Frozen Sniper

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Let's move out," Cole said. "Leave anything you can't carry."

"What about my rifle?" Tommy asked, stammering. Cole wasn't sure if the kid was cold, or scared, or maybe a little of both. Can’t blame him none on either count, Cole thought.

"Leave everything except your rifle," Cole clarified. "There may be Chinese between here and where we want to be."

The driver of the truck was a young soldier named Kelwick. Improbably, he was chewing gum and blowing bubbles in the bitter cold. He also was riding up front alone, which was unusual. "Ain't you got a passenger?" Cole asked.

"He died," Kelwick said, pointing to a bullet hole in the windshield. It wasn't any secret that the Chinese were targeting the truck drivers as a way to knock out the vehicles. Whatever else he was, Kelwick was a brave son of a bitch.

"You up for this?" Cole asked him.

"Not much choice there, buddy," Kelwick said. "It's either drive out onto that ice or stay here for the Chicoms."

Cole nodded. "Pomeroy, you better ride shotgun."

"I can walk."

He had figured that Pomeroy would argue about riding in the truck. "Save your energy, New Jersey. You might need it. Get in the damn truck. Kelwick, how are you fixed for fuel?"

"I've got enough gas for maybe five or six miles," he said. "How far do you think we've got to go?"

"That might be enough gas, but who the hell knows. See what I mean, Pomeroy? Better save your energy. You might have to walk the rest of the way, after all."

The cabin of the truck was cramped and uncomfortable, but at least Pomeroy could get some of the weight off his feet.

All along the road, similar scenes were taking place. The few officers who were left tried to maintain order and lead as many men as they could to safety — or what they hoped was safety, because it was not a given that they would be fleeing into the arms of the Marines rather than the Chinese. So much uncertainly gave every action a tang of fear.

However, it was more of a certainty that to be left behind in one of the trucks meant death — the Chinese didn't seem all that interested in taking any of the wounded as prisoners. They didn't want to be bothered caring for them.

By way of proof, they had to look no further than the rear of the column, where several trucks burned. The crackling flames could not entirely cover up the screams of the wounded men being burned alive, unable to get out of the trucks before they had been hit by grenades, mortars, or machine-gun fire. Now that it was growing dark, the flames reflected off the snow-covered hills, illuminating the landscape in a flickering glare like some frozen hellish scene. Visible from time to time were the quilted uniforms of the Chinese, creeping ever closer. Cole wrinkled his nose at the awful smell of burning gasoline and rubber tires, mixed with the telltale smell of burning human flesh. Having experienced that in Europe, it was a smell that he had hoped never to experience again.

“Here we go!” Kelwick shouted, blowing one last bubble for good measure.

The truck bumped wildly as it left the road and headed down the gentle slope toward the frozen reservoir. Inside, the wounded men held on for dear life, becoming even more battered in the process. Bad as this ride was turning out to be, it was much better than being left behind for the Chinese.

A handful of soldiers walked beside the truck, pausing now and then to help push it out of a hole. Exhausted, hungry, and mostly frozen, they kept their weapons at the ready.

The reservoir itself was shaped a bit like a crow’s foot. They were headed onto the lower right-hand prong that led toward Hagaru-ri — and hopefully toward help. Not that the soldiers would have known or cared, but this was a man-made lake and its Korean name was the Changjin Lake. Chosin was the Japanese pronunciation, remaining from when the imperialist Japanese had occupied Korea and used it as a hunting ground for the Siberian tigers, bears, leopards, and wolves that had once roamed the mountains. Those predators had been hunted to extinction by Japanese big game hunters in the early 1900s, but plenty of dangerous two-legged predators now roamed the landscape.

Finally, the truck gave one last, tremendous lurch and drove out onto the ice itself. The change from the rocky ground to the smooth ice was jarringly abrupt. It was almost eerie, the sudden switch to flat terrain after days of staring at nothing but hills, ravines, and mountains.

"Keep your eyes open," Cole warned them. "We don't know what's in front of us, and we sure as hell know that the Chinese are right behind us. Kelwick, you know where you're headed?"

