Battlefield China

Chapter 9 Operation Fortress

Private Shane Webster’s senses were overrun. The high-pitched shrieking sound of the high-mobility artillery rocket system, or HIMARS, firing another volley of 227mm rockets overhead was unmistakable. Yet another wave of cluster munition and high explosives reached the enemy positions. Intermixed with the piercing shrieks of the rocket artillery was the near-constant thunder of hundreds of 155mm howitzers, adding their own measure of death and destruction to the scene unfolding across the enemy fortress.

Every now and then, Webster and the other soldiers of 2-14 infantry would spot a massive fireball from a secondary explosion, letting them know the artillery got lucky and hit something important. In between lulls in the artillery, ground-attack planes swooped in, releasing a string of bombs or napalm, depending on what they were looking to target. For the newly arrived soldiers of the 10th Mountain Division, it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying to witness such a display of firepower. They all knew that in the very near future, they would have to assault the fortress before them.

Staff Sergeant Sanchez walked up and abruptly broke up the gaggle of spectators. “Enough gawking, privates! I need everyone to head over to the ammo tent and load up. We’ll be moving out soon!” he shouted.

Private Shane Webster shook his head as he watched another massive explosion rock the mountain fortress, then he turned to follow the rest of the soldiers in his platoon to the ammo tent. It was a short walk since they were already in the rear of the American lines. When they arrived at the general purpose or GP tent, Private Webster let out a low whistle — the smorgasbord of items before him would make any gun nut salivate with envy.

Webster got in line with the rest of his squad. First, they stopped at a table with crates of 5.56mm NATO rounds packed in twenty-round boxes.

Staff Sergeant Sanchez, who had already seen action in the war, ordered, “Grab twenty-one boxes.”

They all dutifully placed the appropriate number in their empty rucksacks. This would give them 420 rounds, or fourteen magazines worth of ammo.

Once the squad had loaded up on the required number of bullets, they moved to the next table. This one had boxes of M67 fragmentation grenades.

“Grab eight,” ordered Sanchez.

Again, they put them in their rucks and moved on to the next table.

This time, Sanchez led them over to a crate of M18A1 Claymore antipersonnel mines. “Everybody, take one of these,” he directed.

At the next table, a supply clerk stood next to a stack of crates that held four AT4 antitank rockets. Only three of the eleven soldiers were told to grab one. Webster was glad he wasn’t one of the guys slated to lug one of those around. “My ruck is already heavy enough without having to shoulder a fifteen-pound rocket,” he thought.

The last table their squad leader led them to had tons of ammo cans opened on it. Inside were one-hundred-round belts of 7.62×51mm for the squad’s lone M240 Gulf heavy machine gun. They were all to grab one belt of ammo and stuff it in their rucks. Private Webster found himself grateful again, this time that it wasn’t his job to carry the machine gun, commonly referred to as “the pig.” It was heavy, and it chewed through ammo like a pig at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Now that everyone was fully laden with the tools of war, Sanchez had them all bunch in close to him. “Listen up, guys. We’re going to go back to our tent area and put our magazines and vest loadouts together. Once we’ve done that and I’ve inspected everything to make sure you guys are ready, we’ll pick up some cases of MREs from supply here and get them loaded into our rucks. Then, and only then, will we get some shut-eye. We move out at 0400 hours for the front.”

With their pep talk done, the squad got a move on to the transient tents their company had been staying in the last couple of days since they’d arrived. Walking into the tent, Private Webster and the others plopped their rucks on the floor or their cots and went to work on getting their magazines loaded up.

Private First Class Liam Miller, the squad’s heavy machine gunner, tried to make conversation while they got their gear in order. “Hey, Webster, what did you think of that fortress getting the crap pounded out of it?” he asked. Miller and Webster both hailed from the same Ohio city of Akron. They’d become quick friends throughout basic training and had been equally excited to be assigned to the same infantry unit.

Webster looked up at Miller and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. It sure looks like we’re pounding the hell out of them, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re just riding the bombardment out in some sort of bunker — you know, like the Viet Cong did in the movie Hamburger Hill. My dad told me his grandpa fought the Japanese during World War II and he said that’s what they used to do, too.”

“After the shellacking we’ve been giving them, I’ll bet they’re just ready to give up,” piped in another private. “I talked to one of the supply guys, and he said we’ve been pounding that mountain for nearly a week.”

