K9LTW – a fiction by MKHurder part-2
Chapter 20: Dust and Echoes
The Sky Above the Wounded
The Huey came in low, nose down, rotors clawing at the thick, smoky air. The red crosses on her doors flashed in the sunlight as she banked toward the clearing, a promise of salvation painted in white and blood‑red.
Inside, the crew chief leaned out, scanning the treeline. “LZ looks hot! Real hot!”
The pilot didn’t answer. He already knew.
Rounds snapped past the cockpit, bright green tracers cutting across the nose like warning strokes. The Huey shuddered as a burst of AK fire stitched the air beneath her skids.
“Taking fire! Taking fire!” the co‑pilot shouted. “They’re lighting us up from the east!”
The pilot pulled hard left, trying to slip behind a plume of smoke rising from the earlier gunship run. The Huey dipped, wobbled, then steadied — but the fire only intensified.
Below, Donnie could see her — the red cross, the crew chief waving, the desperate attempt to get in. Bodie barked once, sharp and anxious, as if he understood the stakes.
Merloni slammed a fresh magazine home. “They’re trying to kill that bird! Lay it down! All guns east!”
The platoon opened up, rifles cracking in ragged unison, but the enemy fire was too heavy, too coordinated. The Huey tried again, nose dipping toward the clearing.
A burst ripped across her tail boom.
“Jesus— pull up! Pull up!” the crew chief screamed.
The pilot yanked the collective, the Huey clawing skyward, smoke trailing from her tail. She banked hard, limping away, the red crosses shrinking into the haze.
“She’s aborting,” Torres said, breathless. “They can’t get in.”
Merloni keyed his radio. “Banks! Get me air support! Now!”
Banks was already on it, voice tight but steady. “Falcon, this is Redleg Two-One — medevac aborted due to heavy fire. We need close air support. Immediate. Danger close.”
Static. Then—
“Two-One, Falcon. Sandies are en route. Two minutes.”
Merloni exhaled. “Thank God.”
Donnie looked up through the drifting smoke. Bodie pressed against his leg, ears forward, sensing the shift in the air.
Then they heard it. That aircraft well known to needy ground troops – low, throaty, unmistakable.
The growl of two A‑1 Skyraiders rolling in from the west. The Sandies were coming. And the jungle was about to pay for what it had done.
The Sandies’ First Run
The sound hit first, a deep, throaty rumble that didn’t belong to jets or helicopters. It was older, heavier, almost prehistoric. Donnie felt it in his chest before he heard it in his ears.
Merloni looked up. “Sandies. Thank Christ.”
Two A‑1 Skyraiders broke through the haze, big and slow and mean, their wings loaded with more ordnance than seemed possible for a single‑engine aircraft. They flew low, almost skimming the treetops, engines growling like angry beasts.
Banks keyed the radio. “Falcon, this is Redleg Two-One, LZ still hot. Bring your run west to east. Danger close.”
The lead Sandy pilot came back calm as a man ordering breakfast.
“Copy, Two-One. Mark your position.”
Merloni popped a purple smoke grenade, the cloud billowing upward in the shifting air. “We are danger close and west of that smoke.”
“Visual on your purple smoke,” the pilot said. “Stand by.”
The Skyraider rolled slightly, lining up.
Then the world tore open.
The first run hit the eastern treeline with a wall of fire — rockets slamming into the brush, HE rounds walking through the bamboo, the jungle erupting in orange blossoms of flame. The second Sandy followed a heartbeat later, strafing with 20mm cannons that chewed the earth into splinters.
The enemy fire faltered, sputtered, then died.
Torres let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Holy hell…”
Harlan shook his head. “That’s… that’s not even fair.”
Merloni didn’t smile. “Fair doesn’t get our wounded out.”
The Sandies banked wide, circling for another pass.
The Medevac Returns
Banks keyed the radio again. “Falcon, LZ is suppressed. Request medevac return.”
“Copy, Two-One. Dustoff inbound.”
Minutes later, the familiar thump‑thump‑thump of a Huey returned, this time coming in higher, slower, cautious but committed. The red crosses flashed again as she descended through the smoke.
“Hold your fire!” Merloni shouted. “Let her in!”
The Huey flared, skids touching down in the churned dirt of the clearing. The crew chief leaned out, waving frantically.
“Bring ’em! Bring ’em now!”
Doc and two riflemen carried Specialist Grant on a poncho, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Donnie moved to help, Bodie glued to his side, ears pinned back against the rotor wash.
“Easy!” Doc shouted over the noise. “Watch his leg, watch his leg!”
They lifted the critically injured Grant into the bird, the crew chief pulling him inside with practiced efficiency. Then the five other WIAs, one other critical. That bird lifted out immediately and raced to the Triage teams at 3rd Field Hospital.
A follow-on bird came in to collect the KIAs, 7 of them, including the CO and the Top Sargeant. Fresh enlisted replacements were already on the way to Bearcat from the 90th Replacement Company on Long Binh. Finding a new CO would take longer.
