“What do you have?” Brooks said, kneeling. He inspected the nasty bruise and laceration on Andrew’s right side and questioned him about it. Whiteboy and Jackson broke into guffaws at hearing it again. Andrews had been defecating when the F-4s had screamed over and dropped their bombs. He had been hit by a piece of shrapnel from a bomb after the jagged piece of metal had cut in half the tree Andrews was holding to balance himself. Brooks giggled as Whiteboy re-enacted Egan’s dash to help Andrews and his crawl through Andrews’ s**t. Brooks stopped laughing when Jackson held up a razor-sharp plate of steel eight inches across and an inch thick.
After the foxholes were dug and the weapons and ammunition were readied for the night, it was time to eat. The atmosphere at the various CPs was like
