Black Market by Donald E. Zlotnik Page A

the
     cooking fire. The NVA had been eating when the truck had disturbed them. The machine gun crew had stayed behind and finished
     eating before they returned to their weapon. War was filled with luck, and today the majority of the luck was going to the
     Americans.
    Youngbloode crouched and opened fire, killing one of the NVA soldiers instantly and wounding his partner. Sanchez threw a
     hand grenade that took out two more on the hidden trail and killed another soldier sleeping in a hammock on the side of the
     trail.
    “I think we’ve got them all, Captain.” Sanchez risked speaking.
    “I only saw four when they opened the gates, but let’s not take any chances and quickly sweep the area around the entrance.”
     Youngbloode thought for a second and added, “Look for documents.”
    Sanchez nodded and lowered himself into a combat crouch before stalking along the edge of the trail.
    Arnason was the first one out to the truck. The driver and his passenger were both dead. Koski flipped up the back cover on
     the truck and saw that it was filled to the tailgate with boxes. He reached up with his free hand and pulled the first row
     out onto the road, checking to see if any NVA were behind them. He wasn’t taking any chances. Kirkpatrick nervously scanned
     the jungle bordering the highway. He didn’t like being out in the open.
    Arnason tore the folded map out of the passenger’s bloody hands and shoved it into his side pocket. He searched the cab for
     anything else that might be of value and saw that the dead passenger was wearing a Russian pistol. He started reaching for
     the man’s belt buckle and then decided against it; he could always come back for it. Arnason backed away from the cab, spun
     around and checked the jungle, and then slipped back to join Koski and Kirkpatrick. He saw the boxes on the road and the back
     of the truck filled with similar containers. A small stack of black cases caught his eye and he jumped up to reach them. As
     the top case slid down he grabbed it and broke its fall to the ground. A cloud of red dust billowed up over the shiny steel
     case.
    “Kirk … open it up while we guard you.” Arnason was becoming very nervous.
    Kirkpatrick leaned his weapon up against the side of the truck and opened the latches on the long case. “Shit! Look at this
     stuff!”
    Arnason glanced into the case and saw a long black scope. It looked like the kind you would put on a sniper rifle, but it
     was too big around. “What in the fuck is it?”
    Kirkpatrick picked up a small pamphlet and read the title of the instrument. “It says here that it’s a starlight scope.”
    “You read Vietnamese?” Arnason risked another glance away from the jungle to what Kirkpatrick held in his hand.
    “Fuck no! It’s in English.”
    Arnason’s eyes focused on the side of one box lying in the road and he read a felt tip marker message: RECON CO/IBDE/ICAV . He spun around and looked at the boxes inside of the truck. Half of them had the same markings and all the rest had marker
     notes written on them designating other American units. He felt the anger welling up inside of him as he turned the boxes
     around to read their contents: everything he could reach was medical supplies.
    “Motherfuckers!” Arnason removed his fighting knife and cut the felt tip marker notes off two of the boxes and stuffed the
     pieces of cardboard into his pockets. He reached back in the truck to pull out another box when the jungle erupted in a volley
     of automatic rifle fire and hand grenades.
    “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Koski! Frag the truck! Use white phosphorus!”
    Koski obeyed. He removed the grenade off his web gear and pulled the pin, tossing the live explosive into the back of the
     truck. He paused, saw the black case containing the scope at his feet, and reached down to pick it up by its handle before
     running down the road to join Arnason and Kirkpatrick. The truck went up in a fireball with only a small