Fallen Sniper

Chapter Fifteen

“It’s too bad we can’t just shoot them for desertion,” Lieutenant Colonel Switalski announced, looking over the Puerto Rican troops. The unit sat dejectedly before him, stripped of their weapons, and not understanding a word of what was happening to them. “That would sure save everyone a lot of trouble.”

“What have they got to say for themselves?”

“I guess we would know if any of them spoke English,” the colonel said, clearly disgusted.

The object of his disdain was Company B of the 65th Infantry, who had managed to attain the defensive trench on Outpost Kelly, but had then abandoned it. They had not been under direct attack at that time, but had clearly lost their nerve. When an officer had confronted the retreating troops and ordered them back into position, they had ignored him.

They had been lined up against a wall of sandbags that delineated the MLR. Their weapons had been taken away and they were under guard. As far as anyone was concerned, they were now prisoners.

For their own part, the Puerto Rican troops did not seem to understand what was happening to them. Several had been wounded in the ill-fated counterattack and wore blood-stained bandages. Almost all of them were covered in mud or had uniforms in tatters from crawling through the barbed wire defenses on the hill. These men looked tired, hungry, and thirsty — pretty much how all soldiers looked after a fight. But a coward was a coward, and these troops wouldn’t be getting any sympathy from the commanding officer.

They returned the lieutenant colonel’s glare sullenly, which only made him madder.

“Shooting them is too good, now that I think about it,” the lieutenant colonel added as an afterthought. “Let’s see how they like eighteen years of hard labor at Fort Leavenworth. That’s the standard sentence for desertion. Of course, the Chinese or the Soviets or even the Germans in the last war wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble. No sir. A firing squad would be the end of it.”

“What do you want me to do with them, sir?”

“I’m thinking about it. Damn it all, lord knows I’ve got enough problems as it is. We need every soldier on the line so these Borinqueneers are letting us down. What the hell is a Borinqueneer, anyhow?”

“Must be Spanish for fleet of foot.”

“You got that right. Don’t they have any officers?”

“They were all killed in the attack, along with most of the noncommissioned officers. There was a great deal of sniper activity in that sector. The sniper seemed to be targeting the officers, at any rate.”

The lieutenant colonel’s mind was churning. He was well-versed in how the Army worked, and he hadn’t received the insignia on his collar by being a fool. The failure of the attack on Outpost Kelly did not reflect well on him, not to mention that the outpost had been captured in the first place. Normally, blame would fall squarely on his shoulders. He might even expect to be relieved of command and sent back to Japan to shuffle papers, his upward rise in the Army having ended on the muddy hillside in the distance.

But the cowardice of the Borinqueneers might just save his career. Somebody would need to be blamed for the failed attack. If not him, then who? These Borinqueneers would make a good scapegoat.

He intended to court martial the whole damn unit, but there wasn’t time for that at the moment.

“I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that they ran. Look at them. They’re just this side of coloreds, aren’t they?”

“Sir?”

“Never mind. Here’s the thing. I can’t shoot ‘em, much as I’d like to. Hell, Puerto Rico would probably secede if I did that. I can’t afford to keep them under guard because we need every available man in case of a Chinese attack. Now with those goons dug in on our outpost, you know that’s coming. As for these deserters, I’m not about to give them back their weapons, but I need these men doing something useful until we can begin court martial proceedings. In the meantime, they will need a decent officer to keep an eye on them.”

“Might I suggest Lieutenant Ballard, sir? If anyone can whip them back into shape, it’s him.”

“Good idea. He can start by ordering them to shave off those damn mustaches.”

Watching the angry commanding officer, Cisco did his best to translate for his confused fellow soldiers. It was true that they had not stayed in the fight, but all of their officers and sergeants had been killed. No one had sent them orders. It was as if they had been left on that hilltop to die, and so they had made the decision to abandon their position and survive.

Cisco was likely the only one who could have explained their viewpoint to the lieutenant colonel, but he knew that he wouldn’t get the chance. A lieutenant colonel didn’t want to hear from a private, especially not one who spoke broken English.

