At the gorgehead Cherry had heard the music too. It was strange wailing music. Then the explosion. It shook the earth under him and he jumped up then squatted and reconcealed himself in the vegetation. Moneski rose up out of the well and grabbed him by the foot. “What the f**k was that?”
Cherry shook his head.
Moneski grabbed the radio handset grumbling he’d near s**t his pants. He called El Paso. “Fire-in-the-hole,” Moneski repeated handing the hook back to Cherry. “Why the f**k didn’t you warn us?” Moneski mumbled and disappeared. Only half the canteens were filled.
A Huey slick approached, descended and landed on the LZ on 848. A dog handler, a tracker and a German shepherd named Cherokee leaped from one side and hurried into the brush below the cleared peak. Four boonierats met the
