Fallen Sniper

Chapter Eighteen

Several miles away from the old fortress of Lǒngmo Sanseong, Major Wu and Deng kept pace with the other Chinese troops hurrying through the hills. Instead of marching in columns, the soldiers had spread out so that the mass of moving men in their grayish uniforms gave the illusion that the thickets themselves were flowing across the landscape.

It always amazed Wu that such large numbers of men could move so quietly. Orders were kept to a minimum and there was no shouting. A few words spoken here and there seemed to be all that were needed. Instead, the officers and non-commissioned officers led by example.

Most of the troops wore light-soled shoes, enabling them to move quietly. However, the thin shoes were not much use against the rocks or the growing cold. Very few of the Chinese soldiers had anything resembling a winter coat and none wore helmets — the Communists lacked enough metal or factories to supply thousands of soldiers with steel helmets.

It was amazing that a force this size had no mechanized vehicles whatsoever, or even any horses or mules to carry supplies. The soldiers themselves served as pack animals, lugging mortar shells and spare food, although there was precious little of that.

No one complained.

Wu felt a swelling of pride for the soldiers around him. They had sacrificed so much and come so far. Surely, they would be rewarded with victory.

“Chairman Mao would be proud,” he shouted. “Together, we will crush the enemy in their laziness!”

Several soldiers turned toward him, their eyes wide with alarm. Everyone knew that their success depended upon silence.

“Sir, we must be quiet,” a young officer said urgently, glaring at Wu.

“Of course, but it is always good to remind the men of their Communist principles,” Wu replied, grinning, although internally he seethed at the lieutenant’s rebuke. He decided that when the time was right, he would find this young officer lacking in certain Communist ideals. He might very well find himself in a re-education camp as a result of his outburst. The thought made Wu grin that much more.

Major Wu was not part of the military planning, but as a political officer, he was privy to their objective. This Chinese army would move unseen through the hills and launch a surprise attack on the defensive positions held by the United Nations troops, particularly the United States. If there was any country that was their adversary in this war, it was America. None of the other nations was powerful enough on its own to wage this war. To kill a snake you must cut off the head. If they could strike a blow against the Americans, the victory would serve them well at the negotiating table where lines were being drawn to decide the fate of the Korean Peninsula.

Wu managed to keep silent for most of the march. They moved mostly at night, as Chinese troops always had, forced by necessity to avoid the enemy planes that prowled the skies by daylight. More and more, their own planes had been taking to the sky, but not in numbers great enough to drive away the enemy.

The air war was a bitter reminder that Wu had let the downed American pilot slip through his fingers. What a prize that pilot would have been!

Wu salved his wounded pride by telling himself that it was the American sniper who had ultimately denied him his prize. Wily and tough, he had arrived just in time to rescue the pilot and those traitorous villagers. Wu and Deng had pursued them as far as possible, but had never caught up.

Now, Wu hoped for a chance to redeem himself in the coming attack. He commanded a small but effective group of snipers.

He glanced over at Deng, carrying his rifle with its telescopic sight over one shoulder. Deng was his most reliable and celebrated sniper, but there were now two others, Liu and Huang. It spoke to Wu’s rising influence that he had been able to obtain two more rifles that shot accurately, even if these lacked telescopes, as well as two more soldiers who were good shots.

“Deng, when we reach the enemy line, we will move into position to make the best use of our sniper rifles,” Wu said quietly, having been chastised already for being too loud. “You will each shoot one hundred of the enemy.”

“I wish to shoot two hundred,” said Deng, who had caught on to the fact that Wu tended to inflate his reports.

“Yes! Even better. Soon enough, we shall put that rifle to work.”

“Do you want me to shoot that disrespectful lieutenant for you?”

Wu considered Deng’s offer. Maybe the young officer wasn’t destined for a re-education camp, after all. “If he should fall heroically in battle, this might be for the best.”

Deng nodded.

Wu patted Deng on the shoulder and handed him a bottle of rice wine to keep his spirits up. Loyalty had its rewards.

“I would not mind meeting that American sniper again. You know, the one with the flag painted on his helmet?”

“We can only hope to be so fortunate,” Wu said, his voice carrying.

“Sir? Do you mind? We must be quiet.” It was the young lieutenant again, scowling at Wu.

Wu nodded at him, grinning apologetically. Once the young officer had moved on, Wu turned to Deng and whispered, “Shoot the American sniper first, but make sure you shoot the lieutenant next.”

Deng nodded grimly.

For many miles, they had made their own way through the hills. But the hills were closing in on them, becoming steeper and more impenetrable. In fact, the army was being funneled toward a gap in the hills, which would be the more direct way of reaching the enemy positions. Closer to daylight, the soldiers began to follow a narrow road through the hills. The officers knew that this concentration of men was under grave threat of attack if seen by enemy planes. They would have to get through the gap and disperse again to use the thickets as cover before the enemy planes began their daylight patrols.

With a few whispered words, the officers urged their men on faster. Wu and his snipers were caught up like sticks swirling in a flooded stream.

All around Wu and Deng, the Chinese army flowed on, moving toward dawn and battle.

As darkness fell, the defenders made a cold camp for the night. No fires would be allowed. Their success would depend upon the enemy marching into what was essentially a trap and they couldn’t take the chance that the distant light of their fires might give them away. Sentries were strung out along the approach to the fort with orders to fire a warning shot if the enemy was sighted during the night. There was no telling when the enemy would arrive.

Meanwhile, the others tried to get as comfortable as they could.