“I just hope none of us die in the next couple of days,” said another private, who appeared to be holding back some tears. He was clearly scared, and it was starting to show.

“Good God, Private Hodge, are you going to cry again? We’re soldiers, grow up!” Specialist Nathan Ryle exclaimed angrily.

“Hey, cut him some slack, Nathan. We’re all scared; its normal. Plus, you know his brother died six months ago fighting the Russians,” Webster shot back. Several of the other soldiers in the squad all nodded.

Specialist Nathan Ryle came from the mean streets of Compton, California, and had a chip on his shoulder the size of the state he hailed from. A lot of the guys had had some friction with him at one point or another.

At that moment, Staff Sergeant Jorge Sanchez walked back into the tent. “Enough jaw jacking,” he barked. “We’ve got work to do. I want your magazines loaded and your MOLLE gear set up just like mine — use it as an example.” He set his pack down on the ground in the middle of the group.

“Pack your rucks the same way I pack mine so you and everyone else in the squad can find the extra ammo, grenades and magazines quickly. I’m going to grab a couple boxes of MREs. When I get back, I expect you guys to be ready for my inspection. Once I’m satisfied, we’ll go as a group and get some chow. We have an evening formation at 1900 hours.”

With his new set of orders issued, Sergeant Sanchez left the privates to resume their work.

“Why do we have to carry our magazines like this?” asked one of them as he rearranged one of his ammo pouches to match Sanchez’s.

“Because this is how the Sarge said he wants it done. Pretty simple if you ask me,” replied Nathan, the constant antagonist.

Webster felt the need to add something as he finished packing his last magazine into the front pouch. “We carry the magazines with the bullets facing down so when you reach down and pull one out, it’s facing the correct direction to slap into your rifle. It also keeps dirt and debris from getting stuck in the magazine when you go to pull it out. God forbid you ram it home in your rifle full of dirt — you’ll jam the stupid thing.

“We carry three packs of two flush against your IBA instead of two packs of three, so they don’t protrude as far out in front of our body armor. That way when you hit the dirt, you land relatively flat. It makes sense when you think about it.”

Webster grabbed the drop bag next and held it up. “If you’re right-handed, this attaches to your vest on the right side, so when you empty a magazine, you drop it in this pouch. That way, when you have time to reload them, they’re right there waiting for you, and you’re not placing empty magazines back into your magazine pouch and then suddenly finding your gun isn’t loaded.”

Holding up the pistol holster next, he added, “The Sarge has us carrying our pistol in a leg holster instead of attached to our IBA so we can have room to carry a couple of hand grenades and our first aid kit with the tourniquet.”

The privates kind of stood there for a second, looking at their vests and loadouts like a lightbulb had suddenly turned on. It all made sense now why the sergeant was harping on them to wear their gear in a certain way, regardless of how they saw other platoons or companies wearing it.

A second later, Sergeant Sanchez walked into the tent with a couple of MRE boxes and a smile on his face. The others in the tent stopped talking as they watched him walk over to his own cot, placing the boxes on it. When he turned around, he walked over to Webster and placed his hand on his shoulder as he looked at them all.

“I just heard Private Webster explain to you why I have you doing what you’re doing. He’s 100 % correct. It may sound to you like I’m nitpicking, but I’m having you do certain things for a reason. I’ve seen the elephant and you haven’t yet. When the bullets start to fly and your buddies start getting hit, you’re going to want to know exactly where your battle buddy’s first aid kit or tourniquet is. If you have to search through a wounded or dead comrade’s vest or ruck for ammo or more grenades, you’re going to want to know exactly where to search, because your life or mine may depend on it.”

Sanchez then took a seat on the edge of Webster’s cot and motioned for the others to stop and take a seat. “Look, I’ve been in the Army now for three years. The only reason I’m a staff sergeant instead of an E-4 specialist like Ryle is because all the other sergeants ahead of me were either killed or wounded eight months ago when our unit first encountered this Chinese version of the Maginot Line. During our fourth assault against that ridgeline out there, I got shot for hopefully the first and last time in my life. We were bounding up the ridge from one covered position to another when I caught a bullet in my left arm. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I tried to move back to find a medic, I got shot two more times. One hit me squarely in the center of my back plate. The second bullet hit me in the back of my right shoulder. Fortunately, I was knocked unconscious, so I didn’t feel a lot of the initial pain, but I sure felt it when I eventually made it back to a field hospital.

