Chapter One

Caje Cole heard movement on the trail ahead and signaled for the others behind him to halt. Abruptly, the sounds in front of him stopped and the surrounding woods and rocky terrain seemed to be holding its breath.

Whatever was out there knew that Cole’s squad was here. It was too much to hope that it was a deer or wild boar. He hadn’t seen much wildlife in Korea, even here in some of the more remote hills.

No, whatever was out there was likely Chinese, riled up, and well-armed.

He held himself very still, straining to hear something more. Mostly, he heard the permanent ringing that had developed in his ears, a consequence of firing a Springfield rifle through two wars.

At any moment, he half-expected gunfire to come ripping at him through the brush. He held his rifle with its scoped sight halfway to his shoulder, poised to fire — and just as ready to hit the deck.

But Cole wasn’t one to turn tail and run. He sniffed the air like some prehistoric hunter — the rifle could have been his spear — and studied the brush ahead with his intense gray eyes.

Behind him, the kid asked, “What’s the dope, Hillbilly?”

“Ya’ll stay alert,” Cole replied quietly in his soft Appalachian mountain drawl. “Might be some goons up ahead. I’ll take a look. Stay put.”

If they did run into trouble, the squad of four men was on its own out here. They had been sent to scout the surrounding countryside for enemy threats.

The army had air cover, but the pilots couldn’t always see the enemy moving through the heavy brush. If there was one thing that the Chinese had figured out by now, it was how to slip through the landscape without being spotted by the planes that suddenly appeared on the horizon to deal death and destruction on the enemy troops below with bombs, Napalm, or their .50 caliber machine guns. The fact that the enemy couldn’t always be seen from above necessitated the boots on the ground approach of patrols like Cole’s.

As the senior veteran here and with his reputation as the unit’s crack shot, he was in charge of the squad — although truth be told, Cole preferred not to be in charge of anything. He worked best alone, which suited him well as a sniper.

At least two miles behind them lay the bulk of United States and United Nations forces that had probed deep into the Taebaek Mountains. Before they advanced any further, they had to make sure that they weren’t marching right into a trap set by the Chinese.

Cole crept forward, moving silently up the trail. The meandering nature of the narrow path through the brush and woods hinted at the fact that it had been cut by years — maybe centuries — of passing game and Korean peasants moving their small herds of livestock through the hills. The entire mountain range seemed to be crisscrossed by these paths, and the North Koreans who guided the Chinese forces knew the routes well. Cole was moving blindly forward, unsure of where the narrow trail was taking him.

One thing for sure was that whoever — or whatever — was waiting ahead of him must have heard the squad. He sensed that they were keeping still, hoping to hear more. They would also be expecting Cole to move right up the trail toward them, directly into the muzzles of their nasty little Soviet-made machine guns.

Time for a change in plans.

Cole slipped off the trail into the brush. His feet did not make a sound, moving as quietly as if the ground was covered with lush carpet instead of brush and pebbles. Growing up as a hunter had taught him how to move silently as the forest creatures that he had stalked.

Keeping low, he moved parallel to the trail, essentially flanking whoever was on it, waiting to ambush him. The one benefit to the narrow trail was that it forced whoever was on it to remain in single file, or at least, that’s what Cole hoped. If the enemy was fanned out through the woods, then the squad was in trouble.

* * *

Cole sniffed. Finally, he could smell the enemy. The Chinese had a particular smell, like onions and garlic and maybe old fish worked in for good measure. When Cole explained that he could smell the enemy he didn’t mean to be derogatory toward the Chinese, as some might think. The simple fact was that they smelled different from Americans.

According to the South Koreans, American troops also had their own smell, and not necessarily a good one — mostly like hamburgers and cigarettes. Being an American, of course, Cole couldn’t detect that odor, but he could sure as hell smell the Chinese.

Through the brush, he saw a figure on the trail, and then more troops behind the leading man. The padded cotton uniforms of Chinese troops were instantly recognizable. The Chinese did not wear helmets, but favored caps or Russian-style ushankas in the colder months. Although the men were in single file, they gazed with singular purpose at the empty trail ahead of them, their weapons at the ready. It was clear that they intended to ambush the Americans headed toward them.

But not all of the enemy was facing forward. The Chinese weren’t that dumb. One or two soldiers kept their weapons pointed into the brush. They couldn’t see Cole, but their precaution marked them as experienced combat troops, prepared for an attack from any direction.

