THE TWENTY-EIGHTH NIGHT, SECOND PART, 30 Days Has September
I slipped McInerney’s flashlight into my right side pocket, its end sticking out a bit and rapping back and forth against the hard leather of my Colt .45 holster. “Fusner,” I whispered, turning back toward the foxhole I’d left, but making no move to retreat...
TWENTY-EIGHTH NIGHT, 30 Days Has September
The six of us moved on our bellies, out toward the jumbled remains in the killing field of the mudflat, as one, without any signal. The ability of Marines in combat to need a whole lot fewer signals and orders than the guys doing all the training back home thought...
TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY, SECOND PART, 30 Days Has September
I slept in my scooped out small spot atop the mud, dug down through the normal couple of feet of debris that covered those areas of the jungle not occupied by bamboo groves, trees, lianas and tubers, not to mention the vast dense thickets of ferns and other...
TWENTY-SEVENTH NIGHT, SECOND PART, 30 Days Has September
The M-60s had opened up from in front of me, but I could not estimate the distance or the true direction the machine guns might be firing from, what with the sound of the nearby rushing river water and the incessant beat of the rain down upon my helmet. I knew all the...Subscribe to FROM THE WILDERNESS
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