Black Market by Donald E. Zlotnik Page A

that Bamett kid?”
    “Yeah, Woods got a letter from him a couple of weeks ago. He’s doing fine at Walter Reed.”
    “I spent some time there for a cancer; it’s a damn good hospital.” The sergeant looked directly at Arnason before continuing.
     “I’ve heard through the staff that they’re putting him in for a Medal of Honor.”
    “The kid deserves it!” Arnason nodded his head. “I hope he gets it.”
    “I liked him too. He was a bit cocky, but a good field soldier.” The older NCO adjusted the cushion on his chair and sat down.
     He stood up again and readjusted the cushion to relieve the pressure on his hemorrhoids. “I’ll have your maps and intelligence
     package ready for you tomorrow.”
    “Thanks, Sarge.” Arnason squeezed the old soldier’s shoulder as he left the Operations Shop. Few people knew that the operations
     sergeant had been one of the Rangers who was at the beach during the Anzio invasion. He had been captured and tortured by
     the Germans and had been one of the few to escape and make it back to American lines. Arnason had a great deal of respect
     for the old soldier and showed it.
    The recon team sat on the edge of the PSP helipad in a neat line waiting for their choppers to arrive. Arnason leaned back
     against his pack and looked up at the cloudless sky. He felt his premission jitters settle in his stomach and swallowed the
     brassy taste in his mouth. Woods sat next to him holding his CAR-15 submachine gun between his legs pointed straight up in
     the air.
    “I’ve got to take a shit.” Warner leaned forward and struggled to his feet. The pack he was carrying weighed almost half as
     much as he did.
    “There’s a shitter back over there.” Arnason pointed with the short barrel of the CAR-15 Bamett had loaned to him until he
     got back to Vietnam. “Leave your pack and gear here.”
    Warner undid the front of his pistol belt and dropped it down on the PSP next to his pack. The olive drab web gear had been
     rigged up with the new STABO system a group of Special Forces sergeants had invented, and the helicopters assigned to the
     team were being outfitted with ropes and snap-links so that they could be used to pick the team up if need be.
    “I’m going to join Warner.” Koski dropped his gear and started jogging to catch up to the little man.
    “Me too.” Sanchez dropped his pack.
    Arnason waited until the men were out of hearing before commenting to Woods. “Does that bring back memories?”
    “You’re not going to get me to bash them ’cause they have the jitters. I’ve been there before and would be joining them right
     now if it weren’t for the no-shit pills I took last night.” Woods looked over at the shitter and saw the silhouettes of the
     three men inside the screened-in outhouse. “I should have thought about them and got some extra pills from the medics.”
    “Don’t worry about them. Once their feet touch the ground in our mission area, they’ll forget about their fear and settle
     down.” Arnason looked back toward the company orderly room. “I wonder where the captain is.”
    The sound of arriving choppers drew Arnason’s attention to the helipad. He checked the row of equipment to make sure there
     was nothing that could be drawn up in the air when the helicopters landed.
    Captain Youngbloode heard the choppers coming in and left the orderly room through the back door. He carried his backpack
     in one hand and his M-16, in a German carry, in the other.
    “Here comes the captain!” Woods touched Arnason’s shoulder and pointed. “Look at that!”
    Arnason looked. Youngbloode was dressed exactly like the rest of the team in a set of Special Forces CIDG camouflaged tiger
     fatigues and he wore a matching camouflaged hat that had the wide brim modified. “I don’t think we’re going to have to carry
     him on this mission.” Arnason had already told Woods about the arrangement of command he had worked out with the captain.
    Arnason and