again.
The enemy gunfire began again, and once more, thump-thump-thump. “Mortars! Incoming!” someone shouted. Men scrambled for cover.
Tex buried his face for another mortar shower. This was it. No more chances.
“I’m cold,” Redman said.
Three quick explosions. The center of the creek erupted. The mortars had made a direct hit on the fallen tree, sending chunks and pieces flying through the air. Limbs and branches rained down all around; several hit Tex and his friends. But none were that big.
Somehow, they were still alive.
When the smoke cleared, he looked back to the rock that Cracker was hiding behind. He was still there. One side of his face was covered in blood, but he was standing, still holding the M-79s. Tex watched as he reloaded and aimed the first one, angled it slightly upward, then fired. He tossed it in the creek, aimed the second in the same direction, and fired again. The grenades arched into the air. Moments later, two explosions down creek. After the second one, high-pitched shouts and cries of pain came from the same direction.
He did it! He’d taken out the VC mortar.
Again, the enemy gunfire halted. Bending over, Cracker ran across the creek right at them, leaping over rocks and tree limbs, water splashing all around. “Get up!” he shouted.
Tex got up on his hands and knees. Then stood in a crouch.
“I can’t move,” Hammer yelled, his face still buried in his hands.
“You gotta move,” Cracker yelled. “I ain’t going back without you.” He quickly reloaded his grenade launcher, ran toward the enemy, and fired downstream. Then came back to the three men.
Tex helped Hammer to his feet. “We’re okay, but Redman is hit. It’s his leg.”
“You guys fall back, then, I’ll tie it off.” Cracker dropped to his knees beside Redman.
Tex and Hammer scrambled back to join the others. But the lieutenant and the rest of the patrol were rushing out from their positions, firing everything they had down creek. Tex and Hammer turned around and joined them.
It reminded Tex of some Civil War scene.
“Cracker’s got them on the run,” the lieutenant yelled. He turned to the radioman. “Call in a fire mission, 125 meters up creek.”
The whole patrol ran together, back toward Cracker and Redman, Doc leading the way. He split off when he reached the two men and dropped next to Cracker. Tex stopped a moment, to make sure Redman was okay.
“I think I got it stopped,” Cracker said. “But he doesn’t look good.”
“Scoot over,” Doc said. He looked at Cracker. “You don’t look so good, either. Your face, it’s covered in blood.”
“My right side hurts a little, but I’m all right.”
“Pull your flak jacket back,” Doc said. Cracker’s shirt was covered in blood. “You’re hit, Cracker. You got shrapnel wounds all over. Lie down.”
While the Marines continued down creek, pouring fire in the enemy’s direction, Lt. Mann walked back to take stock of the situation. “What do you need, Doc?”
“Redman needs to get back up to Cunningham ASAP. We need to medevac him out. Cracker too. Not sure how bad he’s hit, but he’s cut all over his right side.”
“Take as many men as you need to haul them up that hill.”
“I’ll help,” Tex said.
“Gonna need at least four men on each guy,” Doc said, “considering how steep that hill is.”
“Okay,” Lt. Mann said. “Tex, round them up and get going.” He bent down next to Cracker. “How are you making out, Aaron?”
“I’m okay, sir. My side hurts a good bit.”
The lieutenant stood back up. “That was an amazing thing you did back there.”
Cracker smiled through the pain, laid his head back on the muddy bank, and passed out.
19
W hen John had finished, Dave could tell he had more to say, but he was exhausted.
He stood up, so Dave did too.
“Say, Dave, you and I both know everything I just told you . . . that’s the cleaned-up version. We weren’t so careful with our language in
The enemy gunfire began again, and once more, thump-thump-thump. “Mortars! Incoming!” someone shouted. Men scrambled for cover.
Tex buried his face for another mortar shower. This was it. No more chances.
“I’m cold,” Redman said.
Three quick explosions. The center of the creek erupted. The mortars had made a direct hit on the fallen tree, sending chunks and pieces flying through the air. Limbs and branches rained down all around; several hit Tex and his friends. But none were that big.
Somehow, they were still alive.
When the smoke cleared, he looked back to the rock that Cracker was hiding behind. He was still there. One side of his face was covered in blood, but he was standing, still holding the M-79s. Tex watched as he reloaded and aimed the first one, angled it slightly upward, then fired. He tossed it in the creek, aimed the second in the same direction, and fired again. The grenades arched into the air. Moments later, two explosions down creek. After the second one, high-pitched shouts and cries of pain came from the same direction.
He did it! He’d taken out the VC mortar.
Again, the enemy gunfire halted. Bending over, Cracker ran across the creek right at them, leaping over rocks and tree limbs, water splashing all around. “Get up!” he shouted.
Tex got up on his hands and knees. Then stood in a crouch.
“I can’t move,” Hammer yelled, his face still buried in his hands.
“You gotta move,” Cracker yelled. “I ain’t going back without you.” He quickly reloaded his grenade launcher, ran toward the enemy, and fired downstream. Then came back to the three men.
Tex helped Hammer to his feet. “We’re okay, but Redman is hit. It’s his leg.”
“You guys fall back, then, I’ll tie it off.” Cracker dropped to his knees beside Redman.
Tex and Hammer scrambled back to join the others. But the lieutenant and the rest of the patrol were rushing out from their positions, firing everything they had down creek. Tex and Hammer turned around and joined them.
It reminded Tex of some Civil War scene.
“Cracker’s got them on the run,” the lieutenant yelled. He turned to the radioman. “Call in a fire mission, 125 meters up creek.”
The whole patrol ran together, back toward Cracker and Redman, Doc leading the way. He split off when he reached the two men and dropped next to Cracker. Tex stopped a moment, to make sure Redman was okay.
“I think I got it stopped,” Cracker said. “But he doesn’t look good.”
“Scoot over,” Doc said. He looked at Cracker. “You don’t look so good, either. Your face, it’s covered in blood.”
“My right side hurts a little, but I’m all right.”
“Pull your flak jacket back,” Doc said. Cracker’s shirt was covered in blood. “You’re hit, Cracker. You got shrapnel wounds all over. Lie down.”
While the Marines continued down creek, pouring fire in the enemy’s direction, Lt. Mann walked back to take stock of the situation. “What do you need, Doc?”
“Redman needs to get back up to Cunningham ASAP. We need to medevac him out. Cracker too. Not sure how bad he’s hit, but he’s cut all over his right side.”
“Take as many men as you need to haul them up that hill.”
“I’ll help,” Tex said.
“Gonna need at least four men on each guy,” Doc said, “considering how steep that hill is.”
“Okay,” Lt. Mann said. “Tex, round them up and get going.” He bent down next to Cracker. “How are you making out, Aaron?”
“I’m okay, sir. My side hurts a good bit.”
The lieutenant stood back up. “That was an amazing thing you did back there.”
Cracker smiled through the pain, laid his head back on the muddy bank, and passed out.
19
W hen John had finished, Dave could tell he had more to say, but he was exhausted.
He stood up, so Dave did too.
“Say, Dave, you and I both know everything I just told you . . . that’s the cleaned-up version. We weren’t so careful with our language in
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