Copyright February 2001

This story is rated PG-13 for language

TOUR OF DUTY: DANNY'S BOY (Part 2)

During the Vietnam War, about 4,000 U.S. dogs were employed in various capacities, of these 281 were officially killed in action.

"Percell," Johnson said, shaking the corporal's shoulder in an attempt to rouse the man from his nap. "Come on, Danny. Wake up." The sleeping soldier tried to shrug away Johnson's grip, but the specialist only shook harder. "Get your ass up! We're going on patrol and Sarge is getting pissed!"

With a snort, Danny Percell opened his eyes and gazed around the darkened hootch, trying to get his bearings. He had a nagging throb in his head and his spine felt as if someone had stuck a bayonet in his back. His arm had fallen as asleep as his mind and the hot tingling of the waking nerve endings stung his fingertips. His neck protested even the slightest movement as he lifted his head from where it rested on top of his helmet.

After a great deal of effort, Percell was finally sitting up. He rubbed his neck and stretched out his muscles as best he could. In a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his arms and spread them apart in a wide arch, his shoulder blades moving so close together they almost touched. A laughable combination grunt and yawn escaped him as he blinked heavily and eyed his comrade.

"What're you doing on the floor, Percell?" Marvin Johnson asked, pulling himself off of his knees. "Man, you look like hell."

Danny glanced down and noticed that he was indeed on the floor. No cot. No blanket. Just a mattress of hard clay and an overturned helmet for a pillow. Scanning his legs, he noticed the rope still tied around the boot of his right leg. He followed the tether with his eye to where it stopped at the chain hanging around the neck of the large, black German Shepherd. "That's why, Johnson," he replied with a husky, still sleepy voice.

Specialist Johnson smiled. "Yeah, I guess I can see that."

The dog was draped across the narrow cot that Percell normally called his own. Its head lay comfortably on the small pillow, it's feet dangling over the side of the bed. Sprawled out, the animal seemed as large as a man, taking up as much of the surface of the bed as Percell might have, had the man been given the opportunity.

The soldiers watched the dog's tail wave its slow, lazy greeting.

"Hope you're comfortable, Trudifer," Danny said, his statement oozing with sarcasm. "Lord knows I wasn't." The dog lifted its head and barked its reply. Percell drew in his leg and began untying the lead from his ankle.

"Ladies! Do you think you can join the rest of the squad now?" They heard Sergeant Anderson's voice from just outside the tent. "Or would you like us to come back for you at a more convenient time?"

Johnson frowned. "Told you he was getting pissed," he reminded his friend and headed out the tent without further comment.

The dog sat on the bed, watching as the remaining soldier scurried around the quarters, searching for his weapon and gear. When Percell had his rucksack packed, he tossed it over his shoulder, grabbed his rifle and picked his helmet out of the dirt, plopping it on top his head. He started for the doorway of tent six, but just as he was about to open the flap, the dog barked, reminding Percell that he had forgotten his most important government issue. "Right," Danny muttered to himself. He jogged back to his cot, grabbed the rope and said, "Come on, Trude," as he tried to double-time his way out of the hootch.

Before the soldier could reach the opening, the dog sprinted ahead, cutting Percell off from his exit. The animal came to a stop and bolted around, staring Danny in the eye. It let out a loud, non-threatening bark, but when Percell pretended not to hear and tried to sidestep his way around the beast, he was pummeled backward by a pair of powerful paws.

Not to be ignored, the dog pounced on Danny, throwing the man off balance, and then darted off in the opposite direction from where the corporal intended to go. The rope became tangled around Percell's legs and he hit the ground with a thud. "Hey! What are you doing?" the corporal yelled, trying his best not to lose his grip on the rope. "Get the hell over here!"

Again, the dog barked, and Percell maneuvered his body around so that he could see the animal standing next to his cot. It hesitated there for a moment before lowering its massive head to pull something out from under the bed. With the leather harness hanging from its teeth, the dog trotted back over to Percell and dropped the equipment in the dirt beside the soldier. "Oh. I guess you want that on, huh?" Danny asked as he worked to untangle himself from the rope. "Well, why didn't you just say so?"

**************************

"Glad you could make it, Corporal," Lieutenant Goldman remarked as Percell made his way over to the squad. The officer glanced up from the paper he had been examining only long enough to give the soldier a disapproving scowl and returned to his preparation for the evening patrol.

Sergeant Anderson, who was standing next to the platoon leader, rested the butt of the rifle into a crevice between his belt and his waist, pointing the weapon to the sky. His other hand found its way to his hip and he stood there a moment contemplating the situation, his expression falling to illustrate his frustration.

It annoyed the sergeant when his men ticked off the LT. Anderson prided himself on a well-run platoon, but Percell and his dog seemed to be doing everything in their power to thwart the sergeant's efforts to keep Goldman from coming undone. They were getting to be a major thorn in the staff sergeant's side and Anderson aimed to put an end to it. "Percell, Son, you better get your head in place, or we're going to have us some bookoo problems. You got that?"

