A rifle burst, an AK, not very distinct, and for a minute I'm not sure if I'm awake or dreaming; then there are explosions in pairs, and machine-g*n fire, more explosions. I know the LZ is getting hit; I roll over on my stomach, not quite sure what to do other than waking somebody up, but everybody is awake.
I hear Peacock jamming home the machine-g*n bolt. Prophet comes down the trail repeating “New York Yankees” over and over.
“OK, they're getting hit again. Everybody know which way the trail is from here?”
“Which claymore is which?”
“That one is the one looking up the trail.”
“Come with me, Gabe. You guys stay here. We're going down the trail a ways. Don't panic. I'll take the radio with us. Stay cool, it'll be Chevy Supersport if I come back. If you hear anybody going by and they
