Cracker! by Cynthia Kadohata

ain’t gonna get you no tarp or no steak. We call Mike our ’procurement specialist.’”
    So later that day the dogs had their tarp stretched out on poles over their crates, Mike had the only thing of value Cody had ever owned, and the guys and their dogs ate steak for dinner. Cody was just about the most popular guy in Vietnam that night.
    Rain poured for several days. After a while you accepted it, just like it was regular air. You walked through it like it was nothing. The dogs weren’t as effective in rain because it washed away the smells, but Cody got called out on a mission anyway, to take a chopper to a drier area.
    Rick spent most of the first four days filling sandbags, or mudbags. He gloved his hands to protect the blisters and attacked the mud and felt the opposite of the relaxation he felt in the shop at home, working with his dad’s tools. He felt frustrated out here.
    Since Cody had already gotten chosen to go out on a mission, it didn’t seem fair that Rick was still filling these dang bags. What kind of high-tech helicopter war was this, anyway?
    Then on the fifth day the skies cleared. During formation Sarge yelled out at him, “Hanski, you got a search and destroy.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “Now, mister.”
    The crazy thing was that even though Rick had been wanting his chance to whip the world, he now realized that it was a lot safer filling sandbags. Still, he couldn’t wait to show off Cracker. As was customary with new handlers, one of the “short” handlers would accompany him. “Short” meant a soldier who had only a short time left in country, so they were called “short” or “short-timers.” By tradition, short-timers worked mostly in the rear, which meant jobs as far from combat as possible. They’d also already turned in their dogs so that the dogs could learn to work and bond with new handlers. Some handlers thought giving up their dogs was one of the hardest parts of their jobs. Rick didn’t like to think about it.
    The mission was to make contact in an area where a reconnaissance team had said Charlie might be hiding. Rick heard that the team had reported some fresh bark scraped from a tree. Didn’t sound like much of a lead to him, and probably didn’t sound like much of a lead to anybody because the brass was sending out only a couple of small platoons.
    Rick waited at the makeshift kennels while the short-timer sat with his former dog—a pure black German shepherd—talking to him. At one point the short-timer leaned his head into his dog’s coat. Rick turned away; it seemed like a private moment. He patted Cracker’s head. “We got a long way to go before I’m short.”
    Finally, the other handler left his dog, and they walked to the helicopter pad. They had just one cigarette between them, so they shared it.
    “I guess you had a good dog?”
    “He’s the best dog in Vietnam. Name’s Mack. He was one of the first dogs in country.”
    “Yeah, I noticed he’s got white on his chin.”
    “Another handler is taking over, and then they’ll probably retire Mack.”
    “You going to take him home eventually?”
    “They won’t let me.”
    “What happens when they retire a dog?”
    The man looked into the distance and shook his head. “I dunno what’s going to happen to him.”
    Then the pilots began arriving, and Rick, the short-timer, and Cracker hopped on a Huey. The short-timer sat with his legs hanging out the doorway—all the doors were taken off the choppers for faster loading and unloading. Rick had liked the chopper during training, but now in the back of his mind he couldn’t shake the thought that this could be his last ride. There were five birds altogether, so this wasn’t a big mission. He looked at Cracker, her face full of joy as the wind blew back her ears.
    Cracker loved being on the helicopter. The wind pounding her face filled her with life. She was ready for anything.
    The choppers landed ten minutes later, and the men leaped off. Rick