Childs pulled out a magazine and inserted it into his weapon. He leaned back on the padded firewall and thought of his wife. She'd be in the school cafeteria cleaning up after the noon meal. Her face would be flushed from the heat of the kitchen and her hair would be tied back and covered by a hairnet. The thought of her working made him angry at himself. She deserved better, damn it! Her hair was so pretty when it hung down and . . . Damn!
Colonel Sy and Sergeant Chuong walked past the line of waiting men, talking calmly, urging them to relax, but the effort was difficult, for three men had already been killed and four had been wounded by rocket fragments from the gunships. The helicopters had made passes up and down the slope searching for their position. The gun and rocket runs had come close, but were haphazard and mosdy ineffective.
Chuong looked at his watch and centered himself along the ragged line of men. He lifted his arm and brought it forward. The platoon rose and began the trek up the slope.
Preacher set down the handset with a smile. He whispered to Wade loudly enough for all the team to hear. "A rescue force is coming in to get us out! They'll be here in fifteen minutes!"
Wade shut his eyes to put the throbbing pain somewhere else and raised up. "You heard it, Three-one. We gotta hold!" He'd promised Russian-and himself-that they'd all make it home . . . and by God, they would!
Rose pushed off the safety of his rifle and blurted, "Fuckin' A!"
Thumper looked behind him at Gibson and Russian. His face contorted in anger upon seeing their wounds, and he whispered in determination, "Fuckin' A!"
Woodpecker lay beside his M-60, holding a rifle. He let the bolt slam forward and nodded to himself as he spoke, "Fuckin' A!"
Russian lifted his head with a quick "Fuckin' A!" as Preacher finished his prayer asking for forgiveness for what he was about to say. He looked down the slope and raised his rifle. "Fuckin' A, brothers!"
Chuong could just barely see the boulders on the ridge and lowered himself to his knees. He turned to face his men and raised the hinged bayonet on his AK-47 to its extended position.
The line of men all sunk to their knees and followed their leader's example, locking their bayonets for close combat.
Chuong motioned them forward and began to crawl.
Rose's eyes darted back and forth. He knew the NVA were close. He felt them. He turned over and whispered, "They're comin'!"
Preacher picked up the handset and directed the Guns to make a pass in front of their position. He knew Rose too well to doubt his instincts.
The lead gunship banked hard right and lowered its nose.
Chuong crawled a few feet toward the boulders just ahead, then raised his rifle. The men behind him crawled up and got in position. The sound of the attacking helicopter unnerved a few of them, who flattened themselves as minigun bullets ripped through the canopy above.
Chuong raised up, ignoring the helicopter, and yelled, "Fire!"
Wade and the team stayed hidden as the bullets tore into the battie-scarred boulders and NVA bodies. Wade was waiting for a change in the tempo of firing and yelling that would signal an assault. He and the others had all pulled pins on grenades and held the spoons down, waiting.
Suddenly the fire decreased, and the soldiers of the first squad jumped to their feet, cried out at the top of their voices, and began their assault.
Wade judged their voices to be twenty yards away and closing fast. He counted aloud, "One . . . Two. . . Three . . . Now!"
Each man tossed his grenade over the boulder and readied his weapon.
The first squad leader was only a few feet away when a succession of explosions threw him forward into the rocks. He hit his shoulder and fell back. His shirt was ripped open and his intestines were bubbling out up from a gash in his stomach. Screaming, he grabbed at the slimy pink flesh as Woodpecker rolled into position. Woodpecker fired point-blank at the soldier's face, ending his agony. TWo men lying wounded among the dead tried to get up when Wade and Thumper rolled over and fired. The two NVA fell back into silence.
A second wave of men fired from the hip and ran toward the boulders. Woodpecker dropped the M-16 and got behind his M-60. He aimed low and pulled the trigger. The first three men fell, shot first in the legs and then hit again, this time in the face and shoulders. Now Wade's weapon was empty. He grabbed for another magazine as Thumper fired a burst into the chest of a charging soldier. Thumper saw the red glow from the last bullets as they disappeared into the falling man and knew his own gun was empty-he always loaded tracers last to signal the end of the magazine.
TWo remaining NVA ran up to the boulders, firing steadily. One of them jumped to the top of a rock and fired into the first target he saw. Russian jerked back, struck in the chest, and toppled over.
"No!" screamed Wade in anguish as the NVA soldier swung his weapon and fired the last of his ammunition into Gibson and the body of Toan.
Wade forgot his wounds and yanked the pistol from his shoulder holster. He screamed as he raised it up, viciously jabbed the barrel into the startled NVA's side, and fired. The small Vietnamese was blown off the rock by the deadly blast. The second NVA lunged forward with his bayonetted rifle. The long, narrow blade struck Wade in the left side, deflected off his rib, and sunk in three inches below his breast, just missing his lung. Wade fell back with the momentum of die thrust but raised his pistol and fired point-blank into the NVA's screaming face.