Danny Percell understood the sergeant's tone all too clearly. "Yeah, Sarge, but...." he started. The furrow on Anderson's brow interrupted the plea and Percell quickly dropped his defense. "Wilco, Sarge."

Lieutenant Goldman folded his map and inserted it into his breast pocket behind a half smoked pack of cigarettes. He glanced down at the dog, eyed Percell warily and turned his attention to the platoon sergeant. "Anderson, the Old Man wants us to take the squad around the perimeter and see if we can get the sappers on their approach. They disappear into the jungle during the day, but if we can get them while they're getting ready for their attack, we might have a better chance."

Anderson nodded his understanding. "Roger that, Sir," he said, taking note of the setting sun. "But if we're gonna do it, we best get on with it. It'll be dark soon."

The platoon leader agreed. "All right then," he ordered. "Let's go."

Just as the squad was heading out, Captain Wallace called for Goldman to wait. Anderson grinned when he caught the lieutenant roll his eyes in annoyance of the delay. To speed things up, Goldman left his position and briskly paced toward the approaching CO. Without conscious thought, he skirted around Corporal Percell and the dog, who were bringing up the rear of the line. Sergeant Anderson followed loosely behind the lieutenant.

"Sir?" Goldman prompted, expecting a pretty damned good explanation for the holdup.

Wallace handed Goldman a folded piece of paper. "We got an ID on our KIA." The platoon leader raised an expectant eyebrow and unfolded the piece of paper to read as the CO continued. "His name is Trudifer. Bob Trudifer." The name sparked Percell's interest as he tried to listen in on the conversation between the officers. "Air Force," Wallace continued. "He's the dog's handler. They were coming in to help flush out the NVA ground artillery when their transport was shot down. Apparently, the dog somehow got out of the plane before impact. Storm, here, is the only one who survived."

After a moment, the captain added, "Gentlemen, that plane went down ten klicks from here."

The men reflected on this information for a moment, wondering how the animal had managed to drag the corpse of its handler that incredible distance to Firebase Ladybird.

Wallace continued. "The dog's a scout, just like I thought." Goldman had to fight away a shrug of the shoulders. He had no idea what this information meant and didn't really care. He had a mission and he wanted to get on with it. Captain Wallace understood Goldman's bewilderment and tried to explain. "These scout dogs were just brought into Phu Cat Air Base. They're specially trained to go out on patrol and sniff out enemy traps and mines before they blow our heads off. They have a nose for Charlie, too. Scouts are fairly new in-country, but trackers and sentries have been around for years. From what I hear, they're all worth their weight in gook-gold."

"Yeah, like the gooks got any gold," the officers heard Private Ruiz mutter from his place in line.

Disregarding the sentiment, Sergeant Anderson stepped up alongside his platoon leader and interjected his own opinion of the situation. "That may be true, Sir, but we don't have a trained handler and so far, this dog's been nothin' but a pain in the butt."

Wallace nodded. "I'm aware of that, Anderson. But you're just going to have to do the best you can." The commanding officer snatched the paper out of Goldman's hand and handed it to the sergeant. "This has a few of the K-9 commands and what you should look for from him. He'll tell you what to do."

Anderson's already unenthusiastic expression turned even more grim. "Great, Sir. Taking orders from a dog." The sergeant turned to Lieutenant Goldman. "I feel a whole lot better about this mission already."

Goldman tried his best to ignore his platoon sergeant's sarcasm and focused on the captain. "Sir, we'll do what we can, but without a trained handler, Anderson's right, we have been having our share of problems with the dog...Storm, was it?"

Wallace glanced over at Corporal Percell's companion. The dog seemed as intrigued by what the officer had to say as did Percell. "I know it's out of your comfort zone, Myron," the captain conceded, "but we only have one shot at this. The Air Force put a lot of time and money in training this dog and they want him back.. The NVA activity out there is getting stronger, and if we can't rat out our sappers now, this entire firebase could come under siege." Wallace hesitated while his words were absorbed by the platoon leader and his squad. Lowering his voice so that only Goldman and Sergeant Anderson could hear, he concluded his order. "We're in deep shit here, Lieutenant. Put that dog on point and let him do his job."

Lieutenant Goldman straightened his posture and eyed the commanding officer warily. "Wilco, Sir," he complied and turned to make his way back to his men.

Anderson stood his ground a moment longer, watching the captain return to the TOC. When Wallace disappeared into the tent, the sergeant swung around and followed Goldman back to the squad, pausing in front of Corporal Percell. "Here Percell," he said, handing the other man the captain's K-9 command sheet. "You're on point."

Danny unfolded the paper and glanced at it, immediately understanding its purpose. Without remark, he refolded it, inserted it into his breast pocket and jogged to the front of the line, Storm keeping pace right beside him. As they passed Ruiz, the sergeant heard the machine-gunner call out, "Come on doggie. Let's go kick some gook-ass!"

Anderson slowly pivoted his head from side to side and frowned. "You got that right, Captain," he mumbled to no one in particular. "We're in a whole heaping boatload of very deep shit."

**************************

It took nearly an hour for the squad to make a single lap around the perimeter. It took the sun less than thirty minutes to set. It took even less time for Corporal Daniel Percell to feel completely isolated from the rest of the squad.

