I pressed my field dressing against Felix’s chest but all that did was send a gusher of blood from his nose and mouth. Felix’s teeth began to chatter and in another moment he was dead. He was truly lucky. It was over in less than three minutes.

Ondine wasn’t laughing anymore. He stripped the radio off Felix and handed it to me. “This is yours,” he said as he hoisted Felix over his shoulders.

‘You aren’t going to try to carry him all by yourself?” I said.

Ondine said, “Greenie power,” and his black eyes flashed amphetamine. He took a few steps down the creek before he stopped and dropped the body and frantically began brushing burning pieces of phosphorus from his shoulders. Singh and Gerber caught up and without saying a word helped carry Felix’s large lanky body forward. Overhead we could hear the sound of Cobra gunships and in the clearing ahead I spotted smoke grenades in the LZ. Pink and L. D. Pfieffer came back to help with the body. We got into the slicks in a hurry, remembering how Charles had locked in on Second Recon’s pickup zone with mortars. Everyone braced to receive enemy fire but in moments the slicks were airborne and headed back to Camp Clarke. Singh turned to Pink and in a necessarily loud voice said, “Did you make the shot?”

Pink, the diminutive speaker, raised his voice in a shout to be heard over the helicopter noise. “It was a perfect shot. One of the best I ever made.”

“All right!” Singh said. Relief was written all over his face. His expression spoke volumes for the adrenaline euphoria of war. Once the perils of a situation have been escaped, the good times roll. It’s a lot like hitting yourself over the head with a hammer. It really feels good when you stop, and beyond that there’s no point or moral lesson to be learned whatever. Singh was Mr. Happyface. I suppose I was, too.

“Sorry about your man, Tall Paul. What happened?” Pink said.

“Felix liked to keep the pins on his grenades straight,” Ondine said. “Like fuckin’ John Wayne. Well, take heed. The cat rolled a willy peter.”

“Jesus,” Pink said.

“Uh huh!” Pfieffer said. “You remember that bird he torched back at Pendleton? That fucking roadrunner?”

“I do. That was some sick shit,” Gerber said. “A low deed.”

“Well, that’s all I’m saying, man,” Pfieffer said. “What goes around, comes around!”

“Man!” I said. “Don’t start with that! One doesn’t lead to another, like that. It just doesn’t work that way.”

Pfieffer looked back at me with a wide grin on his face. “I can’t fucking hear you, man. What did you say?”