Battlefield Taiwan

Battle of the Mind

The snow had been falling now for nearly three straight days, forcing a short pause in the ground war in Korea, although both sides’ air forces were still bent on killing each other. The foul weather had limited the use of helicopters, drones, and artillery for the moment, so things were strikingly quiet.

Sergeant Ian Slater of the 2^nd Infantry Division, 16^th Mechanized Brigade, shivered as he found a nearby tree he could relieve himself against. He desperately wanted to avoid going out in the cold and snow, but his bladder demanded immediate attention. He wanted to do his business quickly and get back inside the Bradley fighting vehicle where the rest of his squad was staying nice and warm.

“This sucks!” he moaned to himself. “How in the world did I end up in the middle of a war? Join the Army, get the GI Bill — that’s what the recruiter and my parents said I should do if I wanted to go to college. Forget the Army, and college — I just want out!” His anger was the only thing keeping him warm.

Ian’s unit was supporting a Republic of Korea tank division that had driven the North Korean Army to the Taeryong River, the last major natural barrier before the Yalu River and China. The PLA, for their part, had rushed tens of thousands of soldiers across the border, slowing the ROK and American forces down, but not stopping them from pushing to this last barrier. Had the weather not slowed them up, they might have already crossed the river and finished capturing the rest of North Korea.

“Hey, Sergeant Slater, you almost done? The lieutenant wants to talk to you,” one of his soldiers yelled from the opened hatch of their armored vehicle.

Ian finished his business, turned and yelled back, “Yeah, I’m on my way. Tell the LT to give me a second.” He trudged back to the warmth of the vehicle.

As long as they had fuel, the vehicle commander, who hailed from Hawaii, was going to keep the track running, and the heater along with it. He kept the vehicle nice and toasty, which was fine by the soldiers packed in the back.

When Ian got into the vehicle, he grabbed the mic from one of the soldiers. “This is Baker Three, go ahead, Baker Six,” he said, responding to the lieutenant. This was their second platoon leader since the start of the war. The first lieutenant had been hit by a sniper and killed, then their company commander had been killed in an enemy artillery strike. They had lost a lot of officers, so despite only being an E-5 sergeant, Slater found himself as one of the senior sergeants left in the company.

“Baker Three, this is Baker Six. I need you to come over to my vehicle. I need to pass some information to you. How copy?” asked his platoon leader.

Slater sighed at the thought of having to go back outside in the cold and snow and work his way through the several feet of it now on the ground to the lieutenant’s vehicle.

“Good copy. I’m on my way,” he answered, knowing that he didn’t have an option.

“OK, you guys are on your own for a bit. I’m heading off to find the LT’s vehicle,” Sergeant Slater announced.

The other soldiers just grunted in response. Several of them were busy reading a book on their Kindles, or just writing a letter home.

It took Ian twenty minutes of trudging through the snow and cold before he found the lieutenant’s vehicle. As he approached it, he saw the other sergeants were standing around a map that had been stuck to the outside of the vehicle. He also noticed they all had cups of hot coffee in their hands.

“Ah, there you are, Sergeant Slater. We have some coffee over there. Help yourself, and then I’ll go over what the colonel just sent down,” his platoon leader said jovially.

“Eh, he’s new and green, so he’s still happy and excited. Give him a few weeks of this hellhole, and he’ll be as disgruntled as the rest of us,” Ian thought as he poured a cup of piping-hot coffee.

Walking back to join the other sergeants, he saw they were all wearing new ranks. Lieutenant Porter, the platoon command, also had captain’s bars on.

“What just happened? Did everyone just get a promotion besides me?” he thought, angry and confused.

Seeing the puzzled look on Slater’s face, Captain Porter pulled out a pair of sergeant first class chevrons and handed them to him. “The brigade has lost a lot of soldiers since the start of the war, and replacements are finally starting to show up. The colonel said to promote all the NCOs up two grades to start filling in for the losses. When you guys get back to your squads, I want you to pick two new people to promote to sergeant and one person to move up to staff sergeant. We have 62 new replacement soldiers that’ll be arriving tonight. We’ll be filtering them into the various platoons, and this should bring us up to 100 % strength. We’re also getting several new Bradley vehicles and six Strykers,” Captain Porter explained.

