Fallen Sniper

Chapter Twenty-Two

As Cole and Lieutenant Commander Miller climbed down from the watchtower, it was becoming more evident that the battle for the fortress had reached a turning point. Below, Chinese soldiers swarmed across the road in coordinated attacks. Some troops focused on dismantling the barricade, while others crept closer to the walls of the fort itself, firing all the way.

On the fortress wall, with so many wounded, there were fewer defenders now to shoot back. Those who could still fight were having to scavenge ammunition from the dead and wounded. Whoever had called this place the Alamo wasn’t far wrong.

“We can’t hold out much longer,” Cole said.

“Should we pull out? I guess that’s up to Lieutenant Ballard.”

Cole shook his head. “Ballard is badly wounded, along with Sergeant Weber. They’ve both been dosed with morphine. Lieutenant Dunbar is down in his tank, which means he’s got his hands full. You know what? That makes you the ranking officer up here on the wall.”

“Ranking officer? Hell, I’m the only officer still standing,” Miller said. “But I’ve got to say, I feel a lot more at home in the cockpit.”

Cole nodded, appreciating the officer’s honesty, and decided to offer some advice. Most officers did not want to hear anything from enlisted men, but by the pilot’s own admission, he was in a different situation. “Sir, we might have called this place the Alamo, but it doesn’t have to end the same way,” Cole said. “We’ve held the Chinese off for as long as we could. I hope they put that time to good use back at HQ and brought up some reinforcements.”

“You’re not talking about surrendering, I hope.”

“Hell no, sir. I’m talking about living to fight another day.”

“Good. I like the sound of that. Anyhow, I’ll be damned if I’ll surrender to the Communists and get paraded around for their cameras like a monkey in the zoo.”

“You would be the lucky one, sir. The Chinese won’t take many prisoners. They never do. They’ll kill all of the wounded, maybe the Borinqueneers because they don’t look like proper Americans or even speak any English, and they will definitely slaughter the Koreans.”

“Those bastards would kill Jang-mi and all the rest?” Lieutenant Commander Miller looked stricken by the thought of the fate that might befall Jang-mi and Seo-jun, not to mention the other villagers. “We can’t let that happen.”

“We’ve done our part,” Cole said. “Our orders were to fight a delaying action, not stop a whole battalion. I reckon we have delayed them all that we can.”

“I hope it’s enough.”

“If we leave now, there’s a chance that we can get out ahead of the Chinese, especially if we have a rear guard to hold them off. We can come out on the other side of the barrier, which the Chinese still have to cross.”

“We’ll need to gather the wounded and make stretchers for those who can’t walk. We’ll leave anything else we can’t carry, except for weapons.”

“What about those two tanks?” Cole asked.

“What about them?”

“I have an idea for how we can put them to use.”

“I’m all ears.”

Cole explained his plan, and Miller nodded.

“All right, let’s move out,” Lieutenant Commander Miller said. “That’s an order.”

At the foot of the fortress wall, the two tanks and their crews fought for their lives. The Chinese were throwing everything they had at the tanks, intent on revenge after the tanks had wreaked so much carnage on the road.

“Our gun is useless, sir,” the gunner reported. “We can’t depress the barrel low enough to hit these bastards.”

“I know, I know,” Lieutenant Dunbar said impatiently. He was well aware that the tanks were in trouble. “Fire in short bursts to hold them off and preserve our ammunition,” Dunbar said to the crew of tank Twenty-one, then relayed the same message to the crew of tank Twenty-two.

Private Hardy was crammed into a corner of the tank, trying to keep out of the way — which wasn’t easy in such a tight space. He could hear enemy rounds of small arms fire hammering insistently on the armor plating of the tank. Without thinking about what he was doing, Hardy put his hands over his ears as if hoping that he could squeeze out those sounds.

“We’re low on ammo, Lieutenant,” came the reply from tank Twenty-two, crackling over the radio. With the other tank just a short distance away, the note of fear in the other tanker’s voice registered clearly.

“Short bursts,” Dunbar repeated.

He knew that there was no hope of resupply. When they were out of ammo for the machine guns, that was it. Once the Chinese swarmed the tanks, it would all be over. Sure, they could button up and hold out for a while, but for what purpose?

