May I have a moment of your time, sir?”

“Sure. Sit yourself down. What can I do for you?”

“I was told that you are the attending physician for a fine young staff sergeant, Terry Jones, sir. I went to high school with him.”

“No shit?”

“Yes, sir. He and I were on the wrestling team, together.”

”Well, well. Small world.”

“I spoke with a Sergeant Horton about what happened out there last night and according to what Horton told me, I think Jones might deserve a metal.”

“Really?”

“Maybe the big one.”

“No shit?”

“I think so, sir. So I‘m....”

“You‘re wondering if he‘ll live to receive it in person?”

“Well. I know he’s in a coma and everything, but the nurse gave me to understand that his prognosis is good.

“It is good.”

“I‘m mainly wondering if...you know, is he going to be here a while, go to a hospital in Japan, or what?”

“Well, he...have you seen him already?”

“Yes, sir. Just now.”

“He has a superintercranial...he took a blow on the head. But, there are signs that his CNS is still functional and he will eventually wake up. He’s probably aware, even now. Just unable to...look there‘s going to be some damage, sure, but he‘s got a good chance to pull out of this thing. Live a normal life. May have to re-learn some things. He may lose the functions on the right side of his body, arm and leg. Too soon to tell, really.”

“So, is he going to Japan, or....”

“I‘d like to keep him here for the time being. Watch his fluids, make sure he‘s really stable. Maybe a week. Maybe more.”

“Oh. Sir, I really appreciate you‘re telling me all this.”

“What did he do? This Jones.”

“Horton says he saved his life. Says he‘s laying here in a hospital bed ‘cause Jones saved his life.”

“No shit?”

“Says Jones fought it out with five NVA, his pistol against their AK-47‘s. And won.”

“Incredible.”

“Says Jones was the one that found him. Found a perfect spot for the Jolly Green pickup. When the gomers were chasing them, Horton says Jones said to him, ‘Horton you go on. I‘ll buy you some time to get away.’”

“No shit? That‘s incredible.”

“I agree, sir. I think he deserves some kind of recognition.”

“Sounds like the big one to me.”

“So, with your permission, sir, I‘d like to get Horton‘s statement submitted with an application for....”

“Yeah, hell, yeah. Go for it. By all means available.”

“Thanks. I want to get something for Horton, too. Good man that Horton. Have a good day, sir.”

“You‘ve already made my day, my friend.”

“And you mine, sir. By the way. Okay I bring Horton a beer?”

“You didn‘t ask that and I know nothing about it. I am told, however, that from time to time people have been known to sneak a beer in here, and sometimes the duty nurses get busy and don‘t notice, especially late at night. Say about 22:00 hours, just after shift change.”

“Roger that, sir.” They exchanged a thumbs up. Then Suddith signaled ‘pull chocks‘. Doctor Parker winked at him and went back to his chart.

“Woods...c‘mere.” The 16th SOS scheduling duty officer called him over to the counter. “I got news on those guys shot down.” He had picked through the pile of interoffice / intrabase communications traffic paperwork somebody just delivered, found a routing envelope addressed ‘16th SOS scheduling officer‘, and opened that first. It was a memo from the radio shack, one of a stack of twenty identical copies, and he was reading it, when Woods came into the 16th SOS squadron building.

“What‘s up, sir?”

“Read this. You might find this interesting. See that Caster gets it wil‘ya?”

“You bet, Captain.” Woods was on his way to the gunner crew ops room, dodging traffic in the hallway, head down, reading the memo. Search concluded 15:43 this date. No further aircraft lost. Known dead: A1C Robin G. Stezel, Gunner. Known captured: Capt. Charlie Barnes, Pilot, Cpt. Roger E. Clarkson, Fire Control Officer. Known Recovered: Tsgt. David D. Horton, Gunner, Ssgt. Terry A. Jones, Gunner, Sgt. Charles C. Teems, Gunner,....

He entered the doorway to gunner crew ops, still reading. Caster was sitting at Horton’s desk.