This brought a lot of happy nods from the group, as some were excited about the pay bumps. There were also a few concerned looks, as they all knew additional vehicles and replacements meant they were most likely going to see more combat soon.

One of the sergeants interjected, “No disrespect, Captain, but you just arrived with our unit not more than six days ago as a second lieutenant; now you’re our new company commander, and all of us have been promoted up to sergeant first class or master sergeant. What the heck is going on?”

Captain Porter, for his part, did not look the least bit offended. “You know better than I do how many casualties we’ve been taking since the start of the war. The President has also announced a massive draft back home, so some of these new draftees and replacement soldiers are starting to arrive. They range from privates to specialists in rank, which means we need a lot more sergeants. On the officer side of things, it’s even worse. Nearly 50 % of the officers in the brigade have been either killed or wounded. The colonel is just trying to get the brigade back up to fighting strength. I know I’m new, and I’m going to rely on your experience to help me lead this company,” he replied, which garnered a few nods and approvals.

“At least this officer isn’t naïve enough to believe he knows everything,” Ian thought to himself. “He might yet turn into a decent officer.”

The captain continued, “Look, the weather is going to clear up in the next couple of days. The colonel said that when that happens, the ROK is going to try and make a final push to cross the Taeryong River and drive the Chinese and North Koreans to the Chinese border. While the ROK will continue to do the brunt of the fighting, our brigade is going to continue to support them. When the ROK armored units secure a hole in the enemy lines, our brigade is going to punch through that hole and try to drive the enemy to the Yalu River.”

Captain Porter took a deep breath. “I don’t know how much time we have to get our replacements ready, but I want you guys to focus on making sure they know what their responsibilities are and what to expect as best you can. I know this is a crappy situation we all find ourselves in, but we need to make the best of it and do our best to keep our soldiers alive. Everyone understand?”

They all nodded in agreement. The group talked a bit longer with the captain, making sure they knew what the next day’s plans were before being dismissed to head back to their platoons and squads.

“Promoted two ranks… so much for shooting myself in the foot and getting out of this mess,” Ian thought as he struggled back through the snow to his squad’s armored vehicle.

When he walked in, he was wearing his new rank, which caught everyone by surprise. While the soldiers in his squad respected him as their sergeant, they all knew he hated being in the Army and wanted out of Korea. They were surprised to see he had been promoted; they were even more surprised when he promoted three of them to sergeants and informed them of the new recruits that would be arriving in a few hours.

Slater suddenly realized that his little squad was going to be split up, and he was now in charge of an entire platoon. “How can I be a platoon sergeant?” he thought. “I’ve only been a squad leader for three months.”

That evening, the replacements arrived, along with the new armored vehicles. The next two days were spent getting everyone organized into their squads and making sure everyone had the right load-outs of ammunition, hand grenades and everything else they would need. Sergeant First Class Slater made sure they loaded the vehicles with enough food and water to last each squad three days. He also made sure they were packing three times their normal load of ammunition. Once the ROK secured a breakout, their unit would punch through the hole in the enemy lines and work to roll up the enemy position. It also meant they might be operating outside of their normal supply lines for a couple of days or more.

It was Christmas Eve, and the snowstorm had at long last cleared. High above the Allied lines, the soldiers below could see the contrails of dozens of B-52s as they moved north. Then, as if on cue, they heard the sound of falling bombs. The loud screaming noise they made as they fell from high altitude towards the targets below was terrifying. Off in the distance, the soldiers watched in wonder and terror as the enemy positions across the river were hit by hundreds of explosions across their lines. Trails of smoke and fire filled the horizon.

While they were observing the bombers turning back towards friendly lines, they saw several of the lumbering aircraft explode. Either enemy aircraft or surface-to-air missiles were finally catching up to them.

Once the explosions from the bombs fell silent, the unmistakable sound of artillery whistled through the air. ROK and American artillery started to fire hundreds of white phosphorous or WP rounds all along the enemy positions. While this was happening, dozens of engineering vehicles with portable bridging equipment rushed forward towards the river, establishing multiple pontoon bridges to ferry the Allies across.

