Nang was pissed. Down the line there was a lull. About him there was chaos. From Rabbit Platoon a rocket-propelled grenade burst against a howitzer—shrapnel zinging, dropping the cannoneers. Nang lurched up, leaped, tossed a grenade, dove. More explosions. Thick smoke. Dust, mist, acid taste hanging in air, in lungs, clinging to skin, eyes. Nang leaped again, up again. Rabbit Platoon had seized half the battery, was fighting hand to hand, gun to gun, firing outward from the defensive rings at approaching reinforcements. Behind Nang the remnant of Monkey pinched in, catching the cannoncockers in deadly crossfire. Along this sector they were the only fight. The day dawned clear, the sun turning mud to dust. From a bunker four FANK soldiers jumped, fired, readied to flee. Immediately they wer