Walking point was a dangerous job under ideal conditions, but in the shadows of dusk, it seemed to Percell like a death warrant. To make matters worse, Private Taylor, who was ordered to walk slack, had fallen back a few meters, giving the corporal and his dog a considerable berth. "You got that thing pullin' slack, Percell," Taylor had observed as he slowed his pace and widened the distance between himself and the animal. "You don't need me watchin' your six any closer than this."

Now, alone in front, Percell felt like he was the only man on this mission.

Danny raised his M-16 across his chest and peered out into the growing shadows that had swollen out of the jungle, aided only by a thin scarlet line along the Western horizon and a half moon rising in the East. Percell knew that, with all the VC activity around the base over the past weeks, it would be ridiculous to believe the dinks hadn't booby-trapped the perimeter. He also knew that in the dark, he would never be able to see a trip wire or a trap in time, if at all. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as his crystal blue eyes tried to penetrate the looming darkness. "You see anything out there, Boy?" he asked the dog, wondering in what manner he might expect an answer.

The German Shepherd was barely visible in the night, but Percell knew it had given a reassuring glance before returning its attention to the terrain. "Atta boy, Storm," Danny acknowledged. "You just let me know, okay?"

Storm padded quietly beside the point man. If not for the rope that rested between the palm of his right hand and the trigger guard of the rifle, Percell might have forgotten that the animal was along for the patrol at all. The dog made no sound as it kept pace with the soldier. Danny never felt resistance against moving forward or a tug at the rope to speed up the slow forward progress around Ladybird. The war dog kept perfect time with its untrained handler.

The man and his dog humped along a bit further before Percell heard Sergeant Anderson stop the line. While the staff sergeant and Lieutenant Goldman checked the squad's location, Danny found himself passing the time by talking to his new friend. "My girl dumped me, you know," he told the beast as if they were just a couple of guys in Sin City, drowning their sorrows in a six-pack of 33. "Just up and dumped me. Got a Dear John letter from her. You wanna see it?" Danny removed his hand from the barrel of his rifle and reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a crumpled envelope. He glanced at it briefly before holding it lower for the dog to take a look. "She says she don't wanna marry a soldier. Can you believe that?" Danny shook his head in continuing bewilderment at The World he left behind. "I ain't gonna be a soldier forever. Don't she know that?"

The dog paused a moment before snatching the envelope out of Percell's hand. Before Danny could react, the animal dropped the letter to the ground, placing one large, black paw on a corner of the envelope. It clenched an opposite corner in its teeth and proceeded to shred the paper into dozens of tiny pieces. Dumbfounded at the action, Percell stared at the dog in disbelief and then burst into a quiet fit of laughter. "You got that right, Storm!" he pronounced. "I'll be damned. You got that right."

"Percell!" Sergeant Anderson called from somewhere behind them. "What's up, Percell? You see something?"

Danny's laughter died away as he realized that the line had again begun to move. "Uh, no Sarge," he called back, hoping Anderson wasn't coming forward to check it out. "Nothin's wrong."

"Well then, let's get moving. It ain't gettin' any lighter out here, Son."

"Roger that, Sarge," Percell complied, again moving his rifle across his chest. To Storm, he repeated, "You got that right, Boy."

**************************

The squad had been prowling the perimeter for some time with no success, when Sergeant Anderson again signaled to stop the line. Goldman, who was a few men ahead of the sergeant, turned around and shot the other man a questioning look. "What's the problem, Anderson?" the lieutenant called back. "You hear something?" With the moon darting in and out of a thin layer of clouds, and their corner of the world in all but complete darkness now, the officer knew that no one would be seeing much of anything from here on out.

Anderson again propped his M-16 on his hip and moved forward so that he could address the officer without raising his voice. The line was walking tight, but if Charlie was out there with them, the sergeant didn't want to draw attention to the fact that the squad was outside the perimeter. "Sir, we done been out here for hours, it's dark as hell, and we haven't seen a damn thing."

The squad had circled the firebase once, but having seen nothing out of the ordinary, Goldman had ordered them to move closer to the surrounding treeline. The second lap around the perimeter had proven to be just as futile and the squad was now moving into the thicket to begin a third trip around Ladybird. "If there was anything out here, that dog should have sniffed it out by now." Both men looked at Percell, but the dark animal was all but lost to the night. "LT, maybe Charlie has decided to give us the night off."

Lieutenant Goldman liked the sound of that, but he knew better than to believe it. And he also knew Anderson knew better than to believe it. A verbal reply was not necessary. The NCO sighed and shook his head in disgust. "Well, if we're gonna keep goin', then we could use a breather, Sir."

"All right, Sergeant. Tell the men to take five."

"Roger that, LT," Anderson said with some relief. He headed forward to give the men their break, but a five minute rest wasn't nearly as important to Sergeant Anderson as having a chance to have a word with young Corporal Percell.

When he reached the front of the line, Anderson addressed his point man. "You okay up here, Danny?" he asked, in a friendly, paternal voice.

