“Ouch,”
Sergeant
Anderson’s mind acknowledged as he tried to maneuver his sore body into a more
comfortable position on the hard, standard issue army cot. Rolling cautiously onto his side only caused
the throbbing ache to produce a momentary, sharp, stabbing pain. “Dammit,” Anderson muttered out loud, as he
gingerly returned to his original position.
A purple bruise had emerged on the staff sergeant’s left cheek to
compliment the cuts that marked his nose and eye area, but it was the tenderness
of his aching ribs that was the major source of his discomfort.
Smiling, Zeke admitted it was his own ego that was keeping his body hurting and restless. A short trip to the dispensary, along with a quick explanation, would no doubt have been enough to secure the desired painkillers that would have resulted in some much needed sleep. Instead, the stubborn sergeant had foolishly decided that a few generic aspirins would do the trick. Normally not given to arrogance, the sergeant blamed recent circumstances, for his sudden need to tough it out. Cautiously turning slightly to his left, and gently raising his leg, Anderson settled into the position he dubbed least painful, and most suitable to spend the night.
Pride
is what convinced the NCO to bite the bullet, rather than let his youthful
platoon know how much he was hurting.
The basis for that decision was Sergeant Ralph Carlton. Even now, Zeke wondered how Carlton had
almost bested him in a fair fight. “Now
that would have been embarrassing,” Anderson acknowledged. “A recruiter, a damn desk jockey.” The ability to take a punch was the only
thing that allowed the sergeant to make a rousing comeback and take control of
the fight, as his platoon cheered him on.
“I must be getting old,” Anderson conceded.
The
intense soreness in the sergeant’s side did serve one purpose. It allowed Anderson to put the real reason
for avoiding his men to the back of his mind…Marcus Taylor’s reenlistment. Anderson still could not get over that. How had he been so wrong in his assessment
of what Taylor wanted? Apparently,
being the kid’s sergeant for so many months did not insure any understanding of
the private’s personal wants and needs.
Anderson thought he understood Marcus Taylor, but now the confused staff
sergeant had to confess… he had not understood at all.
Zeke
Anderson never claimed to be a genius, but he prided himself on knowing
people. It made for some serious doubts
to arise if he could be that far off in his judgment. Anderson had won the fight, but felt he had somehow failed in his
men’s eyes. Zeke recalled Taylor’s last
words regarding Carlton…“He knows Sarge.” In the sergeant’s mind, that statement silently implied that he
(Anderson) did not.
“Shit,” Zeke thought, shifting his
focus from the confusion in his head to the more easily explainable tenderness
in his side. Closing his eyes, the
sergeant tried to lay still and catch a few hours of uneasy sleep before his
meeting with Lieutenant Goldman in the morning.
*******************
Sweat
poured down Marcus Taylor’s face as he sat upright, awakened from the
nightmare. Hoping he had not shouted
out in the dream, the private scanned the room and was relieved to see the rest
of the squad sleeping soundly. Already
feeling foolish--lying to them about the circumstances of his
reenlistment--Taylor did not want to further isolate himself by waking up
screaming in the middle of the night, dreaming of his own death.
“Six
more years,” Marcus thought grimly.
Sighing, the private remembered his initial response to Carlton’s
reenlistment pitch. “Do I look like
a lifer to you?” In his heart,
Marcus Taylor understood it was a sound decision, his only choice, but how
could he have told the guys? Taylor
always talked a good game--money, options, friends, women, but deep down the
private had a firm grasp of reality… he had nothing to go home to. In some ways, the young soldier felt more
doomed on the streets of Detroit than he did in the jungles of Vietnam. How could he explain that to his friends…
the only true family he had ever known.
*******************
Embarrassed, Sergeant Anderson stood before his lieutenant. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” He asked. The sergeant had successfully avoided an up close and personal encounter with the lieutenant for the last day or so, but there was no avoiding him now.
Lieutenant
Goldman’s eyes registered a flicker of surprise as he took in the damage on the
older man’s face. Although aware of the
sergeant’s fight with Carlton, Myron had been too busy to check into the
details. Knowing Anderson had been the
victor, made the lieutenant curious as to what the recruiter’s face looked
like. “Sergeant,” Myron started,
pausing to give Anderson a sympathetic grimace. “Sergeant,” he started again, “we have a mission tomorrow,
0600. Have the men ready.”
“Yes,
Sir,” Zeke answered, keeping his eyes averted from his platoon leader’s steady
gaze. This was one time Anderson was
grateful that the lieutenant was all business.
