“That’s one of them butterfly bomb deals, ain’t it? The stuff they drop from aircraft?”
“Yep. It’s from a CBU—Cluster Bomb Unit.” The engineer nodded and kept digging in the dirt. “U.S. gear we give to the Israelis. Looks and works just about like a regular aerial bomb, but it goes off before it hits the deck. When that happens, it sprinkles all these little butterfly-lookin’ things around. Inside them is little black golf balls like this here. And that fucker’s full of H-E. Don’t step on ’em, don’t kick ’em and don’t f**k around with ’em—unless you want to rotate out of here in a body bag.”
During the lecture, Mallory’s point man was backing away and showing sweat that had nothing to do with the heat out on the airfield. Like most infantrymen, he had a distinct aversion to anything that