“I wish we could at least warm up these rations,” the kid complained, digging into a cold can of stew and spearing a chunk of potato, which he popped into his mouth and chewed in a desultory fashion. He tugged his jacket tighter. Here in the higher elevations, the nights were chill in the shadow of the fortress wall.

“Enjoy it while you can, kid,” Cole said. “It’s gonna get right warm around here once the Chinese show up.”

“Can we stop them?”

“If we don’t stop them, we’ll sure as hell slow them down,” Cole said.

The kid nodded and forced down another lump of cold potato. “We’ve got our squad and the two tanks. Those Korean villagers look tough as nails, if you ask me. But do you think those Borinqueneers will hold up?”

“Only time will tell,” Cole said. “If they cut and run, we’ll be in a world of trouble.”

Cole had been in some tight places, and tomorrow promised to be another one. Their ragtag task force was supposed to stop a small army? It seemed a foolish notion, but then again, they had all volunteered for this.

The kid looked out at the darkness, lost in his own thoughts. “Do you think this place is haunted? This fort must have been here for centuries. I’ll bet lots of people have died here.”

Cole began to lay out the tools to clean his rifle. “I reckon it is haunted. Anyplace this old must have ghosts. But there ain’t been a ghost yet to stick a bayonet in your ribs. It’s only the living who can do that. We’re a lot safer with the ghosts. Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

“What about you? You can’t get that rifle any cleaner.”

“Don’t worry about me, kid. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

Hardy was sacking out with the tankers. The remnants of the monsoon clouds had cleared enough to reveal the stars, which wheeled overhead, pinpricks of cold light. There had been rumors that the Soviets or possibly the United States planned to send men into space. Hardy figured there were enough problems in the world that mankind didn’t need to worry about space just yet.

A sentry was posted in each tank turret, watching the road. The tank crews were stretched out in foxholes, which was a lot more comfortable than trying to sleep in contorted positions inside the tanks. Given warning, they could be up and at their stations inside of a minute.

“Can we hold back this army?” Hardy asked Lieutenant Dunbar, who lay in his sleeping bag nearby. His tank crews had stretched out on the surrounding ground, but never straying far from the tanks.

“As long as they don’t have artillery and they don’t rush us, we can give ‘em hell all day long if we have to,” Dunbar said. “At least, we can until we run out of ammunition. There won’t be any resupply out here.”

“What happens when you run out of ammunition for the tanks?”

“We’ll fight as long as we can, one way or another. You’ve heard of the Alamo, right? We’ve been dubbed Outpost Alamo for good reason. It might be like that.”

Hardy had brought along a rifle, but he planned to observe the battle and take photographs, rather than fight. Up until a moment ago, Hardy had been excited about the possibility of a great story and photographs for the Stars and Stripes. But Dunbar’s words and the darkness itself began to sink in. It hadn’t occurred to him that there might not be any leaving this place.

The Alamo? Every American had heard the story of the Alamo. And everyone knew that the outnumbered defenders had all died in the end. Even the famous frontiersman, Davy Crockett, had perished.

“I tell you what. If we live through tomorrow, promise that you’ll come visit me in Indiana after the war,” Hardy said. “I’ll buy you a steak dinner.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Nearby, the Korean villagers who had come to help defend the fort slept on the ground or ate their own meager meals. Due to the war, their own food was in short supply. They eagerly divided the C rations that Lieutenant Ballard had provided.

Jang-mi did not have so much as a blanket, but had stretched out on the ground near Seo-jun and Chul. She did not know all of the Koreans who had come down out of the hills to fight, but she felt safe near these two, at least. They would defend her, just as she would defend them.

Earlier, she had tried to send Seo-jun away. He was barely more than a boy, and she wished to spare him from certain death. She had no illusions about what would happen once the large enemy force arrived.

Seo-jun seemed too young to understand that this might be his last night on earth.

She was not so old herself, but she had made peace with this life.

The same seemed true of Chul, who was old enough to be her father. He did not talk much, but he seemed content with his fate. His philosophy seemed to be that it was better to die now, than die later. If the Communists won, there might be no safe place in all of Korea for those who loved their freedom.

A bittersweet feeling had seemed to steal over the entire camp, as if the defenders collectively agreed that this might be their last night alive. A few of the Koreans had started singing old folk songs, some funny, some mournful.

Jang-mi was still listening as she started to drift off to sleep, but she jolted upright at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. These were not the light steps of a Korean. To her delight, it was the American pilot. Against all odds, considering their very different backgrounds, she found herself drawn to the American. Outlined against the stars, he was carrying a folded blanket.

“I thought you might want this,” he said. “It’s going to be chilly tonight.”

“What about you?” she wondered, accepting the blanket gratefully. Neither the cold ground nor her thoughts offered any warmth or comfort.

“You saved my life, remember? The least I can do is offer you a blanket.”

“You will be cold. Here,” she said, spreading the blanket over her shoulders and lifting a corner to indicate that Lieutenant Commander Miller should join her. A moment later, they were sitting side by side under the blanket. Jang-mi had been in many battles and survived many difficult situations, but she was surprised at the rapid beating of her heart, caused by nothing more than this man’s presence.

Suddenly embarrassed at what the others would think of her, she looked around again for Chul and Seo-jun, but saw the older man leading the boy farther away, as if to give Jang-mi and the American their privacy.

“I wish we had more time, Jang-mi,” the pilot said. “I would like to get to know you better. All that we have is tonight.”

Jang-mi nodded, then tugged the blanket closer across their shoulders, joining them together in mutual warmth. “We have tonight,” she agreed.