“Is that all, LT?” He asked hopefully.
Studying
Anderson carefully, Myron decided to forge ahead and discuss the obvious. It was awkward at times, the officer
conceded, being at least ten years his sergeants’ junior, but still…he was the
CO, and he did need to be aware of what was happening in his platoon. Myron tried to lighten the mood. “Yeah, Zeke, there is one more thing…what
the hell happened?”
“Little
misunderstanding is all, Sir,” the sergeant mumbled. Zeke glanced up at Goldman, hoping the kid would leave well
enough alone. The truth was that the
sergeant was still bothered by the fact that he had been so far off base in his
handling of Taylor’s reenlistment. Carlton had called him cocky, but Zeke did
not really think that was the case. It
was not arrogance or ego that made it hard for the sergeant to accept his
mistake; it was worrying about failing in his men’s eyes. This was his platoon, his guys…his
family, and their opinion mattered.
In
the few months that Myron had been platoon leader, he could not recall seeing
the sergeant this uncomfortable. “You
okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
Anderson
looked away, unable to explain his jumbled thoughts to the youthful
lieutenant. “I’m fine, LT. I better go inform the men.”
Goldman
stared at Anderson another couple of seconds, wishing he knew what to say,
wishing that his staff sergeant trusted him a little more in matters outside of
soldiering. Hopefully, that would come
in time. “Trust is not something I
can order him to do,” Myron sighed.
“Go ahead,” the CO finally nodded, dismissing the relieved staff
sergeant.
Myron
lit a cigarette and tried to decide if this incident warranted his
attention. Yesterday’s truck ride from
Chu Lai to Ladybird did give the lieutenant some cause for concern.
What
had stood out was the lack of bitching and whining that the second lieutenant
had finally come to accept as a routine part of the daily grind. The constant complaining was as much a part
of life in Vietnam as the helicopters and the M-16s. The lieutenant had looked at the subdued squad and realized
something was up with his normally boisterous platoon. Plus, he came to the remarkable conclusion
that a part of him actually missed the perpetual groaning and smart-ass
remarks. Myron allowed himself a smile,
appreciating the irony of yesterday’s concern.
The
lieutenant found himself wishing he had pushed Anderson harder on the details
of the circumstances surrounding Taylor’s reenlistment and the subsequent
fight. “I’ll give them a day to come
around,” he decided.
*******************
Zeke
stood outside the barracks, hesitant to go inside. The sergeant hated feeling so awkward around his own squad. It was not just the fight…it was Taylor
telling him that he was wrong and Carlton was right. That’s what had been humiliating to Anderson, the fact that he
had been Taylor’s sergeant for months, while Carlton had only known the private
for a few days. “Why didn’t I know
what Taylor wanted,” Zeke wondered.
And more importantly, “Why didn’t the boy tell me?” Sergeant Anderson was not use to
doubting himself, especially where his troops were concerned. Sometimes, it was hard to live up to his
men’s expectations…not to mention his own.
Self
conscious about his injuries, Zeke let out a sigh and hoped that his face and
ribs would heal quickly. The bruises
were not only a painful reminder of his narrow physical victory over Carlton,
but also served to remind the sergeant of Carlton’s victory, in getting Marcus
Taylor to re-up.
“Listen
up now,” Anderson said, going over the list of ammo and supplies his squad
would need for tomorrow’s mission. His
men gave him a respectful smattering of attention. Anderson read the list by rote and quickly turned to leave.
“Hey,
Sarge,” Marvin asked, “you wanna join us for a little poker?” Zeke paused, thinking maybe that was just
what he needed. Anderson scanned the
barracks for Taylor and saw him cleaning his M-16. Maybe a little poker, a little conversation and a few beers would
do the trick.
Before
the sergeant could answer, Baker came bounding in. Passing in front of Anderson, Baker grimaced in mock pain.
“Ouch! That’s gotta hurt,” he said,
flinching and making a face.
“No,
I’m fine,” Anderson mumbled turning away.
“Well listen, I’m gonna get on back….” The sergeant uneasily made his
way out the door.
“Why
you gotta bring it up, Baker?” Ruiz asked.
“You can see Sarge don’t want to talk about it.”
“What?”
