“My brother the scorpion showed me where they were buried.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Ssshh. Follow me. My brother the chickenhawk overheard...”
Nang led the FANK ambush patrol of the northwest quadrant garrison deeper into the jungle. The national soldiers had balked the first time he’d appeared at night at their listening post only fifty meters from their wire, but on subsequent nights he’d arrived with various gifts, from boots to trip flares. Always he’d come upon them from the rear, emerged within their circle. Each time he’d attempted to tell them or show them a better way to operate and slowly the scarred boy had gained their trust and respect. To the teams of one post he became known as Number Two Rabbit, to those of another Little Rabbit, and to a third Night Rabbit. No on