Several of the engineering vehicles and crews were blown up by some unseen enemy. One of the pontoon bridges blasted into flying shards as the enemy artillery scored a direct hit.

In the midst of the Allied artillery barrage, the WP rounds were switched to smoke rounds, blanketing the river crossing area in smoke as the Allies tried to conceal their efforts to cross it.

Sergeant Slater winced when he heard the sound of incoming artillery flying high over their heads, heading towards where their own artillery was set up. The Chinese were starting their counterbattery fire in hopes of suppressing whatever the Allies were planning to do.

Under the cover of smoke, the engineers worked feverishly, connecting one section of bridging with another to get the pontoon bridges completed. As soon as bridges were assembled, they watched as one ROK unit after another crossed the river to engage the Chinese soldiers. Within an hour, they had observed probably at least three or four battalions’ worth of tanks and other armored vehicles cross the pontoon bridges. Then, waves of light infantry soldiers ran across the bridges, trying to get to the opposite side.

While Slater’s platoon seemed to be transfixed watching the river crossing, their radio crackled to life. “Baker Platoon, we’re moving out. Prepare to cross the river,” Captain Porter announced. It was now their turn to work their way down the road that would lead them to the river crossing.

The soldiers in the vehicle with Sergeant Slater were mostly young replacements. Most of them had just finished basic and advanced infantry training less than a week ago, and now they found themselves on the front lines, advancing to contact with the Chinese People’s Liberation Army. It was quite a shock to most of them. They reacted to the scream of each artillery round flying over their heads and flinched at the boom of any nearby explosion. Ian envied their naivety; he wished he still had that same innocence, but that had been stolen from him when the war had started without any warning.

After driving for a little while towards the river, their vehicle finally approached the pontoon bridge. Ian had actually never crossed a bridge like this in an armored vehicle, and he crossed his fingers that there wouldn’t be any problems. He was terrified of being trapped inside if the vehicle fell into the water. He had heard from other soldiers in his unit about how some guys had drowned when a Humvee had been flipped over by an IED in Iraq and rolled into the river. Those soldiers had been unable to get their wounded comrades out of the vehicle before it had sunk, and the guys stuck inside had been too injured to push the heavily armored doors open against the water.

“I could never be in the Navy,” Ian realized.

“Sergeant Slater, when do you think we’ll see some action?” asked one of the new soldiers, guilelessly believing in the romanticism of war.

Ian looked at the new guy for a second. He seemed eager to fight, while the others in the vehicle were a lot more reserved. They all looked like they would rather be anywhere than there, just like him. But not this guy. He wanted to be there. He wanted to kill.

“Once we get across this bridge, we’ll be across our lines into enemy territory. After the ROK units force a break in the Chinese lines, our brigade is going to punch a hole right through it and push to the Yalu River. When that happens, we’re going to see a lot of action. I want everyone to stay frosty, OK?” he replied, more to the rest of the group of soldiers than directly to the private who had asked him the question.

“Basically, another hour or three, then, right?” the private asked.

“Is this kid serious?” Slater thought.

“Private, I don’t know when we’ll be in combat, but trust me, you’ll know when it happens,” Ian replied, obviously annoyed. “Either our vehicle will be blown to bits and you’ll all die in a fiery burning mess, or you’ll start to hear bullets and shrapnel bounce off our armor. In either case, you’ll know when we are in combat. Just listen to what I tell you, guys, and hopefully we’ll all live through the next couple of days.”

“I liked being a specialist or buck sergeant,” Slater finally realized. “I was only responsible for a small group of soldiers. Now I have a whole platoon to worry about. If any of these guys get killed, I’m not writing any letters home to families. The officers can do that.”

As their vehicle moved forward, the vehicle commander yelled back to them, “We’re holding up for a bit!”

Some fuel trucks were moving up, and they were going to top off while the ROK pressed their attack. A few minutes later, Ian’s vehicle came to a halt.

Sergeant Slater told the guys, “Get out and stretch your legs while you can.” They happily obliged. Some of the soldiers pulled out their cigarettes or chewing tobacco, while others did some stretches.

