Chapter Fourteen

Cole moved forward, rifle at the ready, trying to see into the gloom. He was the first man in the squad, on point, leading them in the attack to retake Outpost Kelly.

Behind him, he heard a soldier fall out of line and retch, overcome by nerves. The squad was forced to halt and wait for him.

Cole held his breath, worried that the sound would give them away.

“Sorry, Hillbilly,” the soldier muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and getting back into line. The man was no greenbean, but a veteran of more than one fight.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” Cole replied quietly. Cole himself had lain awake much of the night, using the time to hone the Damascus steel of his Bowie knife to a razor’s edge. “It’s just the jitters. Hits everybody different.”

“You think the Chinese are up there?” the kid asked, right behind Cole. “It’s really quiet. Maybe they pulled out. Maybe they’re all dead.”

“Keep hoping, kid.”

“I don’t know how anyone could have survived that bombardment. That was a real pounding.”

“You know these Chinese as well as I do, kid. They’re damn hard to kill no matter how many bombs you drop on them.”

“You’ve got a point, Hillbilly.”

“Keep your eyes sharp. I want intervals, ya’ll. Spread out now.”

Cole resisted being in charge, but giving orders to the squad felt natural, like these men were an extension of himself.

Right now, their lives were in his hands.

It was also fair to say that his life was in their hands as well. They were counting on one another. That was the thing about combat. You knew the other guy had your back. He knew that you had his back. You might not like the other guy much; you might not even know him very well. But you sure as hell would fight for each other.

The kid was right about it being quiet. The bombardment by the tanks and artillery had been a real fireworks show. Now, the quiet was spooky.

The only sound was the scampering of rats, unseen in the gloaming. Humans and rats, he thought. Where you found one, you were likely to find the other.

But even the rats seemed to tread lightly, trying not to disrupt the quiet.

What made it worse was that Cole knew for damn sure that they weren’t alone. Off to their left and right, more troops were converging on the hill. Behind them, yet more soldiers waited to move in and hold the defenses as the advance squads cleared them.

The troops around them were a given. But it was hard to say how many Chinese awaited the attack that they surely knew was coming. They had attacked in force, so there was at least one company dug in like ticks.

Outlined against the growing daylight, he could see the hump of the hill ahead. He had visited the outpost once or twice and was somewhat familiar with the layout. The crest of the hill contained defensive positions — or what was left of them after that hellish bombardment. He guessed that any Chinese who had survived would be waiting for the attack in the defensive ring of trenches that surrounded the crest of the hill. Several slit trenches stretched outward from the ring, resembling the fingers of a groping hand, extending down the face of the hill. It was one of these slit trenches that Cole and the squad moved through now.

Suddenly, he came to a stop. He could smell the Chinese just ahead. It was a foreign odor of garlic and raw onions, maybe with some fish mixed in.

He raised his rifle to his shoulder and pointed it down the trench.

Something shifted in the darkness ahead.

Cole fired.

The muzzle flash was like a stab to the eyeballs.

Up head, somebody cried out. Cole worked the bolt, fired again. Again, another stab of flame in the dark. He heard another body fall.

Cole felt pleased that they had taken the Chinese by surprise, slipping up on them in the darkness.

But any element of surprise on the main body of defenders had now been lost. Cole knew that these enemy soldiers in the trench had likely been in forward positions intended to detect the enemy advance. They had served their purpose. Higher on the hill, the Chinese would have heard the gunshots and known that the enemy attack was coming.

The next round of the fight over Outpost Kelly had begun.

He turned to look behind him. “All right now, don’t bunch up. We’ve got to get through this trench up to the main defenses as fast as possible. They know we’re comin’ for ‘em, and they’ll be ready.”

He started forward, but didn’t get far. As it turned out, the Chinese had a few tricks up their sleeves.

What Cole hadn’t suspected was that some of the enemy lurked outside the trench, hidden in the jumble of debris. They had the advantage of surprise and of height in that they were attacking the soldiers in the trench from above. They had been waiting for just this moment. And now, they pounced.

A screaming shape launched itself at Cole from above.