“I spent four months recovering in the hospital. When I returned to the unit, they promoted me to staff sergeant and placed me in charge of Second Squad. I’m telling you all this because I want you guys to be prepared for tomorrow. The captain said our company is moving up for a big offensive that’s going to start tomorrow. That means a lot of fighting is going to happen. As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Fallon said I’m to promote one of you guys to corporal to take over for Corporal Ball. Apparently, he had appendicitis, so he’s having his appendix removed. He won’t be returning back to the platoon for at least a month.”

Sanchez pulled a set of corporal chevrons out of his pocket and stood. He handed them over to Private Webster, saying, “Shane, for a newbie private, you seem to have your head screwed on right, and the guys in the squad seem to like and respect you. I’m promoting you to corporal. You’re going to be in charge of our heavy machine-gun crew. Congrats.”

The rest of the squad congratulated him — everyone except Nathan, who obviously felt he should have been promoted. Sure, a specialist and corporal shared the same paygrade, but a corporal was a junior NCO, and therefore carried command authority, similar to a sergeant.

Two hours later, the platoon stood in a loose formation with the rest of the company as they waited for their CO to come out and give them a short brief before they would be dismissed for the night. The next day would be busy.

Captain Joel Garcia walked up to his first sergeant, saluted him and called the company to at ease. “Listen up, everyone!” he shouted. “The 2-14 infantry is moving to the front lines tomorrow. The entire division is gearing up to assault that mountain.” He gestured toward the fortress that was still getting pounded by air and artillery.

“Beyond that fortress, gentlemen, is a clear shot to Beijing. We punch our way through it and our tanks will lead the rest of the way. We’re going to form up at 0400 hours, when we’ll road march our way to the front. It’s approximately eight kilometers to our new base camp. Once there, we’ll find out when they’re going to order us up the mountain. As of right now, our forces have secured the lower portion of the mountain. It’s going to be our division’s turn to finish rolling the enemy up and finally break through this mountain fortress.

“I’m not going to lie to you all and say this’ll be an easy fight. It won’t. A lot of you guys are probably going to get injured or killed. But know this: once we capture this fortress, we’re one step closer to defeating the PLA and ending this war. I want everyone to do their best and take care of each other. You see the enemy, you kill him…I’m going to turn you back over to Top now.”

He called the company to attention and then turned them over to the first sergeant, who issued a few other orders before he dismissed them for the evening to get some sleep.

Boom! Boom! Bam!

Ratatat, ratatat, zip, zip, zap…

“Take that bunker out!” Sergeant Sanchez shouted over the roar of explosions and machine-gun fire.

Specialist Ryle ducked just as a string of bullets hit a tree stump he was using for cover. He pulled his ruck off his back and unstrapped the AT4 he was carrying. He made sure the rocket was ready to fire and then called out for covering fire.

Private Miller popped up from behind the boulder he had been hiding behind and let loose a string of 7.62mm rounds at the cement machine-gun bunker that was shooting at them. The face of that bunker was dimpled with pock marks from all the shrapnel and machine-gun bullets that had hit it.

Ryle saw this as his moment and jumped up with the AT4 on his shoulder, ready to go. He took quick aim and depressed the firing button.

Pop, whooosssshhh…BAM.

The rocket flew fast and slammed right into the bunker, just next to the machine gun. A ton of sparks flew out in all directions, and the gun fell silent.

“Charge that bunker now! Get some grenades in it!” screamed Sergeant Jacobson, the assistant squad leader. He jumped up and ran toward the bunker, firing his weapon at the gun slits and screaming like a madman.

Webster looked over to his friend, Miller. “Let’s go,” Miller said as he lurched forward around the boulder they had been hiding behind.

Webster struggled briefly as he tried to catch up to Jacobson, who was nearly to the edge of the bunker. Specialist Ryle was hot on his heels when suddenly the machine-gun bunker returned to life and resumed its killing spree. Ryle was hit multiple times in his chest as he fell backwards, each slug acting like a punch to his chest.

Jacobson ducked to his right just as a string of rounds flew right past where he had just been. Webster ducked to the left behind a large tree stump, maybe ten meters away from the bunker. Looking at Sergeant Jacobson, he saw him signal that he was going to use his M203 grenade launcher on the bunker. “Once I fire it, you charge forward!” he yelled.

Webster nodded as he readied himself to cross the remaining ten meters to the enemy position.

Thump, BOOM.