Baker demanded. “He won didn’t he? Just saying it looked like it hurt that’s
all. When did he get so sensitive?”
“We playing cards or not?” Marvin asked impatiently. “C’mon, Taylor.”
“Go
ahead, I don’t feel much like playing,” Taylor said lying down on his
bunk. He was wondering if Sergeant
Anderson was mad at him for not sharing his reenlistment plans, and in effect,
causing the subsequent fight. “What do I care?” Marcus admonished
himself. “No one else’s business,”
he thought stubbornly, trying to muster up some anger. Still, the private could not deny that the
idea of Anderson being annoyed was bothering him.
“If he’s out,” Horn said, nodding towards Taylor, “I’m in.” The RTO was tired of losing his monthly allotment to Taylor.
Baker
jumped up. “Yeah, me too,” he eagerly
agreed.
An
irritated Marcus Taylor got up and made his way outside. “Hell, I’ll just leave…then maybe all
of you can play,” he yelled on his way out.
“C’mon
now, Taylor, that ain’t what we meant,” Danny yelled after him.
“Just
let him go,” Marvin said, tired of his friend’s sulking. “He’s been a pain in the ass ever since he reenlisted.”
*******************
The
first three days of the mission had been uneventful, but the fourth was proving
to be more memorable. First, the radio
had gone on the fritz, and then Marcus Taylor had sprained his ankle.
Lieutenant
Goldman tried to put a little distance between himself and his men. “Give me a
minute,” Goldman ordered Johnson, who was trailing close behind him. Myron desperately needed a moment to think,
without being bombarded with his men’s unsolicited opinions. The scheduled rendezvous at the PZ was in
just over two hours. Studying the map,
the lieutenant realized it was going to take some serious humping to make it on
time.
“Don’t
leave me here, Sarge,” Taylor quietly pleaded.
“I can make it.”
Hearing
the unfamiliar fear in Taylor’s trembling voice made Anderson wince. “I can help him walk,” the sergeant said
confidently, trying to influence the lieutenant’s decision. “He’ll be fine, Sir.”
“Look,
LT.” Marcus tried getting to his feet,
attempting to prove himself fit.
Instead, the private collapsed in pain, unable to put any pressure on
the swollen ankle.
“Taylor,
we are not leaving you,” Myron said more harshly than he intended. “We got to make that pick up, or no one is
going to know where the hell we are. We
will be back at first light to get you out of here.”
“LT,”
Anderson started. Myron raised his hand
and shot Anderson a look that signaled the end of the discussion. Zeke recognized the look and stopped in mid
sentence. The lieutenant was getting
all kinds of looks from the rest of the squad as well.
“I’ll
stay with him,” Johnson volunteered.
“No
one is staying with him,” the lieutenant said firmly, trying to keep the
irritation out of his voice. “Taylor
take this,” he added, handing Marcus his pistol. “Stay quiet, stay here and we will pick you up first thing in the
morning, got it?”
“Yes,
Sir,” Taylor managed.
“All
right, gear up, let’s go,” the lieutenant ordered his disgruntled troops.
“Relax,
Taylor, you’ll be fine,” Anderson said, trying to comfort the anxious
private. “Think of it as a little
camping trip without the marshmallows.”
“I
didn’t do much camping in Detroit, Sarge,” Taylor whined.
Anderson patted the private’s shoulder. “Just stay calm, we’ll be back first thing,” he promised.
“Don’t
worry, Bro,” Johnson told Taylor as the squad prepared to move out. “You know that we’ll be back.” Glancing towards the lieutenant, and making
no attempt to lower his voice Marvin added, “Whether he decides to come
back or not.” A nervous Marcus Taylor
nodded, as he and Johnson exchanged handshakes.
*******************
Lieutenant
Goldman checked his watch as his squad hit the PZ, and breathed a sigh of
relief. Six minutes to spare. It would have taken at least an extra thirty
had he succumbed to his platoon’s wishes, and allowed them to drag Taylor
along. “All right, there she is,” the
lieutenant said, already spotting the Huey in the sky; confident he had made
the right decision.
Hiding
in the dense brush at the edge of the LZ, waiting for the chopper to touch
down, Sergeant Anderson approached the lieutenant. “LT, I’m gonna go back and spend the night with Taylor,” he
declared.
“What?”
the lieutenant demanded.
“The
boy’s scared out there alone, Sir,” Anderson said, lowering his voice.
