Kacey had done nothing, but then the black man put the AK-47’s barrel against the little girl’s temple. “Listen, man, you don’t come out in thirty seconds I’m gonna waste the kid. Then I’m gonna start on her family. You want me to bring ‘em out? We’ll waste the whole fuckin’ village, man — if that’s what it takes. I ain’t gonna let you fuck up my business, man. You dig?”
You dig, Kacey thought. It was from another era — another time, another place. And what the hell is business!
Kacey said nothing, his right thumb moving the catch to the full automatic position.
The black man yelled something in a language other than English, and the tail-end Charlie of the six-man Khmer squad ran back a hundred yards or so to the village. Kacey could hear nothing but the occasional faint whimper, like that from a puppy, the young girl crying. Then he heard shouting and a slap that resounded through the rain forest as the tail-end Khmer was half dragging, half pushing two elderly natives, a man and a woman — Laotians most probably — down the trail toward the black man. The young girl turned as if to run to them, but the black man cuffed her about the ears. Then behind the tail-end Khmer and the old couple there came a woman armed with the ubiquitous AK-47 and wearing one of the green lion-tamer hats so popular in the old NVA. Kacey could tell it was a woman, for despite the leafy camouflage about her head and shoulders, she couldn’t hide her figure. As she came nearer, about twenty yards from where Kacey was hiding, he could see she was white.
Through the undergrowth Kacey caught glimpses of the two elderly Laotians being driven, half tottering, up the trail, the old man tripping.
There was a shot, and a scream so loud that Kacey felt a sudden chill as he strained to see which of the old people had fallen. Neither of them. It was the young girl who’d been shot.
“You hear me, man?” came the black man’s voice. “I ain’t foolin’ ‘round here. Now you come out or we’ll do the old man next. Man, we’ll do the whole friggin’ village if we have to. You understand? Now move your ass.” The man was poking the distraught old Laotian woman with the AK-47.
Kacey stood, his hands held high. “All right!” he shouted, and made his way toward the track even as he realized it was a no-win situation. There was no doubt in his mind he’d be shot. The only question remaining was, who’d pull the trigger, Salt or Pepper?