“When will we get some food and water?” asked one of the men, an old campaigner who had been with the Borinqueneers since the last war. “We have many wounded men who need help.”

Cisco shook his head. “They are talking about shooting us as deserters, so I don’t think we will get water anytime soon.”

“Deserters!” The older soldier shook his head in disgust and spat into the mud. “We are Borinqueneers! We are fighters!”

Cisco agreed that the soldiers didn’t lack courage. They had helped take that hill like everyone else. But even he could see that his unit lacked training. There were a few experienced veterans like this old soldier, but most of the men were relatively new recruits like Cisco who had been rushed from the recruiting station to Korea.

They settled down to wait. Other soldiers passed by, casting dirty looks at the Puerto Rican troops. Word had gotten out they had run and handed Outpost Kelly over to the Chinese.

The sun came out, baking the muddy road dry and adding to the misery of the thirsty men. It was typical fall weather with hot days and chilly nights. They would be shivering after dark. Noon came and went, and still they’d had nothing to eat or drink. Those who could, closed their eyes and slept.

In mid-afternoon, a younger officer appeared. Tall and haughty, there was nothing kind or understanding in his gaze. He looked down at the Borinqueneers and scowled.

“My name is Lieutenant Ballard,” he said. “I’m your new CO for now. Let’s get a few things straight. First of all, you are no longer Borinqueneers. Unit nicknames are earned in this Army, and believe me, you don’t even want to hear some of your current nicknames.”

Speaking softly so as not to draw the attention of the lieutenant, Cisco translated the lieutenant’s words into Spanish. The men kept quiet, but Cisco could still sense their outrage.

However, the sharp-eyed lieutenant had seen Cisco’s efforts at translation. “You there, stand up and tell them what I’m saying.”

“Yes, sir.” Cisco took a moment to explain the lieutenant’s orders so far.

The lieutenant went on, “Next, I want all of you cleanshaven. Those mustaches must go.”

Cisco hesitated before relaying the order to the Borinqueneers. He knew that the order would be devastating to the troops. He looked at the lieutenant, just to make sure that he had heard correctly. “Sir?”

“Go on, Private!” the officer said impatiently. “Those are my orders.”

Again, Cisco translated. This time, there were grumbles of disbelief, but the lieutenant did not seem to hear them, or if he did, he didn’t much care.

The lieutenant was not done. “There will be no more rations of rice and beans. You can eat C rations like everyone else. The special treatment of this unit ends today. Under normal circumstances, there would be serious re-training of this unit for combat readiness, but we cannot afford the time or effort right now.”

Prodded by his fellow soldiers, Cisco finally raised his hand. “Sir, estos soldados want to know if they will get their rifles back.”

The lieutenant glared at him a long time before answering. Cisco felt himself shrinking smaller and wished that he had kept quiet. Finally, the lieutenant seemed to lose patience.

“If I could, I’d take away your damn uniforms, let alone your rifles,” Ballard said. “If you ask me, you don’t deserve to wear them.”

Cisco struggled to keep his voice even. They deserved better treatment than this, but he didn’t dare say anything to the officer. “Yes, sir.”

“No weapons, but you’ll all get shovels,” the lieutenant said. “Instead of being soldiers, you can expect to be put back to work as laborers, digging ditches and so forth. It seems to suit your people. Once we’ve dealt with this latest threat from the Chinese, we’ll start the court-martial process for all of you cowards.”

Having addressed the former Borinqueneers, Lieutenant Ballard stood some distance away and surveyed the dejected soldiers, shaking his head. Sergeant Weber and Cole stood beside him, along with the pilot, Lieutenant Commander Miller. Although no love was lost between Lieutenant Ballard and his hillbilly sniper, the lieutenant respected Cole’s skills as a scout and marksman. Ballard knew that if anyone could take the measure of these men and do something with them, it was Cole and the sergeant.

“Sergeant, is there any hope for these men?” the lieutenant asked.