In the distance, they could hear the explosion of artillery rounds, the booms of tank guns, and the thumping of helicopters racing to the front. Ian looked up and saw two Blackhawks heading away from the front, back towards friendly lines. The helicopters had red crosses on them, designating them as medevacs. Surveying the scene around them, Ian realized they had essentially stopped in a Chinese armored graveyard. Dozens upon dozens of armored vehicles and tanks were strewn around the back side of the slope they were on. Some of the vehicles were still burning; others had dead or charred bodies near them or hanging from some of the hatches, a sign that they had tried to escape the burning vehicles but had failed in their effort.

While the vehicles were being fueled, Ian walked down the line to talk with a few of his squad leaders and make sure they were doing OK. He started talking with the corporal he had promoted to staff sergeant — the guy also happened to be his roommate prior to the war starting, so of course he was going to hook him up. In the middle of their chatter, they heard the whistling sound of incoming artillery rounds.

Everyone flattened on the ground or dove into a nearby armored vehicle. Four rounds landed around their vehicles and the fueling tankers. The ground shook violently as the overpressure from the explosions smacked the soldiers who had flattened themselves on the ground. Next came two large secondary explosions, which rocked their area further.

Then Ian heard the agonizing screams of the wounded. He looked up and saw the fuel tanker that had been refueling his Bradley exploding, throwing fuel everywhere, including his own vehicle. One of the soldiers that had hit the dirt near the vehicle screamed and rolled around on the ground, desperately trying to extinguish the fuel that had splashed all over him and ignited from the blast. Then, another soldier emerged from the back of the Bradley, also on fire and screaming. The soldier just ran in a straight line in the snow; he made it maybe ten feet, screaming and flailing his arms around, until he dropped to his knees and fell face-first, silent while the fire continued to consume his body.

Sergeant Slater and some of the other soldiers nearby grabbed fire extinguishers and ran towards the flaming Bradley. As they approached the vehicle, one of the two missiles that was stored in the launcher on top of the vehicle cooked off, blowing part of the turret off and throwing shrapnel everywhere. Ian felt something hot and sharp cut the side of his face as he fell to the ground.

When he pulled his mind out of the daze he found himself in, he realized that there was nothing he could do for the soldiers that might still be in the track. They were all gone, dead.

Medics ran towards the various wounded soldiers nearby. Grown men screamed for their mothers or wives or cried out in agonizing pain. Slater immediately waved to one of the soldiers with a radio that was nearby. “Call a medivac! Get us some help, and then radio the captain and let him know we took casualties from that artillery barrage.”

Ten minutes later, a Blackhawk with a red cross descended towards them, just as Captain Porter arrived. The medics quickly carried the wounded to the waiting angels of mercy.

“Sergeant Slater! What the heck happened?” yelled Captain Porter over the roar of the helicopter.

Ian turned his back to the helicopter as the captain came running up to him. “We got hit by some random artillery fire. It nailed one of my Bradley vehicles, and then another Bradley was destroyed when a tanker exploded and doused the vehicle in fuel,” he replied, disgusted by what had happened.

Captain Porter paused for a second, then looked Ian in the eyes. “You OK, Slater?” he asked out of genuine concern.

“I don’t know, Captain. Half of my platoon is made up of replacement troops, and in less than 72 hours, I just lost them all. I was a sergeant three days ago; now I’m responsible for a platoon, and half of my guys are dead. And we haven’t even attacked the Chinese yet,” Ian stammered, clearly shaken by the events and starting to feel a bit of the shock of his own injury. While the cut on his face was not deep enough for him to be medevacked out, it still stung.

Captain Porter put his hand on Ian’s shoulder, looking at him for a second. “I know this is tough. I know you don’t feel like you’re ready to be in charge of a platoon, but these guys are counting on you, and so am I. I need you to pull it together and lead your soldiers. Can you do that for me?”

Ian took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before responding. “Yes, I can do that. I’ll be OK, Sir. You can count on me.”

In that moment, Ian realized that no matter how badly he wanted out of Korea and the Army, he was stuck, and he needed to make the best of the situation. He had soldiers depending on him, and he didn’t want to let them down. The cut on his face reminded him of his own mortality and how close he had come to being killed. While it was a minor flesh wound, had it been a few centimeters to the left, it would have torn right into his skull.