We were cut off, badly besieged, low on supplies, and nearly without hope. The air support I'd requested half an hour before had never materialized. Even though the lead was still flying fiercely, I signaled to Corporal Ames to inventory the remaining ammo. Seconds later he flashed back the answer: nothing for the mortars and next to nothing for the M4s.
The thunder of the enemy's approach was rising steadily. Despite the pall of smoke, the APCs carrying the leading elements were already in view. The outriders would be coming over the berm at any second. We were doomed. Nothing to do about it but sell our lives as dearly as possible, take as many of them with us as we could.
I plucked my remaining frag grenade from my vest, sent a final prayer heavenward, and took the pin between my fingers. I was about to draw it and hurl when Corporal Ames shouted, "Sarge! Look here!"
Tightly clutched in his grimy paw was a can of Tactical Bacon.
And with that, the tide of battle turned at last.