Frozen Sniper

Chapter Twenty-Four

A few steps ahead of Cole, the wounded soldier stumbled yet again. The man was obviously in a lot of pain and was going to be slowing them down. They were wading through drifted snow past their knees, and Thompson was leaving a bloody trail behind. It was a wonder that the man was still on his feet.

However, the Chinese sniper appeared to be losing patience with the wounded man. The sniper shouted and shoved the man roughly. Once again, the man stumbled. Instead of waiting for him to get to his feet, the sniper raised his rifle and shot him in the head. There had been no warning. One moment, the soldier was struggling through the snow. The next moment, a spray of gore that had once been the man's brains painted the snow. His body twitched a few times and lay still.

Horrified, the kid froze and stared at the mangled body. The Chinese were not interested in stopping, however. They shouted angrily and gave Tommy a vicious shove.

"Yídòng tā!"

The message needed no translation: Keep moving! The kid was smart enough to do just that, for which Cole was grateful. These soldiers were murderous bastards. In the deep snow, the surviving captors were forced to step over the dead man's body in order to stay on the trail carved by the two Chinese soldiers in the lead. Cole had seen a few cold-blooded killings in his time, and was even guilty of a few himself, but what he had just witnessed won the prize. That sniper was a son of a bitch.

In the excitement, nobody noticed that Cole had worked his hands free. He held them behind his back, leaving the rope around his wrists. He kept his head down, not wanting to attract any attention to himself. He noticed that the South Korean was doing the same. If they'd shot an American POW just because he was wounded, then a South Korean POW was worth less than spit to these people.

He'd have to wait for the right moment, which wasn't going to be easy with that trigger-happy sniper. Besides, the odds were now down to six against four, with the six Chinese captors having weapons. It didn't look good. On the other hand, if Cole didn't make a move soon, they would be too far from the American line to ever get back.

The Chinese had their own timeline, but the deeper, drifted snow out here in the open was slowing them down. They kept shouting Yídòng tā! at their captives, their eyes glancing nervously at the clearing skies. Several planes prowled in the distance, mostly following the mountain ridges where it was likely that the main body of Chinese troops was hidden. Other planes flew cover for the American column, attacking enemy troops to clear a way for the Army retreat. These planes gave Cole a rough idea of where the road was located, although each step carried them farther away and closer to the Chinese headquarters. Overhead, the planes hovered and plunged like hawks over a field of newly mown hay. They circled in ever-widening loops, but never came close enough, although the sight of the planes was making the Chinese anxious.

At that moment, Cole got an idea. All they needed to do was get the attention of one of those planes. And he had a pretty good idea of how to do it. It was an idea that might also get him killed if it didn't go right. Then again, it was a given that the Chinese were going to kill them one way or another — either a slow death as POWs or quick like Thompson. Maybe it was better to get it over with quickly.

Finally, one of the planes broke free and flew an even wider pattern. This was too much for the Chinese, who shouted at their captives and pointed toward the nearest thicket. Apparently, the idea was to hide until the plane had gone past. Their Chinese captors seemed close to panic. Only the sniper managed to keep his cool, eying the plane warily, with his rifle raised partway to his shoulder, as if debating whether or not to shoot at it. The plane was coming at them from the west — the same direction as the lowering sun. So far, it didn't seem that the plane had spotted them because it hadn't changed altitude as it normally would for a bombing run or strafing. Not only that, but its path was going to take it west of their group, keeping closer to the distant road.

Fortunately for Cole, nobody was paying any attention to him. The Chinese had bigger problems now — one with two wings and a 500-pound payload that it was itching to drop on somebody’s head.

Cole spoke quietly to Tommy nearby. “Kid, I want you to look right at the sun. See if you can get your glasses to flash at that plane.”

He knew it was a long shot, but working in their favor was the fact that the pilot would be looking for anything on the ground that was out of the ordinary. A flash of sunlight off the lenses of the kid’s glasses might be enough.

If they got lucky, the pilot of that Corsair was going to notice something glinting where there should only be rocks and brush. Cole held his breath. He was disappointed to see the plane start to move away.

But not for long. High above, the plane altered course and began to head right for them, dropping in altitude as it approached. Cole had seen it happen a dozen times before. The pilot was coming in for a strafing run, or maybe to drop a bomb. All those other times, however, Cole hadn't been on the receiving end. He had been a safe distance away, cheering on the pilot.