“Woods, you look like you‘re lost in the woods again.”

“Captain Martinez says I‘m to see that you get this, Caster.”

“What‘s that, Woods?”

“It looks like a report on the results of the SAR.”

“Oh yeah? Gimme.” He handed it over. Caster scanned it quickly. “Damn, damn, damn. Barney, he was my favorite, too. Shit.”

“I didn’t get to the part that says where they are now. It doesn’t say what....”

“I got a call from a buddy of mine at NKP a minute ago. Said Horton and Jones are in the hospital there. Says Horton is going to be here, in less than a week. He doesn‘t know about Jones. Jones may be in a bad way.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s in a coma. Took an AK-47 round in the head. Doesn‘t look too good. He may die.”

“Oh no.”

“Maybe not. We‘ll see. But hey, Teems is already here, the rest of ‘em are already here. Hadda get checked out in the hospital, slap a Band-Aid on ‘em, then a debrief. They‘re still in the debrief. Then I guess they‘ll take some time off. Couple weeks. Teems said he wants to go to Hong Kong. Says he‘s never been to Hong Kong. I‘d go to Bangkok myself but...hey, Woods. You talk to the Squadron commander yet?”

“No. Not yet. He‘s been busy and, well, I‘ve been having second thoughts.”

“About flying?”

“Yeah. I‘m...not sure what I want to do. Not anymore. Not now.”

“Well, look, reason I‘m asking. I‘m short some gunners. I‘m gonna do a TNT myself, tonight. Why don‘t you come with me? Nothing’s going to happen, you know that. It might even be fun.”

“Well. Yeah. Alright, I‘ll go with you.”

“Don‘t worry, Woods. Nothing ever happens on TNT‘s. That‘s why we give that one to the new guys and short timers.”

“How come you‘re still flying, Caster? Aren‘t you short? I heard you were short.”

“Well, I gotta couple months left. Less than two months. Besides, what with Fidler, you know, and this recent shoot down, we‘re a couple gunners shy of a full load. We‘re gonna get some new guys. In about a week.”

“I didn‘t know Fidler all that well.”

“Nobody did. Kept to himself. Didn‘t say much. To anybody. Didn‘t have any friends. None I knew of. That was a great idea, though, the box for the orphanage. It‘s going to be full any day now. That reminds me I gotta find someplace to take it. Someplace to donate all that stuff. You can help me with that if you want to. Hey, wanna hear something funny? Wallace found a six pack in the donation box.”

“Really?”

“Pabst blue label. I think I know why somebody gave it away.”

“Really? Why?”

“That stuff tastes like horse piss. I don‘t know anybody who drinks that shit. I‘d have to be drunk to allow that stuff near my face.”

Somebody with a severe crew cut, wearing civilian clothes poked his head in gunner crew ops.

“Caster, got a minute? We‘d like you talk to you at the debrief. Just take a minute.”

“Yeah, sure. Woods, answer the phone for me wil‘ya?” Caster got up, followed the gray pinstriped suit down the hall to the auditorium.

“What‘s this about? And who are you anyway?”

“Let‘s say I‘m...Richard.”

“Okay, Richard. What gives with you?”

“I‘m with Air America.”

“CIA?”

“Let’s just say I’m with Air America.”

“I get it. You could tell me, but then you‘d have to kill me.”

“My cover story is that I‘m here to recruit for Air America.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. Actually, that part is true. We need pilots and assorted crewdogs, ground guys, too.”

“You don‘t say.”

“Indeed I do say. Wallace...I used to work for Wallace. He and I go way back. I think my assets may help on this shootdown thing.”

“Great. That’s great. How?”

“Can I save that answer for later? That way I won‘t have to say it twice.”

“Sure. This have something to do with SOG?”

“Yeah. Lemme save it, okay?”

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the auditorium. A small group were seated on the very front row. Wallace was sitting in a chair facing them, an empty chair was to Wallace’s left.

“Caster, you may have some information that may help” Wallace said.