He was fast, but not fast enough. An instant later, he found himself knocked into the muddy bottom of the trench. A Chinese soldier stood over him, shouting and stabbing down at Cole with a bayonet on the end of a rifle.

Cole rolled just in time. The blade sank into the mud. His rifle had been knocked out of his hands. There was no time to go looking for it.

With his left hand, he grabbed the end of the rifle that the Chinese soldier was about drag free of the mud. With his right hand, he drew his Bowie knife and slashed it at the Chinese soldier’s leg.

The enemy went down, his angry shouts now turned to screams of pain. Cole’s knife slashed again and the screaming stopped.

Behind him, similar fights were taking place. Cole turned back to do what he could to help. The kid was grappling with a soldier and with another quick swipe of the knife, he ended the fight in the kid’s favor.

He reached down and dragged the kid to his feet.

“Holy cow, where did they come from?” the kid wanted to know.

“They done got the jump on us, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the squad had made quick work on the attackers. Lucky for them, there had only been four Chinese. If they had only dropped a grenade into the trench, or fired their weapons instead of using bayonets, the outcome would have been different.

The kid must have had the same thought. “Why didn’t they just shoot at us?”

“Maybe they’re low on ammo,” Cole said. “Maybe they just hate us. A bullet is one thing, but a bayonet is personal. Let’s just count ourselves lucky. One thing for sure, it ain’t even sunup and it’s been an interesting day.”

“Yeah, I just hope we live to see sundown,” the kid replied.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

* * *

They surged forward, no longer worried about being quiet. The sounds of battle erupted all around them, with the stillness shattered by mortar fire, grenades, and machine guns. Red and green tracers etched patterns up and down the hill.

“Hot enough for you?” somebody shouted.

“Just you wait.”

The Chinese must have been spread thin, because after their encounter with the enemy, they ran into no one else in the outlying trenches. The trouble was that the only way forward was straight up the hill, following the line of the narrow trench.

While the trench gave some cover, Cole worried that one well-placed machine-gun burst would knock out the whole squad like so many dominoes lined up one behind the other. He ordered the men out of the trench as they approached the main defenses that circled the hilltop. Better to take their chances out in the open.

“Find whatever cover you can,” he said. “Try to pick the bastards off.”

Fortunately, there was no shortage of rocks and even clumps of scrub brush. With the others, Cole scrambled out of the trench and got behind a rock. As enemy tracers streaked overhead, he just wished that the rock was bigger. It was just like Korea to be stingy with its rocks when you needed one.

Finally, he was in range to do some good with Old Betsy. The Chinese were close enough that he could make them out clearly. Cole put the sights on the machine gunners and pulled the trigger. The stream of machine-gun bullets stopped like a faucet being shut off.

A soldier stood to throw a stick grenade at the Americans, but Cole put him down. The soldier fell back into his own trench and the grenade detonated, resulting in cries of agony.

In the respite from the machine-gun fire, the Americans crept closer, keeping up a steady fire.

“You’ve got a good arm, kid,” Cole shouted. “See if you can get a couple of grenades into that trench.”

“I’ll have to get closer,” the kid said.

Without further explanation, he sprang up and ran at a crouch toward the enemy position.

Cole swore. Though brave, a move like that was going to get that stupid kid killed. He raised his rifle and fired just as a Chinese soldier rose up and took aim at the kid.

He worked the bolt and scanned the trench to pick off anyone else who tried to get the kid. By now, the kid wasn’t more than fifty feet from the trench. In rapid succession, he threw two grenades that dropped neatly into the trench. Seconds later came the flashes and bangs. The firing from the enemy line directly ahead of them stopped.

Up ahead, the kid was already plunging ahead toward the trench. “Wait a minute, kid,” Cole muttered. He waved the others forward.

It was now or never. Had they gotten all the Chinese? There was only one way to find out.

Panting with the effort of charging forward up the steep hill, the men of the squad covered the distance to the trench and leaped inside. Some had fixed bayonets, ready for hand-to-hand fighting.

But the enemy was wiped out. A handful of bodies lay in the trench, taken out by the grenade. One soldier was trying to crawl away, and someone slipped a bayonet into him.

“All right,” Cole said. “We hold here.”