Laramie’s body came first, wrapped in a poncho, carried with the quiet reverence of men who had no time to mourn.
“Next!” the chief yelled.
Next came the LT and Top. Then the rest.
The crew chief’s face softened for a moment. “We’ll take care of them.”
Then the urgency snapped back. “Anyone else?”
Merloni shook his head. “That’s it. Go!” He didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his dirt-streaked face.
The Huey lifted, banking hard as she climbed away, the red crosses disappearing into the smoke‑stained sky.
Donnie, Bodie, and the Chaos of the LZ
As the medevac bird vanished, the clearing fell into a strange, heavy quiet — the kind that comes only after violence has burned itself out.
Bodie pressed against Donnie’s leg, trembling with leftover adrenaline. His ears flicked constantly, tracking every sound, every shift of the wind, every rustle in the brush.
Donnie knelt beside him, one hand on the dog’s harness. “You did good, boy. Real good.”
Bodie leaned into him, grounding himself the only way he knew how.
Merloni walked over, rifle slung, face streaked with sweat and grime. “You two held that flank together. Don’t think I didn’t see it.”
Donnie shook his head. “Bodie found the threat. I just followed his lead.”
Merloni gave the dog a tired smile. “Then you’ve got the best damn partner in the brigade.”
Bodie huffed, as if acknowledging the compliment.
“You ain’t wrong, Boss.”
Merloni looked back with a nod of appreciation. He felt good about how he reacted to the so far most impactful moments of his life. Looking back on the day’s events, he realized the fight lasted all of twenty-three minutes.
“Twenty-three minutes? What the fuck, over?” he said as he turned and headed off to check the rest of his platoon – what was left of it.
The Emotional Weight
Doc returned from the LZ, wiping his hands on his trousers. His face was tight, eyes hollow.
“Grant’s got a chance,” he said quietly. “If they get him to the surgical unit fast.”
“And Laramie?” Torres asked.
Doc didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He looked around the group to see who the Acting Jack was. His eye settled on Merloni, the senior man on the field was a nineteen-year-old Specialist Four.
“I’m sorry Merl – seven KIA, five WIA. Two are super critical headed straight to Saigon. The rest will end up all over creation, it seems ole Chuck decided today was a good day to fuck with us. There are reports of raids all over three and four corps. Casualties are mounting and the local facilities are filling to overcapacity. Some of these guys could end up in Japan or wherever.
The men bowed their heads for a moment, not long, not formal, just enough to acknowledge the cost.
Merloni straightened. “Alright. We’re not done. We hold this position until relief arrives. Nobody wanders. Nobody relaxes. We stay sharp. Divy up the ammo and the water and C-rats. The last lift brought plenty.”
“Why are they leaving us out here in the fucking jungle, Merl? What is this place worth anyway?” Torres was at his end, as was everyone else. It was time for a leader to get nasty.
” Listen up, shitbirds. This is fucking war, not Wall Street. There ain’t no fucking breaks so get over that shit right now and get ready to defend this spot of useless goddamn jungle. Capiche?”
His pep talk was met with seventeen empty looks.
He moved five feet to the left. “Okay. We defend THIS piece of useless jungle. Capiche? For fuck’s sake?”
That brought smiles to some. The ice was broken. Their situation clear. It was time to do and not to bitch. Torres nodded his apology. Merloni nodded back.
The decision to hold their ground was made in Washington DC via Saigon. It seems that some officials were upset with the way the Army was laying down for the enemy. They declared a line in the jungle the US would not pull back from. That line was actually drawn on the WH Situation Room whiteboard, and transmitted to Merloni via Bearcat, Via Saigon, and Bien Hoa.
What the men wanted to know most of all was how the situation room in DC, 10,000 miles distant, ever got wind of what was happening northwest of Bearcat.
The result? A drastically understrength platoon (two squads really) was left in the boonies to hold an imaginary line against overwhelming odds until relief arrived. No one so far had said when that would be.
“We Hold! Capiche?” Merloni emphasized.
The men nodded, exhausted but resolute.
Donnie looked out over the clearing, the smoke drifting, the jungle torn open, the dust and the echoes of the Sandies still hanging in the air.
Bodie sat beside him, ears forward, watching the treeline.
The fight was over.
But the war wasn’t.
Relief Arrives
The Sandies made one more pass, strafing the far tree line until nothing moved except drifting smoke and falling leaves. When they finally banked away, the jungle felt hollowed out, stunned into silence. The hasty clearing had trebled in size from the ordinance dumped on that little patch of Vietnam.
Banks lowered the handset. “Relief element is ten mikes out.”
Merloni nodded, shoulders sagging with the weight of the last hour. “Good. We’ll hold.”
The men settled into a defensive posture, rifles resting on knees, eyes scanning the brush. No one spoke. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving only exhaustion and the quiet ache of loss.
