Frozen Sniper

Chapter Nine

It was Thanksgiving Day, but Old Man Winter had already visited Korea. Snowflakes swirled in the hoary wind. Water froze in canteens. Wet feet turned black with frostbite in the night.

Cole never had given cold weather too much thought — it was simply something to be dealt with when one was out in the woods. You wore a hat and stayed dry. But this cold was insistent. It wormed its way into every gap and seam.

His unit, as well as others in the Eighth Army under General Walker, was finding its way forward slowly, heads bent against the wind. Their ultimate goal was the Yalu River, but enemy units had been reported between here and the river. No one had seen them yet, but the rumors had taken on shape and substance. Only General Almond and MacArthur himself did not seem perturbed — their orders to units in the field were to push on, no matter what.

So they marched on into the growing cold. Bone weary, Cole and the rest of the men were glad enough when word came for a halt. Surrounded by mountains, they were within a short march of the Yalu River. If they pushed hard enough, they could be on the Chinese border in a day or two.

"Don't get comfortable," the sergeant said. "The lieutenant wants foxholes dug. We have mess tents to set up, too — maybe we can get some decent hot chow for a change."

Considering that their rations were now frozen, that was welcome news. Pomeroy turned to Cole. "Mess tents? Sounds like we're gonna be here for a while."

"If we stay too long, we might freeze," Cole said laconically.

“You boys know what? It’s Thanksgiving Day,” Pomeroy said.

“Mmm, what I wouldn’t give for some pumpkin pie,” the kid said.

They all fell silent for a moment, thinking wistfully of the folks gathered around groaning tables back home. Dinner here in the frozen, Korean mountains did not seem nearly as promising, mess tents or not.

Adding to the misery of soldiers on the march, the deep cold had settled over the mountains and the remote valleys. Soldiers longed for the relative warmth that had greeted them when they came ashore weeks before. Had the weather changed that quickly? As they moved into the mountains, cold weather had marched down from the north to meet them. What the troops didn't know was that this cold wind had originated on the bitter steppes of Mongolia.

Soldiers put on whatever they could to stay warm — hats, scarves, mittens, extra socks, long johns. So much extra clothing made the march far more difficult, weighing them down and slowing their motions. The soldiers plodded now, rather than marched.

While the extra layers were welcome, they could also be a curse. The last thing that a man wanted to do was heat up too much and start to sweat. If that happened, he would start to shiver almost uncontrollably as soon as he stopped moving and is damp clothing turned chilly.

Pomeroy explained it to the kid: "The trick is to find a balance — keep moving, but don't break a sweat."

"Easier said than done," Tommy said, puffing under his heavily laden pack, assorted gear, ammunition, and rifle.

They didn't need to worry for long about standing around. The activity of setting up the camp wasn't much different from what men and armies had done in hostile country since time immemorial. The disciplined Roman legions might have done the same, setting up their defenses against the barbarian hordes. Supplies were unloaded, sleeping areas and guard posts were established, men looked forward to getting food of some sort into their empty bellies, and nervous eyes played over the surrounding terrain where any number of the enemy might be lurking.

One thing for sure, this cold and this country had not been welcoming — never mind the fact that they hadn't seen so much as a single enemy soldier since the ambush on the road. That didn't keep the rumors from flying.

"I got it from a guy in B Company that there's a hundred thousand enemy troops up ahead, waiting for us," the kid said.

"Is that all?” Pomeroy said. He gave a short laugh. “I heard it was a million."

The talk of enemy troops hidden in the hills made everyone jumpy. Even the officers looked uneasy — Cole realized they didn't know anything more than the men. From what little they had seen of the North Koreans, nobody was much worried about those particular enemy troops. But here in the mountains it made sense to move cautiously.

The objective now was to probe the rugged landscape and find these pockets of the enemy — and wipe them out. It never occurred to any of the men or the officers that events might go in the other direction — that it might be pockets of their own troops that would be targeted for annihilation.

In the distance, they heard the sound of approaching aircraft.

"Looks like cargo planes," Cole noted.

