Free Fields of Fire by James Webb

another foot closer.
    “Where's Baby Cakes?”
    Phony arched a grenade expertly, like a free throw. Boom. It was harvest time, the ground was brick hard, and shrapnel saturated the crater. There was a frantic, sibilant chattering inside it. Boom. The second grenade impacted, and the crater was suddenly silent. Snake smiled grimly. What the hell did they expect, snooping up so close? They're in the hurt locker now.
    “Hey-y-y-y, Snake!”
    Ogre. The flare went out and it was dark again, not even a moon. That's why we're in trouble, Snake remembered. Beware the no-moon night. He paused for a moment and then jumped out of his hole and stood nakedly in the black, pulling Ogre by the arms. Ogre screamed. It hurt.
    “Shut up.”
    Another group of enemy opened up from just across a narrow, scraggly field, behind a paddy dike. The sound of bullets was terrifying but the rounds went high again. Snake pulled hard. In the next hole Cannonball fired his grenade launcher steadily, a smooth rhythm of blooper balls exploding near the dike. On the other side, Cat Man's team laid down a steady base of small arms fire. No sweat. Snake jumped back into his fighting hole and rolled Ogre over the top of him.
    “Where you hit?”
    Ogre grinned confidingly. “I'm O.K., man. Yeah.” He looked around, the ugly face relaxed. “Now. Where's Baby Cakes?”
    Ogre's trouser legs were soaked. Snake ripped one of them apart. Long gashes, deep, pulsing holes covered Ogre's thighs. Snake screamed up the hill, toward the command post. “Corpsman up!”
    Doc Rabbit was already in Cat Man's hole. He crawled heavily to Snake. Pop. Another illum flare burst. Doc climbed into the hole with Snake and started to dress Ogre's legs. Ogre continued the amused, chiding grin. “Hey-y-y-y, Doc. I'm O.K. Go take care of Vitelli, man. He is all fucked up.”
    Baby Cakes sprinted the fifteen meters from Cat Man's hole, holding his helmet on his head with one hand, staying very low. He was a thick-necked, powerful shadow that belly-slid up to Ogre when more rounds went off. He drawled out abruptly: “What you want, Ogre?”
    Ogre warmed to Baby Cakes. He seemed to be enjoying the mystery he had provoked. “Baby Cakes. There you are, man! Vitelli wants you, man. He just keeps saying, ‘Go get Baby Cakes,’ you know every five seconds. ‘Go get Baby Cakes, go get Baby Cakes.’ So finally I said, ‘All right, motherfucker, I'll go get Baby Cakes.’ Hey. Vitelli is all fucked up, man. So is Homicide. Hey, Doc. I'm O.K. You go help Vitelli and Homicide, man. They are all fucked up.”
    Artillery on the treeline. Crrrunch. Crrrunch. Round after round. A battery, six cannons, unloading on the tree-line, from distant places like An Hoa and the Bridge and Hill 65. They all crouched, watching tautly, silently. Get some, artillery.
    The low drone of a propeller-driven airplane emanated from the direction of Da Nang, so far west and north that it was from another world. Snake listened carefully. Will it be Spooky or Basketball? He hoped it would be Spooky. We need the gatling guns, he decided again. Don't need no Basketball flares.
    Baby Cakes stared out into the dark at where the LP was. Snake scrutinized him. Don't do nothing stupid, Baby Cakes. Friends are friends, but… Baby Cakes took off at a dead run, out into the black. The near paddy dike erupted with AK-47s again. Baby Cakes hit the dirt. One hole down, Cat Man's team poured a steady stream of red into the dike. Further away, second platoon's lines were firing, too.
    Ogre put his head up lazily when he heard the rounds go off. He had a shot of morphine in him now. “Where's Baby Cakes?”
    Snake pushed his head back to the dirt and held it. “Shut up.”
    In the treeline there was a steady thunk of mortars igniting inside their tubes. Snake got tight inside his hole. Where's Baby Cakes? Near paddy dike opened up again. Must be ten gooks firing now, he decided. Cannonball retaliated with the grenade launcher.