The third wave was avoiding the M-60 fire by running up the slope toward Preacher and Rose. Rose waited for them to get a litde closer and blew the last of the Claymores. Preacher fired at two men who had run past the mines and were about to toss grenades. The first man had pulled the firing wire and was about to throw when his right eye disappeared and the back of his head blew out. He fell beside his primed grenade, never knowing it blew his comrade's legs out from under him. Preacher raised up and put a bullet into the squirming man's head.
Woodpecker and Thumper threw gas, as they'd planned, and waited for the fourth wave, but it didn't come.
The gas and failed attacks had demoralized the remaining men-except for Sergeant Chuong, who stood in the white cloud, with tears running down his face, coughing and yelling for his men to continue the attack.
Colonel Sy, following the soldiers as they ran down the slope in search of protection, slowed to a walk and looked over his shoulder at the pathetic sergeant. His general had been right; they must survive to fight another day.
Rose raised up cautiously and looked behind him. Preacher was kneeling in a pool of blood beside Russian. Wade lay on his stomach with his arm outstretched, holding the dead Czech's hand. "Carl? Carl, you'll be okay. I'm gonna get you home. We're gonna make it."
Thumper checked Gibson's neck for a pulse and closed his eyes. Despite the bullets that had struck him in the stomach and side, the young officer was somehow still alive.
Rose was taking a step to help Thumper when a shot rang out. Rose stumbled forward, grabbing at his back, and fell in front of Preacher. Woodpecker screamed, "Motherfucker!" and swung the M-60, firing at the running NVA who had jumped up from behind a tree. The soldier zigzagged down the slope followed by the red tracers of the 60 and dived for cover out of sight.
Rose lay on his stomach, looking up with a strange grin at Preacher and spoke in a tired voice: "They got the Rose, man."
Preacher grabbed his friend and rolled him over. He tore open his shirt, "No. God. No!" Frantically he put his hand over the one-inch exit hole to stop the blood flow.
Rose rolled his head back and forth along the ground, shaking violently. "Preacher . . . Preacher, pray for me. Pray for . . ." He stopped shaking.
The tears that streamed down Preacher's face left trails in the grime on his cheeks. He tore at the plastic of a sterile bandage. His hands shook as he looked at Rose's still face. It was no use. His friend was dead. The bandage fell from his hands as he fulfilled Rose's last request and began to pray for him.
Thumper eased Wade over on his back to c
heck his bayonet wound, but the sergeant brushed the big man's hand away. He rolled his head to the side and looked at Russian and Rose. "They're gonna make it, aren't they?"
Thumper shut his eyes and shook his head. "They're gone, Matt."
Wade frantically broke from the big soldier's grasp and hugged Russian's lifeless body. "No, they can't die! I promised! I... I promised."
Thumper lowered his eyes. There was nothing he could do or say. His sergeant was delirious with pain and couldn't be reasoned with.
Wade rocked Russian's body back and forth. "You'll be okay, Cart. You and Rose are gonna make it."
Chuong ran down the slope to the group of remaining men who stood in groups beside the wounded. "There are only a few Yankees left. I shot one as he stood up! We can take them now!"
Colonel Sy stepped forward. "No, it is over! We must help the wounded and leave!"
Chuong spun around, facing his men. "The Yankees killed your comrades. Can you let their deaths go unavenged? The Yankees are finished, they ..." Chuong stopped in mid-sentence; a large group of soldiers was approaching. He recognized the first man immediately. It was his company commander, Captain Trung.
The sweat-soaked officer saluted Colonel Sy and motioned behind him. "The regiment commander has sent us to help destroy the Yankees."
Colonel Sy shook his head. "No, captain, enough have died. You must help the wounded and leave the fortress."
Captain Trung glared at the colonel. "My regiment commander has ordered me. You do not have the authority to change his orders." Trung's eyes shifted from the colonel to Sergeant Chuong. "Where are the Yankees?"
Preacher raised his hand to his face and ran two blood-covered fingers down his cheek. The blood was Rose's. He dipped his hand into the sticky pool beside Russian and made two more streaks down his other cheek. Reaching out, he touched both of his friends and began the Fallen Warrior's Chant of his ancestors. The spirits of the two men would join as they made their long journey. They would be together as warriors should be. Together forever, they would be honored by coundess other fighters who would understand that their deaths had meaning.
At hearing the sorrowful chant, Woodpecker turned painfully and lowered his gaze to the small Indian. He turned to face the trail again, sniffing back his tears, and began humming along.
Colonel Sy walked to the outcrop and stood over the general. The Tall One was dead, but his face showed no sign that he had suffered pain in those last moments. Sy felt strangely relieved for the old man. The awesome responsibility that the general had endured for so many years was finally over.
Sy pulled a ground cloth over the body and walked over to Private Nuu, who was lying beside the rock wall. The colonel knelt down and took the boy's hand.
"You must be strong and endure a litde longer. I have ordered the evacuation. Soon we will be leaving and will find you medical help. I'm sorry we have nothing to give you for the pain."
Nuu's face was flushed and his jaw taut from clenching his teeth. He looked up at the colonel and spoke with tears in his eyes. "Is there a victory for us . . . An end?"
Sy looked at the bodies and wounded lying about him and thought of the soldiers lying still on the ridge. He could hardly bear to look at the young man as he shook his head. "For the soldier, there is no victory, there is only survival."
