…"Biffi; now Billingsly. Why?" He didn't vocalize this question to anyone standing nearby or working to recover the body of his friend, but asked this in the silence of his heart.
Mires, standing near the collapsed bunker, limply holding the carry-handle of his M-16, turned around to make a quick survey and assessment of the damage done to the air field...
...The small MASH unit was rendered almost useless with the sandbagged roof having collapsed on the beds and stretchers...
...The north perimeter was almost non-existent, the west perimeter faired little better with entire sections of concertina wire blown away...
...The still, warm, humid air was filled with lingering smoke from the fires, gunpowder from spent shells and cartridges, making it difficult to get a breath of fresh air. The battle was won, but the stench of death lingered...
...Just then, a slight breeze picked up and started to push some of the choking smells away from the compound. A light misty rain began to fall, not the heavy and unpredictable monsoons so common at this time of year...
...As Mires continued his survey of the battle scene, his peripheral vision noticed something moving just up and over his right shoulder. He slowly turned his head and, coming into his field of view now, he looked up at the movement that caught his attention. It was the bullet-riddled, tattered American Flag dangling atop the shot-up flagpole. It began to flap gently in the light breeze, catching the attention of several more cops and support personnel. Almost as if an order was given, heads began to turn and stare at the symbol of their country. No one uttered a word. But the sight began to overwhelm those seeing Old Glory still flying over the nearly destroyed air field compound. The tears that Mires shed earlier began anew... He thought to himself: "We are here for them, not for us."
E. DeLalla
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