“I do not know, sir,” said the old German sergeant, who had served in the Wehrmacht in the last war in Europe. He had seen his share of both the worst and the best troops. “To be fair, it is clear that they have had little training and with the loss of their officers and sergeants, no leadership.”

“Cole?”

“Sir, I don’t believe half them boys could find the pointy end of a bayonet.”

Ballard nodded. “Gentlemen, your assessment matches my own conclusions.”

Cole and the sergeant exchanged a look. Ballard had a knack for talking like a college boy, which he was. Someday, he’d likely go far in the officer corps if he survived Korea.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Cole added. “They’ve got plenty of fight. Look in their eyes. Those could be some mean sons of bitches if somebody taught ‘em the ass end of a rifle from the muzzle.”

“Fortunately, that’s not our job,” the lieutenant said. “We’ve just got to teach them to use a shovel, which shouldn’t take long. They’re basically wetbacks, after all.”

The Army had only integrated in July 1948, and old attitudes prevailed. Many officers were not very accepting of the idea of all soldiers being equal. In Ballard’s mind, there were white troops — and then there was everybody else. His assessment of “others” failed to take into account the heroism of blacks, Hispanics, and Asians — Koreans in particular.

While there were South Korean troops, and many had fought with distinction, there was a much larger number of South Korean laborers, or KSC. These men were given all the dirty work from digging latrines to building roads. The prevalent thought was that it was their country, so they could work for it.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “I will find shovels.”

“They can work alongside the KSC,” the lieutenant said. “They will fit right in with the gooks.”

Lieutenant Commander Miller had kept quiet until then, but he now spoke up. “Hey now, don’t call them that. If it wasn’t for the Koreans, I wouldn’t be here. Those people are a lot braver than you think. They’ve been fighting for their country for centuries, and we’ve been here for a couple of years.”

Lieutenant Ballard was not impressed by the pilot’s speech. “I’m sure things have a way of looking different from the air,” Ballard said. “Here on the ground, you’ll find out how things really are.”

With the loss of Outpost Kelly — not once, but twice — the problems for the troops defending the MLR were just beginning. The outposts were meant as a buffer. In a game of chess, the hilltop outposts would have been the pawns. The Chinese were maneuvering for a checkmate, but short of that, they’d be happy to clear the board of as many other pieces as possible.

Now, the Chinese had a foothold within easy striking distance of the main line. Up until then, the Chinese had been content with raids such as the one against the tanks, in which they had tried to disable the tanks using their Bangalore torpedoes. Fortunately, that attack had failed thanks to an alert sentry. However, it was only a matter of time before a larger force attacked the line.

Much to Lieutenant Commander Miller’s disappointment, Jang-mi had left with her two fellow villagers, intending to return home.

Cole had been present when she came to make her goodbyes. The pilot had taken her by the shoulders and thanked her again for rescuing him and saving his life. But Cole could see that the pilot’s emotions went deeper than that. The poor son of a bitch was smitten.

Cole grinned at the thought. The pilot had known the Korean woman for just a few days. Was there such a thing as love at first sight? He didn’t spend much time pondering such things. In Cole’s view, emotions were an annoyance, along the lines of rain or a bitter wind. You had to ignore them and keep going.

What he did know was that he himself had experienced an intense wartime romance with a French freedom fighter named Jolie Molyneux. That romance had been cut short in a field outside Bienville in Normandy, when she had been badly wounded. They had reunited months later at the Battle of the Bulge, but things hadn’t lasted. The cold and snow of the battlefield had smothered the spark between them.

Sometimes in war, Cole knew, you just needed a human touch as a reminder that you were still alive. With the pilot having survived a dogfight in which he lost his plane and wingman, and then being the object of a manhunt by the Chinese, Cole could understand the pilot’s connection with Jang-mi. She was also the softest and prettiest thing around and despite her mannish clothing, she had received more than a few second looks from the young soldiers.

“In a different time and place,” the pilot had muttered, watching her go. “Well, who knows?”

Jang-mi had looked back once over her shoulder, and then slipped into no-man’s land.

