He knew Martinez would have gladly gone with him. He knew that Bert—also a vet—had a good nose and a sixth sense for danger. But he didn’t want to be responsible for Bert’s welfare. Instead, he gave his detective temporary command of the operation. Martinez knew something was up.

“Where are you going?”

“Just having a look around. I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.”

“What do you mean look around? You’re not going up there by yourself?”

But Decker was already gone, one hundred feet away, and pretending not to hear. He had his radio, his cell phone, a loaded gun, and a flashlight. Like a good Boy Scout, he was prepared.

The midnight air was saturated with the aroma of wet wood, and mosquitoes. He fanned his face, redirecting a funnel of gnats as he swung the flashlight’s parabolic beam over the forest floor. Each footstep announced his arrival with a crunch as the soles of his shoes turned fallen leaves into organic rot. At first, he could hear the other cops, but as he drifted away, delving deeper into a black fog of copse, the voices receded…the spots from their flashlights flitting like fireflies. Walking farther along…five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. The ambient sounds came from insects, a nocturnal conversation of tweets and clicks and clacks with an occasional nighttime birdcall cutting through the timbre. Far off, Decker thought he might have even heard toads croaking, something that hadn’t reached his ears in a very long time. Noisy, but reassuring because utter silence is reserved for those in cemeteries.

Away from the prescribed perimeter, away from the action and the people, his mind raced in many directions.

In Nam, he had mostly done the pickup after Charlie had done primary damage. But there were a few times, mostly at the end of the tour when there was nothing but virgin recruits, where he had been elected point man. He had seen enough trailblazers come back with stumps for legs, and he didn’t want to join the ranks, but what could he do? Leaving it up to the virgins would have guaranteed nails in the coffins. Panic had enveloped him, though he had tried hard not to show it. Thinking back, he guessed that he had achieved some success. Either that or the men under his command had been too scared to notice how out of control their leader had been.

Taking the men from point A to point B as Charlie tried to pick them off. Trying to clear the roads so troops could go through. The snipers were badasses, but they were not nearly as terrifying as the land mines. Something primal about an explosion in the vicinity of one’s balls.