He stared at the radio, trying to think. “I can’t fucking remember. Oh, Jesus! Come get us, you fucking bastards!”
“What’s the finest automobile in the world?”
“A ‘57 Chevy.
“So you got those guys, huh? Way to go! The chopper’ll be here in five minutes. Now listen up. They’re going to lower a litter with a crewman and take your bombardier up first. You stay on the ground. Keep your head down until the jungle penetrator comes down, then hook on and we’ll jerk you and the crewman out, over.”
“Okay. But no screwing around.”
“There’s going to be a lot of fire and smoke, Devil Alpha. We think we got the big guns but there’re lots of folks down there with small arms. If there’s too much lead flying, the chopper might have to pull off for a while and leave you and the crewman on the ground. Don’t panic.”
“Got it.” He lowered the radio and wiped blood from his left eye.
“Now just sit tight and let me know when the choppers right over you.”
“Yeah.
He sat beside the bombardier and replaced the spent cartridge in the revolver with one from his survival vest, then put the gun in its holster. He got a full clip for the .45 from Cole’s vest and tossed the empty one away. Then he tucked the automatic into the top of his survival vest.
With the rifle across his lap, he sat with his back against the rock Cole lay on and scanned the jungle around them and the canopy above. The pain in his head localized in his left temple, and it throbbed with every pulse beat.
“Maybe you oughta search the bodies. Maybe they got documents.”
“Fuck it.”
“If we don’t get picked up soon, there’ll be more of ‘em along. This place must be crawling with ‘em. If the gomers catch us near these bodies, we’ll be a long time dying.
“They ain’t gonna get us.” The rifle felt heavy on his thighs.
“We’ll get out of here. Frank Allen died to get us out.”
“Is that why you came back?”
Jake remembered what Callie had said after he told her about Morgan-it seemed so long ago-you did what you could do, you can’t do more than that.
You kept the faith. He tried to find the words to an Cole. “I had to. Frank Allen didn’t run out on us and Morgan didn’t. You and I did a lousy job of trying to win the war by ourselves. But you stood by me.”
“I’m glad we flew together,” Cole said. “Listen! ” The background buzz of piston engines was swelling in volume. Jake lay flat.
The fires of hell erupted along the road. Napalm with a roar as the air rushed in to feed the jellied gasoline. Black, noxious smoke drifted through the trees.
After several minutes the Skyraiders made another run. The pale gray smoke of white phosphorus wafted between the tall tree trunks, dark columns forever hidden from the light.
Then Jake heard the sound he had been waiting for. Above the throb of piston engines at full throttle came the wail of jet engines pulsated by beating rotors. He searched the foliage above for signs of rotor wash. A calm voice said over the radio, “Okay, I have the parachute in sight.”
“They’re right under that chute.”
The beat of the rotors and the scream of the engines intensified.
Salvation was arriving with a roar.
Jake glimpsed the swaying mass of green metal floating above the wildly agitated foliage. A hurricane of wind engulfed him, and leaves and twigs flew through the air. He shouted into the radio, “We’re here! We’re here! You’re right overhead. Stop!”
The helicopter hung suspended above him. Jake was on his feet, moving excitedly, unable to contain his elation.
A helmeted man, part of his face obscured by his visor, rode the litter down. The air was thick with leaves and dirt, and it was hard to see. In the charged air, Jake had to push to breathe. He kept his eyes half shut, looking out through his lashes, screening the grit in the air. When the litter touched the ground, Grafton, who had crouched down against the wind storm, moved forward and helped the crewman unhook it and carry it across to Cole. Jake screamed into his ear, “His back is broken.”
“I know.” The crewman’s head swiveled left and right, taking in the three bodies. “What the hell? . . .”
They reached Cole and the crewman bent over him and checked his eyes. He motioned for Jake to take Cole’s legs. Together the two lifted the helpless man just enough to swing him into the litter. Jake was still trying to fasten the lower restraint straps when the crewman finished his and came to help.
The crewman pointed at the hook on the end of the cable. Jake brought it over and they snapped all four of the suspension eyes to it. They moved away and the crewman spoke into his hand-held radio.
Jake saw Tiger Cole looking at him. Tears ran down the man’s cheeks. Jake squeezed his hand fleetingly the slack went out of the cable. The litter came off the ground, swung slightly, then moved upward and disappeared into the churning foliage above.
Unable to contain his euphoria any longer, Jake threw his arms around the crewman and hugged him with all his strength. The crewman hugged back vigorously.
“We’re gonna make it,” he yelled into Jake’s ear. Jake Grafton nodded joyfully and squeezed the man again. Now the crewman led him to the jungle penetrator and clipped the snap-link on Jake’s torso harness to the cable at the top of the device and then hooked himself on. He spoke into his radio, and both men were swept off the ground.
As they went upward through the branches, the noise and fury increased.
Then, incredibly, all sound seem to soften, leaving a dull ache and a distant roaring in Jake’s ears. Without his helmet to protect his ears, he was going deaf.
As they cleared the treetops, the helicopter began to move forward, dragging Jake and the crewman with it. He could glimpse heavy black smoke and fire in the slashes where the napalm had struck. As the smoke thinned Jake saw the jungle stretching up the hillside giving up its moisture in wisps of rising mist that looked ethereal in the horizontal rays of the morning sun. Souls wending their way to heaven, Jake thought.
The moving air fanned and cooled his face.
Jake saw that the crewman was watching him and laughing. When the hoist operator pulled them into the helicopter, their hands were locked together.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEPHEN COONTS graduated from West Virginia University in 1968 with a degree in political science and a commission in the Navy. From 1971-1973, Mr. Coonts flew carrier-based A-6 bombers against targets in North and South Vietnam and in Laos. He accumulated sixteen hundred hours in the Intruder and earned a number of Navy commendations, including the Distinguished Flying Cross.
Mr. Coonts, a former attorney, now resides in Boulder, Colorado.
