The rapid rifle fire had died down but nobody dared raise their heads.
“Whada do now,c’ptain?” Maddox quietly asked.
“Let me think, sergeant, let me think,” Captain Buzhacki responded, his voice, we could all hear, trembling with the unmistakable dinge of mounting fear.
We were pinned down good. The treeline in front of us was packed with the enemy. Our ammo was short. We were surely, imperially screwed.
“C’ptain,” Maddox said in his flat drawl, “we gotta kick outa here NOW or else we’re fried an’ toasted both…”
The thump of mortars interrupted the losing conversation.
“C’ptain, we’re pushin’ out NOW ,” Maddox growled, abandoning his reserved Southern posture.
“Yeees…” Buzhacki gulped.
Quickly, we filed behind Maddox, who was already on point, pushing through the elephant grass.
When the machine gun opened up, we dropped instinctively like puppets – except for Maddox, whom I caught with the corner of my eye executing a pirouette and disappearing from sight.
“Now, listen up,” Buzhacki said, pointing.