"Yeah, Sarge. Why?" Percell frowned. Not having heard whatever exchange had taken place between Goldman and Anderson, Percell was worried that he must have done something wrong to garner such personalized attention from the platoon sergeant.

"Well, Son, I saw what happened with the dog and that letter."

Danny was surprised. It was pitch black out there and still Sergeant Anderson knew exactly what was going on, even six guys away. The man was incredible. "Oh. Sarge. That. It don't mean nothin'."

Anderson's voice was firm, yet full of compassion. "You got that right, Percell. It don't mean nothin'. Look, I know what you're going through, but you gotta let it go. We got to do our job so we can get back to The World in once piece. So unclog your mind and do what you know you have to do." The NCO patted Percell on the back.

"I won't let the guys down, Sarge," Percell assured his platoon sergeant. "I promise I won't."

Anderson smiled. "I believe you Danny. Now then, go ahead and take five. Where's your dog?"

**************************

As soon as Anderson had departed to go talk to Corporal Percell, Goldman reached into his fatigues and pulled out his cigarettes. He tapped one out of the pack, sliding it between his lips, and started fishing for his lighter. When he had retrieved the Zippo from the depths of his pocket, he slipped his helmet off of his head and tossed the cigarette pack and his lighter into the bowl and set them on the ground next to his boot. He stretched his arm over his shoulder and rummaged through his ruck to find his pancho. There was only one reason he had packed the rain gear on this dry night and now was the time to use it. Smoking a cigarette while on patrol after dark was never a good idea and always a pain in the neck, but the lieutenant believed that the feel of the smoke in his lungs would be worth every bit of the risk.

As he unfurled the pancho and draped it over his head, he reached down to grab the lighter out of the helmet and was alarmed to instead grab a fistful of thick, soft fur. "What the hell?" he squawked, yanking his hand back under the canvas. He pulled the garment off of his head and looked down, trying to make out the shape of the moving shadow in front of him. It took only a moment for the lieutenant to realize that the fur belonged to Corporal Percell's dog. "Get out of here, you mutt," he demanded, shoving the animal away with his leg. "That's an order, dammit!"

The dog was strong, but it yielded to the pressure from Goldman's lean, but muscular calf. After the animal scurried away, Myron gave his head an aggravated shake and bent over to gather his things from the ground.

"Hey!" he cried when his fingers found only the metal lighter inside the bowl of the helmet. "Where are my smokes?" Knowing the answer to the question almost as quickly as the words left his mouth, he peered out into the night in search of the culprit. "Dog, get back here with those, now!" he called. Hearing movement in the grass to his left, the lieutenant turned and lunged forward, missing the animal by inches and falling face first into a mud puddle. Not to be outmaneuvered, Goldman pulled himself up, spit out a mouthful of wet clay, and swiped his hand out in the dog's general direction. This time, his fingers brushed up against the paper pack dangling from the animal's mouth. "I know you're there. Now drop it!"

Again Goldman dove for the dog and again Goldman missed. The officer managed to keep himself out of the dirt, but he wasn't at all enjoying this game and his temper flared. "That's it!" he snapped, pulling his rain pancho off of his shoulders and heaving it at the dog. "I'm not playing with you! Give them here or I'll shoot you myself!"

The lieutenant suddenly realized that he had dropped his M-16 and bent over to retrieve it. Just as he had the weapon in his grasp, he was pushed backward with such a force that he fell flat on his butt and again dropped the rifle into the dirt. Goldman knew the big black dog was powerful, but he was stunned to be taken down so quickly. Believing the animal had lost control, and not wanting The General to receive a letter home stating that his only son had been mauled to death by a mad dog, Goldman reached around his waist to where he would find his holstered pistol.

With alarming speed and with no advance warning, the dog pushed its front legs into the officer's chest, flattening the man to the ground. Goldman's back hit the magazine of his rifle, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to lose his grip on the Colt .45. While the lieutenant tried to fill his lungs with air, the German Shepherd released a bone-chilling howl and bounded away into the grass and out of Goldman's limited line of sight. The platoon leader might have been afraid had he been able to think beyond his depleted lungs. Instead, he gulped in air, vaguely aware of the animal's fury in the nearby brush.

Goldman rolled over onto his side and was working to pull himself off the ground when he heard an M-16 blast near the same area as the barking. The officer froze, his heart racing as he looked over his shoulder and saw Corporal Percell's silhouette behind the blinding bursts of fire erupting from the weapon. In seconds, the area became deathly quiet. The barking had stopped.

Still laying on his side, his lungs continuing to burn, Goldman lowered his head to the ground and wondered what he was going to tell the captain when they came back without the war dog. The Air Force was going to be ticked off, which meant Wallace was going to be ticked off. The last thing Goldman needed was to get his ass chewed out over this dog that had been nothing but problems since they found it.

He wanted a cigarette.

