Shortly after we take the objective, Captain Bowers calls the whole company together; resupply is coming in. We all crowd at the edge of the open fields outside the village, scanning the cloudy skies for any sign of an incoming helicopter. Several times I think I hear the rhythmic thump of its blades, but my ears are deceiving me. Finally, though—
“I see it!” Rory hollers. “Here she comes!”
Sure enough, a single dark speck materializes above the distant trees. A buzz of excitement rises, including speculation on what supplies and mail the helicopter is bringing.
“Just how much mail do you need, Preacher Boy?” Castello ribs me. “You gettin’ books of all the sermons you’ve preached?”
I answer with a straight face. “Oh, they’re not for me. I thought you might like them.”
Petey never gets anything in the mail, but he still crowds in to watch, his worries temporarily forgotten. It’s good to see him and Rory smiling again.
The Huey hovers over the field before slowly, gracefully, settling down. As soon as the rotors have slowed to a safe speed, everyone breaks and rushes over. Right away, the guys start clamoring for their mail.
The door gunner shakes his head at the commotion. I recognize him; he was part of the crew we rescued from the downed helicopter a few months ago.
“Hey, pipe down!” he yells at everyone. Once the clamor subsides a little, he gives a crooked-toothed grin that looks a bit fierce. “Look, guys, the mail’s comin’. We don’t have it, but we’ve got somethin’ else for ya.” He reaches into a large box. “It’s the Marines’ birthday, see. So we got ordered to deliver cake and ice cream to y’all in the field.”
That announcement elicits a wild cheer; the mail can wait, because cake and ice cream in the field is unheard of. The blond co-pilot hops out and helps the gunner serve the dessert on paper plates.
“Hmm, chocolate cake,” Rory mumbles with his mouth full, a smear of ice cream on his nose. “My favorite!”
“I see it!” Rory hollers. “Here she comes!”
Sure enough, a single dark speck materializes above the distant trees. A buzz of excitement rises, including speculation on what supplies and mail the helicopter is bringing.
“Just how much mail do you need, Preacher Boy?” Castello ribs me. “You gettin’ books of all the sermons you’ve preached?”
I answer with a straight face. “Oh, they’re not for me. I thought you might like them.”
Petey never gets anything in the mail, but he still crowds in to watch, his worries temporarily forgotten. It’s good to see him and Rory smiling again.
The Huey hovers over the field before slowly, gracefully, settling down. As soon as the rotors have slowed to a safe speed, everyone breaks and rushes over. Right away, the guys start clamoring for their mail.
The door gunner shakes his head at the commotion. I recognize him; he was part of the crew we rescued from the downed helicopter a few months ago.
“Hey, pipe down!” he yells at everyone. Once the clamor subsides a little, he gives a crooked-toothed grin that looks a bit fierce. “Look, guys, the mail’s comin’. We don’t have it, but we’ve got somethin’ else for ya.” He reaches into a large box. “It’s the Marines’ birthday, see. So we got ordered to deliver cake and ice cream to y’all in the field.”
That announcement elicits a wild cheer; the mail can wait, because cake and ice cream in the field is unheard of. The blond co-pilot hops out and helps the gunner serve the dessert on paper plates.
“Hmm, chocolate cake,” Rory mumbles with his mouth full, a smear of ice cream on his nose. “My favorite!”