Chapter 6

Next morning saw the eight men back in Sharpe's office at attention as he once again kept them waiting before looking up.

'Ok men. We have a situation south of here. We have a search and destroy mission on the Delta and we will be teaming up with the Navy river patrol boats in order to stop Vietnamese soldiers from landing on the far bank. I require two men to go on the mission which will require snipers to assist the ground troops'. He looked at the young faces, all of who were eager and ready for their first mission.

'Trafford. Starsky. Get your kit together. Your jeep leaves in ten minutes. The rest of you, fall out. You'll get your turn later'.

The unit saluted smartly and Traff and Starsky quickly made their way back to their tent, followed by Tugs and Merry.

'You guys get all the luck' Tugs said as he watched his two friends started getting their rifles and ammunition together. Starsky looked up and grinned. 'What can I say? Some of us got it. An' when ya got it ya flaunt it!'

'Yeah, well don't flaunt it too much. Ya might get more 'n' ya bargained for' Traff said tightly.

Starsky stopped his packing. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nuthin. Just don't go flauntin' it too much huh. 'Specially round our CO. Trust me huh?' Traff said cryptically.

Starsky shrugged his shoulders, wondering what the comment was meant to mean. But right now, the excitement and nerves of his first live mission was more important and he loaded his rifle onto his shoulder and followed his friend out of the tent.

Sharpe was waiting for them by the side of his tent. 'Your target today is a set of enemy positions along the Delta. Vietcong have been shooting our troops for the past couple of weeks as we try to cross the river and we need to be out there, picking them off. I would have preferred to use bombs and just blow then to hell, but the powers that be insist we take this quietly. You'll be taking up position and picking them off one at a time using your sniper training. Watch your backs. Watch each others backs and do your job. Any questions?'

'How many of them do we expect?' Starsky asked.

'We have no intel. on that. Best guess, no more than 15 or 20. Get in, shoot, get out, clear?

They both nodded. 'Clear sir' the said, determined their first mission would be a success.

They followed the directions given to them by the sergeant and pushed their way down a narrow, overgrown path that lead away from the bunch of tents. The air was heavy and damp and the reek of hot vegetation and damp earth filled their nostrils. The humidity of the place was oppressive. In the jungle there was no wind; no cooling breeze to lift their hair and get circulation to their scalp. Every movement made them sweat and it seemed that even breathing was an effort in that fuggy environment. The route march lasted no more than twenty minutes but by the end of it they were breathing heavily, hot, wet and desperate to get out of the cloying heat.

The view they had of their mode of transport, however, had Starsky wondering whether he could in fact walk to their destination. In front of them, it's noise masked by the tall trees until now, stood a Huey, the Army's preferred method of transport into and out of hot zones. He stood stock still staring at the helicopter, his vertigo reaching new heights. He'd managed quite well in the troop transport plane. There had been no windows and with the jokes and camaraderie of his friends he could almost forget that he was hanging in the sky. But the Huey had no doors, just openings at the back and a large bench seat with what he thought looked incredibly flimsy seatbelts. And this, he knew was just to keep him anchored as he leaned out, his leg braced on the runners as he took aim and fired. Shit!

Traff saw the look of terror on his face and pushed him forward.

'C'mon Curly boy. Ya can do it. Trust me, when ya get up there an' into the thick of it, you'll feel like Superman'.

Starsky licked his dry lips and forced a weak grin onto his face. 'I always wanted to be Captain Marvel' he joked as he set off on wobbly, rubbery legs.

They got into the Huey and Starsky fumbled with the lap belt, securing extra tight across his waist as he heard the rotors start to build up speed. He closed his eyes and tried to stop the bile that reached up into his throat. Only the thought of the unending jokes he'd have to bear if his friends knew he'd thrown up inside the 'copter kept him from losing his breakfast and as he felt the bird take off, throwing him forward against his lap belt he groaned low in his throat, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He felt a warm hand surreptitiously close on his at his side and give it a reassuring squeeze and he chanced a quick glance at Traff.

'See, as easy as pie' the young man assured him, smiling.

'Uh huh. I usually prefer my pie to stand still and be at ground level' Starsky ground out. But still he felt confident enough to open his eyes and stare with sick fascination at the treetops flashing past below the 'copter. And suddenly it didn't seem quite so bad to be up there with the birds. He even managed to lean a little way out of the seat to look further down, seeing small clearings with single houses, rice fields, more trees and then in the distance the sparkling green expanse of the Mekong Delta.

The 'copter started to fly lower as it approached and the co-pilot turned to them.

'Ya ready? Glad to be outa the numbha ten?'

Traff looked blank. 'Say again'.

The co-pilot grinned. 'Jeez, they sent a couple'a FNGs to do a man's job?'

Starsky leaned in to Traff. 'Are they talkin' English?'

The co-pilot held out his hand and the men shook it. 'Hi, I'm Freddo. The pilot's Rabbit. How long ya been here?'

'A day' Starsky yelled over the noise of the rotors.