To their right and left, similar battles were taking place as the Chinese defenses were attacked from several directions. To defeat the attack, the Chinese were sending more defenders from higher on the hilltop down toward the trenches.

Cole saw them coming.

“Swing that machine gun around,” he ordered.

Two men scrambled for the abandoned Chinese machine gun, a nasty bit of weaponry supplied to the Communists by their Soviet allies. There was nothing like it for turning Americans into mincemeat. Now, the Americans returned the favor, opening up on the enemy soldiers running downhill toward them. By the time the magazine was empty, the wind had gone out of that attack.

Things weren’t going as well in other sections of the trench. Off to their left, the boys there were having a hot time as the Chinese attackers spilled into the trench. Cole could see men grappling with one another. He raised his rifle and shot an enemy soldier who was about to bayonet an American.

Off to their right, the situation looked better. The soldiers had made it into the trench and were occupying it without any intervention from the Chinese. Cole was glad to see it because the trench was like a chain and any weak link was going to mean trouble for the other attackers.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait for word from the lieutenant. Once this trench is secure, we’ll push on up toward the top of the hill. Our job will be to take one of the bunkers.”

“Hold on. Where the hell are those guys going?”

Cole turned away from the struggle on their left to look to where the kid was pointing to their right. In disbelief, he watched as the American soldiers there started climbing back out of the trench and returning down the hill. What was even more surprising was that they seemed to be taking their time, retreating at a leisurely pace in groups of two and three. It reminded Cole of watching a baseball game breaking up.

“They’re abandoning their position. What the hell?”

“But those guys aren’t even under attack!”

“Who are those guys?”

“See their mustaches? It’s the Borinqueneers. The Puerto Ricans.”

Farther down the hill, an officer moved to intercept the retreating men. He was screaming at them, then drew his pistol and gestured at the men with it, but they ignored him and continued their retreat.

Cole couldn’t believe it. No sooner had the troops pulled out than Chinese soldiers ran in behind them to occupy the position.

The enemy had found their weak link.

* * *

Cisco Vasquez was among the Borinqueneers taking part in the attack to reclaim Outpost Kelly. An officer had come by before the attack to explain what was expected, but most of the men who spoke Spanish could not understand him. They relied on one of the noncommissioned officers to translate for them, along with Cisco.

But some things needed no translation. As the men advanced, they fired at the enemy awaiting them. They could see the bright muzzle flashes up ahead as they moved closer to the enemy.

Dios mio!” a soldier cried, stumbling as he was hit. He fell into the mud and did not rise again.

Cisco felt his legs turn rubbery with fear, but he had no choice but to press forward with the others.

In one sense, they were lucky. This section of the trench did not seem that well-defended. With a final cry and scramble, the Borinqueneers pressed forward and leaped into the trench.

But their luck didn’t last. A sudden burst of fire killed Captain McDaniel. The sergeant ran to help him and was killed as well.

The captain’s death stunned the soldiers because he had been a good officer. Suddenly, the company had no leadership. And nobody who could speak a word of English, other than Cisco.

A runner approached, bearing a message, but he had such a thick accent that Cisco had a hard time understanding him. Americans spoke in many confusing ways and this soldier was from Boston. Finally, the runner patted Cisco on the shoulder as if he was satisfied that he had understood, even though Cisco had only absorbed about half of what the runner had said. The runner ran off through a hail of fire.

Que?” someone asked Cisco.

Cisco shrugged. “No se.”

What was so confusing was that they seemed to have reached their objective. They had captured the trench. Now what?

From the hill above them, a single rifle shot rang out. One of the soldiers fell, a bullet having drilled right through his helmet.

Another shot stabbed down and another soldier went down. Cisco thought there must be a Chinese sniper up there.

A couple of the men decided that they’d had enough. They climbed out of the trench and started back down the hill. Others soon followed. There was no discussion. At first, the men abandoned their positions in twos and threes, and then by entire squads.

Cisco stayed until there were just a handful of others in the trench. They looked at one another, not sure what to do. Had they been forgotten out here? If they stayed, surely they would all be killed if the Chinese counter-attacked, now that the others had abandoned them.

The remaining soldiers reached a consensus without speaking. One climbed out and the others followed, started down the hill.