Pomeroy squinted toward the sky. "How can you even see them? You must have eyes like a hawk."

Soon enough, the planes came into view even for those who did not possess a sniper's eyesight. The three workhorses of the sky — the airborne equivalent of trucks — flew in a loose formation without any fighter escort. After all, it wasn't as if they had to worry about enemy planes. The approaching aircraft spotted the Army unit, circled, and came in low. One by one, crates were dropped, trailed by ribbons that expanded into parachutes. Curious men ran to intercept the crates as soon as they reached the ground.

Having completed their drop, the planes waggled their wings in farewell and started back toward their base at Inchon.

"What the hell?" Pomeroy wondered.

Some of the soldiers used bayonets to pry open the crates. Even from where Cole stood, he could smell something delicious. Thanksgiving dinner had dropped from the skies. It was a wonder.

Sergeants and officers arrived, along with the mess staff, bringing order to what might have been a free-for-all among the hungry men. Rough tables were set up on the spot and the cooks started dishing it out. Instead of the good china, this meal was served out on mess kits, the metal so cold that the mashed potatoes froze and stuck to it.

The crates contained the complete makings of a Thanksgiving feast: roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie. For the hungry men, it was nothing short of a miracle. Providing such a feast to forces across the peninsula had taken nothing short of a logistical masterpiece, a testament to vast resources of the United States military.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" someone shouted.

"If somebody doesn't want their pie, I'll take it!"

"Yeah, right!"

"Hurry up and eat," someone else shouted, but good-naturedly. "If these mashed potatoes get any colder, you'll break a tooth."

The soldier wasn't far wrong. With the temperature hovering near zero degrees and the incessant wind, the turkey soon froze so that it had to be gnawed a bit in one's mouth. The mashed potatoes and gravy coming off the planes had been lukewarm at best. The cooks kept stirring the gravy to keep a skim of ice from forming.

A few of the luckiest soldiers got drumsticks that they could work over like a meaty popsicle.

Nobody complained. The soldiers cheerfully ate as fast as they could, trying to keep ahead of the freezing food. This was a taste of home, and it was a hell of a lot better than frozen C rations.

The feast did not last nearly long enough. Too soon, it was time to complete the work of establishing this position against the enemy.

"Back to work, boys," Sergeant Weber ordered. "I can guarantee you that the Chinese aren't sitting around waiting for us to finish our pumpkin pie." A few yards away, the sergeant motioned at Cole, Pomeroy, and the kid, then shouted at them to get busy.

"C'mon," Cole said.

He got to his feet, surprised at how quickly he had stiffened up in this cold. At least his belly was full. For Cole, who had grown up going to bed hungry on more than a few nights, a full belly was nothing to take for granted. "Let's get to work."

Setting up the tents proved to be challenging. First, there was the frozen ground to contend with. Between the frost and the rocks, getting tent stakes into the rocky ground was like trying to drive them into solid concrete. When possible, they resorted to anchoring the corner ropes to heavy rocks or even the scrub trees that grew on the arid plateau. Then the men had to wrestle the canvas into place against the icy wind. The fact that they had to work wearing gloves or mittens did not make the work any easier.

Despite the orders to get to work, nobody so much as groaned. Mess tents meant the possibility of hot chow, even after this miraculous Thanksgiving meal. Everybody was sick and tired of the canned rations. Unless you wanted to hack away at the frozen contents of a can, it was necessary to stuff these rations inside one's uniform, where there was at least a chance that body heat would keep the contents from freezing.

There was not much time to dwell on that. Now came the work of setting up camp.

The men set up tents and unloaded gear from trucks. Latrines also needed to be dug. Foxholes needed to be dug.

Cole unfolded his shovel and started digging. Although the ground was frosty, the dry, desert-like soil was fairly easy to dig. It was the rocks in the soil that gave them trouble.

"I haven’t been this cold since the Battle of the Bulge,” Pomeroy said. He looked at Cole and asked, “Were you at the Ardennes Forest?"