"Easy, peasy," he said, popping his gum. "All I have to do is head south and keep it between the mountains. Just like Route 1. I ought to be able to do that."

Kelwick wasn't exaggerating. The surface of the frozen lake stretched before them, about a mile wide. Hills and mountains ringed the rest of the lake. All that Kelwick had to do was stay on the ice.

Visibility was less than perfect due to the blowing snow, however, and crossing the ice posed its own obstacles. The biggest challenge was avoiding the drifts. Although it hadn't snowed today, the cold, dry snow still continued to blow around. The snow was more than a foot deep in places, drifting even deeper in others. Here and there, the ice had been impacted by stray bombs or artillery rounds, leaving craters. If Kelwick didn't want to get stuck, he would have to avoid these.

Although it was full dark by now, a kind of glow reflected off the snow-covered ice and lighted their way. The driver didn't dare turn on his headlights, thus making the truck a target, so the glow was welcome. No moon or stars showed, so the sky overhead must have had cloud cover. Cole hoped it wasn't going to snow any damn more — he'd had enough of that. He sniffed the air and didn't think that it smelled like snow, though.

Here and there in the distance, he saw other vague shapes on the ice as small groups like their own made a run for it. At least, Cole hoped that these were more of their own troops. For all he knew, these might be Chinese coming after them.

Seeing the American and UN forces retreat wasn't enough for them, apparently. They wanted to see their enemy destroyed.

"Let's go," Cole said. "Get moving. And keep an eye open for what's ahead. The last thing we want to do is surprise our own boys and get machine-gunned."

Kelwick nodded and kept the window rolled down despite the cold, in order to communicate with the soldiers around him.

The wind blew even harder out here, flowing down from the mountains with added velocity. Loose snow swirled, occasionally reducing the visibility ahead to a few feet.

Cole did not particularly like being in the open. He preferred having trees and mountains around. Out here, they were sitting ducks if the enemy appeared.

But at the moment, there were more immediate concerns.

"Can't see a damn thing!" Kelwick shouted.

"Just go," Cole said. "Keep driving."

The truck crept along in low gear. Cole gritted his teeth against the icy crystals rubbing his face. They had come this far, and they had to keep going. Rescue might be just a few miles away, but it was going to be one hell of a trek.

Behind them, from the section of lake shore that they had left from, he heard the sound of a horn. He took a few steps away from the truck so that he could better hear the sound. He thought that maybe his ears were playing tricks on him. Not a truck horn, he decided, but a bugle. Then he heard it again.

"You hear that?" Tommy asked. "It's that bugle sound we heard the nights we were attacked."

"It's the Chinese," Cole said. "They're letting us know that they're coming after us."

"What should we do, Cole?" the kid sounded near panic, fear and exhaustion plain in his voice.

"Keep moving." Cole raised his voice. "Everybody, get a move on."

At the wheel, Kelwick eased into a slightly higher gear. However, he couldn't go much faster if the men on foot had any hope of keeping up. This wasn't going to be fast enough. Behind them, they heard another bugle, closer this time.

Kelwick stopped the truck. "Everybody get on," he shouted. With the wounded taking up the back, it wasn't clear where the men on foot were supposed to ride. A rifle fired behind them, then another. Rounds cracked overhead. The Chinese were getting closer. "Get on the hood, if you have to. We've got to move."

The men were so stiff with cold that climbing onto the truck was easier said than done. Three men wedged themselves into the back, hanging on for dear life. Cole and Tommy got in front, barely squeezing in. In fact, the kid was basically sitting in Cole's lap. With an effort, Cole was able to pull the door shut.

"Everyone on?" Kelwick shouted out the open window, his foot bouncing on the clutch so that the truck rocked back and forth.

In answer, somebody slapped the side of the truck twice. Good to go.

A bullet passed overhead. "Move it," Cole said.

Kelwick let out the clutch, shifting from first to second to third. It was the first time in weeks that he'd been able to drive at any kind of speed. The roads had been too rough for that. The frozen surface of the reservoir was snowy, but at least it was smooth.