Cisco was the last to go, but he soon followed the rest of the Borinqueneers down the hillside.

Behind them, Chinese troops poured into the gap.

* * *

Major Wu knew that a wise man takes opportunity where it is given, which is why he volunteered himself and Deng for the attack on Outpost Kelly.

Not only that, but he felt as if he needed to save face after allowing the American pilot to slip through his fingers. They had been so close! However, between the interference of the villagers and the American sniper, the pilot had managed to get away.

“This is close enough,” Wu had said, leading Deng to a ridge some distance away from the outpost.

“Sir?”

Major Wu smiled. “You see, the Americans are going to bombard the hill now. This is what they always do. They have plenty of shells to expend. Would you prefer to be here or there?”

Deng looked around, then replied, “Here, sir.”

“Good.”

They settled down to wait. As Wu had promised, artillery and tank fire plowed the hilltop. Watching the explosions pound the hilltop, they were both glad not to be on it. When the bombardment stopped, Wu and Deng slipped through the defenses and joined the defenders on the hill.

As the light grew in the east, the attack on the outpost commenced. With his binoculars pressed to his eyes, Wu called shot after shot out to Deng. He watched with satisfaction as his sniper killed one soldier after another.

Nonetheless, the Americans still managed to reach the trenches ringing the hilltop. From their sniper’s nest, Deng was able to pick off several of the soldiers in the trench.

“Look, sir, they are leaving!”

“So they are,” Wu said, unable to hide his surprise. “You have driven them off.”

As the American soldiers abandoned their hard-won position, Chinese troops moved back in, giving them a position of strength from which to attack the trenches once again.

“Keep shooting,” Wu encouraged him. “Every soldier you kill is one less imperialist for our men to face.”

Deng kept firing. Through the binoculars, Wu watched, the grin never leaving his face.

* * *

To Cole, the thought came to him that they were teetering on the edge of a knife. The attack now felt like that moment when you struggled to keep your balance on an icy trail, but knew you were going to fall no matter what. The best you could do was brace yourself for when you hit the ground.

His squad was holding the platoon’s left flank. Lieutenant Ballard was somewhere off to Cole’s right. He didn’t envy the thoughts that must be going through the lieutenant’s head.

“Dammit all,” Cole said. “There’s not enough of us now to hold this trench.”

It didn’t take the Chinese long to come to the same conclusion. Enemy reinforcements ran down the hill and flowed into the trench, then spread out to attack the troops on either side.

Cole’s squad was soon overwhelmed as a tide of screaming Chinese flowed toward them from the right. More soldiers attacked from the hilltop above.

“Where are they all coming from? Holy cow!”

“They must have been dug in deep on the hill, where the artillery couldn’t reach ‘em. Here they come, for sure.”

This time, the enemy didn’t even bother with their drums and bugles. They just ran down the hill, screaming and firing, bayonets gleaming in the flashes from explosions. They got so close that he could see their eyes, their teeth, their twisted expressions of hatred.

He fired at the nearest enemy soldier and the man went down, but there were many more behind him.

“Kid!” Cole shouted. “Grenade!”

“I’m out!”

Off to his right, Lieutenant Ballard was scrambling out of the trench. He turned and fired a couple of shots up the hill, then shouted, “Let’s go!”

“Sir?”

“We’re pulling out, Cole. There’s no way in hell we can stay here. We’ll fall back and try again.”

Obeying the officer, the soldiers in the squad climbed out of the trench and began to make their way back across the hard-fought ground.

Cole was the last one to leave. He fired a couple more shots at the attackers surging toward him, but the bolt-action Springfield wasn’t enough to turn the tide. Maybe if he’d had a Thompson — or a bazooka.

With bullets pelting the mud around him, Cole crawled over the top of the trench and down the hillside after the others.

It went against his grain to turn tail and run, but sometimes you needed to have the good sense to live and fight another day.

His squad and the rest of the platoon had fought hard and bled for that damn hill, all for nothing. The counterattack on Outpost Kelly had failed because of those damn Borinqueneers.

Cole wouldn’t mind finding those boys who had retreated and giving them a piece of his mind.

As it turned out, he was going to have to wait his turn.

Загрузка...