Lieutenant Goldman burrowed his head into the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the dirt and sweat from his face and tried to clear his mind before again attempting to hoist himself to his feet. When he turned his head back and looked up, he saw the moonlight reflecting in a pair of yellow eyes staring at him from just inches away. It took less than a second for Goldman to see the narrow, horizontal line of the pupils and realize that those eyes belonged to a very large snake. The platoon leader shuddered and lurched his body backward where he was stopped by a large pair of muddy combat boots. Holding his breath and struggling to get past the obstacle and away from the loathsome reptile, he felt a large hand wrap around his arm and pull him to his feet.

"Now, now, LT," he heard Sergeant Anderson soothe. "I think ol' Storm there is just giving you a peace offering."

"A wh...what?" Goldman stammered as he bolted around to Anderson's other side, putting distance as well as the sergeant between himself and the snake.

"A peace offering, Sir. Looky here." Anderson reached his hand out and grabbed the snake out of the dog's mouth. "It's dead, LT. Percell blasted it into oblivian for you."

In the thin light of the moon, Goldman could see the shadow of the cobra suspended from Sergeant Anderson's extended fist. "Geez, that sucker must be ten feet long," the officer murmured. He was still having a hard time catching his breath and every other word was followed by a heavy gasp for air. Standing a step behind the platoon sergeant, Goldman was unable to see Anderson's face, but he was convinced that the other man was grinning from ear to ear. Annoyance eventually replaced his anxiety. "Get rid of it, Sergeant," the platoon leader demanded. "Now."

"Roger that, LT," Anderson complied as he heaved the dead cobra over into the trees. "I thought you were over your fear of snakes, Sir."

Goldman opened his mouth to try to defend himself, but was interrupted by Danny Percell who was just making his way over to the other men. "Sir, are you all right," the corporal asked, bending down to grab the rope still tied around the dog's harness.

Goldman licked his lips several times and wiped his towel across his forehead. "I'm fine Percell," he said, not quite convincing even himself. "How'd you see that thing in the dark, anyway?"

"I didn't really, Sir," Percell said bluntly. "Not until I saw Storm grab it. I think you made it mad somehow and it was headed in your direction. Storm picked it right up off the ground and kept it away from you." Goldman stopped wiping his face and tried to focus on Percell through the dark. "Guess he helped me keep my promise to keep you alive, huh, LT?"

Goldman could sense the platoon sergeant's questioning stare, but chose to ignore it. Instead, he said to Percell, "Yeah. I guess so, Percell." The lieutenant reached down and ran his fingers through the dog's sleek fur. "Thanks...both of you."

Sergeant Anderson's smile faded as he shifted his rifle so that it rested on his hip. He tapped Percell on the shoulder to get the young man's attention. "Get back up there on point, Percell. And don't let go of that dog again." Danny nodded his understanding and walked to the front of the line, pausing when he heard the machine gunner's voice break the silence of the squad.

"Way to go, doggie," they all heard Ruiz call from the darkness. "You think he gets rats, too, Percell?"

While the men discussed the possibility of the dog's ratting abilities, Goldman turned to the squad leader. "What's the matter with you, Anderson?" he asked, not understanding the sergeant's agitation. "That dog just saved your platoon leader's ass."

Whatever confidence Lieutenant Goldman now had in the dog's abilities did not span across the ranks to his platoon sergeant. "Yeah, well, the dog's great against a cobra, Sir" Anderson challenged. "But Charlie's a whole different kind of snake. And he knows we're out here now."

Goldman frowned. He bent over and dusted his hand along the ground, relieved to find his rifle near Anderson's boot.

He slung the weapon over his shoulder, reached down again to find his pistol and said to the staff sergeant, "This mission's a bust. Let's get the hell back on base."

Sergeant Anderson couldn't have been more relieved. "Roger that, LT," he said as he moved away to round up the men.

A thin smile crossed Goldman's lips as his fingers sank into a puddle where they found the mutilated pack of muddy cigarettes. They were worthless, but at least the dog didn't win.

**************************

The trek back to the front entrance of Firebase Ladybird was short, but in the dark, it took the squad a considerably long time to get there. Goldman glanced at the lighted dial of his watch. It was 23:52. There was no sign of sappers. All was SOP at Firebase Ladybird as far as he could tell.

"Sergeant Anderson," Goldman called the platoon sergeant over as the squad entered the base. "Go check on the sentries and then try to get some rest. The night isn't done yet." Anderson understood the lieutenant's meaning. The raids on Ladybird occurred at random times, as early as 22-Hundred hours and as late as Zero-400 hours. There were a good six hours of darkness left and the dinks could still make a move before dawn. "Let's leave the dog out here with one of the guys on guard," the officer suggested.

Corporal Percell, who had overheard the discussion between his superiors, interrupted Goldman's orders. "Sir, I'll stay out here with Storm tonight."

Anderson and Goldman exchanged a puzzled look. No soldier volunteered for guard duty if sleep had been offered instead.

"Percell, what are you talking about, Son?" the staff sergeant asked. "Let Dobbins have the dog overnight. You can have him back in the morning." Sergeant Anderson remembered Percell's most recent stint on guard duty. He'd lost a buddy and was devastated by the incident. It was one of the things that contributed to Percell's mistake in the ville that left a child dead. Both Goldman and Anderson had decided that Corporal Percell would not be put on night sentry for a few weeks while the young man worked out his problems.

