There was none.
The landing zone looked empty.
Hale leaned forward.
“I don’t see anybody.”
Mercer slowed.
The Huey moved lower.
The clearing opened beneath them.
No soldiers.
No medic.
No signal panel.
No smoke.
Nothing.
Beck called from the cabin.
“Maybe they moved.”
Ortega shouted something Mercer could not hear.
The gunship pilot came over the radio.
“Don’t stay down there.”
Mercer knew.
A helicopter hovering slowly over a known landing zone gave anyone watching from the trees an easy target.
He had seconds to decide.
Leave.
Circle.
Land.
Search from the air.
He lowered slightly.
The grass began to move under the rotor wash.
Hale looked left.
Mercer looked right.
Then something white appeared.
“There.”
Hale had seen it too.
A piece of cloth snapped violently in the rotor wash near the edge of the grass.
Mercer shifted the aircraft.
The white cloth disappeared.
Then reappeared.
A branch.
Something was tied to it.
Mercer came lower.
The grass folded outward in circles.
Dark shapes appeared underneath.
At first, Mercer thought he was looking at packs.
Then one moved.
A hand lifted.
Only a few inches.
It dropped.
“There they are.”
Hale pointed.
The five wounded men had been hidden by the grass.
The shallow depression beside them was probably no more than two feet deep, but from the air it had swallowed them completely.
The medic rose onto one knee.
He had wrapped part of his undershirt around the branch.
With his other hand, he waved.
He looked exhausted.
There was no rifleman.
Only the medic.
Mercer landed.
The Huey settled into the grass.
The medic stumbled toward them.
He pointed behind him.
Beck jumped down.
Ortega remained at his position.
The first wounded soldier was close enough to drag.
The others were farther back.
Beck and the medic began moving them.
Mercer watched his instruments.
Hale watched the tree line.
The seconds became long.
One man aboard.
Then two.
The gunship pilot called.
“Movement north side.”
Mercer answered.
“Copy.”
Three men aboard.
The medic went back.
Beck followed.
Mercer could see only their heads above the grass.
Ortega fired a short burst toward the trees.
The gunships moved across the northern edge.
Four men aboard.
The fifth was the man who had tried to crawl toward the landing zone.
He was farther away than the others.
The medic reached him first.
Beck grabbed the other side.
They tried to lift him.
The man could not stand.
Beck shouted.
Ortega left his gun position long enough to help.
Mercer felt the Huey become strangely exposed.
The aircraft was on the ground.
Both men in the back were outside.
The medic was struggling.
The gunships could not remain forever.
Fuel continued disappearing.
Mercer watched the tree line.
Nothing happened.
Then the fifth man reached the helicopter.
Beck climbed aboard behind him.
Ortega returned to the door.
The medic stopped.
He pointed at himself, then shook his head.
Mercer realized what he meant.
He was not wounded.
He intended to remain with the ground force.
Beck shouted at him to get aboard anyway.
The medic refused.
Beck shouted again.
Mercer looked outside.
There was no friendly force visible.
“Where’s his unit?” Hale asked.