“Pull back! Now! Now!”
This time one of the two soldiers snapped his head in his direction. Cameron waved them down. Both men nodded and began to crawl back. Cameron released the magazine and inserted his second-to-last one. He set the MP5 in single-shot mode, cocked the weapon, and trained it on the remaining flashes. He briefly eyed the soldiers climbing down the tree before lining up the first flash between the rear adjustable sight and the fixed forward sight. He fired once, twice. The muzzle flashes disappeared. He moved to the next one. Same thing. Cameron glanced back at the soldiers. They were already out of sight.
He began to crawl back toward the tree when a shower of bullets nearly shaved off the bark. Cameron pressed the MP5 against his chest and set into a roll. He had gotten too close to the enemy and had attacked only one front, while the enemy had steadily approached his position from the sides. They were going to flank him. He continued to roll as the ground, the tress, and a cloud of leaves filled his field of view. Incomprehensible shouting filled the background. Cameron ignored it and kept rolling until he crashed against another tree. This time he looped around the trunk and rose to a crouch. He briefly inspected the area, but the murk made it difficult to see anything. He turned around and hurtled back toward Mambo’s defensive position. He had to hurry. He was right between the approaching enemy and Mambo. In just a matter of seconds he could be caught in a cross fire. He ran as fast as his legs would go. Visions of the past filled his mind. Visions of jungles, rice paddies, napalm-charred bodies. Smells, too. The smell of gunpowder in the woods, of rotting foliage, of burned flesh. He was back. For a second it seemed as if he actually had never left those jungles, those hellish forests, those fields of death. Go, Cameron. You have… a chance by yourself. Skergan’s voice echoed inside his mind; it reached his soul. Why did he leave him? But it’s… okay, Cameron. I’ll just… hide here. It made sense. It had seemed like the right thing to do, yet the guilt consumed him. The overpowering guilt, the pain.Sorry, man, I’m sorry. I’m so—
He felt something grab ahold of his entire body and propel him up with titanic force.
What the hell! Oh, Jesus!
He had run into Ortiz’s trap. A sudden upward jerk and then he swung nearly thirty feet above the leaves.
Shit! What now?
He had barely finished thinking that when he saw several muzzled flashes aimed in his direction. Cameron closed his eyes and braced himself in anticipation, but the impact never came. Instead he fell. He opened his eyes and watched in shock as the ground grew rapidly closer.
“Aghh!”
He crashed feet-first, rolled, and landed on his back. The blanket of leaves somewhat cushioned his fall, but could not prevent him from twisting his right ankle. It didn’t matter, he had to get up and continue. He grabbed theMP5, kicked with his left leg, and tried to stand up, but the moment he applied any weight to his right leg the piercing pain crippled him. He fell on his side and quickly looked down in disbelief at his tibia protruding through the camouflage fabric of his fatigues.
Suddenly he felt a hand pulling him up. Cameron looked up and watched in a blur as Ortiz dragged him toward the thick fallen log where Mambo One was stationed.
“Madre de Dios, amigo. You fucked up your leg big time.”
“I’m too old for this shit!” Cameron inhaled deeply and held it, also clenching his teeth to absorb the agonizing pain as he placed an arm over Ortiz’s shoulders and began to hop back toward their defensive position.
“You’re some crazy cabron. Trying to pull a stunt like that.”
Cameron didn’t respond, but his face showed some relief when he spotted the two members of Mambo Three to his left. They had made it back safe.
“You just lay there and let us handle this. We can take care of those pendejos.”
Waves of pain washed over Cameron. He spoke through clenched jaws.
“No… too many. They’re… trying to… flank us. The clearing… the helo… run for it… damn fucking leg!”
Ortiz looked at Cameron. “What are you saying, man? There can’t be any more than twenty of ‘em pendejos out there, minus the ones that you took out!”
Suddenly all gunfire ceased. A frightening silence descended. Dead calm.
“No… there are… more, Tito. Don’t know… where they came from… the helo… it’ll be here… soon… aghh, Jesus Christ! My leg!” He bent over and continued to breathe in and out deeply, forcing his mind to ignore the pain. Take the pain, Cameron. Take the fucking pain! he cursed at himself.Take it! Skergan took it, so can you!