Danny Percell refused to waiver. "Sarge, I know this sounds weird, but I want to stay with him, even if it's on watch tonight. He trusts me." When the two men before him failed to react, the corporal added, "Besides, I had a good nap this afternoon. I can do this."

Sergeant Anderson looked at the lieutenant. Goldman offered a do what you want, Sergeant shrug of the shoulders and dismissed himself, briskly making his way across the compound to his quarters. Anderson frowned and looked into Percell's eyes, studying the soldier carefully. Danny Percell still looked fresh and alert and the dog did seem to respond to the man. Maybe this was as good a time as any to ease the troubled corporal back into the regular rotation.

"All right, Percell," he conceded. "You're on watch tonight. Go relieve Dobbins." Before Danny could respond, the sergeant felt compelled to administer a few special instructions. "Now, Son, pay attention out there. Act like you're expecting the dinks to get through the wire, then you'll be ready for them. I know there's a lot of time to think out there at night. Just don't. Thinking never done any good for nobody. You got that?"

Percell nodded his understand. "I'm okay. Honest to God."

Anderson pursed his lips and smiled. "I do believe you are, Son." As Percell gathered in the dog's lead and turned to relieve PFC Dobbins from the Eastern watch site, the sergeant added, "And keep that dog on the rope. I don't want to find him in the lieutenant's hootch again."

Danny smiled. "Roger that, Sarge!"

**************************

"You're what?" Private Dobbins blurted in disbelief. "You're takin' over guard duty for me? You nuts?" Even while the burly private was chastising Percell for this unprecedented offer, Dobbins was gathering his rifle and canteens and crawling out of the sandbagged foxhole at breakneck speed. "Linski went to use the latrine. He'll be back in a minute," the PFC explained briefly before making a break for his hootch. He was around the corner and out of sight even before Percell could maneuver himself and the dog into the hole.

Percell unhooked his canteen from his belt and lifted it to his mouth to take a drink, aware of the pair of golden eyes staring at him from the other side of the hole. "You thirsty, Storm?" he asked the dog, pretty sure he already knew the answer. When the animal offered a friendly bark in return, Danny lifted the helmet off of his head and set it on the ground. After he removed the lining, he poured in some of the water from his canteen and watched the dog lap it up. "Well, I guess you are, aren't you."

When both man and dog were satisfied, Percell tightened the cap on the container and set it down in the dirt. He rested his M-16 against the wall of sandbags and leaned forward to check the M-60 that was propped up on top of the barrier. Assured that it was locked and loaded, he leaned back onto the small stack of sandbags the guys had arranged as a kind of chair and settled in to wait.

Storm climbed out of the hole and laid down in the clay on the other side of the wall. Percell thought about making the dog come back inside the safety of the hole, but when he saw the animal's ears rotating back and forth and its nose twitching, he realized Storm was doing his job the best way he knew how. "You be careful out there, Boy," the soldier instructed.

A moment later, the dog sat upright and stared into the long shadows cast by the various tents and structures lining the streets of the firebase. Danny's heart skipped a beat when he saw the animal's curious behavior. Not a muscle moved on the animal's body, the ears had stopped moving and it was highly focused on whatever it smelled or heard. Unsure what this meant, Percell searched his shirt pocket for the piece of paper that Sergeant Anderson had given him before their patrol. On it was scrawled just a few short phrases. "Can smell danger 1000 yards away. Ears lock up. Stare into danger zone. Sit down on trail. Command-Search." It was precious little to go by, but Percell was sure Storm was alerting to some kind of danger.

"What is it, Boy? What do you see?" Danny's mouth went dry and he leaned forward to put his finger on the trigger of the machine gun. "Damn, I wish you could talk." Percell pointed the weapon in the same direction that the dog was staring and waited for the intruder to come into view. He was sweating profusely, his heart beating at a rapid pace, his hands beginning to tremble. A moment later, the shadow of a man seeped out onto the poorly lit streets. "Who goes there?" Percell called out, afraid that the answer would come in the form of an enemy onslaught.

"Hey, Danny! That you in there?"

Percell released a long, loud breath as he recognized the voice of Antone Linski. "God, Tony!" he sighed. "Yeah it's me. You scared the crap out of me."

Private Linski jogged over to the foxhole and took a second to slide his fingers through Storm's fur before hopping into the pit. "Hey, Percell. We heard about the dog getting into Goldman's hootch this morning. I'm surprised he didn't shoot it."

"Hell, Linski," Danny retorted matter-of-factly, "I'm surprised he didn't shoot me."

Both men chuckled as they again settled in for their watch. Storm lowered his body back onto the ground, but his posture remained rigid and alert. His eyes darted around the area as if he could see every corner of the firebase, and his ears twitched rapidly from side to side. The two men in the foxhole watched the animal for a long time without talking. When Linski finally did speak, he offered nothing more than a whisper, worried that he might disturb Storm's concentration.

"Percell?" Linski asked to get Danny's attention.

"What?"

"How do you know if he sees something?"

