Free Philippine Hardpunch by Jim Case Page A

here!”
    “My pleasure all the way.”
    Another three long strides took Murphy to the cockpit. He lost his grin when he saw the dead crew.
    Colonel Locsin’s NPA guerillas opened fire with their mortars again.
    Another overshot.
    Another a little closer.
    Murphy threw switches on the cockpit dash without bothering to strap himself in.
    The chopper’s rotor RPMs increased, revving engine noises from the turbines mounted directly overhead. Then the Air Force
     gunship lifted off.
    Cody grabbed hold of the pylon grips of the M-60 mounted in the side hatchdoor. As Rufe lifted them up and out of there, he
     held on and hammered a long burst at the figures leaving their mortar setups, fleeing back to the safety of the treeline when
     they realized they were the ones being caught in the open, but only half of Locsin’s force made it to safety.
    Cody registered faces upturned from down there, pulling away as the chopper rose, as they ran, and some of those faces and
     bodies below ruptured with bloody force as the slamming rain of heavy projectiles tripped bodies forward, unloading death
     and confusion down there, the chopper’s parting shots before Cody sensed they would be out of the M-60’s range.
    Rufe worked the controls with all the expertise of a guy who had been making a hell of a good living as a commercial chopper
     pilot before Cody’s Army had been regrouped by Pete Lund.
    The chopper steadied off into a straight-ahead flight, Rufe pouring on the knots.
    Cody moved away from the M-60, toward the bench just inside the hatchdoor. He sank onto the bench, opposite where Caine sat
     with the Jefferses.
    Parents and child at last freed from terrorist hands.
    Mission accomplished, as far as Cody’s Army was concerned.
    Supposedly.
    Except… Cody didn’t think so.
    He sat there, feeling for the first time the weariness of body and spirit that is the first stage of postcombat wind-down,
     the million and one little aches and bruises and cuts from such prolonged, extreme physical exertion making themselves known
     all at once, the near total exhaustion from having danced with Death.
    From having taken so many lives.
    From having one’s life imperiled for such a stretch.
    And yet… and yet,
    There was in John Cody’s gut the tug of something left undone.
    The Jeffers family was safe, sure.
    This “mission” had a conclusion, though hardly wholly satisfactory when the price was considered. He pulled down blankets
     from a shelf and covered the corpses bleeding across the desk, allowing these brave men at least privacy in death, the ultimate
     sacrifices paid for this mission.
    Rufe would steer them to safety.
    They were out of it, yeah.
    But, damn it, the rug would not leave.
    He had never liked loose ends and there were too many of them this time—and they added up to hint at something too damn ominous
     when considered together.
    He was determined to identify at first opportunity the pedigree of the force in those Hueys that had come to the communists’
     rescue at the last minute.
    Who were they?
    Who was in command?
    He told himself to let that stuff go for now, to ride the winddown.
    Too many men had died this a.m.
    Something
very
big was in the wind.
    Had to be.
    The jungle was a racing green blur outside and below the open hatch door, through which wind poured, ruffling Cody’s hair,
     cooling his sweat, but it did not cool the sense of danger all around, of more violence ready to explode, ticking away somewhere
     like a time bomb.
    It reminded him of Nam, yeah.
    Too goddamn much, it reminded him of Nam.

CHAPTER
SEVEN
    C olonel Locsin started to run toward the front gate when he heard the Huey chopper coming in from the direction taken by the
     attackers.
    He and Escaler had been sitting drinking hot, bitter tea at the h.q. hut, by the radio.
    Communications had blacked out during much of the operation but Locsin had heard plainly enough the fierce flaring of warfare
     audible over a distance of less than