The NVA Russian-made fifty caliber opened up, and the heavy green ‘flying lantern’ tracers tore through the thick air over our heads. I popped my head up for a micro-second to confirm that they’d moved the weapon lower down on the mountain’s front slope. I adjusted my plan for an in depth response, this time for thirty-six rounds on each of the four points of the zone “X” I’d recorded earlier. It was a simple “drop two hundred, repeat in depth” mission, but I had bigger problems closer in than that. Instead of reaching for Fusner’s handset I crawled up next to Zippo.
“Get the Starlight out,” I ordered.
“How you think I see ‘em,” he whispered back.