“I’ll help if I can, sir, of course.” Caster and Richard walked down to the front. Richard sat in the empty chair to Wallace’s left. Caster found an empty chair on the front row.

“We have reason to believe that Captains Barnes and Clarkson may be recovered yet.“

“I thought they were captured“ Caster said.

“Well, they were. But we think we can get them back. Maybe. They are still in Laos, you know.“

“How do we know that, sir?“

“Okay...” Richard was saying. “...we have assets there in northern Laos, trail watchers, Green Berets, who may be able to recover your guys. They‘ll need support of course. Special Operations Group put them in there to watch the trail. Only. The effort to get your guys back will compromise them. We‘ll have to get ‘em outta there most ricky tick, success or failure. As you know there‘s a couple thousand bad guys in that area. It may not work.”

“That sounds dicey, Colonel” said Caster.

“Indeed it does. But I think it may be worth the effort. So does Dick.”

“So where do I come in?”

“Caster, I need to hear from you...lemme start over. I’m wanna suspend all the interdiction efforts to do this one thing. I’m thinking, we use the gunships to open a path, put the green berets get in there, grab the good guys, and get outta there fast. They beat feet to a nearby LZ. Jolly Green goes in there and picks ’em up.”

“The triple A is going to be murderous.”

“Not to mention the estimated two regiments of bad guys on the ground. We‘ll use the whole squadron if we have to. I want our guys back.”

“I want those guys back, too, sir. It’s your decision, of course, sir, and I’ll do whatever you decide, but shit, that area is really hot.”

“That could be me down there. Could be you.” Caster was going to make further arguments, but that one stopped him cold.

“We’ll use the gunships to hunt for the triple A sites, ground troops, stuff like that. Those areas that are just too fucking unsafe, we get Night Owl to do his thing. Wolfpack is willing to commit whatever we need. I‘ve asked for three escorts per gunship with bombs, guns, and CBU‘s.”

“I think it just might work at that, sir.”

“So what I need from you, Caster. I need to know if we have enough gunners for, say, nine, maybe ten aircraft, for tonight. And how many for right now.”

“Now?”

“It‘s evening, getting dark up there. Gomer is waiting for the sun to go down. Once the sun goes down, that truck is on the road. With our guys onboard.”

“I‘ll get you those gunners, sir. Lemme go make a hell of a lot of phone calls.” He leapt out of his chair and ran up the aisle.

“Good. Thanks, Caster. Get Dexter, or whoever you need to help you” he yelled.

“Will do, sir” he yelled back.

“Dick, I‘ll need frequencies, call signs, stuff like that, for your assets.”

“I‘ll make a list and give it to your scheduling officer” he knocked his chair over in his hurry to get up and go. ”Some of that stuff I‘m going to have to make some calls for.” He was on his way running after the disappearing Caster.

“Thanks, Dick.”

“Well, gentlemen, it looks like the debrief will have to wait until....”

“I want to go too. Sir.” Teems said. The other crewmembers nodded their heads in agreement.

“Go find your bosses and get yourselves on the schedule. Thanks, guys. Hop to it, not a moment to waste here.”

They all leaped up and ran.

Wallace sat there smiling. Tears formed in his eyes, flooded over his left eyelid, ran down his cheek. This squadron is great. These guys are the greatest. Well, I got stuff I gotta attend to. He stood and started up the aisle, took out his handkerchief. Dexter met him at the door. Wallace was wiping his face.

“What the fuck, Colonel?”

“Dex. I just witnessed...you will not believe what just happened.”

“Looks to me like somebody just beat you with a stick.”

“No listen, just listen to me.”

“You have my undivided attention.”

“I‘m sitting there. In front of me is a crew that just got shot down in Northern Laos. They were picked up this afternoon. They went to the hospital, got checked out, you know? I’m sitting there debriefing them. Dick Lancaster shows up, interrupts my debrief, has this great idea to get back those captured guys. An idea that might even work Dexter.”

“We almost never get those guys back. You know that. Right away or not at all.”