What are those goons up to? Cole wondered.

He could have opened fire and picked off the first couple of men, but he didn’t like his chances with the bolt-action Springfield, which meant that he had to work the bolt each time he fired a shot. The slow rate of fire was a trade-off. It was a good rifle for a sniper — you couldn’t find a more accurate weapon, in Cole’s humble opinion — but a bolt action rifle wasn’t the best weapon for taking on an enemy patrol in a firefight.

He reckoned his chances might be better if he could get behind these bastards and start picking them off. They wouldn’t be expecting that.

Silently, he worked his way up through the brush. The enemy soldiers on the road appeared alert, but none the wiser to Cole’s presence.

Up ahead, the brush seemed to open up, which was typical of this mountain landscape. It was a patchwork quilt of bounders, ravines, brushy swaths, and barren stretches similar to what the mountain people called scald land back home — too rocky for anything to grow except tufts of heather and lichen.

Cole was so intent on keeping an eye on the enemy troops who occupied the trail that he nearly made a fatal mistake. He emerged from the trees and froze. In the opening, he saw dozens of enemy soldiers. Some sat on the ground, drinking from canteens that they had picked up off various battlefields or smoking captured cigarettes. It was clear that the troops on the path were an advance party, probing ahead of this larger force.

Cole had run smack dab into a small army of Chinese.

Although the troops were not on high alert, he had emerged practically into their midst like a barn cat among the mice. The nearest soldier paused with a cigarette halfway to his mouth. The expression of surprise on his face likely mirrored Cole’s own.

What have I got myself into? Cole wondered.

Somebody shouted. Soldiers dropped their canteens and cigarettes, reaching for their weapons, figuring that they were under attack.

Cole didn’t disappoint them. He raised his rifle and shot the first soldier he saw who had leveled a submachine gun in Cole’s direction. He ran the bolt, fired again.

Cole quickly lost the element of surprise. Bullets snicked into the brush at his back. He had gone and kicked the hornet’s nest this time.

That’s when he heard the roar approaching, like thunder that rolled on and on. What the hell was that? He was used to the sound of approaching Corsairs, but this was something louder, and faster. Just as the noise reached a shrieking crescendo, a shadow swept overhead and machine-gun fire blazed across the clearing, scattering the enemy troops. Whoosh. The plane swept over the clearing and was gone. Cole realized that he was seeing a jet in action. It was the first of these new, fast planes that he had seen up close.

But there was no time to stop and watch the action. Cole was forgotten in the frenzy caused by the plane, and he took the opportunity to plunge back into the woods. That plane had just saved his bacon. Although he was back into the cover of the thicket, he still had to run the gauntlet of the Chinese soldiers on the path to his left. Lucky for Cole, the roar of the plane masked the sound he made crashing through the brush.

Normally, Cole could move quietly, but stealth required time that he didn’t have. He had to get back to his squad and warn them — hell, he had to get back to the whole damn American line with news that there was most of a Chinese army on their doorstep.

He dashed through the woods, grateful that the plane had swept back in for another go at the Chinese troops. Cole paused just long enough to pick off one of the soldiers who was watching the woods beside the trail — dead men tell no tales — then ran out on the other side of the thicket, where Tommy Wilson was staring at him, wide-eyed. Better-known as the kid, the two of them had been serving together in Korea since coming ashore at Pusan.

“We’ve got to vamoose, boys!” Cole shouted. “There’s a whole mess of goons on the other side of those trees.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, not with the sound of firing coming from the other side of the thicket. The Chinese troops back there were firing at the plane that had come back to pester them for a third strafing run. The squad turned and hot-footed it out of there.

Cole lagged behind, covering them. Sure enough, the Chinese soldiers who had been on the path came running ahead. Cole picked off the first man, worked the bolt, then shot another. But the third man had a submachine gun, which he opened up with. Bullets churned the branches as the first burst went high. The Chinese soldier wouldn’t miss again.

From just behind Cole came two quick rifle shots. The Chinese soldier with the submachine gun went down.

Cole glanced up to see the kid lowering his M-1. “Kid, what are you still doing here?”

“You don’t have to fight the whole Chinese army yourself, you know.”

“I don’t plan on it, kid.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

The dense brush on either side of the trail created a bottleneck, forcing the enemy to advance in single file. The kid fired a couple more shots at the path, forcing the oncoming Chinese to fall back.