They would just be caught inside like sardines in a can. The thought brought up an unhelpful image of a spinster aunt, peeling open a can of sardines to feed to her many cats. Dunbar shuddered at the memory of the sharp smell of fish and those nasty, mewling cats. Those enemy hordes weren’t much different, waiting to claw them to pieces.

If nothing else, the Chinese could pour gasoline onto the tank and set it on fire. If the burning gas didn’t seep into whatever chinks it could find in the armor, then the flames would slowly suck all the oxygen out of the tank. Dunbar had seen the aftermath of this approach more than once.

He wanted a better ending for his tank crews, but he was at a loss.

“Sir?” The gunner was asking him something.

“What?” Dunbar snapped.

“We’re almost out of ammo for the fifty.”

“That’s just great.”

“What are we supposed to do, sir?”

He noticed the others looking at him, a little surprised. He knew that they had always been able to count on him for solutions or to get them out of a jam. But Dunbar was finally out of answers.

He reached down and drew his sidearm, then jacked a round into the chamber. The sound was so loud in the confines of the tank that it made Hardy jump.

“Listen, fellas, I won’t tell anybody how this ends for him, but I know how it ends for me. When the time comes, I’m not going to be burned alive inside this tank, and I’m sure as hell not going to surrender.” He held up the pistol. “If any of you feel the same way, let me know. I’ll shoot myself last.”

The inside of the tank grew quiet as the crew considered the dreadful decision that they must make in the next few minutes.

That’s when the radio crackled, breaking the silence.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Miller, up here on the Alamo,” came the voice. The pilot sounded almost cheerful.

Dunbar grabbed the radio. “Miller? Where’s Lieutenant Ballard?”

“Wounded. Listen, we are pulling out.”

Dunbar might have argued that he was the ranking Army officer and it wasn’t a pilot’s decision to make. But the way he saw it, the time had come either to retreat or die in their tanks. With the enemy pressing in around them, he wondered if it wasn’t already too late for options.

“We’ll have to abandon the tanks,” he said. “I hate to do it, but they will only slow us down. Anyhow, we don’t have enough gas to make it back.”

“You’re right about leaving the tanks, but we’ve got an idea for that,” Miller said, then explained his plan.

Lieutenant Dunbar nodded, then signed off. For the first time in hours, something like a grin crossed his grim features. He gave the order to fire up the engines one last time.

The tank crew had overheard the order to retreat, but it was easier said than done. There was the best part of an enemy battalion shooting at them. With the barricade across the road, the tanks were as boxed in as the Chinese battalion. Even a tank would be hard-pressed to smash through that mess.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asked, clearly puzzled.

“If we could do it, I’d have you drive us back to Seoul,” Dunbar said. “Short of that, I’d say we’ve got enough gas for one last fight.”

As it turned out, the tanks didn’t have far to go. With engines roaring, they charged across the clearing toward the road. The troops in front of them scattered, being no match for several tons of churning steel.

Individual soldiers came at them with Bangalore torpedoes, heading for the tracks in hopes of disabling the tanks. The tanks’ machine guns picked off the attackers they could see, but others ran at them from their blind flanks, ready with their destructive stick grenades.

A rifle fired from the fortress wall, dropping one attacker with each shot. It was Cole, giving the tanks a clear path toward the road.

“Slow it down!” Lieutenant Dunbar barked, worried that their momentum was going to carry them over the cliff on the far side of the road. The tank did not have the precision handling of a sports car. “If we go over the edge, that’s it!”

The engine slowed, and they were joined by tank Twenty-two.

“Easy does it. I’ll bet nobody has ever parallel-parked in a tank before.”

Maneuvering carefully in the tight space between the fort and the road, the two tanks positioned themselves end to end, nosing into the piled logs and brush to add their tons of armored steel to the barrier across the road.

The lieutenant ordered everybody out and the crews of both tanks fled through the hatches. Fortunately for them, their sudden maneuver had caused the enemy fire to slacken enough that they all managed to get off the tanks and on the other side of the barrier without anyone being hit.

