Chapter 39
You talk into the telephone. "This area is pretty well
pockmarked with shell holes, Captain, and outside of some vines
hung between trees to form entanglements, I can't see any
signs of obstacles or fortifications. Just craters and dirt piles.". . .
"Did you say dirt piles?". . ."Yes, it looks as though
they made some efforts to bury their dead before withdrawing.". . .
"Dead, hell! Those pits probably contain guns and ammo that
they planted there during the bombardment. If we occupy the
position they'll sneak out at night, dig up the stuff
and use it on us. Find out what's underneath them."
You wave to Egan and approach one of the mounds.
The loosely packed earth readily gives way before your shoes
and your foot strikes a hard, metal substance. It is
a sheet of heavy galvanized iron, about three feet square.
You take hold of a corner of it and lift
it up so that it tilts backward, shedding the sand.
"You're right, Captain. One of the piles is really the
entrance to a dugout and it has a machine gun
in it all set for sure.". . ."Okay. Replace the dirt
and keep moving.". . .You put back the covering and shove
some earth on top of it before turning to go.
Directly ahead is a patch of growth about waist high
and you stoop low so that your head is not
exposed against a lighter background. You wonder if you have
been seen, if some sniper is waiting for you to
emerge into the open, if your movements are being watched.
Observe from depressions, not from elevations. Here's a
mmmlittle ravine.
Follow it along, and keep in defilade. Don't look over
rocks, bushes, tree trunks, but peep out from the side,
the shady side, or through cracks or holes or openings.
You stop. Through the brush you can see some shrubbery
shaking, a short distance away. Egan has seen it, too
and goes down quickly. You are seized with sudden alarm.
Is this the finish? An ambush? A trap? You flatten.
Captain MacDonald's voice is coming over the phone. "Red 21,
hello, hello. What's going on? Can you hear me?"
You throat is tied in a knot. You say, "They're
coming, they're coming." You see the flash of machete blades,
and the sound of excited jabbering reaches your ears. You
are relieved. They wouldn't be making so much noise if
they knew that two Americans were within a stone's throw.
You hollow your hands over your mouth. "It's just a
clearing unit. There are seven men and a noncom. They
have sicles, axes, oil cans and marking materials. One of
them carries a sketch board with a map apparently on it,
and he's making reference notes. They are coming this way
but I'm sure they haven't seen us because they're talking
and laughing. Behind them are two single files of soldiers,
one on each side of the trail, with five paces
between men. They carry rifles, and they have bits of
foliage stuck on their helmets and in the pockets and
buttonholes of their uniforms. Some of them carry nets over
their heads, with palm leaves laced into them for camouflage. . . ."
"How many would you say there were?". . ."I don't know,
they're still coming. They might be several companies
mmmstrong. Here
comes a squad armed with grenade dischargers. There is a
microphone patrol and a wire-cutting team, and details with
D-handle shovels are deploying to repair the damage to the
fortifications. Good lord, the little sons of bitches are everywhere!". . .
They are paid to kill. And they need the money.
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