The wind from the helicopter's rotor kicked up a dust cloud as the big machine lowered onto the ridge. Childs jumped out first. Shane and the others followed. They ran a few yards and got down to wait for the next bird.
Childs brought the handset up. "Three-one, this is Rescue- one. Over."
Thumper picked up the radio. "This is Three-one. Go."
Childs turned his head to avoid the biting dirt kicked up by the approaching second Slick and spoke quickly. "We're on the ground and on the way. Hang tough, Ranger!"
Captain Trang had brought the first platoon with him. Combining his troops with those remaining of the Second and Third Platoons, he had forty-three men for the attack. He heard from Sergeant Chuong how the past attacks had failed and decided to place his two machine guns on the trail to the north. He would have them fire as his soldiers crawled forward. There would be no charge. He wouldn't expose any of his men until they were almost on top of the Yankees' position. He motioned for the machine gunners to move into position and waved his troops forward.
Wade lay on his side, still holding Russian's hand. Preacher had cut off Wade's shirt to bandage the bayonet wound, but instead decided to place the compress over a fragmentation wound that was still bleeding. Wade's pants were soaked with blood from the frag wounds in his buttocks and legs. None of the wounds by itself could kill him, but Preacher worried his sergeant might die of blood loss from the combination of all of them.
Thumper wasn't better off. His body was so stiff he could barely move his arms without shuddering in pain. And Woodpecker bit down on a rolled-up portion of his parachute scarf, his eyes watering in silent agony. Preacher had just finished checking Woodpecker's wounds when he heard a shout that made him shut his eyes in relief and thank his savior.
"Rangers comin' in!"
Tvo 60 gunners ran up to the boulders and took up positions beside the rocks. Then Childs stepped into the opening between the boulders, and the sight and smell before him seared into his brain forever. The small open area in the center of rock formation was carpeted in shell casings, strewn equipment, blood, vomit, and his dead and wounded Rangers, covered in gritty rock dust and splattered with blood. The staring eyes of the survivors were distant and emotionless.
Childs took two steps forward, as if entering hallowed ground, and knelt by Rose and Russian. The smell of blood was overpowering. Wade looked up. "Get Carl to a doctor," he said. "He'll be okay if he gets to a doctor."
Shane ran up with the others and put his hand on Childs's shoulder. "Come on, Jerry, let's get 'em home."
Childs stood abrupdy and barked, "Litter teams pick 'em up and move out! Security teams move into their old positions and keep an eye out!"
Shane looked away from his wounded men, feeling sick. In front of their position NVA bodies were stacked and sprawled. He'd never envisioned anything like this. The sight before him was beyond imagination.
Shane shivered and began to turn around when a bullet cracked by his head. A second tore through his ear and grazed the back of his head. He fell backward behind the protection of the chipped and scarred boulders just as the other enemy machine gun opened up. All four of the security team's machine guns returned fire, spewing out a curtain of red tracers down the trail.
Childs and the men carrying the wounded were lying on the trail on the other side of the boulders. Childs, realizing the big rocks were blocking the fire, rose up and yelled out, "Move it! Keep going!"
He grabbed the handset in his leg pocket. "Rescue Flight lead, this is Rescue Ground. Bring in the Slicks. We've picked up wounded, and we're proceeding to LZ. Break, Gun lead, we're under fire and need support to disengage. I'm marking our position with pen gun flare. Enemy located north of our position, fifty meters."
Childs took out the small black cylinder from his shirt pocket and screwed in a red cartridge. He pointed the device toward a gap in the tree limbs high overhead and pushed the spring-loaded firing-pin knob with his thumb. Psssssst! The flare burst a hundred meters direcdy above him.
Preacher had remained in position at the boulders as the Rangers picked up his team. He would stay until his friends were safe on board the chopper. When he saw Shane fall, he crawled over to him to check his wounds. The major sat shaking his head, trying to stop the spinning sensation. Preacher lifted his head and inspected the damage. Shane had lost a piece of his lobe and had a narrow gash on the back of his head where the bullet had grazed him. Bright red blood from the ear wound cascaded down his neck. He was stunned but alright.
Shane shook his head again and brushed Preacher's hands away. He spun around just as Childs crawled back into the boulders. "The wounded?" he asked the
sergeant.
Childs threw his head toward the trail. "They're moving them to the bird. What the hell happened to you?"
Shane frowned as if embarrassed. "Never mind. Ya got Guns coming in?"
Childs nodded and crawled up behind the gunners. They had ceased fire, as had the NVA guns.
"When the gunships make their run, you men back out and haul your ass outta here back to the LZ! You," he pointed to the closest gunner, "leave your gun and ammo. I'll fire a belt to cover your butts, then catch up."
Shane sat up about to protest when the lead gunship streaked overhead and unleashed four rockets.
Childs yelled, "Move it!"
The four Rangers jumped up and began running as the rockets exploded in the canopy.
Shane began to crawl toward Childs, but the sergeant pointed viciously at Preacher. "Get the major out of here, Indian! Now!"
the Last Run (1987) Page 41