Like the captain of a sinking ship, Dunbar was the last man out. However, he still had one last task. Taking a jerry can of gasoline, he tipped it over to flood the inside of the tank. From the top of the tank, the sheer face of the cliff was just below. When he glanced that way at the yawning space, the gasoline fumes and vertigo made him feel dizzy.

He shook his head to clear it. He wasn’t done yet.

Bullets whistled overhead as he pulled the pin on a grenade and dropped it down the hatch of his tank.

“Sorry about this, old girl,” he muttered. “Fire in the hole.”

A gout of flame erupted through the hatch and the tank shuddered. He ran over to the other tank to pour gasoline and drop a grenade down its hatch as well.

The tanks were now burning madly, so that at any moment the ammunition inside was going to blow sky high.

Dunbar figured that he would scramble over the barrier, but the piles of brambles caught at his uniform like barbed wire, and jagged branches gouged at him no matter which way he crept. No wonder the barrier had been so effective in holding back the enemy. Finally, he landed in a scratched heap on the other side.

“Remind me not to do that again,” he said.

Nearby, the surviving defenders were joining the tank crew on the road. They had used the back way out to escape the fort. Dunbar shook his head at the sight of so many wounded. Many were wounded in the shoulders or arms and could still walk. The worst of the wounded were on makeshift stretchers and carrying them was a backbreaking task that was going to delay the retreat. Nobody even considered leaving them, because that meant certain death at the hands of the enemy.

The barrier and the furiously burning tanks would slow down the Chinese, but for how long?

Cole took a drink of water from his canteen, having much the same thoughts as the tank commander. There were a lot of walking wounded and a handful of stretchers. He considered all the long miles back to the MLR, much of it through rough country. The barrier would hold back such a determined enemy for only so long.

He nodded, having made up his mind.

He looked around for the kid. If he had been wounded at the front line, he would have been sent to an aid station at the very least. But out here, when every man was needed, the medic had patched him up and given him a tiny dose of morphine that dulled the pain but kept him in action.

“Kid, get me a spare rifle from one of the wounded,” Cole said. “Make sure it’s loaded and has some extra clips. Then put it by that log there.”

“What do you need the rifle for, Hillbilly? You’ve already got your sniper rifle.”

“Just do it, kid. We ain’t got much time.”

Of course, the kid figured out what they were for. The painkillers hadn’t addled his mind that much, at least. “We’re going to fight them off, aren’t we? They can only come across the barrier in small groups, so we’ll have a chance to pick them off. We can hold them off for a while, at least until everybody else gets away.”

“Ain’t no we about it, kid. You go on with the rest. I’m going to stay right here.”

“What are you talking about? I can’t leave you here alone. You can’t face all those Chinese by yourself—“

Cole interrupted him. “I’ve already made up my mind and there’s no changing it.”

“No, you can’t—“

Cole held out his hand in a gesture meant to end further argument. “Maybe I’ll come out the other side of this and maybe I won’t. Either way, it’s been good knowing you, kid. You ever get to Gashey’s Creek, look up Norma Jean Elwood for me, will you? Tell her how much I appreciated those letters and that none of any of this was her fault. I’ve made my own choices in this world, and that’s a fact.”

With tears on his cheeks, the kid shook Cole’s hand.

“Go on. Catch up with the others.” Cole nodded toward the barrier, where the massed enemy could be seen on the other side of the flames, looking for a way through. “Now is the time to git while the gittin’ is good.”

Once the kid had left, Cole turned his attention to the defenses at hand. He knew that he couldn’t hold the Chinese off forever. There were simply too many of them. But he could hold them off for long enough that what remained of the task force could have a chance of escaping.

On the other side of the barrier, the enemy was making every effort to get past the obstruction. It didn’t seem to matter that the tanks were burning. Soldiers were sacrificed to pull away logs or flaming brush, even if it meant catching on fire themselves. Bit by bit, one log and stone at a time, the barrier was being dismantled. When that happened, the enemy would come pouring through.

Cole picked up the M-1 and started shooting through the flames at the figures on the other side. The licking fire made the figures seem devilish and inhuman, like demons from the underworld. Cole fired again and again, his bullets adding to the misery on that side of the barrier. He reloaded and fired until the magazine was empty.