Bodie stayed pressed against Donnie’s leg, muscles still taut, nose working the air. He wasn’t ready to stand down. Not yet.
“I’m going to patrol a bit out front here. I don’t know about you, but that big bad jungle over there scares the shit out of me. I’d just as soon know one way or the other if there’s folks in there waiting to drop another Huey. Bodie is wiggy as all fuck right now too. Working will help him settle.”
Man, and beast headed off together. Donnie crouched after a few yards and slowed. Watching their shadow, Merloni saw just one creature. A sinewy creature of the jungle, setting the rules of pursuit. In moments it was hard to pick them out of the brush.
“Fucking ghosts too!” Merloni called after them.
“I hope I go home before you, brother. I don’t want anyone else out front of me. Capiche?”
Donnie smirked at the joke, waved so his hand could be seen above the elephant grass, and kept moving.
The relief platoon arrived in a staggered line, moving fast and low. Their lieutenant jogged up, helmet askew, face tight.
“Jesus, you boys got chewed up.”
Merloni didn’t flinch. “We held.”
“That you did.” The lieutenant looked around the clearing, taking in the churned earth, the burned treeline, the blood-stained ponchos. “We’ll take it from here.”
Merloni nodded once. “My men need to get back to Bearcat.”
“Understood.”
The handoff was quick, professional, and wordless. The kind of exchange only infantrymen understand, a passing of responsibility, a silent acknowledgment of cost.
The Walk Back to Bearcat
The march back was slow, quiet, and heavy. No one complained. No one spoke unless necessary. The jungle felt different now, not hostile, just tired. As if it had seen enough for one day.
Bodie ranged a few feet ahead, nose low, tail stiff, still working. Donnie watched him carefully. The dog wasn’t limping, but he wasn’t loose either. He was wound tight, carrying the weight of the fight in his own way.
“You okay, boy?” Donnie murmured.
Bodie flicked an ear but didn’t break stride.
Merloni fell in beside them. “He’ll crash hard tonight.”
“Yeah,” Donnie said. “Me too.”
Merloni gave a tired half-smile. “You earned it.”
Back at Bearcat
The perimeter guards waved them through with wide eyes. Word had already spread, heavy contact, casualties, medevac under fire. The kind of story that traveled faster than the men who lived it.
As they entered the compound, the familiar smell of dust, diesel, and sweat and those other more raw odors wrapped around them. Home, in the way only a warzone could be.
The Vet Tech, Specialist Conner, stepped out of the med-shed as soon as he saw Bodie. He was sharp-eyed, and all business.
“Any injuries?” he asked, already reaching for Bodie’s harness.
“Not sure,” Donnie said. “He took some debris when the blast hit. Might just be rattled.”
“Let me see him.”
Bodie resisted at first, leaning into Donnie, but Doc had a calm, practiced touch. He checked his paws, his flanks, his ears, his eyes. Bodie tolerated it, though his tail stayed low.
“He’s okay,” he said finally. “Shaken, but no physical trauma. Keep him close tonight. He’ll need you.”
Donnie nodded. “Yeah. I figured. It’s a two-way street, Doc.”
Doc looked up at him, expression softening. “You did good bringing him home.”
Donnie swallowed. “We lost Laramie and six others.” The K9 units all knew PVT Laramie. He was a regular 1st Cav grunt on their sweeps around Bearcat. He always volunteered to carry an extra canteen of water for the hounds. With the burden Grunts bore into the bush, one more anything was pushing the limit one could carry. On the other hand, a K9 will go through a gallon of water in an hour easily if intake isn’t regulated.
Doc’s face tightened. “I heard.”
There was nothing else to say.
(to be continued) Chapter 21 – Next of Kin Teaser –
The chopper transporting the wounded from the airfield was still minutes out, but Peggy could already feel the shift in the air — that subtle tightening of the ward when word of incoming wounded spread faster than the stretcher teams could move. Conversations thinned. Footsteps sharpened. Even the fluorescent lights seemed to buzz louder.
Bearcat’s wounded were inbound. She didn’t say the name aloud. She didn’t have to. It echoed in her chest like a second heartbeat.
(Attn: all images AI generated from my prompts unless otherwise noted.)
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Bonus Fiction Feature:
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From Popi’s Tales & The Book of Wonders
More from Popi’s Collection of Facts & Fiction
- Burtt the Blade – fiction
- Doh-Rey-Me Book 1 – fiction – book – written here
- Doh-Rey-Me Book 2 – fiction – book – written here
- K9LTW Book 1 – fiction – book – written here
- K9LTW Book 2 – fiction – book – written here – in progress
- Mystery of Willow Woods – fiction – short Story – written here
- The Last Signal – part one – fiction – book – written here
- Rift Guardians – chapter#1 – fiction – book – written here
- Shorty’s Path – non-fiction auto biography book
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