Webster jumped out from his covered position and ran for all his worth toward the bunker. He jumped past Specialist Ryle, who was still lying on his back, pleading for someone to help him. In seconds, Webster found himself flush with the side of the bunker. He waved to the others below him that he had made it and then grabbed one of his grenades from his vest. He inched around to the front of the bunker and got to just beneath the gun slit. The machine gun was still firing away at his comrades below. He pulled the pin, counted to two, and then shoved the grenade through the gun slit. He felt the grenade fall inside the bunker and heard a lot of frantic yelling before a loud blast assaulted his ears and vibrated the ground around him.

Not trusting the one grenade to do the job, Webster pulled the pin on a second grenade and dropped it in the same slit. A second later, another boom rang out, only this time, there were no more voices to be heard. At this point, several other soldiers ran forward toward Webster and joined him at the bunker.

“How do we get inside this thing?” asked one of the guys who’d joined them.

The bunker had been built into the mountain, so it was tied to a series of tunnels and rooms from the inside. Sergeant Jacobson crawled around the right side of the bunker until he was on top of it. Once there, he noticed a steel hatch on the top.

“In here, guys.”

Several of the soldiers crawled around to join him on top of the bunker and saw what he saw. While they were still figuring out how to get inside, the next layer of bunkers several hundred meters higher up the mountain began shooting down on them. They scrambled down the sides and sought cover from the incoming bullets. By now, the entire squad had made its way to their position and had taken cover around them. Specialist Ryle was being treated by one of the medics as a couple of soldiers helped to escort him back to one of the aid stations.

Lieutenant Fallon crawled up to Sergeant Sanchez. “Any thoughts on how we get inside?” he asked. “I’ll bet this thing connects to other rooms and bunkers inside the mountain. It could be our ticket to clearing them out.”

Sanchez poked his head back up to look at the hatch again. “If we had some C-4 or det cord, we could probably get this hatch open,” he answered. “Do you think we could call someone over who might have some? Hey, also — before we do that, we need to get those two bunkers up there taken out, or they’re just going to keep shooting at us.”

The lieutenant nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Let me see if I can get the rest of the company to head our way and try to take them out.”

Fallon sat down below the lip of the bunker and called for an engineer to come up to their position, so they could inform Captain Garcia of what they’d found. Meanwhile, the other platoons pushed past them as they continued to engage the other enemy bunkers further up the mountain.

Boom, boom, ratatat, ratatat, zip, zip, zap!

Bullets flew all around them as they waited for an engineer and their captain to arrive. Explosions rocked the mountain as the other companies and units did their best to root out the enemy, one bunker and fighting position at a time.

Eventually, Captain Garcia trudged up to them with a couple of soldiers in tow. Two of them were engineers. When they got to the bunker, Sanchez explained to them what they needed done, and the two engineers examined the steel hatch.

“Let’s try the det cord first,” suggested the first engineer.

“Yeah, and if that fails, we’ll go for the C-4,” the other countered.

A few minutes went by as the engineers pressed the det cord into the cracks and crevices of the hatch until it was neatly packed in, despite the bullets that were snapping all around them while they worked. Once the engineers had done their work, the group moved away from the bunker as they prepared to blow it.

BOOM!

As the dust from the explosion settled, several of the soldiers ran to the top of the bunker to inspect the hatch. To their satisfaction, they found it now accessible.

Sanchez turned to the engineers. “Could you stick around?” he asked. “We may need you to blow open some additional doors once we get inside.”

The engineers nodded and smiled. They clearly enjoyed it when explosives were a part of their day.

One by one, the members of Second Squad filtered into the bunker. They fanned out as they moved their way to a rear door, lining up against the walls as they approached it. When they reached the door, they tested it and found that it was unlocked.

Sanchez held his hand up. “Stand by and wait,” he ordered.

Stepping over several dead Chinese soldiers, Sanchez climbed out of the hatch. He found the lieutenant and the captain. “There’s a door at the other end of the bunker,” he said. “We’ve tested it, and it’s unlocked. We didn’t open it yet, since we’re not sure if its boobytrapped, but I wanted to see if we could get the rest of the platoon or even the company to work with us on clearing it out. Who knows? It might link up to other rooms or levels inside the fortress. If we clear it out, we might be able to silence a lot of these really tough machine-gun bunkers.”

