Free Sergeant Dickinson by Jerome Gold

reinforcing column consisted of one jeep. Each of the company’s three platoons went through the raid and ambush in turn.
    â€œThey look pretty good. It would have been better if that jeep had shown up, though,” I say.
    â€œWell, you can’t have everything. It probably got too cold for them and they went home. That’s why I’m glad I don’t have to work with Americans.”
    The drivers were American.
    I put some pine cones on the fire. We heard the machine guns start up on the hill. They were firing short bursts.
    â€œI haven’t heard your booby trap go off yet.”
    â€œI know. I’ve been thinking about it. Why don’t I go up with the last group as their evaluator? If they don’t trip it I’ll blow it myself on the way. We can’t leave it up there.”
    â€œI know. I wish we could. I hate fooling around with those things. Do you want me to come along?”
    â€œNo. I’ll just trip it. I won’t try to take it apart.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t have any problem.”
    â€œNo,” I agree.
    The last platoon to go through the exercise entered the wash from the road. The sergeant had put his machine guns toward the front and rear of the column. That was good. The radio man stayed right on the sergeant’s heels. That was good, too. The troops did not bunch up when the column halted but kept their intervals. That, too, was as it should be.
    Of course, it was too short a patrol to tell their real caliber.You needed at least two hours before they would begin to get sloppy. It was the way they handled their propensities toward carelessness that told you how disciplined they were. But, all things considered, they looked pretty good.
    Now the sergeant had to decide whether to march his troops up the draw or to walk one of the slopes. The sergeant had reconned the terrain earlier in the day. To walk the low ground was foolishness; should they be ambushed they would have to run uphill either to assault the ambush positions or to get away. The sergeant knew that there were no aggressors on this problem, but he was expected to play the game.
    The target was ultimately to the left of the draw. If they walked the slope on the left they would not have to cross the draw later, keeping movement in proximity of the target minimal. But the rise of the slope was shallow, with a flat, treeless area farther on. The moon would throw their shadows ahead of them. Were someone watching, they would likely be seen.
    The right-hand side was fairly steep, but there was plenty of concealment. Farther up, beyond where the bare patch was on the left, the drainage rose suddenly and steeply until it was almost level with its sides. They could cross to the left there and still have concealment, for where the brush thinned and became sparse the increased density of trees compensated. The right-hand side was the correct way to do it. The proper way.
    The sergeant marched his troops to the left.
    Sergeant Huk was a lazy man; I would remember thatand mention it at the critique after the exercise was over. Sergeant Huk had also presented me with the necessity to do something about the booby trap. I had strung the trip wire down the right-hand slope and across the wash. Had Sergeant Huk led his men in the correct way, the proper way, one of them probably would have set it off. Now I would have to do it on the way back.
    As the patrol passed the clearing a man in the rear stepped out into the moonlight. He followed his perfect shadow back into the trees. Another thing to bring up at the critique.
    They set up the machine guns on an open flat to the left above the draw. If this were for real it would be a tactical disaster, but here I was willing to forego tactical expertise. I wanted everybody in clear view on that flat; I did not want any trainees killed while I was around.
    Sergeant Huk came up and Mr. Hoang, the interpreter, moved up beside me. Sergeant Huk spoke. Mr. Hoang turned