Over by the big guns are stacks of ammo crates, and guys are carrying these empties away to fill full of sand and build hooches.
The CO comes over to the bird with his face down. He is a stern looking guy, maybe thirty years old. His expression isn't mean looking but it sure as hell isn't joyful. He reaches up and helps us off the bird, just puts his hand under our rucks. When he helps me off he is already looking at whoever is behind me.
“There's coffee over there,” he says to all of us. “I want to see the whole squad in a few minutes.”
We all drop our rucks as soon as we're far enough away from the pad. Getting the ruck off is like taking a big breath. It's cloudy and there's dust in the air. Since we've been out, there has probably been a couple thousand sandbags filled. Some are lai