Much to their surprise, Jang-mi had returned several hours later. The pilot was pleased to see her, but Jang-mi’s face was troubled. She explained that a large Chinese force was marching through the hills toward the MLR. This was far worse than a few attacks based out of Outpost Kelly. It was clear that the Chinese planned a massive push to overwhelm the line and perhaps change the boundaries being discussed at the negotiating table.

The news was passed up the chain of command. Within an hour of Jang-mi’s return, Lieutenant Colonel Switalski had called a staff meeting to discuss the situation. In a highly unusual move, he had included Jang-mi in the meeting. Lieutenant Commander Miller stood beside her for moral support.

“There has been some prior intelligence that the Chinese were up to something big,” he said. “But nobody knew what.”

“You’d think someone would have spotted them from the air.”

“You know how well they move when they don’t want to be seen. They keep to the brush by day and move at night.”

“Sir, we don’t have enough men to hold the line against a massive attack. We are spread too thin.”

The officer had spoken the truth. The line was stretched thin by the necessity of defending a long boundary. The recent monsoon rains had left the supply roads a mess, putting them behind on receiving reinforcements and supplies.

Still, someone had to ask. “What about reinforcements?”

“Not a chance. First of all, everybody is stretched out like a rubber band. China is right there and can march in all the troops they want. We have to get troops here from half a world away. There are no extra divisions just waiting for our phone call. Second of all, they’d never get here in time. Not with these muddy roads and flooded rivers to contend with. No, if the Chinese come, we will have to deal with them on our own.”

Several officers who had lived through the Chinese attacks at the Chosin Reservoir or Triangle Hill remembered the crazed nighttime attacks with thousands of enemy troops pouring down on them under the intense glare of flares overhead. It was not an experience anyone was eager to repeat.

Lieutenant Commander Miller spoke up. “Sir, if I may. It was Jang-mi here who spotted the Chinese moving toward us. She comes from a village in the hills. She knows that territory like the back of her hand.”

“All right. What about it?”

“Sir, she said the bulk of their army will have to go through the pass at Lǒngmo Samseong. That’s the name of the old hill fort that guards the pass. If we’re going to stop the Chinese or at least hold them up, that’s our best chance of doing so.”

The colonel shook his head. “We don’t have men to spare for what sounds like a suicide mission.”

Lieutenant Ballard spoke next. “Sir, what Jang-mi has suggested makes sense. I’ve seen the maps. With your permission, I could lead my platoon out there. It sounds as if a small force could hold back the enemy and buy us some time.”

“We can’t afford to spare a platoon of good men.”

Ballard wasn’t ready to give up. “How about a squad, sir?” He paused. “Also, I could take the Puerto Ricans with me. It would be a chance for them to redeem themselves.”

The CO thought it over, then nodded. “I won’t order you to do this, Lieutenant. But if you’re saying you want to volunteer, that’s a different story. Make sure your men are all volunteers as well. This might very well be a one-way trip. As for the Borinqueneers, they won’t be especially missed.”

Not long after the staff meeting, Ballard had gathered his platoon. He announced the mission and soon had twenty volunteers, with Sergeant Weber, Cole, and Tommy Wilson among them. Lieutenant Commander Miller, Jang-mi, and the two Korean villagers, Seo-jun and Chul, added to their number.

Lieutenant Ballard had taken Cole aside and explained about the Borinqueneers coming along.

“Hell now, Lieutenant, what are they going to do, hit the Chinese with shovels? They don’t even have weapons.”

“They’ll be getting their rifles back, Cole. They had better know how to use them this time around. That’s where you come in.”

“Sir?”

“Once we get to this hill fort, with any luck, we’ll have a day or two to whip them into shape. I should say, you will have a day or two to whip them into shape.”

“I ain’t a drill sergeant, sir.”

“No, you’re not. But hear me out, soldier. I know we’ve had our differences, Cole, but I’ll admit that you’re the best damn shot in the company, the regiment, maybe the whole damn United States Army. If anyone can teach those sorry cases how to use a rifle, it’s you.”

“That’s just swell,” Cole said.