"No. I won't," said Patty.
"Okay," said Leigh. "But you all better remember we're connected. If you fire, you're dead."
Patty felt sleepy. His body swayed slowly to Baker's movement, and he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. He gazed at the girl. Her eyes were shut. Her lips were downturned ever so softly. Patty wanted to cradle her in his arms. He felt, heard Baker's breath explode, shudders, shudders like malaria tremors. Patty wanted to cover them, to kill the chill of disease. He smelled Baker's sweat, his seed. There was a milk gray stain on the little girl's thigh and just a little bit of blood, dark red sympathy blood. It was on Baker, not her. Patty gazed at Baker's face, and Baker smiled up at him. Slowly, like he'd learned in basic training, Patty squeezed the trigger.
Baker came apart in slow motion. The left side of his face slipped away and floated into the air, spattering the girl and the room like broken eggs. Baker gazed up at Patty with half a smile and half a head that looked like a bowl full of cereal. His body shuddered, malaria again.
Mac lay sprawled comfortably on the floor, his rifle aimed carelessly. "Leigh," Mac smiled as he spoke. "You be a good ole boy, or your ass is out."
Patty turned to go, and Leigh's gun slid on to his shoulder. Patty smiled at Leigh and removed the rifle. As he walked outside, Patty heard the planes buzz overhead, looked up and saw their dip wing salute. The sun was setting, and it was getting cool.
Patty walked over to the stream and sat down. He wanted to cry, but nothing came. Mac came out and sat down beside him. The ground shook as bombs exploded in the woods.
Mac touched Patty's shoulder, and Patty looked at him.
Mac scraped up a handful of pebbles and tossed them into the water. Most of the pebbles sank immediately, but a few drifted on the smelly, almost stagnant current.
"Mac, I never did anything like that before. I never did one thing on my own, not one thing."
"It was time," said Mac. He squeezed Patty's shoulder softly. "It was time."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Allen Dorfman served in the U.S. Army from November 1966 to September 1968, earning an honorable discharge at the end of his service. He was a clerk-typist for six months and a combat infantryman for the rest of his service, including 8 months in Vietnam, achieving the rank of Sergeant (Sp/5) during the Tet Offensive. He currently lives in Spokane, Washington, with his wife and near his daughter, son-in-law, and two granddaughters. He wrote this book in the early 1970s.
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