“No,”
the lieutenant answered firmly, fighting back an urge to ask the sergeant if he
had lost his mind.
“Well,
Sir,” Anderson reasoned. “We made the
pick up, it don’t make no difference now who stays and who goes.”
Myron
stared intently at his sergeant, wanting to tell him that of course it made a
difference. The sergeant’s death would
certainly make a difference. Instead,
he tried to reason with the older man. “It’s almost dark, Anderson. You will never find him in the dark.”
“I’ll
find him, Sir,” Zeke smiled good-naturedly. “I know exactly where I left
him.” The Huey touched down for the
extraction as Anderson patiently waited for Goldman’s decision.
The
lieutenant wanted to say no, and order Anderson onto the waiting bird. The idea of going back for Taylor was a
ridiculously stupid one. The only thing
holding Myron back, was the nagging fear that the sergeant would go anyway,
regardless of orders, and where would that leave him? So against his better judgment, Lieutenant Goldman relented. Now he would have two men to worry about
tonight. Myron anxiously watched
Anderson disappear into the jungle before any of the men even realized he was
missing.
The
ride back to the base was subdued, but the guys were relieved to know that Sergeant
Anderson had stayed behind to baby-sit Taylor.
The men had no lack of confidence in their sergeant’s ability to locate
the private and keep them both alive until morning. “It’s easy for them,” Myron recognized. “It’s MY
responsibility.” The officer
berated himself for his own lack of courage and confidence in issuing the
proper order, and anxiously hoped that his likable sergeant would survive the
night, alone in the jungle.
After
a brief meeting with his superiors, Lieutenant Goldman showered, grabbed
something to eat at the officer’s club, and retreated to his quarters. Sitting at his desk, the lieutenant
attempted to fill out his AAR. Unable
to concentrate on the still blank report, Myron went back to studying the map
of the AO, checking and rechecking the spot he had carefully marked to retrieve
Taylor. Myron could only hope that
Sergeant Anderson would be there as well.
The lieutenant also decided on what area would be the best place to
start a search and rescue operation, incase the sergeant was indeed missing.
Thinking
about the day’s events, Myron closed his blood shot eyes and rubbed his
pounding temples. As soon as the
lieutenant relaxed, Johnson words came to him…“Whether HE decides to come
back or not.” Myron Goldman had been around the army since he was a kid,
and was not overly sensitive to his men’s criticisms. Enlisted men complaining about officers had been happening since
the beginning of time, and truly was standard operating procedure. But this was different. “It hurt,” the lieutenant
admitted. Myron had to remind himself
that it was his job as an officer to make the hard decisions…to think with his
head and not with his heart. No one had agreed with his decision to leave
Taylor behind. To a man, Anderson
included, they had wanted to attempt to drag the private to the PZ. The lieutenant had disagreed, and his vote
was the only one that counted
Lieutenant
Goldman had pushed his squad hard for two hours over rough terrain, and even
then they had barely made the scheduled extraction. “Didn’t that prove me right?” Evaluating his performance and decision-making, Myron was
convinced that he had made the right choices.
With the radio not working, missing the pick up would have been a disaster
for the entire squad. To ensure the
safety of the unit, the lieutenant did not have the luxury of leaving a soldier
behind to stay with the injured private.
Myron honestly believed that if Taylor stayed put, he would be fine
until morning.
“My only error in judgment,” Myron
decided, “was in allowing Anderson to go back into the jungle.” That was a stupid decision. Charlie ruled the night and it got pretty
black out there. Myron was not as
confident as his troops that Anderson would even be able to find Taylor. The only reason he had agreed to it was
because he feared that Anderson would disobey his order. The lieutenant silently vowed that he would
never base a decision on that fear again.
Strategically, it had served no purpose; it had only put another man’s
life at risk. In reality, the
lieutenant contemplated, it would probably be easier for Charlie to spot two
men than one.
Myron
concluded that the decision to allow Anderson to join Taylor was the worst one
he had made all day, and yet it was the only popular one. “That should tell
me something,” the tired officer thought.
Too exhausted to figure out exactly what, Myron lay down and tried to
catch a few hours of sleep before heading out at first light.
*******************
“Calm
down, you fool,” Marcus Taylor ordered himself.