Before Percell could respond, the dog bolted up and locked its eyes on the concertina. Again its ears stopped twitching and it stood as rigid as a marble statue staring out into the brush. Corporal Percell grabbed the machine gun and aimed it in the direction that the dog's nose was pointing. It was impossible to see beyond the wire, but both soldiers believed the dog knew something they didn't.

"Who goes there?" Percell screamed at the top of his lungs. No response. No movement. "I said, who goes there?"

Still nothing.

Private Linski wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his sleeve. "What do we do, Danny?' he asked the higher ranking soldier, hoping the answer would not be to fire.

"I dunno. Let's just wait a minute. Could just be the wind."

Without warning, the dog delivered a horrific barrage of agitated noise. Barks and growls pierced through the night as the animal jumped and pulled against its rope. At that moment, Percell knew without a doubt that it was not just the wind and he released a rapid volley from the machine gun.

Within seconds, the night was alive with gunfire as the platoon was brutally roused from its uneasy slumber. Artillery lit up the sky and Percell could see from his position in the foxhole, the corpse of a Vietcong sapper tangled in the concertina only a few meters away. Claymores exploded as the metal cans along the wire clanked out their terrible warning.

"Linski! You okay?" Percell shouted without taking his eye off the perimeter. "Talk to me Linski!" Danny knew his comrade had fallen, but he was helpless to assist. He vainly called for a medic, knowing that with the chaos of the battle, no one would hear. Corporal Percell continued to fire the automatic weapon in a desperate attempt to prevent any gooks from penetrating the wire.

When the M-60 machine gun jammed, Percell wasted no time in abandoning it for his rifle that still rested against the wall of the hole. When he turned around, he allowed himself to glance over at his friend and was grateful to see that Tony Linski was still breathing. "Hang on, Linski! We'll get you out of here."

Percell fetched his weapon and turned back to the target. He saw out of the corner of his eye, the German Shepherd give the rope a powerful tug that yanked it free of the sandbag Percell had used to anchor it. In a flash, the dog was off, running at a full gallop toward the wire. "No, Storm! No! Get back here!"

Understanding that there was no way to stop the animal from its attack, Percell turned back to the wire, determined to protect Storm from the enemy barrage. As he lifted the rifle to take aim, he saw that a single sapper had managed to slip through the barrier and was heading straight for the foxhole. Storm intercepted Charlie not more than six meters in front of Percell's position.

Percell watched in terror as the animal stormed the Viet Cong sapper. The small, scantily clad man screamed in terror at the dog's approach, but he reached into a sack around his shoulder and pulled out a long chi com hand grenade. With the dog in such close proximity to the enemy, Percell was helpless to intervene. "Oh, God, Storm. What are you doing?" Danny whispered into the night.

Before the devise could be armed, the German Shepherd lunged at the sapper and seized the explosive from the man's hand, heaving it into the dirt. The animal then jumped forward, pounding those massive paws to the enemy's chest in the same way that it had disabled Lieutenant Goldman just a short time earlier. Percell started to scramble out of the hole when he saw the enemy again reach into his weapons cache.

Before he could climb over the sandbags, Percell felt an arm wrap around his waist and pull him violently back into the foxhole. "Get down, Percell," he heard Sergeant Anderson shout above the din of the battle. "Son, you can't go out there!"

Percell turned around and looked at the platoon sergeant, his eyes pleading for mercy for the dog. "Sarge, he's got a grenade! They're gonna kill him!"

"We don't know that, Danny. But if you go out there, there's no doubt they'll kill you. Now get down!"

Daniel Percell shrugged himself out of Anderson's strong grip, but he made no move to try to leave the hole again. He gathered in his M-16 and resumed firing beyond the barbed wire, realizing he could no longer see the dog or the sapper. "Sarge! Where is he?" Percell yelled. "I don't see him! Where's Storm?"

Danny suddenly became aware that his voice was the loudest noise on the base. The firing had abruptly stopped. He looked back at Sergeant Anderson who was tending to Linski with a bandage to the wounded man's head. The staff sergeant recognized the look in Percell's eye and knew beyond doubt that the corporal intended to go after the dog. "Hold on, Danny. You can't be leavin' this hole now. You go out there half-cocked and you just might get your head blown off."

"I'll be careful, Sarge. I just gotta find Storm."

Anderson knew that there would be no holding Percell back. "Well, all right then," he said, allowing Danny to climb over the sandbag wall. "You just watch yourself." When the soldier was out of earshot, the NCO added, "Hell, he'll be okay. He probably just annoyed the dinks back to Hanoi."

**************************

Once he was out of the hole, Percell used very little caution as he moved closer to the concertina. "Storm," he called over and over, trying to determine if any of the shadows on the ground might be the big black war dog. He grimaced at the site of the cadaver hanging in the wire, but tried to ignore it as he searched the area for the missing animal. When he neared the area where he last saw the attack on the sapper, Percell heard a soft whimper in the grassy area ahead of him. He followed the sound and knelt down on one knee, his hand finding the quivering body of the downed animal. Danny stroked his hand down the neck of the German Shepherd and stopped in horror when his fingers ran through the unmistakable stickiness that could only be blood. "Oh, God, Storm. What happened?"

