PART 2

Tony lay propped between a dirt covered roll of tarpaulin and a leaking oil drum.  He tried to move.  Pain sliced its way through his body, his head jerked in reaction and he cried out.  Medics, where were the medics?  They would not leave him, they would reach him soon and in the meantime, he had no choice but to stay easy.   

What if the base was overrun?  Serge Monk’s vivid tales of the Vietcong’s mutilation of the dead and wounded were a terrifying possibility now.  He made an effort to focus and stop his rising panic.  His M 16 was of no use to him, he could not move his arms.  He looked down his body to see where he had been hit.  Bloodied and dirty, his fatigues lay in rags on him.  Blood was pooling on the oil smeared earth from a gaping hole above his left hip bone.  A thumb and forefinger were missing from his left hand, there was surprisingly little blood.  He tried again to move but his body would not respond.

Out by the perimeter a Huey was nose down.  The pilot, still in harness, slumped over the controls.  There were more pieces missing from the chopper than remained on it.  He could not see the co-pilot or the door gunner, he hoped they had both made it out safe.  Tony slowly turned his head to the right and the bunker he had been trying to get to, came into view.  Flames flicked erratically into the air, unhindered by the corrugated roofing and sandbagged walls which had been obliterated.  Sid’s upturned helmet lay beside a blackened and smouldering lump of timber.  A dust covered boot was attached to the timber, it was someone’s limb.  If anyone was left alive on the base, they were staying concealed.  A cloud of black smoke drifted across, obscuring his view and braking his concentration. 

Tony let his head slump back, he was beginning to feel very nauseous.  Drained and exhausted, he could feel the little remaining energy he had seeping from his battered body.  He felt his eyelids dropping.  A voice inside his head urged him to drift off, to slide away from the pain.