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When he rose again, he stretched his mouth wide as if to both laugh and, perhaps at the same time, tear savagely into that heavy darkness draped over all things. No where in the twilight shrouded forest stirred any living thing. No noise wound through the vine-tangled trees but the occasional hysterical wind -- a wind that carried no sounds he wanted to hear, a wind that betrayed him with every wistful turn.

Come dawn he descended into the valley, sure now he was heading south again. The last Cong he?d encountered had been a full two days and sixty clips back. Or something like that it seemed. Not that it mattered. Just keep going south, and someday ?

Crawling quickly on forearms from tree to tree, he stopped to hole-up down near a clearing that gave a good unobstructed view cross the valley. No camp smoke. No bomb-blasted dead lands. Naw, he smiled, scratching his burly beard, naw, wouldn?t fall for it again. There'd be machine-gun mounts at the top of the hill ? ten thousand Cong dug into the hillside too, far underground, just waiting for him. He knew it. There always was. They couldn't really think they'd trip him up again. No. Ardently he shook his head in satisfaction at that sentiment, and wrung his rusty tags in sweat.

Silently his weapon slid from a makeshift holder on his back. Twenty-two rounds for his M16 he quietly counted. Just keep going south and someday he?d hear the sweet swishing of the chopper coming to bring him home again. _Someday_, he mouthed, _someday_, and crawled quietly cross the valley floor as other mouths stretched wide to smile.