of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord
.
Romans 8:28
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose
.
“Are you okay?” the doc asked. He looked up and seemed to be studying my face.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” His concern surprised me. “I’m just reading something really neat out of the Bible. You should hear this.”
“No thanks,” he said with the slur of a spoiled snob. He was a Navy man from Massachusetts, and was generally disliked for his attitude of resentful superiority, but for some uncharacteristic reason I didn’t get mad at him. I found myself wondering what his parents were like. The doc threw on some red stuff that burned and a couple of Band-Aids. I gave him a thanks that I didn’t mean and headed back to the gun position.
A chopper picked up Blaine twenty minutes later. The moment it lifted off, Swift Eagle shouted, “Saddle up!” A collage of thoughts rambled through my mind as the hump through the bush started again. I was a Spartan on my way to Thermopylae. We looked like Spartans. Red looked like one. Everyone looked meaner than me. Their eyes were serious, almost menacing. They all had mustaches. I had peach fuzz.
I started scuffing my boots as we walked along. One ofthe best ways to recognize the grunt Marines was their boots.
The terrain turned hard and hilly with little vegetation. At 1900 hours the seventeen-man column stopped. We dropped to one knee and waited to be placed in ambush position. Corporal Swift Eagle swept through the column, taking three men at a time and quickly placing them in position for the night. When he finished we had a textbook L-shaped ambush.
It was that eerie time of the day. The lighting was just right for your eyes to play tricks on you. A pinkish yellow twilight filtered across the brown and green earth, casting odd shadows that made me nervous.
Tactically we were on our own except for possible artillery support from Phu Bai about five miles north. There was supposed to be an enemy battalion out here roaming around. The logic of sending seventeen Marines to make contact with an NVA battalion had escaped me, but I was only a private first class. I was contemplating the prospects of finding an NVA battalion when Red woke me up with a stiff elbow to the shoulder.
“Do you see movement?”
“Where?” I asked.
“Straight ahead. Keep looking straight ahead.”
I strained to see what he was now aiming at. Then I saw movement. Shadowy figures, silhouetted by evaporating sunlight, looked to be moving thirty meters away. I felt myself trying to crouch lower as I took aim. I covered my mouth and whispered in the direction of the Marines on our left.
“Gooks!”
I started linking up ammo for the gun. Suddenly green tracers shot across our position from the left flank. Then another burst of fire came at us from straight ahead. Seven khaki-clad NVA appeared from the shadows in front of us. They were led by an officer who suddenly ran toward us firing a pistol. The others carried AKs. Theylooked surprised, maybe as surprised as we were. A couple turned and ran from us, but the others followed their leader. Red opened up first, making us the only real target they had. The officer was lifted off his feet and blown backward with the first twenty rounds. The gun stopped firing. I started firing my M16, but the targets disappeared. All firing ceased. I knew Red was hit. My face was wet with blood, and it wasn’t mine. He was slumped forward onto the gun.
I rolled him off the gun. Two dime-sized holes sunk into one cheek. His eyes were open—lifeless and blue. I could hear myself calling for a corpsman. My voice sounded dreamlike. For an instant I thought I was dreaming: I’d wake up and find none of this had really happened. Swift Eagle flattened out beside me. He looked at the back of Red’s head with no expression. Doc slid in beside us, breathing hard.
“He’s
.
Romans 8:28
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose
.
“Are you okay?” the doc asked. He looked up and seemed to be studying my face.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” His concern surprised me. “I’m just reading something really neat out of the Bible. You should hear this.”
“No thanks,” he said with the slur of a spoiled snob. He was a Navy man from Massachusetts, and was generally disliked for his attitude of resentful superiority, but for some uncharacteristic reason I didn’t get mad at him. I found myself wondering what his parents were like. The doc threw on some red stuff that burned and a couple of Band-Aids. I gave him a thanks that I didn’t mean and headed back to the gun position.
A chopper picked up Blaine twenty minutes later. The moment it lifted off, Swift Eagle shouted, “Saddle up!” A collage of thoughts rambled through my mind as the hump through the bush started again. I was a Spartan on my way to Thermopylae. We looked like Spartans. Red looked like one. Everyone looked meaner than me. Their eyes were serious, almost menacing. They all had mustaches. I had peach fuzz.
I started scuffing my boots as we walked along. One ofthe best ways to recognize the grunt Marines was their boots.
The terrain turned hard and hilly with little vegetation. At 1900 hours the seventeen-man column stopped. We dropped to one knee and waited to be placed in ambush position. Corporal Swift Eagle swept through the column, taking three men at a time and quickly placing them in position for the night. When he finished we had a textbook L-shaped ambush.
It was that eerie time of the day. The lighting was just right for your eyes to play tricks on you. A pinkish yellow twilight filtered across the brown and green earth, casting odd shadows that made me nervous.
Tactically we were on our own except for possible artillery support from Phu Bai about five miles north. There was supposed to be an enemy battalion out here roaming around. The logic of sending seventeen Marines to make contact with an NVA battalion had escaped me, but I was only a private first class. I was contemplating the prospects of finding an NVA battalion when Red woke me up with a stiff elbow to the shoulder.
“Do you see movement?”
“Where?” I asked.
“Straight ahead. Keep looking straight ahead.”
I strained to see what he was now aiming at. Then I saw movement. Shadowy figures, silhouetted by evaporating sunlight, looked to be moving thirty meters away. I felt myself trying to crouch lower as I took aim. I covered my mouth and whispered in the direction of the Marines on our left.
“Gooks!”
I started linking up ammo for the gun. Suddenly green tracers shot across our position from the left flank. Then another burst of fire came at us from straight ahead. Seven khaki-clad NVA appeared from the shadows in front of us. They were led by an officer who suddenly ran toward us firing a pistol. The others carried AKs. Theylooked surprised, maybe as surprised as we were. A couple turned and ran from us, but the others followed their leader. Red opened up first, making us the only real target they had. The officer was lifted off his feet and blown backward with the first twenty rounds. The gun stopped firing. I started firing my M16, but the targets disappeared. All firing ceased. I knew Red was hit. My face was wet with blood, and it wasn’t mine. He was slumped forward onto the gun.
I rolled him off the gun. Two dime-sized holes sunk into one cheek. His eyes were open—lifeless and blue. I could hear myself calling for a corpsman. My voice sounded dreamlike. For an instant I thought I was dreaming: I’d wake up and find none of this had really happened. Swift Eagle flattened out beside me. He looked at the back of Red’s head with no expression. Doc slid in beside us, breathing hard.
“He’s
Similar Books
