Dawn was breaking as I tried to stuff a can of Ham and Mothers down my throat. The rain was gone, taking what cover it had provided, but permitting an open opportunity for supporting air to operate with full application using the clear visibility to accurately guide its deadly payload. I finished the can by gobbling down a few big mouthfuls, after loosening the sticky mess of ham, beans and grease with Fusner’s borrowed K-Bar. When I was done I jammed the knife blade repeatedly into the mud to clean it before handing it back. There was no clean where we were, of course, not the clean we’d all grown up with. A knife cleaned by shoving it repeated into the earth was about the best we could expect.

There was no time to prepare anything else because the strange deep drone of piston-powered aircraft engines came echoing down the valley minutes before the planes appeared. I was taken a week back to my first encounter with the ferocious example of modern warfare although not on such a close and fearful basis as I was in, being at the bottom of a confined valley it was ordered to fire down into.  A big brown and green cargo plane came lazily floating over the center of the valley, appearing to move about as fast as a city bus but being much bigger and noisier. The two Skyraiders hung back behind the bigger plane at a slightly higher altitude, all three aircraft moving so slow and low that they gave every impression that they were begging to be fired on from below. The flotilla flew over our heads, but nobody fired up at them.