The soldier slung his rifle over his shoulder and scooped the large animal into his arms. He carried the dog back to the foxhole where he saw Randy Matsuda orchestrating the evacuation of Private Linski. "Doc, Doc," Percell called to the medic. "Hey, Doc. Take a look at Storm, will ya? He's hurt."

Matsuda looked at Sergeant Anderson, raising his shoulders in uncertainty, grabbed his pack out of the hole and hurried over to Percell's dog. "What happened to him, Danny?" he asked, beginning his examination of the animal's body. "And good grief! What the hell stinks so bad?"

Percell had only been vaguely aware of the pungent odor coming from the dog's body, but now that Doc mentioned it, Storm did smell worse than he'd remembered. "Damn, Doc. I don't know. It is nasty, though, ain't it?"

Sergeant Anderson sauntered over to the trio and clasped a hand over his mouth and nose. "That, boys, is what's known as tiger balm."

"Tiger balm, Sarge?" Danny asked, unsure if the sergeant was pulling their legs.

"Tiger balm, Percell. Gooks are superstitious. That nasty smell is supposed to ward off evil spirits." Anderson stepped back a pace when he realized his hand was not a sufficient mask against the odor.

"Yeah, I can see that it would too," Matsuda remarked as he examined the wound in the dog's chest. To Percell, he smiled and offered an encouraging assessment of the animal's injuries. "Looks like he was stabbed, Danny," the medic announced. "It doesn't look too bad though. The blood's already clotting. A few stitches will probably fix him right up."

Percell let out an audible sigh of relief. "All right, Doc. That's just great!" He put a hand on either side of the animals large head and gently rubbed it, allowing his fingers to dig into the soft fur behind Storm's remarkable ears. "That's just great, ain't it, Boy?"

Sergeant Anderson shifted the green band he wore around his forehead and scratched the nagging itch above his right eyebrow. He was sure there must be a mosquito bite there. "Why the hell did the dink pour tiger balm on the dog?" The three men shared a look and shrugged in unison.

**************************

"Because he's black," Lieutenant Goldman was explaining to the staff sergeant. The morning was bright and he lifted his hand as a visor to cut the glare from the sun. "Something about black dogs being bad luck."

Anderson shook his head in wonder. "You don't say." He paused a moment and glanced over at the bandaged animal sitting quietly beside Corporal Percell. "Hm. Well, I'll be damned. You think they were scared off because the dog is black?"

"That just goes to show you how messed up these gooks are, Sarge." Anderson turned around to see Private Taylor strolling up behind him. "Black is beautiful, m'man. Me and Storm there are living proof, ain't we dog?"

Before anyone could remark on Taylor's haughty statement, a Huey helicopter began it's decent on what was left of Ladybird's landing pad. The soldiers that were gathered for Storm's departure turned their bodies and lifted their shirt collars to protect their necks from the swirling dirt. Danny Percell hunkered down in front of the dog and covered its face with his arms.

When the blades slowed and the dust began to settle, an Air Force lieutenant hopped out of the bird and approached Captain Wallace. After the men exchanged a quick salute, Lieutenant Gilmore offered a word of gratitude to Bravo Company. "Sir, the Air Force is grateful to you and your men for the safe return of this animal. We regret that its handler was lost in action, but we'll get Storm back into the field soon, thanks to you. There's no telling how many American lives this animal might save. You have our sincere gratitude."

The speech was obviously rehearsed, but Captain Wallace politely accepted the sentiment. "He already saved a few good American lives right here in this platoon, Lieutenant. We're sorry to see him go."

"Yes, Sir," Gilmore replied, smiling thinly. Without further remark, he walked over to the waiting corporal to retrieve the dog.

Before Percell permitted the lieutenant to take the rope, he kneeled down and again wrapped his arms around the dog's neck, careful not to disturb the sutures. Fighting back the welling tears in his eyes, he put his mouth up to those big black ears and whispered softly, "You be careful out there. I'll miss ya, Boy."

Storm barked a response, wagged his tail and allowed himself to be released to the custody of the Air Force officer. As the two passed in front of Lieutenant Goldman on their way to the Huey, Storm stopped and turned to face the platoon leader. Goldman bent down to pat the dog on the head and was rewarded with a slimy tongue across his mouth. "Yuck, dog!" the officer objected, recoiling from the swishing organ and swiping the sleeve of his shirt across his face. "Geez, you're disgusting. Oy."

Gilmore curtly reined in the lead and tugged the animal away from the men of Bravo Company's second platoon. As the two members of the Air Force made their way into the waiting chopper, Corporal Daniel Percell solemnly raised his hand to his forehead, snapping a perfect salute to the big black German Shepherd named Storm. Without hesitation, Lieutenant Goldman joined the soldier in honoring the canine and Sergeant Anderson respectfully followed. One by one, each and every man in the platoon raised his arm and held it until the helicopter carrying Danny's Boy off to war disappeared beyond the horizon.

**************end**************

Although a work of fiction, some of this story was inspired by actual events.