"Yeah," Cole said. The way that he said the word freighted it was all sorts of dimensions, all of them icy and wind-blasted.

"Now that was cold," Pomeroy said. "Thought I was going to lose my toes. That was bad. All that goddamn snow — not to mention German panzers. But I hate to say it, we may be in for worse."

"Pomeroy, I wish I could say that you were wrong, but I've also got a bad feeling about this weather. This ain't a cold snap. We're in this mess for the long haul."

Sergeant Weber spotted them talking and stomped in their direction.

"Here comes trouble," Pomeroy muttered. "The sergeant is still mad at you for not so much as firing a shot back at that ambush. You'd better keep your head down and your mouth shut, Cole."

"Don't I always?"

"Yeah, right. I got to say, for a quiet guy you always manage to say just enough to get yourself in hot water."

Weber looked about as cold and tired as they felt, which didn't make him any less cranky.

"Cole," he said. "I have been looking for you—"

"Looks like you done found me, Sarge."

"Always the wise ass, aren't you, Cole?" The sergeant smiled a crooked smile that managed to be as cold as the frigid air. "Well, I've got a job for you. The lieutenant wants a squad to go out and probe for the enemy. You know, make sure there's not a division hiding just out of sight below the next ridge. I said, 'Sir, if they run into that division then there's a good chance that squad won't come back.' He said, 'Well, then pick a squad of men you won't miss much.' Fair enough. Guess that's why he's an officer. Anyhow, you came to mind as being perfect to go out there and look for the enemy — seeing as how you might not come back."

"Thanks for thinking of me, Sarge."

"Oh, I was thinking of you, believe me. So pick a couple of men and reconnoiter, at least to the other side of that ridge."

"Gonna be dark soon," Cole pointed out.

"Then you had best get a move on, Cole. If you don't come back, I will assume that the whole damn Chinese army is out there."

"I'll take Pomeroy and Wilson, sir."

The sergeant glanced at the other two, shrugged. "It's their funeral," he said, then turned away, shaking his head. "If you see the enemy, hold your fire. Try to capture one of them, instead. That's why I thought you'd be perfect for the job, Cole. Rumor has it that you’re not much on firing your weapon."

Cole watched the sergeant walk off, then turned to Pomeroy and Tommy.

"How 'bout it, boys?" Cole asked.

"Gotta die sometime," Pomeroy said. "At least I'll die full of mashed potatoes and gravy."

"Now, that’s a true American," the kid said.

Even Cole cracked a smile at that.

After stowing their extra gear, the three men moved into the hills, leaving the American line behind. Once they had covered a couple of hundred feet, Cole stopped and looked back. The American line of defense that had seemed so reassuring when they were part of it, a viable bastion against the enemy, now looked insubstantial from a distance. The foxholes looked too far apart. The soldiers, trucks, and tanks looked puny against the backdrop of the foreign mountains.

Not for the first time, Cole had to wonder what the hell they expected to do here in the vastness of this land. The Thanksgiving feast had put him in a surprisingly winsome mood. It seemed strange that they now had to return to the business of warfare.

He forced his mind to focus on the task at hand. He kept his eyes roving over the landscape. It had gotten so cold that he had to leave his gloves on. He slipped them off now, deciding that he’d rather risk frostbite than not being able to fire his rifle in a hurry.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Pomeroy wondered.

"Small, angry fellers with rifles," Cole said.

"You know any Chinese?"

"Hell, no. You?"

"No. What happens if we actually capture one of these sons of bitches? It's not like trying to talk to the Germans. At least you had half a chance of understanding each other."

"I reckon it's unlikely any of them know a word of English."

Back in Europe, most GIs had known a smattering of German words. He'd heard it said that English was a distant cousin of German, anyhow. This enemy and his language remained a mystery.

Cole moved forward cautiously. A dusting of snow covered the ground, but his hunter's eyes did not detect so much as a rabbit track. Did any game even live up here? The brown landscape appeared desolate.