Captain Garcia thought about that for a second and then nodded. “OK, Sergeant,” he responded. “Lieutenant Fallon, I want your platoon to work on exploring and clearing the tunnels out. I’m going to place a call back to battalion and let them know what we’ve found. I’ll see if we can’t get a couple of flamethrowers sent over here to help you guys clear them out. God only knows what’s inside. I also want to get the rest of the company in on this. You guys just might have found the chink in the armor of this fortress.”

Nodding, the lieutenant signaled for Sanchez to lead the way. The two of them crawled back down into the main gun room. Several of the soldiers had picked the dead Chinese bodies up and stacked them in a pile along one of the walls, out of the way. The rest of the squad was lined up on both sides of the door, ready to go.

Sanchez nodded to Webster to open the door and peer into what lay beyond it. Slowly at first, Corporal Webster opened the door. Small lights had been affixed to the walls of the tunnel every twenty feet or so, dimly lighting the space. The tunnels were like hallways, wide enough for at least two soldiers to walk side by side. They could hear the chattering of machine guns and the occasional voice yelling in Chinese, but the noises were faint, off in the distance.

Webster made his way into the hallway and signaled for the others to follow. One of the fire teams turned right and followed the hallway up a gentle incline, while the group that went left followed the hallway down to the lower levels. Both fire teams made their way further into the fortress to see what they could find. By now, the next squad of soldiers had filtered in and was moving to back them up as well. Slow and steadily, they were advancing further into the mountain fortress.

Even inside the tunnels, Sergeant Sanchez could still hear and often feel the explosions taking place outside. He also heard the chattering of machine guns, though they were softer, muffled by all the rock between them and the outdoors.

After moving maybe five more meters into the mountain, they came to an entrance that opened up into a large cavern. Corporal Webster signaled for everyone to stop and dropped down to one knee. The others did likewise.

Sergeant Sanchez made his way up to him. “What do we have, Webster?” he asked.

Webster leaned in and whispered, “I think we found the ammo depot. It looks like these guys are sorting ammo onto those pushcarts to run them over to different bunkers.” He waved his hand forward.

Peering into the spacious room, Sanchez saw at once what Webster had described. The storage facility there had to be at least twenty meters high, roughly one hundred meters in length and fifty meters in width. While it was dark toward the edges and in the tunnels that connected to the main room, there were at least eight or ten overhead lights. On one side of the cavernous room was a table with four PLA soldiers manning several radios and an old-fashioned phone switchboard. Next to them was a series of maps with different color codes on them.

The adjacent wall had a row of maybe twenty cots set up, with wounded soldiers laid out on them. PLA doctors or medics tended to them, and nearby was a military ambulance. The wounded were being loaded onto it, presumably to be taken either deeper in the mountain or out of it altogether. The vehicle was angled toward a tunnel with a sign written in Chinese that probably said exit, since there was one other opening maybe thirty meters to the left with the same sign, large enough for a truck.

In the center of the room, dozens of PLA soldiers loaded crates of ammunition onto pushcarts, which were then rushed off down a different hallway, presumably to another gun bunker. Another set of soldiers were loading crates of ammo onto an elevator pulley that would bring additional ammo to another layer of bunkers somewhere above them.

Sergeant Sanchez then heard an approaching truck engine and froze. A pair of headlights crept closer to their position from that second tunnel. Sanchez’s heart raced as the noise grew louder and the lights brighter, but the truck stopped. Without seeming to notice any of the Americans, a half dozen soldiers got out and proceeded to help offload more crates of ammo.

Sanchez had seen enough. He knew they didn’t have enough soldiers to take this group on, and if they were going to capitalize on this find, they needed to get the rest of the platoon, or better yet, the company over here.

“We could send squads of soldiers down those tunnels and silence the machine-gun bunkers all over this mountain fortress,” he thought.

“Webster, let’s fall back a bit and hold our position,” he whispered. “We need more troops to take ‘em out.” Webster nodded and scooted back a bit. Sanchez doubled back to go find their lieutenant.

Five minutes went by before Sanchez returned with Lieutenant Fallon and Captain Garcia, who’d brought a platoon and a half of soldiers with them. Captain Garcia sent the other half of the company with the XO down the other tunnel.

Captain Garcia huddled with Sergeant Sanchez further back down the hall. “I talked with battalion before I came in the tunnel,” he explained. “They’re sending another company of soldiers to help us clear this out. They want a report as soon as we know how big this place is.”