“Yeah. I know that. But I want to try, Dexter. I have to try.”

“I don‘t blame you. I would too.”

“So I‘m sitting there making plans to send the squadron out there tonight, now, as a mater of fact, and this crew of guys that hasn‘t been outta the woods but a couple hours....”

“You‘re not going to tell me that they want to go back out there are you?”

“Yeah. Yes. That‘s what I‘m saying.”

“Well, hell, Colonel, I already knew that.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Saw ‘em leaving outta here. Talked to ‘em. I scheduled myself to fly.”

“Fuck you, Dexter. I can‘t let you go out there. You know that.”

“Begging the Colonel‘s pardon and with all due respect, you can kiss my ass.”

“But, dammit Dex, I need you here to coordinate with Wolfpack.”

“Baker says he‘ll to it. And the FICO‘s are gonna take over in shifts. Don‘t worry.”

“But the mission planning. We‘ll need to....”

“FICO‘s have already set in motion. C‘mon, you know I want to do this thing.”

“Well, if I can‘t talk you out of going, maybe you‘d be so kind as to fly with me. That way I can watch out for you.”

“I scheduled you and I to launch in about an hour. Okay?”

“Alright, alright. Your wife is gonna beat the shit outta me.”

“This is a military secret. She doesn‘t have to a need to know.”

“Shit, Dex. I can never say no to you. Why is that? Let‘s go.”

“The Colonel may wanna go wash his fucking face.”

“Go round up our crew. I’ll meet you guys in the briefing room.”

“You got it skipper.”

As Dexter waked in the hallway, he went past the mahogany memorial wall plaque. There was already a piece of paper taped there listing Spectre three two‘s crew. A metal plate will replace the piece of paper in about a week.

“The Colonel...“ pilot, Captain David A. Hilt is speaking to his crew in briefing room two. ”...is launching as Spectre two three as we speak. Two four is launching five minutes after that, two five is launching five minutes after that. We’re Spectre two six. This is a big push, all planes that will fly are going. For those of you who live in a cave and don’t know what’s up, we‘re going to northern Laos to see can we find the place where they‘re holding those two guys that got captured last night, Barney and Clarkson. As you know gomer doesn‘t move much during the day. It’s thought that they’re held in or near a truck park somewhere...right...about...here” He pointed behind him on the map. “I’m told we will have a team of green berets on the ground, call sign Stinger, so, FICO, we’ll have to be careful where we shoot. We’re going to see can we clear a path for Stinger to get into the truck park and find our two guys. Jolly Green is going to pick up Stinger with or without our guys....”

“Stinger, I‘m told, is a team of trail watchers. You know, count the trucks on the trail? And their participation in this operation will compromise them. They’ll have to be extracted whether or not they get our two guys.” Wright nods understanding. “I know what you’re thinking. And I agree. It sucks that we have only one shot at this. Only one try to get it right, but it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing.

“We’re going to be replaced by Spectre three zero when we go winchester or zero one hundred whichever occurs first. I’m told we’re going to have three Night Owls as escorts. They’re each carrying bombs, CBU’s, and a gun. Let’s put ‘em to good use. We can expect a lot of triple A and there’s a regiment or two of bad guys down there. I say we find ‘em and waste ‘em all. Way I feel now, we’re going to go winchester in about ten minutes. Early aircraft will take out the triple A, later planes will cover Stinger, knock down trees on the road so Gomer can’t use it, that kind of thing.

“We got fifty eight thousand pounds of gas, the weather is co-operating for once. Safe areas are to the west. Today’s letter is ‘A’. Check your radios, pistols, water bottles, and so on and so on. Any questions? Let’s work together on this and do it right. He made the ‘pull-chocks’ signal and everybody got up to file out.

“FICO, got a second?” The pilot watched Captain Charlie 'Chuck' Keeney make his way past the crowd to the lectern and waited until everybody else left the room before he said anything to him.

“Look, we’re gonna be working in Laos and the rules of engagement are, you know, different, from a real war zone.”