The problem was visibility. Without headlights, it was hard to see more than a few feet ahead. Snow swirled in the gusts off the mountains, creating white-out conditions that Kelwick had no choice but to plunge through blindly. He couldn't slow down every time that the wind blew. He leaned forward over the bucking steering wheel, his nose practically touching the windshield, straining to see.

They didn't get far. With a tremendous jolt, the front passenger tire suddenly dropped into a hole.

"Hang on!" Kelwick shouted as he wrestled with the wheel.

The rest of the truck slewed around, tires skidding on the ice. The momentum tipped the truck over as if in slow motion. Even over the noise of the brakes and tires protesting, they could hear the muffled cries of the men in back. Finally, the truck came to rest tilted mostly onto its passenger side. The truck creaked and groaned ominously, as if it might not be finished with his plan to roll onto its side.

"What the hell did we hit?"

Cole couldn't get the door open easily to inspect the damage because it was pinned by the weight of the truck. He shoved it hard, and finally wriggled out, which wasn't easy in the over-sized greatcoat.

Immediately, he saw the problem. A massive hole yawned in the ice at his feet, and Cole instinctively took a step back before it swallowed him. He guessed that the hole had likely been caused by a stray bomb or artillery shell. In the dark and blowing snow, it would have been impossible for the driver to detect. The front tire had gone into the hole with such force that it now appeared bent. Tiny snorts of steam escaped from the front grill and were whisked away in the cold breeze.

A round passed over his head from the darkness leading to the lake shore, causing him to duck.

Two things became clear to him at once. First, the Chinese were catching up. Second, the truck wasn't going anywhere. Their only choice now would be crossing the ice on foot. How they were going to stay ahead of their pursuers when there were so many wounded to carry had yet to be seen — but Cole had an idea.

Kelwick had climbed out of the precariously leaning truck to inspect the damage, and quickly came to the same conclusion that Cole had.

"She's done in," he said. He snapped his bubble gum for emphasis.

"We need to get everybody out," Cole said. "Pomeroy! Kid! Let's go! Get out of the truck now! We've got to hoof it."

Kelwick leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. "The Chinese are right behind us. We could leave the wounded. We might have a shot of staying ahead of them, then."

"Hell no, we ain't leaving the wounded."

Cole said it with such vitriol that Kelwick stepped back. "Hey, it was just an idea. Forget I mentioned it."

Cole turned away and began helping Pomeroy and Tommy get the wounded from the back of the truck. There proved to be a dozen men riding in back. Half of them could walk, if just barely — but they would have to if they hoped to escape the Chinese. There turned out to be just five men to carry on stretchers. The sixth man was dead, his body already stiff with cold. Nobody knew what else to do with him, so they left his body beside the truck, laying it down gently.

They divided the stretchers among the men who weren't wounded — at least not seriously. Tommy and New Jersey took one of the stretchers between them. Cole shook his head, seeing the way that Pomeroy was limping.

"You ought to be the one on that goddamn stretcher, New Jersey."

"Aw, stuff it, Hillbilly. Why don't you help, then?"

"I've got other things to do." Cole raised his voice. "Who here has got a grenade?”

One of the other soldiers gave him a grenade. Surprisingly, Kelwick had an entire magazine in his carbine, which he handed to Cole. "Have at it," he said. "I never was much of a shot."

"All right, here's the plan," Cole said. "Head south across the ice, straight down the lake. You ought to hit Hagaru-ri in an hour. Pomeroy here is in charge. Do what he says and you'll be all right."

"What the hell are you going to do?" Pomeroy demanded.

"I'm going to hold them up," he said.

"Like hell you are."

"Don't worry," Cole said. "I'll catch up."

Looking around at their faces, it was clear that none of them believed him. Hell, Cole himself didn't really believe it. "Go on now," he said. "That's an order."

"What, are you a general now, too?" Pomeroy demanded. "Come with us. You can't possibly stop those Chinese."

"One good man with a rifle is all it takes to make a difference," Cole said. "Tonight, you'll have to make do with me. Now, get going."

The others didn't need to be told twice. They set off across the ice, although it wasn't easy going for the wounded or for those carrying stretchers. Everyone was already beyond exhaustion, but they either had to somehow keep going, or sit down in the snow to die. Not much of a choice, was it?

