Doc, who was with him, yelled up to me. " Hawaii got it. He's dead."
I looked down silently and asked the Lord to take care of him.
"How do you feel?" Doc asked me.
"I think I'm O.K."
"You think you'll be able to walk?"
"I don't know," I said in all seriousness. "I've never been shot before."
He left to attend to others. I lay there, dry and parched, planning my next move. I could try to retrieve my pack, lying out in the open about 10 feet away, but I didn't know how quick I could be on my feet. And I was afraid of giving away my position.
The lieutenant called everybody over to the right side of the dike, leaving only Dave, Doc and me on the left. He was trying to set up machine-gun and grenade-launch positions to provide covering fire for our four men out front who needed help badly. They were pressing themselves against the front dike wall of the first paddy. It was only two feet high, so they were digging furiously with their hands into the sun-baked dirt, trying to get lower.
The lieutenant yelled across to us, "Who's got the grenade launcher? Who's got the grenade launcher?"
Dave yelled, " Bleier's got it, but he's hit."