Frozen Sniper

Chapter Fourteen

High above the frozen landscape, a helicopter approached the isolated Army outpost. The helicopter resembled nothing so much as an ungainly insect, creeping awkwardly across the gray sky, its rotors beating a rhythm that echoed across the mountain ridges and valleys.

The thumping sound had earned these helicopters their nickname, choppers. The noise traveled for miles in the frigid air.

"That'll be the brass, coming to tell us to hold our position at all costs," Pomeroy said, sounding disgusted. “Chances are, we’re not getting any help, either.”

Cole reckoned he was right about that.

Someone had nicknamed these relatively newfangled aircraft "choppers" for the rhythmic sound their rotors made beating the air, and the name had stuck.

Slow and ungainly as the choppers looked, most officers preferred not to fly in them. Instead, they opted for a rough ride in an open Jeep across many miles of rutted road. That wasn't really an option for Almond, who was coming from too far away. His motorcade wouldn't have made it as far as the Army position, anyway. It was one thing to fly over the Chinese forces, and an altogether different thing to try to drive through them.

This particular chopper carried General Almond to the regiment headquarters. Almond could see the landscape below, but what he couldn't see were the Chinese troops hidden all around. If only he had, the outcome of the meeting that was to come might have been different.

It would have been easy enough for the Chinese to unleash heavy machine-gun fire or even sniper fire as the helicopter approached, but a few Corsair planes in the vicinity discouraged any such attacks. None of the Chinese wanted to invite a payload of napalm on their positions, so they worked to stay hidden during the daylight hours.

"There they are, sir," the pilot announced, pointing toward a cluster of military equipment. The equipment was almost swallowed up by the surrounding landscape.

"I see them," Almond said. If he had any additional impressions, he did not share them with the pilot.

The chopper settled to the ground, the wash of its rotors scattering dust and snow. Then General Almond emerged, surrounded by aides that included an Army photographer to capture any historic poses or handshakes, and hustled toward the command post. It was quite a show, but that was to be expected from General MacArthur's man on the ground in Korea.

In all fairness to Almond, he was known as an excellent administrator and had served MacArthur well. Almond had learned from one of the best. For all his faults, not to mention his narcissistic personality, MacArthur possessed glimmers of greatness. He had also proven himself highly effective at winning over the Japanese. Overseen by anyone else, the post-war occupation of Japan might have been a bitter disaster. But MacArthur had handled the situation deftly, creating a productive peace and strong ally. The question remained as the war grew more serious in Korea, was MacArthur still the old warrior or had he grown soft and complacent?

Almond had been a keen student of the great man, and overseeing operations in Korea was MacArthur's way of grooming Almond for something more. Almond's orders were to take troops all the way to the Yalu, and he would settle for nothing less, which was why he had ordered a chopper to fly him out. He wanted to see for himself exactly why all forward advances had stopped. Essentially, General Almond was MacArthur’s direct emissary, which gave his presence added weight.

Tall and ruggedly handsome, Almond looked imperious next to Colonel McLean and LTC Don Faith, the commander and second in command of the regiment. Both of these other men looked exhausted and disheveled, having survived two nights of intense Chinese attacks. Although they had not been directly involved in combat, they had done their best to direct the defense against overwhelming odds. Both men were extremely competent and well-respected by their men.

General Almond entered headquarters and nodded at McLean and Faith. If he was at all taken aback by their appearance, he didn't say a word. He seemed to have just one item on his agenda, which was the advance toward China.

"What's the situation here?" he asked without preamble. "You look like you're settled in, Colonel. Your men appear to be dug in and have established defensive positions. This is not a stopping point. Your orders are to push on toward the Yalu."

The colonel exchanged a look with his second-in-command, then responded to the general. "Sir, about that. My men have hit quite a bit of resistance. We've got thousands of Chinese troops between us and the river. Just last night, we were almost overrun. My men need reinforcements and supplies if we're to hang on, never mind push on."

"Chinese troops? Surely you are mistaken. There can't be more than a handful."

Again, McLean and Faith exchanged a look, before the colonel replied: "General, perhaps you should ask them yourself. We have a couple of captured Chinese soldiers here."

Almond nodded, and the officers went into the next room, where the Chinese were being held. Both of the Chinese soldiers were quite young, barely more than teenagers. They wore the quilted uniforms that had become so ubiquitous to the men in the forward companies. Up close, the uniforms looked more like some version of long underwear than any sort of military uniform. Both men wore large tags that identified them as "Prisoners of War POW" as if they were bundles of goods for sale at an auction.

Like their American counterparts, the Chinese POWs had suffered terribly in the cold. Their feet were now heavily bandaged due to frostbite. Olive drab blankets covered their shoulders. Neither man was restrained, and they both held warm mugs of coffee in their hands, smiling as if they were very lucky to be here in this room, warm and bandaged and drinking something hot — and alive. Clearly, they couldn't understand a word of English, but they kept nodding reassuringly at the faces standing over them.

Although their comrades had delivered death and fear upon the American troops, the very last thing that these smiling young men seemed to be was a threat.

