Page 58 of Cry Havoc

Tom raised the rifle and put three rounds into each of their upper backs, which sent them to the ground. They both lay sprawled half on the pavement and half on the dirt sidewalk, one attempting to crawl away. Tom moved his aim to the moving man’s head and sent two rounds into his brain stem. He stopped moving. Tom ran toward the front of the big truck and put two rounds into the other man’s head as he passed.

“Friendly!” he called, not wanting to get his own head blown off by his own side.

“Tommy-son!” came the reply.

Tom rushed to the back of the truck and pulled down the tailgate. The gunner was dead, as was one of the MPs who had taken multiple rounds to the chest. Amiuh had the dead MP’s M16 in his hands.

Tom could hear the vehicle’s engine strain against the mass of the cement mixer, trying to reverse out.

“I’m going to move this truck!” he yelled, opening the right-side door and pulling out what was left of the passenger. He crawled into the cab, slipping on the floor, awash in blood. It smelled of copper and excrement.

He reached across the bullet-ridden headless torso of the driver, opened the door, and pushed the remains out into the street.

Now, how do you drive this thing? Good thing I’m not an officer, Tom thought, having driven his share of six-bys in the Navy.

The cement mixer had stalled out in the chaos of the previous action, so Tom stepped on the clutch and reached for the key.

“Tommy-son!” Amiuh screamed.

He looked up to see a man with a recoilless rifle on his shoulder emerge from an alley to his eleven o’clock. Time seemed to slow as he saw the man depress the trigger. Tom observed the thick dark smoke spew from the back of the tube, signifying that a large-caliber projectile had been propelled directly at the cement mixer. He knew exactly what would come next. Impact.

CHAPTER 17

“TOMMY-SON, TOMMY-SON!”

Tom opened his eyes, blinked, and Amiuh came into focus.

He turned his head, seeing the shredded body of the dead cement mixer driver lying next to him in the street. He blinked again and turned back to Amiuh. Smoke and steam from the engine filled the air. AK and M16 fire reverberated down the street.

Tom pushed himself up.

“Where’s Quinn?”

“By jeep,” Amiuh said.

Amiuh handed Tom his rifle and magazines. Tom rose to a knee, getting his bearings. He seemed to be in one piece.

Amiuh pointed at the dead man with a recoilless rifle who now lay dead in the alley. “I sorry, Tommy-son. I not fast enough.”

“It’s okay, Amiuh. I’m good.”

“You lucky, Tommy-son.”

I’ve always been lucky.

Tom turned to look behind them. The street appeared clear.

The fight was in front of them.

“Our driver dead, Tommy-son. Just us left here.”

Tom could see Quinn returning fire down the street with an M16. Captain Lam was leaning against the rear tire. A 1911 was in his hand,and he was pressing it against a wound in his left arm. Their prisoner and one ARVN guard crouched at the tail of the jeep with Dan Eldridge. Another ARVN guard lay dead nearby. The unarmored cargo truck was now a burning hulk of metal riddled with bullet holes.

“Can you drive this thing?” Tom asked, indicating their gun truck.

“Yes, Tommy-son.”

“All right, it’s armored, so we have a chance. You fire it up. I’ll take the .50 in the back. Drive in front of Quinn’s jeep. We should be able to soak up a few rounds. Place the truck between the enemy and the jeep. I’ll provide cover. Quinn will load his pax into the back. After he does, floor it down that alley where the bus came from. Got it?”