It was no use. The hours alone
in the black jungle had Marcus feeling as jumpy and afraid as he could ever
remember. What he wouldn’t give for one
of the guys to be out here with him. “I’d
even settle for Baker,” he joked nervously to himself. It was not the thought of Charlie that made
the private’s heart pound, or even the creepy crawly things, slithering around
unseen that had Taylor in a cold sweat.
It was the idea of being utterly alone that was so terrifying. Nights in the jungle were nothing new to the
private, hell he was on his second tour, but totally alone…
Marcus
Taylor stifled a scream as he felt something touch his arm.
“Taylor,
is that you?”
“Sarge?”
Taylor whispered joyfully, momentarily forgetting himself and giving Anderson
an uninhibited hug.
“Yeah,
it’s me, Taylor,” Zeke said, amused.
“Ain’t you heard me rattlin’ around this area looking for you these last
few hours?”
“No,
I didn’t hear nothin’,” Taylor admitted.
Marcus was amazed that all the apprehension of the night seemed to
disappear in an instant. “What are you doing out here?” He asked happily,
unable to hide his joy at seeing his sergeant.
“Thought
you might need some company,” Anderson replied, settling into the dense foliage
next to the private.
“It
is pretty spooky out here,” Taylor conceded, smiling at his gross
understatement.
Sergeant Anderson could not recall Taylor ever being this giddy about seeing anyone. Zeke was glad that he had talked the LT into allowing him to return. “Well, you can go ahead and get some sleep now, Taylor,” the sergeant suggested. “I’ll take the first watch.”
Anderson
thought that Marcus was asleep until the private whispered, “I thought you was
mad at me, Sarge…you know, for reenlisting.”
“That’s
your own business, Taylor. You don’t
owe me no explanation.”
After
a few more minutes of silence Taylor started again. “You know, Sarge, I came to Vietnam because it was either that or
jail, you knew that right?”
“Yeah,”
Anderson confirmed.
“I
bet you didn’t know that I didn’t even steal that car. My cousin and some friends stole it – my
cousin was driving, I was just along for the ride. Taylor took a deep breath before continuing. “When we bailed they begged me to tell the
cops I was driving, they all had arrest records and were looking at jail
time. So I went along…I mean he was my
cousin, they were my friends, right?”
Anderson
remained silent.
“But
you know what?” Marcus continued. “Not
one of them came to visit me in jail…and not one of them showed up at my hearing. Not even my own cousin. What do I got to go home to? Tell me that Sarge.”
“You
were just a kid, Taylor,” Anderson responded.
“You
guys are my family now. Hell, my own
blood would not come back for a damn court date,” Marcus pondered. “But you risked your ass to come back out
here for me tonight,” he said in wonder.
“And I know all the guys will be back looking for us tomorrow, no
questions asked. I guess the army is my
home now. Can you understand that,
Sarge?”
“Yeah,
Taylor, I do understand,” Zeke agreed.
“The army has given me a home for a lot of years. I guess I just didn’t figure you for a lifer
is all.”
Marcus
smiled to himself. “Sarge,” he
whispered, “I am glad you kicked Carlton’s ass.”
“Why,
thank you, Taylor,” Zeke beamed, “get some sleep now, Son.”
It
struck Marcus that the jungle, so terrifying just a few short moments ago, held
no such power over him now. Taylor accidentally bumped Anderson as he tried to
get into a more comfortable position on the jungle floor. “How about a little room here?” He asked
cockily, feeling like his old self. Anderson gave him an elbow to the ribs for
his trouble. Settling in for the night,
Marcus smiled in amazement at how the fear and anxiety, so heavy a few minutes
ago, seemed to have vanished completely. “Thanks, Sarge,” was the
private’s last thought as he fell into an easy sleep.
*******************
To
the lieutenant’s relief, both Taylor and Anderson were in the exact spot he had
marked on the map and the rescue came off without a hitch. Back at the base, the guys were escorting
the gimpy private to the dispensary.
Myron wanted to talk to his sergeant.
“Anderson, stop my quarters for a drink,” he offered.
“No,
LT, if it’s all the same to you I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to try to grab a few Z’s.”
Myron
could have kicked himself. He needed to
talk to Anderson, but now he would have to make it an order. The lieutenant realized that’s what he
should have done in the first place. “Sometimes
this stuff is so damn tricky,” he thought.
“Sergeant,”
Myron said, adding some authority to his voice, “I need to talk to you. Now.”