The colonel explained to General Almond that these men had been captured the day before, in the early morning hours. Apparently, they had become separated from their units in the confusion of the midnight attacks and had wandered aimlessly until stumbling into the American lines. The fact that they didn't have rifles had probably saved their lives. The prisoners had shared the fact that they had been sent into combat without any weapons, with orders to pick up rifles dropped by the dead or wounded. The Chinese seemed to have more men than rifles to arm them.

No wonder these poor bastards had been happy to surrender.

"So that's the enemy?" Almond asked in disbelief. Like a lot of career officers in the Pacific, he had seen something of the Chinese military in the 1940s and had not been impressed. Like the men here before him, most of the Chinese soldiers had been poorly trained and underfed peasants. They had been defeated again and again by the Japanese military. He was incredulous that the commander claimed that more Chinese like these were blocking his advance.

"Yes, sir," the colonel said. "We have a couple of ROK officers here who speak a little Chinese, and they were able to communicate with these prisoners. They are from two different divisions. And they are positioned just out there."

The colonel indicated the surrounding hills with a sweep of his hand.

"Two divisions?"

"That is correct, sir."

Almond shook his head. If there really were two divisions out there, that meant as many as 20,000 enemy troops confronted around 3,000 U.S. and ROK soldiers under the colonel's command. Those numbers seemed too overwhelming to consider.

"Impossible," Almost said. "There are definitely not two Chinese divisions in front of you. Your orders stand, Colonel. You are to advance toward the Yalu River and the Chinese border."

"But sir—"

Almond put his hands on his hips and glared at the colonel. "Don't tell me that you're going to let a few Chinese laundrymen stop you."

The disparaging comment seemed to hang in the air. Colonel McLean, Lieutenant Colonel Faith, and the handful of other officers present stared in disbelief at the general. It was as if he hadn't listened to any of their reports about the huge numbers of wounded, the lack of food and ammunition, or dwindling numbers of combat effective troops.

Finally, the colonel said, "Yes, sir."

What General Almond had not shared with these Army officers was that he had delivered similar orders to the Marines on the western side of the Chosin Reservoir. The commander there, General Oliver P. Smith, had raised similar concerns about the overwhelming numbers of Chinese troops that his Marines seemed to be facing.

Like the Army regiment on the eastern side of the reservoir, the Marines had come close to being completely overrun, but had managed to hang on during the nighttime attack. Smith had asked for more men and supplies, but again, Almond was having none of that.

In a few days, when the Marines finally did pull out against the overwhelming odds, General Smith would famously state, "We're not retreating. We're just advancing in a different direction."

That time hadn't come yet, and all in all, the Marines were in a stronger position in that they had more troops and were better supplied. However, their position remained desperate enough. During the day, the Corsairs with their napalm and bombs kept the Chinese forces at bay, but at nightfall, the enemy would return in force to attack.

"Now that we've settled all that, let's go outside where the light is better," the general said. His tone changed, signaling that the strategy conference was over and that there were other things to discuss. "I want to recognize you and your staff for the outstanding job you have been doing."

"Sir?" the colonel asked, not really comprehending, but Almond was already outside. The colonel and his staff had no choice but to follow.

The photographer that Almond had brought along got into position as the general proceeded to present both McLean and Faith with Silver Stars. The medal was actually a large gold star with a smaller silver star in the center, suspended from a red, white, and blue ribbon. The award was the third-highest medal for valor on the battlefield.

Faith protested, "General, I don't deserve this medal. I've done nothing while the men in the field are the ones who held back the Chinese."

The colonel shot his second-in-command a warning look. This was sufficient to keep Faith standing at attention as General Almond pinned the medal on him. The photographer asked them to do it a second time so that he could get a better angle, but the entire ceremony was over in minutes because nobody wanted to linger in the cold. The temperature hovered at around fifteen degrees, but the incessant wind made it feel much colder. After the sun went down, the temperatures promised to plummet yet again to well below zero.

In the distance, they heard the sharp crack of isolated rifle fire. "What's that shooting about?" Almond wanted to know.

"Probably just one of those non-existent Chinese soldiers," Faith muttered.

Almond's face clouded. "What's that?"

The colonel jumped in. "The men are jumpy, sir. It's probably nothing. Then again, we have been taking periodic sniper fire. The Chinese have the high ground, so there's not much we can do if they want to pick us off."

"All right," Almond said. "Carry on, Colonel. I've got to get back. But let's be clear — there aren't going to be any reinforcements. I'll send you what I can in the way of supplies. Keep going toward the Yalu."

"Yes, sir."

At that, Almond and his small entourage made their way back toward the chopper, which was already powering up. McLean and Faith watched until the helicopter began climbing into the sky.

Then Faith ripped the new medal off his chest and threw it into the snow.

"Nuts to that!" he said.

"Sir?" A lieutenant was staring, perhaps thinking that his superior officer had lost his mind to have tossed away the Silver Star.

"I don't deserve this medal. It ought to go to one of those poor bastards in the foxholes." Faith paused. "Maybe one of the dead ones."

No one even else even remarked on Faith's actions. Truth be told, they were all more than a little stunned by General Almond's parting words.

He hadn't come to save them or to offer reinforcements.

He was telling them to press the advance.

It was madness.

The general was leaving them high and dry, even as nightfall approached and the Chinese would surely send fresh waves of attackers.