An hour went by as the enemy worked to tear down the barrier and Cole shot at them. Now and then, someone shot back, but the bullets went wide. Despite his efforts, the barrier slowly came apart. The tanks were burning themselves out, leaving smoldering skeletons that the Chinese soldiers clambered onto — never mind that the metal was still so hot that the soles of their thin rubber shoes melted. They were urged forward by their commanders and their political officers, which meant that there was no choice but to go forward.

“Come on, you sons of bitches,” Cole muttered, taking aim as soldiers began to get through, first in ones and twos. Cole picked them off. He had wanted the semiautomatic M-1 for just this reason because he could drop soldiers as fast as he could pull the trigger.

A small group charged across and Cole put down the rifle when it clicked on an empty chamber, then pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it. That held back the enemy for a little while, at least.

Another group charged, and Cole threw another grenade. He still had one more grenade to go.

Cole reached for his rifle, picking up the Springfield this time. His rate of fire was slower, but he liked the feel of the familiar stock in his hands. Better to die with an old friend, he supposed.

He put the rifle to his shoulder and fired, dropping another soldier.

But now, more and more soldiers streamed through the barrier, gathering in the road in front of Cole. They were led by a political officer who looked as if he had been through the wringer, his once-fancy uniform now torn and dirty. Cole thought that the Chinese officer had the same frantic energy as a mean little banty rooster.

Across the road, the two men locked eyes and a jolt of recognition passed between them. Cole could see that this was the officer who had terrorized the village and tried to capture the downed pilot. This was also the officer who had been on the hilltop, directing the snipers shooting down at the parapet.

The son of a bitch seemed to know Cole, too — he was smiling at Cole with a wolfish grin.

“Nín!” the Chinese officer shouted.

“You,” Cole muttered back.

Cole tried to pick him off, but somehow, the officer always managed to keep a buffer of soldiers in front of him. The mass of soldiers grew, fanning out down the road and pressing toward Cole, forcing him closer to the edge of the cliff beyond the road.

He kept shooting. More Chinese swarmed onto the road now, his bullets barely making a dent in their numbers. A few bullets whistled around Cole, then stopped. To his surprise, the Chinese officer seemed to be ordering the men not to shoot.

Cole didn’t plan on returning the favor. He fired at a man no more than a dozen feet away who looked ready to rush him.

Cole realized that the Chinese weren’t trying to shoot him anymore. There were at least twenty rifles pointed at him, but nobody was shooting. They intended to capture him.

Cole remembered what Lieutenant Commander Miller had said about the Chinese wanting to put prisoners on parade like animals in a zoo.

“Like hell you will,” Cole said. For good measure, he shot another enemy. The faces of the soldiers looked terrified, knowing that they might be next, but they held their fire. They were more scared of the officer than they were of Cole.

Cole was down to his last clip. He fired several more times, but the Chinese just stepped over the bodies of the dead and tightened the circle around him, trapping Cole against the cliff.

Finally, he had one bullet left. Not sure what else to do, Cole lowered the rifle muzzle but kept the Springfield pressed to his shoulder.

The officer stepped forward, still wearing that broad grin. He held his hand out toward Cole, indicating that he should hand over his rifle.

Cole looked past the officer at the grim Chinese faces encircling him. He edged backwards, trying to put as much space between them as possible, but there was no place left for Cole to go. He was at the edge of the cliff. He looked over his shoulder at the yawning emptiness. He saw treetops, boulders, the glimmer of water far below.

Pretty as a picture postcard, he thought.

“You surrender,” the Chinese officer said in passable English, gesturing again for Cole to hand over his rifle.

If he made any effort to raise his rifle now, he would be riddled with bullets — or those soldiers would rush him and capture him once he had shot down one last soldier.

Damn, but he hated to give up when he still had one bullet left.

The officer watched him expectantly, still smiling. “Tóuxiáng! You surrender!” he repeated more insistently.

“You can go to hell,” Cole said.

With his back to the void, there was nowhere else to go. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do next until he did it.

Cole stepped off the cliff.

The Chinese watched in amazement, too stunned to react. For an instant, Cole appeared to defy gravity and hung in the air. It was just enough time to raise the rifle and shoot that banty rooster of an officer through the head.

Then Cole fell.