“You can say that again. I never agreed with that one about villages. The bad guys make it into a village and all of a sudden we can‘t shoot?”

“Yeah, my point exactly. So, I wanted to reach an agreement with you, here, not on the BDA tape, about what we‘re gonna shoot at. I say the rules of engagement are what we say they are. Okay?”

“No argument from me.”

“We get into some kinda gray area and do something that Seventh Air Force might not like, I‘ll take the heat. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I want those guys back, and I don‘t much care who we have to kill to get ‘em.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Thirty minutes later, at 21:45, Spectre two six launched, the fourth of twelve aircraft scheduled to fly. Teems is at station on the 105. Woods is working the 40. Caster is right scanner. They are already east of the fence and Caster is listening to channel ‘1‘.

“Co-pilot here, two seven is requesting we divert to the northeast. He’s dueling with a 57 gun over there and it’s becoming a bit of a problem.”

“What altitude is he?” pilot asks.

“Says he’s at fourteen thou.”

“Tell him we‘ll go to fifteen and use his radio for a TACAN.”

“Okie dokie.”

“Nav, gimme a course”

“Recommend three two zero. ETA four minutes.”

“Let‘s do it. Any word from Stinger?”

“NKP said the Jolly was going to pick ‘em up from where they were and they‘ll be here in about 45 minutes.”

“Not much playtime.”

“Says they‘d rather not try to go feet wet to wait.”

“I don‘t blame them. FICO, what‘s the word?”

“We‘re good. Nothing down there. Guys before us really cleaned out this area.”

“Two three is going back winchester” co-pilot said.

“Already?”

“He must have shot at anything and everything down there.”

“TV is seeing lots of scars. Those gun emplacements are just holes in the jungle now.”

“IR‘s got a couple bonfires.”

“Black crow‘s clean. Nothing down there.”

“Hope they left us something to shoot at, somewhere.”

“Not to worry.”

“Hey, Moon, take over for a second wil‘ya. I gotta tweak my sight.”

“I have the aircraft.”

“Engineer, gimme the 105.”

“Hey, you guys in the back. Pilot says he wants the 105.”

“Nav here. Recommend we do zero three zero.”

“Okay, Moon I got it.”

“You have the aircraft. There‘s some flashes on the ground there at eleven o‘clock.”

“Moon, have two seven call off his escorts for a second. I don‘t wanna risk a mid-air. I think I see the top light of two seven there at one o‘clock. Nav, let‘s extend a bit to the right here and get on the opposite side of his orbit.”

“Okay.”

“Two seven says he‘s expended his escorts already, wants to know can he borrow ours.”

“Set it up wil‘ya Moon. And tell two seven we‘re opposite him in the orbit, he‘s weapons free still.”

“Will do.”

“FICO, I‘m ready for a pipper.”

“Working on it.”

“TV‘s got nothing but jungle down there.”

“IR‘s got multiple hot spots.”

“Well hell, let‘s hit all of ‘em.”

“Launch a flare? Blind the gun?”

“Get two seven to launch his flares. He‘s below us.”

“We don‘t want to blind him. We want to kill him.”

“Let‘s blind him, then kill him.”

“Two seven says the gun guys are probably using tree branches as camo. Pull the branches to the side, get a few rounds off, then cover the gun back up.”

“Pilot, TV. Maybe we could use the twenty. Recon by spray.”

“Good Idea, TV.”

“I thought so my own self.”

“Engineer, gimme the forward twenty.”

“Hey you guys in the back, pilot wants the forward twenty now.”

“FICO, gimme...I almost asked you for a pipper.”

“Pipper hell, shoot anywhere.”

“Well, gimme the biggest, hottest, hot spot, or something.”

“Okay. There. Knock yourself out, skipper.”

There was a sustained burring noise to the rear of the cockpit. A neon yellowish glowing line drew itself from the gun toward the ground and then erased itself starting at the top.

“No visible result.”

“Wait one. TV‘s got....”