“Sir, if I may, when we enter this room, we’re going to have to clear it quickly,” Sanchez rationalized. “I have no idea if they have an internal alarm system. Once we’re in, I suggest we send squads of soldiers down the smaller tunnels, as those most likely lead to other gun bunkers. We can take them out quickly, which will hopefully help our guys on the outside out. But if we’re going to try and go down those two vehicle tunnels, I think we’re going to need a lot more guys. We have no idea how many other soldiers are down them. They might even lead all the way out to the other side of the mountain.”

The captain nodded. “Lead the way, Sergeant.”

A few minutes went by; they went over each squad’s lane of fire and where they were going to move once the shooting started. With everyone briefed, they were ready to execute.

Corporal Webster was the first soldier to emerge from the shadows of the tunnel. He charged forward, suddenly materializing from the darkness. The first enemy soldier to see him froze in sudden panic at the sight of an American soldier inside their fortress. Webster pulled the trigger once, hitting the soldier squarely in the forehead before he could even react. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, his body resting in a pile of brain matter.

With the first gunshot fired, the element of surprise was over. Both squads of soldiers systematically shot everyone they saw in the cavernous room while doing their best to filter into the entrance as quickly as possible. More and more soldiers ran into the room to join their comrades.

The shooting inside the large room was intense. Nearly a hundred soldiers on both sides fought to the death in the confined space. With speed on their side, the Americans overwhelmed the defenders.

“Webster! Take your fire team and head down that tunnel,” Staff Sergeant Sanchez shouted. He pointed to one of the newly-arrived soldiers and ordered, “Take him with you.”

Webster nodded, and the newbie and one of his buddies ran over to join him.

“I was told you guys needed a flamethrower,” the young kid said with a wicked smile on his face.

Webster and the other soldiers looked at the two of them with fear and awe. While they had watched the vintage Vietnam-era M9-7 flamethrower being used off in the distance, none of them had ever seen one of them up close, let alone had one of them assigned to their squad.

“Yeah, I guess we do,” said Webster with a chuckle. “OK, let’s go. We need to move quickly down the tunnel. We have no idea if they just heard this shoot-out or what.” Looking at his two new guys, Webster added, “I want you guys in the rear. When we need you, we’ll call you forward.”

The two guys nodded, not at all put out that they were bringing up the rear. God forbid they should be near the front during a shoot-out; if their fuel tank got hit, it would blow up, possibly wiping out the whole fire team.

Moving down the tunnel, Webster kept his rifle up and ready. About twenty meters in, they reached the first bend. Corporal Webster stopped and pulled a small pocket mirror out of his pocket. He let his rifle hang from his single-point sling and grabbed the bayonet from its sheath.

“What’re you doing, Rambo?” chided one of the soldiers behind him.

Turning to look back at the soldiers behind him, Webster held a lone finger to his mouth. “Shhhh, I saw this in a movie. I’m going to make sure no one else is around that corner.”

Taking the gum out of his mouth, Webster attached it to the back of his mirror and then affixed the gooey mixture to his knife. He dropped down to his knee and slid the setup past the corner to give him a better angle on what was down there waiting for them.

While the hallway was still poorly lit, with just a small light every twenty feet or so, at the end of the tunnel, he saw something. Squinting a bit, he thought he could make out a pile of sandbags maybe a meter high. He focused his eyes more. On top of the sandbags was what looked to be a Type 67 machine gun on a tripod with a couple of soldiers sitting next to it, looking back at him. He quickly pulled his bayonet back and whispered for one of the other soldiers to do what he had just done and tell him what he saw.

At this point, Staff Sergeant Sanchez had caught up to them, with another six soldiers in tow.

“What’s the holdup, Webster?” he asked quietly.

The corporal filled him in on what he had seen and then handed his knife and mirror over for Sanchez to take a look.

Looking at the contraption, Sanchez shook his head. “What are you, MacGyver or something?”

Then he bent down on a knee and used the mirror to look around the corner; it didn’t take him long to see what Webster had found.

“Smart, Webster, damn smart. That gun would have killed us all in this tight little corridor,” Sanchez remarked. He handed the knife and mirror back to Webster, who proceeded to stuff the mirror back in his pocket and put his knife away. Then he grabbed the gum and put it back in his mouth.

“No reason to waste it,” he thought. Plus, it helped calm his nerves.

