“Get back to the perimeter,” Caldwell kicks at McQueen’s ass as both of them back up.
McQueen turns. “Eat it, Lieutenant,” he snaps. “We’re coming up now. You stay there.”
“Sergeant, I gave you an order,” Caldwell screams.
“No s**t,” McQueen growls. Another bird leaves, another sets down. McQueen snarls.
“Get down there, Goddamn it. That’s an order.”
“Like you gave to Ridgefield,” McQueen explodes.
“I didn’t …”
“Like Snell. Like Nahele.”
“Sergeant …”
An ugly mask of hate contorts McQueen’s face. “Like you always give.” McQueen lowers his M-16, squeezes the trigger and puts three rounds into Lt. Larry Caldwell’s heart.
“Pick up the wounded,” McQueen yells to his platoon. He lifts Caldwell’s body. 3d Plt is extracted.
“They aint dead,” Jax is shouting, screaming. “We ken get em.”
