As the chopper lifted off, Elroy gave Ondine the thumbs-up signal. The pilot banked the Huey sharply to the west and as soon as he started to gain altitude, small arms fire erupted from the tree line. The door gunner answered immediately with his .60. Break on Through crashed through the narrow stand of elephant grass at a low crouch. As soon as we hit the tree line, we fanned out into the jungle, fading so effectively that when a company of NVA regulars diddy-moued over to the LZ site, they ran right past us. I allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction. The flip-flop had worked and getting into the bush was a whole lot like being back in the saddle again. I felt lucky. The team was luck all the way in recent weeks, and the sense of omnipotence was intoxicating. I was ready to infiltrate Hanoi, grab Uncle Ho by the goatee, pull off his face, and make a clean escape. Cambodia did not seem like a biggie in any way, shape, or form. The NVA didn’t know we were there, didn’t have a clue. In our tiger-striped fatigues and war paint, Break on Through was invisible.

As soon as the enemy troopers rushed by, Ondine took the point until the team reached a fast-moving stream. He knelt down and shook a canister of CS powder along the banks to discourage dogs. As he did so, Dang Singh set an M-14 toe-popper under a pile of wet leaves and dropped a Baby Ruth bar next to it. It was pure meanness, what Singh liked to call “outchucking Charles,” and across the Cambodian border where there was officially no war at all, it seemed like exactly the right thing to do.

At Ondine’s signal, I picked up the point and continued moving north directly up the streambed. The team moved swiftly and silently. Eventually the stream dried out and its rocky bed converged near an NVA speed trail. I flashed an arm signal freezing the squad as three NVA soldiers toting howitzer rounds cruised past on Chinese bicycles. I could have sworn one of the slopes had eyeballed me and had been too cool to make a move. As I played with this in my head, Ondine moved forward and asked what was wrong. I told him, and Ondine resumed walking point while L. D. Pfieffer, who was covering the rear, sprinkled red pepper in our wake to foil the dogs Second Recon had been having such a shit fit over. The team picked up the pace, putting distance between ourselves and the speed trail. In another half hour we reached a bamboo thicket. There was no further hint of the enemy. Break on Through was what you called down and happy. Ondine whispered something to the shooter, Pink, and smiled. Felix T. looked at Dang Singh. “What did the sergeant say?”