'Hells bells! Ok, you'll get used to the lingo. Numbha ten. Means anything bad, usually the fuckin' red dirt that gets everywhere. Even you're dicks'll be covered before too long. FNGs are you guys. Newbies. So. Are ya ready for target practice?'

'Uh huh. Point us at 'em' the young soldier yelled and got his rifle into position.

During the next hour the Huey patrolled up and down the river bank as the crew of four looked for any signs of the life hidden in the rich vegetation of the delta. Rice paddies formed a patchwork quilt effect on one back while on the other, lush vegetation and trees of every shade of green dipped down to the waters edge. The two snipers in the back of the 'copter waited patiently, their rifles poised as they took out one position after another, their scores increasing as they shouted out the umbers to each other. It mattered not to them that they were killing men who they'd never met and who they would never know. They were fighting for their country and because their CO had given them a task.

An hour later, Traff had five confirmed kills and Starsky eight. Both men were grimy, sweating profusely and hyped up on the adrenaline from their private little battle. The Huey made one more sweep up the side of the river as Traff and Starsky's eyes scanned for tell tale flashes of metal. They were beginning to relax when suddenly they saw a hail of bullets coming their way. The pilot swung the 'copter viciously to the left to avoid the incoming, but Traff, who had been sat at that side and had unbuckled his belt to get a better firing position was taken by surprise. He slid almost all of the way out of the seat before Starsky realised what was going on. He had kept his belt securely fastened but had slackened it somewhat. Now he leaned over as far as he could go and managed to brush the waistband of Traff's pants with his finger tips. He cursed as his friend slipped further away.

'Hang on' he yelled as he saw his friend's hands scrabbling at the doorway to the Huey.

Carefully, he hooked his feet underneath a heavy box of ammunition in the well of the copter and unbuckled his seat belt. He leaned further over just as the copter took more evasive action. The bird slewed sideways again and Traff made a desperate effort to hang on to the frame of the door. But his hands were hot and wet with sweat and he let out a strangled cry as he felt himself falling sideways.

With a titanic effort, Starsky launched himself sideways and as Traff's body started to fall out of the copter, he grasped his wrist and held on. Now, with the Huey flying almost sideways, Traff whole body weight dangled from Starsky's one hand and he could feel himself too slipping towards the opening.

'For fucks sake straighten her up' he yelled at the pilot. But the man was having problems of his own. The Freddo was now slumped half across Rabbit having caught one of the bullets aimed at the copter. He was fighting with the controls to the craft while trying to prop the co-pilot up and out of the way. But there was an ominous red bloom across Freddo's chest and as Starsky watched, Rabbit pushed one last time and the co-pilots' body slumped forward, lifeless. With both hands free to fly, Rabbit managed to get the bird under control, straightening the craft so that Starsky could get back some of his equilibrium. He leaned further out now, his legs re-anchored beneath the heavy box and reached out with his other hand.

'Traff, reach up pal' he yelled as Traff's terrified face turned up towards him. He saw his friend try to fling his arm over his head, but the hand came up short and Starsky only managed to brush finger tips before Traff fell back.

'One more time. C'mon Trafford, ya son of a bitch. Reach!' he yelled and Traff fling all his body weight behind his swing upwards, knowing this was either the time when the other solder would catch him, or he'd end up ditched in the water and at the mercy of the enemy.

With a Herculean effort, Starsky leaned out a few inches more and as Traff's hand came into sight, he made a mad grab for it, almost overbalancing himself in his effort to save his friend. Their hands grasped each other and Starsky panted with exertion before wondering what to do next.

'I haven't the strength to live you lift ya. Hang on. Just hand on' he yelled at the dangling man. He saw Traff's pale face nod once and twisted to look over his shoulder.

'Can ya set us down somewhere?' he thundered at the pilot.

'Not unless you want to be a POW. Can you hang on to him?'

Starsky nodded. 'for Gods sake fly quicker huh? I can't hang on for ever'.

The next five minutes were the longest of Traff and Starsky's young lives. With ever manoeuvre of the Huey, Starsky could feel his body slip and slide. His hands were damp, their grip precarious at best. But the thought of letting go of Traff's wrists was more than he could bear and he gritted his teeth as he clung on with every ounce of strength.

Below him, Traff dangled dangerously, never again looking up. He couldn't face the look of desperation on Starsky's face and his only thought was that if the brunet did eventually drop him, he wouldn't want Starsky to be left with the sight of his frightened eyes fixed on his friend. And so he kept his chin ducked down on his chest and his eyes closed as he felt the air whistling past him and when the Huey finally started to drop down below the tree tops, he lost his hold on consciousness.

When the copter finally came to a rest on the ground, the pilot had to get out and physically disengage Starsky's hands from around Traff's wrists. Both young men were almost catatonic with shock and the older pilot raced off through the trees to get help. As they were left alone, Traff groaned and opened his eyes, seeing the deep indigo ones above him. He had little strength left to speak, but managed to pant out a weak 'thank you' before unconsciousness overtook him again. And from his perch laid across the bench seat of the Huey Starsky whispered 'No problem pal. I gotcha buddy'.