Behind all of them, Rambo and Jorgenson began pulling back in a desperate attempt to both make it out alive and divert the enemy away from the river and prisoners.
Jorgenson ran with his AK in hand, and at intervals jumped here and there, in an effort to sidestep the ruggedness of the land. He’d gotten rid of his M60 long before that.
He’d run, turn to shoot at his pursuers and then go back to running again.
Then, out of nowhere, a couple of Huey helicopters suddenly flew over him.
I’m here – he thought.
I’m here, God damn it.
They couldn’t have done anything for them, even if they had seen the pair. Pick-ups weren’t possible if the area was too hot, and this place was steaming.
Actually it’s worse.
It's a lot worse than that.
Maybe they didn’t even notice we’re Americans.
The two of them just kept on running and shooting behind them as they did.
Under their fire jungle leaves were falling, branches were breaking and the enemy lowered their heads under cover.
Rambo took cover behind a fallen tree, rummaged through his gear and quickly threw a violet smoke grenade out in front of him.
“ONE OF TWO, GRIZZLY!” he shouted.
Jorgenson nodded. He knew exactly what it meant.
“GO! GO! GO!”
The two of them started running and shooting again, moving even further away from the river they should have been crossing instead.
Jorgenson thought back. it had been a while since he last felt as clearheaded as he did now.
They’d definitely achieved the objective of distracting the enemy by that point.
The re-entering plan was the one that was falling to pieces. The enemy kept putting itself right between them and the Baker team, and without a tight rope, they’d never have made it across that damn river.
Grizzly forehead was sweaty and his eyes were wide open because of the fear he was feeling and hard work he was doing.
In contrast, Rambo seemed remarkably calm.