Free BAT-21 by William C. Anderson Page A

probably smelled like a
corpse.
    Or there was a remote possibility that the lad
might be from a friendly village that might even bring help?
    He dismissed that idea. The victorious tide of
battle was heading south. Even friendly villages were occupied by
enemy troops. He had seen them. If the kid reported him to anyone,
his fat was in the fire. Christ on a crutch!
    Finally he mustered the strength to rise on his
elbows. It might prove helpful if he could see which way the kid had
gone. He craned his neck, peering over the underbrush until he could
see the nearest village.
    The boy and the dog were heading across the rice
paddies toward the village. As he approached the inside perimeter of
the Maginot Line, the boy stopped. He picked up a stick and hurled it
as far as he could across the mined strip toward the village. The dog
took out after the stick, with the kid following precisely in his
path a safe distance behind. The kid was using his dog to blaze a
trail through the mine field!
    Hambleton shook his head, unbelieving. For a
moment a touch of sadness leavened his fear. What the hell was this
crazy war doing? Everything in Vietnam seemed to be expendable.
Everything and everybody. Including a kid's dog. Had terror and the
need to survive undone every virtue—pity, decency, loyalty, love?
    His musings were interrupted by the actions of the
lad and the dog who had by then miraculously negotiated the mined
area. They were heading directly for the nearest hooch at the edge of
the village. Hambleton's heart sank. He watched the child run up to a
woman hanging clothes in the yard and start chattering a mile a
minute. Hambleton could make out much gesticulating, which finally
culminated in a hand pointing in his direction. Terminating the
conversation, the boy and the woman hurried into the hooch.
    His skin crawled. What the hell should he do?
Should he make a break for it and run toward his hole, risking
exposure, or...
    His worst fears were confirmed. Several Vietnamese
soldiers
    bearing rifles came boiling out of the hooch, led
by the boy. The dog accompanied them, barking up a storm. They ran in
Hambleton's direction, pulling up just short of the mined area.
Hambleton could hear the shrill, excited voices of the soldiers as
the lad pointed at the exact spot where he was hiding.
    He broke out into a cold sweat. He had to make a
break for it. Get back to his hole where he could cover himself up.
Get his gun. Could he do it without being seen? They would be
watching for any movement, knowing exactly where he was hiding. He
had to pull himself together and get the hell out of there!
    But his limbs would not obey his commands. He
could only stoop there, transfixed, watching as the soldiers sent the
boy and the dog back to the hooch and then started picking their way
through the mine field.
    Closer... closer the soldiers came. Thank God the
kid hadn't shown them the dog trick. It was obvious they didn't know
how the kid had made it through the mine field. They were not
relishing their duty. Studying the ground beneath them before each
footfall ... treading softly, gingerly... stopping, pausing before
each step. In spite of his fear, Hambleton felt a touch of admiration
for those poor ground-pounders. God Almighty, they must want him bad
to try and negotiate that mine field.
    He wiped away sweat puddling on his forehead and
dripping down his face. He had to do something. The first of the
three soldiers seemed to be part way through the mine field. One or
all of them could get lucky and make it. His hands shaking, he
fumbled with his pocket zipper and pulled out his radio. He clicked
it on.
    "Birddog! Birddog!" He kept his voice
low, fighting to keep it from trembling. "This is Bat
Twenty-one. Come in!"
    "Roger, Bat. Birddog here."
    "Gomers. Playing Tiny Tim. Coming this way. A
quarter click east of my position."
    "Roger, Bat. Understand. Birddog out."
    Thank God! Help would soon be on the way. But if
they didn't make it in time,