Read Online Free-Fire Zone by Chris Lynch - Free Book Online

total victory in deep until the voice at the far end of our line says, cool but sharp, “Well executed, Marines. Fine work. Now pack up and let’s move out.”
    Every helmeted head on the line turns at once in that direction, toward Lt. Jupp.
    â€œWhere were you ?” Gillespie asks without hiding his disgust even a little.
    â€œI,” says Jupp slowly, jungle-low but somehow managing to do his usual shout in there as well, “was right here, where a commander is supposed to be, overseeing operations. And, private , I can assure you that is the last time I will be answering to you or anyone else under my command. And I can likewise assure you that if I hear anything like that tone again you will be cited for insubordination. Do I make myself clear?”
    This, now, is a stare-off. Not just between Jupp and Gillespie. But between Jupp and all the eyes of the squad. How could you look away even if you wanted to?
    â€œI said , do I —”
    â€œI heard what you said,” says Gillespie, and one by one the starers stop staring. I can’t. I want to stop.Cherry and Hunter and McClean take their M-67 and their shells and selves back to the truck, and Marquette stands and stretches and walks away, and I feel Squid tugging at my sleeve, but I just shrug him off. I want to go. I can’t move. I’m stuck to this confrontation.
    Until Jupp, looking shiftier and more uncomfortable by the second, looks in my direction. We lock eyes.
    He’s right, of course. It’s not for an enlisted man to question his superior officer — not any time, but especially not out in the field. So I agree with him. No matter what, I have to agree with him, and I do.
    Another thing. I don’t hate him the way everybody else seems to. I just don’t. Sure, he shouts at me all the time. He prefers to stay back instead of going out on patrols. He gives me assignments I’m sometimes not ready for. But so what? I like being shouted at. I like responsibility. I like to be pushed. And if Lt. Jupp isn’t the greatest leader in the corps, well, that may be, but judging him isn’t my job. My job is to be a good soldier. I am a good soldier.
    And right now I don’t like what I’m feeling and I don’t like the look in my boss’s eyes that fails to give me confidence when confidence is pretty darn important.
    â€œGillespie,” I say firmly, and grab him by the back of the shirt. I pull him up lightly from where he hasstubbornly remained on the ground. I haul him back in the direction of the armored transport, even though he’s bigger than me and stronger than me and smarter than me and — in some way, in some other world — right about what he’s doing. I drag him back where he belongs.
    And he lets me.
    This is such a weird and remarkable day already.
    Â 
    The rest of the run toward our destination is mostly quiet, though quiet somehow seems like the wrong word. Nobody’s saying much, but you can feel it, the charge in the air, and boy can you smell that stink more than ever. I’m sitting diagonally across from Gillespie, who’s looking like he could just jump out of the vehicle unarmed and start biting the heads off all the VC in the area. Lt. Jupp is on the same bench, in the spot up closest to the driver. On Jupp’s left is Hunter, who doesn’t seem to know him. On his right, curled up on the floor next to the driver, is our dead ARVN gunner, who doesn’t know anybody anymore. Cpl. Cherry, who is turning out to be a far more ferocious warrior than I had figured, has taken up the gun post on the roof.
    â€œHow you feeling?” I say low to Squid.
    â€œPretty great, man. I mean, really great. Better than I’ve felt in a long time. Can’t wait now, can’t wait.”
    â€œI know it,” I say. “Let’s go, let’s go.”
    Our surviving ARVN comrade is shouting again, as we are apparently approaching our