into my and looked over the grass to see what was happening.
I saw Instant. He was standing, firing his M60, oblivious to the incoming AK-
47 bullets that were cutting through the brush and around him. He fired up the
hill toward the Cong. With each string he shot, he took steps up the slope. His
cowering ammunition handler scampered behind him with spare ammo, his M16 rifle
playing a counterpoint to Instants weapon.
As I watched, I learned how Instant had obtained his name. Bits of palms
shattered under the M60s fire. Here and there, Cong shrieked, cut down by the
invisible blade. Burst after burst spilled brass out the side of the weapon as
Instant directed his bullets at the Cong. But it’ll only be a matter of time
before they slaughter him, I told myself. They murdered Jerry. Damn it, they’re
not going to waste Instant. Acting on my anger, I jumped up and pulled the
trigger on my carbine, and fired the Cong up the ridge.
“Come on!” I ordered a private I saw cowering in a clump of rubber trees.
After a moments hesitation, he jumped up and joined me, his eyes wide with fear.
We sprinted up the hill, exposed. But we didn’t care. Run, aim, shoot.
Sergeant Nelson stood up. He yelled and cursed those cowering around him. One by
one they rose and joined the mad charge up the steep incline. We continued,
stumbling, hurdling through the thick vegetation, and screaming like demented
souls.
The firing of the AKs petered out. We darted through the foliage to the top
of the ridge in our spontaneous charge. At the crest of the slope, the plants
became sparse. We overlooked what had once been terraced farmland on the
opposite downward slope. In the sparse scrub, we could also see the retreating
VC. They were bounding like scared black rabbits. From our vantage point, the
VC were totally exposed below us. We launched a hasty barrage after the enemy.
Then we realized our opportunity. The Cong had no cover close by. We proceeded
to take careful aim, savoring shots the way a hunter might when he made ready to
bag a prized buck. We made careful, deliberate shots. One after another, the
black, running forms crumpled. With a final flurry of shooting, only a lone
Charlie managed to escape into the grove of trees below.
The bodies of the VC dotted the open hillside. Sporadic last shots ended the
lives of the few wounded who continued to stir below us. Complete silence
reigned for a few moments, then Blake yelled an obscenity at the last Cong who
had eluded us.
Silence.
“We did it,” I simply said, my words falling flat.
A weak cheer went down the line; one man dropped to his knees and cried. Even
though we’d all felt as good as dead, we realized we had won.
Afterward, waiting with the wounded and dead for dustoff, I thought about the
firefight. Instants selfless deed had saved our skins. It was little wonder the
men had so much respect for the soldier. I studied him for a moment. He sat by
himself beneath a tree, carefully cleaning his M60 like a mother washing a baby.
He wore a bandage over his right eye and a second on his arm; except for those
minor wounds, he had managed to come through the fight uninjured. And he’d
shown a green lieutenant and his men what true bravery was.