There wasn't much brush, offering little opportunity for cover to any hidden enemy troops. Scarcely anything grew up here, unlike the relatively lush mountains back home. The Appalachians were mostly soft, rounded, ancient hills. Covered in dense green forests. The mountains here had sharp ridges like the spine of a starved hog. The issue was that the landscape itself was so vast, full of hollows and ravines where an entire regiment could be lurking. The lieutenant had wanted reassurance that there weren't enemy troops hiding over the next ridge. But what about the ridge beyond that, or the next?

"Keep your eyes open," Cole warned.

"You think?"

Cole felt very exposed crossing the open slope leading to the nearest ridge. He signaled for Pomeroy and the kid to wait, then slipped his rifle over his shoulder using the sling and began to climb the last thirty feet toward the peak of the ridge. He tried to move quietly, but the loose gravel and soil didn't cooperate. If anyone was lurking on the other side, they would hear him coming.

Finally, he reached the peak and eased his head over. A long slope slid down into a ravine that was actually thick with brush. Already, the weak winter sun was getting low, leaving the copse in shadow. Another slope rose sharply on the far side of the ravine, pocked with the dark openings of shallow caves. He kept his head down, studying the brush and the distant slope. He strained his eyes, hoping for some telltale glimpse of movement. He didn't see so much as the flicker of a bird down in that brush.

But something didn't feel right. Cole had learned to trust his instincts. He listened to that strange part of himself that he had come to call the Critter. It was a primitive part of his brain that he didn't understand, other than that it was like that sixth sense that animals possessed, or maybe his cave-dwelling ancestors. What the Critter told him was that there was something hidden down in that ravine. He fought a sudden urge to get the hell out of there as fast as possible, forcing himself to watch and wait for a while longer. Finally, he gave up and eased his way back down to where Pomeroy and the kid waited.

"Well?" Pomeroy asked.

"I didn't see anything, but there's somebody down there, hiding in a big ol' thicket growing in the bottom of that ravine."

"Wait a minute. You said you didn't see anything. Did you hear something?"

"No, but I can tell all the same. We need to get the hell out of here."

Pomeroy studied his face. "Hell, you actually look spooked. That's got to be a first."

"Let's go." Cole started moving. "I got a bad feeling about this place."

"You know, your gut feeling won't be good enough for the sergeant, and definitely not for the lieutenant. Just say you saw something."

"You want me to lie and say that I saw a hundred of the enemy down there? I can't." In Cole's hill country accent, it came out as cain't. Cole knew Pomeroy was right that nobody was going to go on his gut instinct. But making up a story about enemy troops wouldn't help.

They retraced their footsteps, practically at a trot. The shadows gathered around them and grew longer. The sun slipped behind one of the mountains, abruptly plunging the plateau into twilight as if a shade had been drawn. The cold, dark night was coming on fast.

Reaching the American perimeter, they entered between the foxholes gouged into the frozen ground. Some of the men had gotten into their sleeping bags for warmth, leaving just their shoulders exposed as they peered over the rim of their foxholes. A few soldiers were already asleep, but no one seemed concerned about keeping their eyes open. The biggest threat seemed to be freezing to death. Cole wanted to shout at them that they had better keep their eyes open.

Accompanied by the lieutenant, the sergeant wanted to see them right away.

"Well?" the officer asked. "I hope you're going to tell me that there's nothing out there but more rocks."

"The ravine on the other side of that ridge looked to be empty, sir. But I have to say, it sure didn't feel empty."

Cole felt Pomeroy's glance, giving him a warning to keep his mouth shut.

"Did you see anything or not, Private? Is there a battalion of the enemy over there, waiting to attack us once it gets dark?"

Cole hesitated. "No, sir. Not that I saw."

Lieutenant Ballard nodded, then turned away to deal with other duties. Sergeant Weber caught Cole's eye and smirked, but stopped short of saying anything within earshot of the lieutenant. Cole was pretty sure that would come later.

When they had moved off, Pomeroy chuckled. "When are you going to learn, Cole? The lieutenant basically asked you a yes or no question, which you answered with maybe."

"Keep your eyes open tonight," Cole said. "I'm telling you that there's something out there."