Focusing on the image of his friend lying bravely alone in the jungle, Cameron somehow managed to endure the pain enough to lift his head over the log. The sight was terrifying.
“Dios mio!” said Ortiz. “Where in the hell did they come from?”
“Tell your people… not to… open fire… yet. Wait.”
Ortiz raised his right hand in a fist. “No firin’ yet. Pass the word.”
Cameron squinted. His vision grew blurry. He eyed the wound and noted an increase in the blood flow. The bone had definitely torn an artery. He knew there wasn’t much time left. He considered a tourniquet but the enemy was too close to take the time. Every man counted. They would need all the firepower they could muster to keep the incoming mob in check until the helo arrived. He brought his MP5 up and rested the barrel on the log. The figures were roughly a hundred feet away. His finger softly caressed the trigger.
“Wait… wait…” Cameron said. “Select your targets.”
Eighty feet. The figures — over forty of them as far as he could see — approached slowly. All appeared to be carrying automatic weapons.
“Just a few more seconds… fire!”
All seven members of Mambo and Cameron opened fire at once. Each man had a thirty-degree angle of responsibility. All enemy soldiers within that angle were his. The angles overlapped one another to cover the entire frontal perimeter.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Ortiz screamed. “Don’t fire unless you got a specific target!”
As the fire subsided Cameron heard a low deep rotor noise in the background. He reached for the radio. “Stallion One… Stallion One, Mambo… here, over.”
“Good lord! What in the world is going on down there, Mambo? I can hear the gunfire from up here.”
“We’re in a… world of shit, Stallion One. Need you down… in the clearing next… to the swamp.”
“Got it. Be there in thirty seconds.”
“Roger… thirty seconds.”
He looked at Ortiz. “Time to get… the hell outta… here, Tito.”
“All right. Everyone toss me your spare magazines and pull back. Pull back. All of you! Back! Back!”
Five members passed the magazines to Ortiz and crawled back several feet before breaking into a run.
Zimmer approached them.
“Let’s go, brother!”
“All right, hermano. Gimme a hand with him.”
Suddenly gunfire broke out again. Cameron looked back toward the forest and spotted several men moving in their direction. All three unloaded several dozen rounds until the enemy took shelter behind the trees again.
“C’mon. Let’s go!”
Cameron looked at Ortiz. “You guys… go ahead. I can’t… can’t make it, man.”
“Like fuckin’ shit you can’t” Ortiz snapped back. “You’re comin’ with us.”
“And who’s gonna keep… those bastards pinned down? Who? Now you… two leave me your… weapons and get the hell outta here… before we all buy it. Move it, Tito. That’s… an order.”
A few men started to move toward them. Cameron leveled the MP5 and blasted a few more rounds. As one man went down, the others jumped behind trees. They were less than forty feet away and slowly closing in.
“What are you… waiting for, Sergeant Ortiz? I gave a fucking direct order. Move out and take… Private Zimmer with you. Now, dammit. NOW!”
Ortiz was obviously stunned as he and Zimmer slowly stepped back.
For one brief moment Ortiz and Cameron stared into each other’s eyes. There were tears in the young Hispanic’s eyes. “God bless you, hermano!” They raced for the clearing almost two hundred feet away.
Cameron was alone again. The tables had suddenly been turned. It’s payback time, Cameron reflected, knowing that destiny had finally caught up with him for what he had done in the jungles of Vietnam. A life with Marie was not meant to be. That was his penance.
He shifted his gaze toward the trees and fired several rounds at two approaching figures. He missed and fired again, missing again. His vision was going quickly.
As the helicopter’s noise grew louder, gunfire broke out. More figures approached. Cameron tried to fire back but nothing came out. The magazine was empty. Cameron removed it and jammed the last one in while chips of wood and bark flew in all directions as the enemy’s rounds pounded the fallen log. He cocked the weapon, brought it up, and fired a ten-second burst across his field of view. Five men went down. The rest disappeared behind trees less than thirty feet away.
