“Roger,” Kurtz said, moving to the squad leader’s position. The point man had killed a single Japanese soldier, standing atop another man, apparently dying from a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Kurtz had first squad secure the area, while the other two squads continued to maneuver.
“Bravo six, this is White six. We’ve made contact. Killed three enemy soldiers and have found one civilian, looks like it anyway, with severe wounds to the abdomen. Doc says this guy’s not much longer for this world. Continuing mission, over.”
“Roger. I’m moving to your location now. Red six is moving to your right flank. Blue six is in reserve.” Taylor was Red and Barker was Blue.
Again, there was another brief interchange of fire at the point of Kurtz’s platoon. Three more enemy dead.
“Okay, Mike,” Zachary said to Kurtz as he came running forward. “We’re gonna move two squads abreast along this ridge and pop these guys like a zit. When they spill into the open, the rest of the battalion can have them, or we play turkey shoot.”
“Got it, sir.”
They were kneeling next to the wounded civilian, talking. It was dark, especially in the forest with the mahoganies blocking what little moonlight was available, their robust outlines etched against the black sky. Zachary and Kurtz had taken off their night-vision goggles to talk. It was not necessary, but seemed logical to do. Doc Gore worked feverishly on the civilian less than a meter away from them.
Something landed on Zachary’s knee. At first, he thought it was a bug and brushed at it, then noticed the hand. He had no time to deal with some civilian right now. His guys were fighting. He quickly scanned the dark, shredded cargo pants, khaki shirt matted and stained with blood, and disheveled hair of the civilian. Shrouded in darkness, the dying man was unrecognizable to Zachary. Poor guy. Medics are doing all they can, though.
Like a penny dropped into a shallow cone, the notion or thought or idea or instinct spun around and around and around, circling wide and continuing to circle, then arching more rapidly until it dropped and Zachary had the distinct feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. Not with the mission. Hell, he could not even concentrate on that at the moment. No, especially as he looked back at the wounded figure, moving his face closer to the dying man’s face. The sounds of gunfire continued but faded in Zachary’s mind as he downshifted from the world of battle to another cognitive level.
He did not truly recognize his brother’s face, the green eyes or the signature square jaw, but he realized with sudden and complete devastation that it was Matt reaching out to him, somehow recognizing him, almost magnetically pulled to him, grabbing his kneecap, trying to say something. He looked away in disbelief, then back, and once again saw his brother Matt lying on the ground next to him, his stomach gurgling, the pool of blood growing, the medic poised over him as if he were giving him last rites not applying medical aid.
A voice whispered, “Kill those bastards, Zachary.”
Then it registered.
Christ Almighty!
Zachary scrambled to Matt’s side.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” he cried. “Please, Jesus, please, no.”
Kurtz watched the commander completely lose it. He watched him sob and cry, hugging the civilian on the ground.
“No, no, no. Please, oh God, No!” he screamed at the heavens.
Medevac, get a medevac, you idiot!
He ripped off his helmet, then snatched the first-aid dressing from his pouch and began to press onto the bleeding area, but there was blood everywhere.
“Sir, that thing ain’t gonna do much good on him. Hole’s bigger in the back than in the front,” Doc Gore said, matter-of-factly.
“Shut up, Gore. This is my brother and — and — this is my brother. This is my only brother,” he said, his voice reaching a crescendo, then tapering rapidly as his throat knotted, and the tears gushed, his mouth turned downward. “This — is — my — brother!”
“Shit.” Kurtz said, under his breath. “Break, Break,” he said, grabbing the battalion net handset from Slick. “Request immediate dust-off at checkpoint three-one. We have a man dying. Need dust-off now,” Kurtz said, authoritatively.
“Roger, loitering behind checkpoint three-one now. Mark with strobe.” The medical evacuation pilot spoke with calm precision. Fortunately, the plan anticipated casualties and called for pre-positioning of the medical teams.
Kurtz popped the strobe from his pouch, gently nudged the commander to one side and lifted Matt Garrett’s still-warm body onto his wide shoulders, blood draining down his uniform.
Zachary was catatonic. He had flipped a switch. The troops stared at him for direction. Slick, Quinones, and the others. Zachary simply watched as Kurtz hauled his brother away into the clearing behind the knoll. The company was receiving heavy fire, tracers dancing out toward Kurtz and the helicopter. Kurtz turned a steely gaze in the direction of the back-fire, as if to will it away. Zachary saw the intermittent flashing of the strobe, then watched as the helicopter lifted away. Kurtz’s large shadow re-emerged into the forest. He picked up the company radio and told Taylor and Barker to continue the mission, then turned to SSG Quinones and told him to monitor the platoon net.
“Sir, sir,” Kurtz said, shaking the commander. Zachary was trying to regain his composure. “We’ve got to get moving. He’s on the medevac. They’ll take care of him,” Kurtz said, then looked at Doc Gore and shook his head, as if to say about the commander’s brother, “He’s gone.”
Zachary looked at Kurtz from below and grabbed the outstretched hand. He had been there for his lieutenants so many times that it never occurred to him that they might one day be able to return the favor.
About the time he pulled himself to his feet and snatched his helmet from the ground, he heard the high-pitched squeak of mechanized vehicles moving to the east. The recognition of a large enemy presence served as a catalyst to force him to gather himself. The world shifted focus for him, like a camera zooming in, then out. With professional acumen, he understood he had a battle to fight.
“Thanks, Mike,” he said to Kurtz while snapping his Kevlar.
“No sweat, sir. I’ll light a candle tonight, after we kill these bastards,” Kurtz said.
Zachary took notice, then grabbed Slick by the shirt collar.
“Sir, just want you to know how sorry—”
“Give me the mike,” he said, cutting off Slick. There was no time for sympathy. He had already wasted valuable seconds with his little display. Unprofessional, he thought to himself, hardening his nerves, like steel rebar. First, Teller, then Rock, then his brother. The circle of death tightened around him as he wondered if he was next. Who cares? There it was again, the hand of God, hammering and forging and striking the anvil, dunking the piping-hot ore of his soul into the shallow, ever-so-shallow, pool of faith. Please God, save him.
“Net call, enemy moving vicinity checkpoint three-zero. Blue, I want you to move to the eastern tip of the woods and set up an anti-armor ambush now, break,” he said, releasing the push-to-talk button to avoid enemy direction-finding capabilities. “Red, link up on Blue’s left flank, you have the first ten vehicles, Blue has the next ten. I’ll move with White. We’ll maneuver onto the enemy if necessary. Acknowledge.”
Barker and Taylor acknowledged, but then Barker’s voice came crackling back through the handset.
“Bravo six, this is Blue six, I’m fighting about twenty enemy on the west side of the knoll! I can’t break contact!” Barker screamed, the sound of machine gun fire amplified by the microphone.