He had to admit that the sight of the plane coming directly at them was terrifying. One of the Chinese soldiers started firing at the plane, which only helped the pilot zero in on his target. The engines screamed as the plane began to dive.

Cole worked his hands free of the ropes and shouted, "Run!"

In an instant, the plane was upon them. The pilot gave them a burst that churned up the snow, sending captives and captors alike diving into the snowdrifts for cover. In the confusion, one of the Chinese soldiers dropped his rifle. Cole grabbed it.

The man shouted something at him and got hold of the rifle, but Cole wrenched the weapon from the man's grip, then hit him in the face with the rifle butt. Cole might have gotten shot by one of the others, but the plane was already circling back and coming in for another go at them. Those Corsairs were nimble. And this time, the pilot seemed to mean business. Cole just hoped to hell that he wasn't going to drop napalm. Cole didn't much like the idea of being turned into a burnt carcass.

Something fell from the plane, whistling as it came. Cole threw himself flat.

Seconds later, the explosion lifted him bodily into the air and tossed him several feet. Lucky for them, the pilot had overshot the target and the bomb had landed more than a hundred feet beyond them. Debris and snow filled the air. Somehow, Cole managed to hang onto the rifle.

He picked himself up and surveyed the damage. There was Pomeroy, more or less buried in the snow. The kid was picking himself up, none the worse for wear. Even the ROK soldier had managed to survive.

But so had at least some of the Chinese. Two were down, possibly stunned or wounded. But that left four enemy soldiers. One of them started to level his rifle at Cole, and Cole swung his own weapon in his direction and pulled the trigger, shooting from the hip, hoping to hell that the barrel wasn’t completely clogged with snow.

The soldier fell. Pomeroy had freed his own hands by now — the rope wasn't all that tight — and had the sense to pick up the other rifle. The odds were getting better. But what the hell had happened to the Chinese sniper? He was the guy that Cole was worried about. The bomb had hit closer to that end of their single-file column, so maybe the sniper was buried in the snow by the blast — or even dead.

"Let's go!" Cole shouted. Nobody needed to say that twice. Cole and the others ran for it.

The deep snow made it hard to run with any sort of speed, so they were forced to follow the ruts they had made earlier. Pomeroy lurched wildly on his frostbitten feet. Cole couldn't even imagine how painful that must be. He turned and grabbed Pomeroy by his coat, dragging him. "Come on!"

A round passed over their heads with an angry crack and all three of them ducked. Cole spun and fired a couple of wild shots at the Chinese, not even bothering to aim. He just wanted to give them something to think about and maybe slow them down. Maybe they had gotten lucky and that bomb had taken out the Chinese sniper, who was the main opponent that Cole was worried about.

Chen came to slowly. The last thing he remembered was the American plane bearing down on them, then the bomb falling from the sky. Everything had gone black after that.

He held himself very still, just listening. This was not easy because his ears rang. If the plane still hovered, he did not want to give them an excuse to attack again. It would be just like the Americans to waste a bomb on one man.

He couldn’t hear it anymore. The plane seemed to have gone. Groaning, he slowly raised himself on one elbow, checking for damage. Snow clogged his nose and had gotten down the back of his coat. If that was the worst that had happened to him, then he was lucky. Then again, Chen always had been lucky. His luck included the fact that the bomb had fallen short, or he would be nothing more than a forgotten memory.

Slowly, he sat up, his head still ringing. He looked around. His rifle had fallen nearby in the snow and he reached for it, shaking off the snow. He gave the ugly wooden stock a quick inspection, and to his great relief, the rifle appeared fine. Whatever it lacked in beauty, the Mosin-Nagant was a sturdy weapon.

Next, he recalled that he had not been alone before the bomb fell from the sky. Where were the others? He saw the body of one of his comrades sprawled nearby, blood splashed bright against the snow. The contrast of colors was interesting to observe. For a moment, he became lost in contemplating that. He had seen an artist at work once, transferring bright paint to a blank canvas. The scene before him was much like that. He forced himself to focus.

Then he remembered. The prisoners! What had become of them? Everything began to come into sharper focus.

That's when he heard shots being fired, back in the direction where they had come from earlier.

Chen struggled to his feet and began to hurry in that direction.