Several loud cracks to the left of the plane, close aboard.

“Break right, break right.”

“We took a hit in the back.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“We‘re checking.”

“Night Owl wants to....”

Loud booms to the right, underneath the plane. The sound of hail on a tin roof, shrapnel piercing sheet aluminum.

“Break left, break left.”

“IO‘s hit.”

“How bad?”

“I‘m...I‘m okay. Left shoulder. It‘s bleeding. I‘m staying here.”

“Night Owl wants to get in on the action.”

“Nav, mark this spot.”

“Already done.”

“Two seven says thanks for being the decoy, they found the gun....”

Several cracks far away behind them, black as coal popcorns appearing in mid-air.

“Engineer, get the gunners to check on IO‘s...check on the IO.”

“Hey, you guys in the back. See what you can do for IO.”

“Teems is looking at me now.”

“Well, have him hold onto something. A strap maybe. Something. Don‘t want him leaving the plane.”

“He’s got my safety strap wrapped around his right leg.”

“Hey, engineer, this is Woods. IO don‘t look so good. He‘s bleeding big time from his left shoulder. His clear face shield is gone.”

“Pilot, engineer. The IO is in a bad way.”

“That‘s it we‘re leaving. Have one of the gunners do IO‘s job, move him to the booth.”

“Will do.”

“Hey, you guys in the back, pilot says we‘re RTB. Move the IO to the booth and somebody else lay down back there.”

“FICO, see what you can do for IO when he gets there.”

“Two seven says he owes us a beer. Says he didn‘t have the balls to make himself a target like that.”

“Tell him I thought of it all by myself.”

“Nav here. Recommend two zero zero.”

“Okay.”

“This is Haberkorn. Right scanner is laying on the floor, not moving. I think he may be hit. I was working the twenties but now I‘m right scanner.”

“Who is laying on the floor?”

“Caster.”

“Oh shit. Engineer, get down there and look at him wil‘ya?”

“On my way.”

Woods came forward to help out, saw a darkened shape climb down the ladder, saw a silhouette reach up to the wall, on the left side, forward of the guns. The overhead lights came on to dim red. Then he saw that the floor was covered with hundreds of 20-mm spent brass shells and Caster laying on them, his hands over his heart. He watched the flight engineer squat down beside him, pull Caster’s hands away. The combat vest was ripped, the lower left pocket emptied. He saw Caster’s helmet had gouges in the top. The flight engineer was plugging into the comm cord for the forward 20. Woods found the unoccupied coiled cord behind the rear 20 and plugged in.

“...and his helmet. I can’t tell if he’s hurt bad. Hell, he’s just laying here unconscious.”

“And bleeding? You said that he‘s bleeding? Where‘s he bleeding?”

The flight engineer took off one of his nomex gloves, unhooked Caster’s parachute harness, unzipped Caster’s combat vest, and ran his naked hand over the front of Caster’s flight jacket, then unzipped it, felt inside Caster’s jacket on the left and right.

“I’m not finding any blood anywhere on the front.”

Woods took off one of his nomex gloves and felt along the arm nearest him, down the leg. No blood. He raised his bare hand to show the flight engineer.

“We don‘t think he‘s bleeding. Anywhere.”

“Okay, well, do what you can. We’ll be home soon.”

The flight engineer unplugged, pointed at Woods, then at Caster, and went aft. He stumbled past the booth. He saw Teems laying on the ramp to the right of the flare dispenser, Auto and IO were sitting in front of the ammo rack, amid the debris from the medical kit. Auto was wrapping IO’s shoulder. The gauze had a large dark splotch on it. The IO gave the flight engineer a thumbs up using his good arm. The flight engineer gave him a thumbs up and turned away, to go back to the flight deck. When he got to the front of the booth he saw that Woods was laying across Caster, chest to chest. Maybe he’s trying to see if he’s still breathing. Or trying to keep him warm. He stepped over them and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. He didn’t see Woods reach out, hold Caster’s left hand in his.