Sanchez signaled for the flamethrower. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Harvey here,” he said, pointing to one of the guys with the M203 grenade launcher mounted under his M4, “is going to pop out around the corner here and fire one of his HE frags down the hallway to hit that position, and hopefully either kill or wound them. As soon as he does that, I need you to haul butt down that hallway as far as you think you need to in order to use that bad boy.” Now he was signaling to the guys with the flamethrower.

“If you need to go ten feet or twenty feet, you get as close as you need, and then blast that gun position with your fire stick. Once you’ve hit it once or twice, then kneel down and step aside while the rest of us run past you and capture the position, OK?”

The soldiers all nodded. Several of them stole a nervous glance at the flamethrower, hoping they wouldn’t end up dying in glorious ball of fire if it took a stray round to its tank.

Everyone quietly got themselves ready for the assault. Private Harvey double-checked his grenade launcher, then nodded to the rest of the guys. Sanchez nodded back, then held up a hand with all his fingers spread out. He silently mouthed a countdown as he pulled each finger down into his palm one by one. When he reached zero and his hand had formed a fist, he pointed to Harvey to begin his attack.

Private Harvey moved out around the corner, leveling his M203 at the soldiers at the end of the hallway. Just as he was about to fire, his body was hit with a barrage of bullets — the gun crew must have known they were down there, preparing to attack. Harvey didn’t even have any time to react as his body was pounded relentlessly by dozens of 7.62×54mm rounds. They punched right through his body armor, and he collapsed to the ground.

In the flash of a second, everything slowed down as if the world was moving by one frame at a time, one fraction of a second after another as Webster dove for Harvey’s now-dead body. He landed right next to him and grabbed him by his MOLLE gear, throwing Harvey’s body in front of him like a shield. He grabbed Harvey’s M4 with the grenade launcher, and before the gun crew at the end of the hallway could react, Webster fired the high-explosive projectile down the corridor. The round slammed into the wall directly behind the gun crew. Flame and shrapnel hit many of the enemy soldiers.

Instantly, the soldier with the flamethrower jumped around the corner and charged down the hallway like a man possessed, screaming obscenities as he ran. He moved maybe ten feet down the hallway before he stopped and unleashed a torrent of fire on the enemy soldiers who were still trying to recover from the blast that had just wounded them.

Several other soldiers in Webster’s fire team ran down the hallway past the flamethrower to capture the enemy position. Looking over Harvey’s dead body and past his soldiers, who were charging down the hallway, Corporal Webster saw one of the enemy soldiers screaming wildly, his body completely engulfed in flames. The Chinese soldier shrieked for another minute or so, turning and running down the other hallway before his voice went silent, probably because he had finally collapsed and died.

When two of his soldiers reached the enemy positions, they rounded the corner and a quick firefight ensued. One of his soldiers took several rounds to the chest and fell backwards onto the burning bodies of the dead enemy soldiers. His comrade unloaded the rest of his thirty-round magazine at whatever enemy soldiers they had encountered.

Another soldier joined him and tossed a hand grenade down the corridor.

Crump.

Silence followed. More of the soldiers rushed the position.

Sergeant Sanchez walked up to Webster; he pushed Harvey’s lifeless body to the side and took the hand Sanchez offered to help him up.

“It’s too bad about Harvey,” Sanchez said. After a momentary pause out of respect, he added, “We’re going to have to start calling you Rambo, Webster. That was unbelievable. I’ve never seen anyone move or do something like that,” Sanchez exclaimed with a look of pride on his face. “Let’s get down there and finish clearing this place out. I can’t image them having more internal security positions like this.”

The two of them quickly caught back up to the rest of the squad as they moved through the rest of the tunnels. Every few hundred meters, they’d find a metal door leading to a gun bunker. When they found the back entrance to a new bunker, they’d usually throw a grenade inside to stun the defenders and then stand aside for the lone flamethrower guy to do his deed. He’d pop out from around the corner and fire a five-to-seven-second burst of liquid flame into the enemy position. Then they’d slam the door and lock it and move down the hallway to find the next one.

The rest of the day went by in a blur as Corporal Webster’s unit moved from one corridor to another, silencing enemy gun positions from the inside. More and more American soldiers filtered in through the new entrances they were opening up in the mountain fortress. By the end of the day, nearly an entire battalion of soldiers had found their way inside the fortress, tearing the enemy stronghold apart. They had transformed a small tear in the enemy lines into a full-blown rip. The way before them now stood clear.