“Okay,” he said to Eng. “We’ll follow the tail, but not pat the tiger’s ass.”
The platoon began a slow backtracking. They entered the swamp. Hard growling broke from the sky. A squadron of T-28s, flying low level, roared over. From the east came the burp-bursting noise of grenade-cannon strafing. Then quiet. The sound had erupted suddenly, ceased suddenly.
Nang halted the platoon, backed them into the forest. Sporadic small arms fire snapped to the south. Cannons fired, not with the rapidity of intense battle, but casually. T-28s, their pilots conserving courage, swung in circles with ten-mile radii, setting up their low-level runs well to the rear of the ARVN column, skimming treetops for miles before making second, off-target bombing runs. The day wore on. Nang sat, angry, lost in self