Cameron continued to blink to readjust his vision, but it was getting to be a futile exercise. He began to feel cold. His hands trembled as he threw the empty MP5 to the side and grabbed Ortiz’s Colt. Again, he leveled it at the forest but saw or heard no one, just the helicopter noise.
He then spotted three, no four, men at ten o’clock. Cameron moved the weapon in that direction as muzzle flashes broke out. Wood exploded in front of his eyes, blinding him. He fell to the side, but managed to control the overwhelming desire to bring both hands to his bleeding face. Instead, he kept his hands firmly on the Colt, brought the weapon back over the log, and fired blindly. Cameron felt the powerful recoil reverberating through his body as he continued to unload all he had left on the invisible figures.
The Colt ran dry. He threw it over the log and wiped away the blood, regaining partial vision from his left eye. The soldiers were there, dark, impersonal figures less than twenty feet away. Weapons leveled at him for a brief moment before the entire side of the forest came alive with muzzle flashes. Cameron dropped to the ground and reached for Zimmer’s Colt.
He tried to roll, but his body was overcome by shivering cold. His mind began to wander. He forced himself to focus on the situation and tried to bring the Colt up, but couldn’t do it.
His ears registered the roar of Stallion One’s main rotor as it began to leave the ground. He had done it. He had kept the enemy back… a figure emerged over the log, then there were two. Cameron fired a short burst. Both figures arched back but were quickly replaced by three other, who trained their weapons on him. He was about to fire again when two loud blasts were instantly followed by a harrowing pain in his left shoulder and right forearm that nearly numbed his senses. He stared at four figures looking down at him. There was no more gunfire, just the trembling thunder from the helicopter. It seemed to get closer and closer. Cameron struggled to see the faces of the figures standing over him. He wanted to look at his executioners. Just four faceless strangers. He was temporarily confused. The rotor noise rang in his ears as a powerful windblast pinned him down on the ground.
Gunfire erupted once more. From above. The figures arched back. The noise was deafening. He tried to bring his hands to his ears but couldn’t. He was too weak. Too cold. He was passing out. Then through the explosions Cameron heard a voice. A familiar voice.
“Lower, lower! There! I see him! A little to the right. Puta! No, no! The right, the right! Yeah, that’s it. Now a little lower. There, hold it! Hold it!”
Cameron saw another faceless figure appear in front of him. This one leaned over and pulled him up. Why? Why bother? Can you see that I’m dying? Cameron tried to fight him but again his muscles gave.
“Easy, hermano! It’s me, Tito!” Ortiz screamed over the gunfire. “You didn’t actually think we were gonna leave you, did you?”
Cameron tried to say something, but not even his lips would respond. He wanted to say that he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t matter. That he just wanted to be left in peace, alone, to atone for past sins. It was his destiny. But instead he felt Ortiz’s arms pulling him up. The young sergeant was hooking his near-limp body to the rescue cable.
“All right. Up, up! Get him up there!”
Cameron felt his feet leave the ground. He was floating. It was beyond his control. Then the pain began to subside. The throbbing from his leg faded away. The burning pain from his shoulder and left forearm slowly disappeared as a blinding light utterly smothered him. It was everywhere. He felt confused. He wasn’t cold any longer. The light gave him warmth. Cameron was alone but somehow did not feel alone. There were others there. He could feel their presence. He finally began to understand what had happened to him the moment a figure emerged through the dazzling light. The figures came closer. Ortiz smiled down on him.
“You’re gonna make it, amigo. You’re gonna be all right.”
Cameron smiled thinly as his vision partially returned. He stared at someone holding an IV bag over him, and with it life slowly began to seep back into his broken body.
It was over. All seven surviving members were there. They had made it against staggering odds. A deep sense of satisfaction fell over him as he braced himself and inhaled deeply through his mouth. The old familiar guilt had been washed away by a sense of accomplishment, a sense of fulfillment. The pain of Skergan’s death was still there, but he had proven to himself that he was not a coward, that he could give his own life for a fellow soldier. His eyes filled with a mix of joy and physical pain.
The skies were clear. Radiant beams flickered through the rotating blades as the bright blue sky met an equally pure blue ocean. A flock of flamingos gracefully broke into flight as the massive ship blasted over the sandy beach. Cameron watched it through tears.