They heard more roaring overhead. Cole looked up and was surprised to see several planes in the sky. Not all of the aircraft were American. There had been rumors that the enemy also had jet fighters, thanks to the Russians. He realized that they were seeing these enemy jet fighters for the first time.

As the aircraft soared higher, he spotted the flashes that indicated the planes were firing at one another. A rocket streaked across the sky and one of the fast-moving planes erupted in flames.

“Holy moly,” the kid said, gazing up in wonder. It was an incredible spectacle, like watching the gods battle in the heavens. One thing for sure was that they weren’t going to get any more help from the pilot, who now had problems of his own, with several enemy fighters on his tail. Cole wished him luck.

Even the Chinese on the trail had stopped firing to take in the aerial dogfight above. Cole thought it was the perfect chance to make a run for it.

“Let’s go, kid,” Cole said. “That pilot just saved my bacon again.”

He and the kid ran until they had caught up with the others, who were waiting just ahead, crouched in a bend in the trail. Like everyone else, their eyes were on the dogfight happening above. One by one, planes burst into flame or streamed smoke as they cartwheeled from the sky and disappeared from sight. At least one of the planes shot down appeared to be American. To their amazement, it had become clear that there was just one American plane and several enemy jets. The American pilot looped and rolled, trying to shake off multiple opponents.

“That pilot is chewing them up,” the kid said.

“He’s a right good pilot, that’s for damn sure, but he’s outnumbered.”

The pilot’s luck didn’t last. There was a plane behind him, and one coming up on his belly. Silver ribbons of sunlight flashed off his wings as he maneuvered, trying to shake off the enemy.

“C’mon, c’mon, watch out,” the kid muttered, urging the pilot on.

Finally, a rocket etched a trail across the sky, faster than the U.S. plane could maneuver. The rocket caught a piece of the tail and exploded. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough for the jet to go into a death spiral, shedding a trail of black smoke tinged with flame. One of the enemy planes had finally clipped the eagle’s wings.

“That poor bastard is done for,” Cole muttered.

They watched the U.S. jet going down, saddened by the spectacle. But then, a parachute bloomed in the sky. The American pilot had managed to eject. The enemy jets roared past, letting him go rather than shooting him down. There seemed to be some element of decency that remained among pilots, enemies or not.

The white parachute drifted toward the north, in the direction from which the Chinese force had been marching. The kid seemed to read Cole’s mind.

“He’s going to land right in the middle of Indian Country,” the kid said.

“Yeah,” Cole agreed. He shook his head. “There’s nothing but hills and enemy troops where that pilot was heading.”

One of the other soldiers in the squad spoke up. “He’s not our problem. Right now, we’ve got problems of our own. Those Chinese are right on our tail.”

Cole thought about that. “All right, you guys go on back to warn the regiment.”

“What about you?”

“I’m gonna see if I can find that pilot.”

“What do you care? If you ask me, he’s a goner.”

“He’s one of ours. That makes him our problem. The way I figure it, we owe him one. Like I said before, you guys vamoose.”

Nobody moved.

“What are you waiting for? Get a move on, boys. Somebody had got to warn headquarters about the Chinese head their way.”

The kid shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you, Hillbilly? You’re forgetting that the rest of us are even here. We’re not letting you do this alone.”

“All right, kid, have it your way. You come with me. The rest of you go on back. The kid and I will have a better chance if we do this on our own. That’s an order.”

“All right,” said Dowling, a squad veteran who looked clearly relieved that he would be heading in the opposite direction from the enemy. He and the other soldiers headed up the trail toward the relative safety of the main American line two miles away. With luck, they would arrive in just enough time to provide a warning about the approaching enemy force.

“Let’s get a move on,” Cole said to the kid. “The Chinese will be after that pilot, too, sure as flies on horse apples.”

“Everyone for miles around saw that dogfight,” the kid agreed.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll find this pilot before dark and skedaddle back to our lines. I don’t want to be out here at night, not with the hills crawling with goons and God knows what else.”

“But we can’t use the trail. Not with all the enemy back there.”

“Who said anything about a trail?” Cole produced a compass and took a bearing on the direction where they had last glimpsed the parachute descending. He put the compass in his pocket and nodded toward the nearest hill. “This way,” he said.

In front of them, they heard shouts. The Chinese were approaching on the path. Cole fired off a couple of shots to give them something to think about and buy the rest of the squad some time to retreat. When the return fire got too hot, Cole slipped into the thicket with the kid right behind him, and they vanished into the underbrush.

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