Only Pomeroy and the kid lingered, as if waiting for Cole to change his mind. Finally, Pomeroy muttered a curse and struck out into the night. He and the kid, bearing the stretcher between them, were swallowed up by the darkness and the swirling snow.

Cole was left alone at the wreckage of the truck. From the darkness, he could hear the shouts of the pursuing Chinese and an occasional shot — what they were shooting at he had no idea because the visibility was so limited. But soon enough, they would come within sight of the wreck. Quickly, Cole assessed his defensive position. This wrecked truck was going to be his Alamo.

But he wasn't entirely alone.

He took hold of the dead man and dragged him around to the front of the truck. It was a gruesome task, and he hated to mess with a dead man as much as anyone else, but this soldier had one last duty even in death.

The steel truck frame offered plenty of cover. Cole got down low and stretched the body out on the ice beside the driver-side truck tire that wasn't in the hole. One of the wounded men had left behind his empty rifle, and Cole got it now and wedged it in the soldier's dead limbs so that it looked as if the dead man was firing the weapon.

Then Cole got in position and waited. He had Kelwick’s carbine and his own Springfield with two rounds. The Chinese had fallen quiet, which spooked Cole. He just hoped that it meant they were creeping closer.

He wasn't disappointed. A shot cracked out, pinging off the metal truck. Then another. Cole squinted into the darkness. The first Chinese soldier took form almost like a ghost, grayish white in his quilted uniform, rifle at the ready. Cole put his sights on him and fired.

Another soldier appeared, dropping to his knee and firing in the direction of Cole's muzzle flash. Cole took him out. More shapes appeared. He picked another target and fired. Two bullets left. Not nearly enough. He fired twice more, and the weapon was empty. He tossed aside the carbine and picked up the more familiar Springfield rifle.

Cole's shooting had convinced the Chinese to halt their attack. There did not seem to be a large number of them. But there were more than two, which meant that Cole was in trouble.

The Chinese had no cover and were disadvantaged because he could just begin to see their silhouettes against the whiteness of the ice in between gusts of windblown snow, whereas Cole had the truck and the darkness.

That changed when one of the Chinese pitched a phosphorous grenade into the night, lighting up the scene on the ice. It was likely that the grenade had been scavenged from what was left of the convoy — the Americans' own weapons were being turned against them by the enemy.

If they could see him, he could also see them—but with just two shots left, it wasn't going to do him much good. He squeezed off a shot and took out the soldier who had thrown the grenade before he got any other bright ideas.

In the glaring light, he counted ten Chinese soldiers advancing. In their own way, they were as tough and heroic as the American soldiers. Cole would give them that much.

They were also awfully close. To his surprise, he saw that one was carrying a sniper rifle. The light wasn’t good enough for Cole to see his face, but Cole had no doubt that this was the same soldier who had tracked him earlier today. How many Chinese snipers could there be? This guy was persistent.

With the whole scene lit up by the burning phosphorous, the Chinese sniper also spotted Cole and raised his rifle. Cole got his sights on the guy at just the same time. But the Chinese sniper was fast. A bullet thwacked into the tire next to Cole's head.

Cole's finger twitched as his last bullet left the rifle. He saw the enemy sniper snatch at one side of his head. By some miracle, had Cole hit him?

He might never know, because the phosphorous grenade began to fizzle out. But his last glimpse before the lights went out had been of the enemy slowly advancing. They weren’t rushing him. Of course, they couldn't know that Cole was out of ammunition.

He had one final surprise planned for them.

Cole reached for the grenade and pulled the pin, then wedged the grenade under the dead soldier's frozen body beside him. It was a little tricky getting the positioning right to keep the handle squashed down, because if he messed this up he’d be saving the Chinese some trouble. But the solid weight was enough to hold the handle in place.

He heard snow crunch under a boot. They were right there. Quickly, he put his helmet with the Rebel flag on the dead man's head. Then Cole rolled to his feet and ran for all he was worth.

He was still running, flat out, when the grenade went off thirty seconds later. It could only mean that someone had gotten curious and rolled over what they thought was his body back at the truck.

Cole allowed himself a small grin, but he didn't stop running.