When
it dawned on the sergeant that the lieutenant was ordering him to meet
with him, he agreed soon enough. “Yes,
Sir,” Anderson responded, the familiar casualness of a few minutes ago
gone.
Agitated,
Anderson stood in the “at ease position” in front of Goldman’s desk, pretty
formal for a talk with the LT. It
irritated the sergeant that the lieutenant could go from, “Stop in for a drink”
to “I need to see you, NOW” in a heartbeat. “If you want to see me, just tell me you want to see me,” Zeke
thought. “You’re in charge.”
Myron wished he were better at this stuff. “Have a seat, Sergeant.”
“No
thank you, Sir,” Anderson predictably responded.
Now
it was the lieutenant’s turn to be annoyed.
He could see that Anderson was in his formal soldier mode and he doubted
he would get much of a response from him.
“Could you cut me a break here, Anderson, could we just talk for a few
minutes?”
Zeke
was genuinely confused. “Yes, Sir,” he
responded, not at all sure what the lieutenant was annoyed about, but taking a
seat just the same.
“Good,
I’ll cut right to the chase, Sergeant.
Yesterday, in the field, I should not have let you stay behind. That was a mistake on my part. If something had happened to you… that would
be on my conscience. It served no
purpose. It did not make the situation
better--it made it worse.” Myron
paused, waiting for a response.
The
sergeant stayed quiet, waiting for a question.
The
lieutenant decided directness was the best course. “If I would have said no, would you have gone back anyway?”
“I
would have obeyed your orders, Sir,” Zeke answered quickly enough.
Staring
at Anderson, Myron was not sure he believed him. “Do you trust my judgment, Sergeant?” He asked.
“Doesn’t
matter, Sir. I’d follow your orders
whether I agreed with them or not.”
“It
matters to me!” Myron’s mind practically screamed.
“Never mind,” the frustrated officer said, realizing he was not getting
anywhere. “Go, dismissed.”
“LT,”
Zeke paused on his way out, “me going
back…didn’t make the situation worse for Taylor.”
“That’s
not the point, Anderson,” the exasperated lieutenant said. “We would have
rescued Taylor just the same, only you would not have been at risk too. I have to make decisions based on common
sense. That’s all I’m trying to say,”
Myron vented, wishing the sergeant would understand his reasoning.
“But
that is the point, Sir,” Anderson calmly argued. “Someday, it might be you out there alone, LT, and you’ll be glad
to know that I’ll be coming...whether it makes sense to anyone or not.”
Shaking
his head, Myron stared after Anderson, irritated that the sergeant could not,
or would not acknowledge the mistake.
In Myron’s mind, Anderson had risked his life for nothing…just so Taylor
would have a little company. It was
unnecessary, that’s what made the lieutenant so angry.
Lieutenant
Goldman tried to work on the paperwork piled on his desk, but was having
trouble concentrating. His mind kept
wandering back to the conversation with Anderson. Although Myron admired Anderson’s attributes as a soldier, and as
a man, he thought the sergeant acted impulsively, relying too much on instinct
and not enough on protocol. In contrast,
Myron had always needed his world to have some semblance of order and to make a
certain amount of sense. The lieutenant
had grown up believing that life had rules and guidelines to follow, and a kind
of logic to it, which would guarantee success and victory to those insightful
and strong enough to walk its path.
But
here in the Nam, Myron finally conceded, rules and reason no longer applied and
nothing was guaranteed. Death was as
common as the morning rain, and life was so fragile, sometimes it hurt just to
breathe. Sadly, Myron realized what
his experienced sergeant already understood.
All that remained intact from the World left behind was the bond that
the men shared with each other.
Friendship, loyalty and trust…everything else had been rendered
meaningless.
Slumping down in his chair, Myron admonished himself for his lack of compassion and understanding regarding Taylor and Anderson. Unsure of his own courage, the young lieutenant wondered how he would hold up, alone, at night in the bush. Myron had to admit it was a comfort knowing his dependable sergeant would come looking for him in a crisis. He thought about Anderson, wandering around in the forbidding jungle, searching for Taylor, and found himself wondering if the sergeant had been afraid.
Thinking back to the discussion with Anderson, Myron was no longer sure if the sergeant had been too dense to understand his point. What if it turned out that his sergeant was the smartest grunt in the Nam? Myron turned his attention back to the forms on his desk. Either way, the lieutenant decided, he was grateful to have Zeke Anderson as his sergeant…and his friend.
******The
end******