Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 30 The Bridge

The battered Army three-quarter-ton truck ground its way across the Haengju Bridge along a single lane reserved for northbound traffic. Tanks, trucks, jeeps, and artillery pieces moving south packed the other three lanes, crunching over sand laid on the highway to improve traction. Temperatures all over Korea were falling, and chunks of ice now bobbed and spun in the Han River, rolling westward toward the Yellow Sea. It was quickly growing into the worst winter in recent memory.

Once across the bridge, the truck turned out of traffic onto a small access road winding southeast with the river on one side and towering, snow-dusted evergreens on the other. Dozens of other vehicles moving along the same road had already melted the snow on its surface into a slippery, slushy gunk, and it took the driver several minutes of frantic gear-shifting to force the truck up the road to its destination.

“This is the end of the line, sir. HQ of the First of Thirty-Ninth.”

Second Lieutenant Kevin Little stared at the ramshackle collection of tents nestled among the tall green trees. For a moment the scene summoned up half-forgotten memories of family ski trips in the Washington Cascades. He held on to the memories like a lifeline as he climbed out of the heated cab and stood shivering in the raw air. Rhee slid out beside him. Then he pulled his gloves off, zipped his white camouflage jacket all the way up, and struggled to pull the gloves back on over fingers that were already growing numb. It didn’t do much good. The weather was getting worse and the wind cut deep through every layer of clothing he had on.

Kevin had seen the frostbite cases piling up at the field hospital they’d been sent to after the search-and-rescue chopper picked them up behind enemy lines. The medics had said that most weren’t serious, but he’d seen some men who were going to lose fingers and toes — no matter what the doctors did for them.

He and Rhee had been lucky. Each had escaped with a minor case of exposure, a few cuts, and some bruises. Nothing that two days of enforced bed rest and hot food hadn’t been able to put right. But now they were going back into the thick of it. He shivered again, though not from the cold this time. The thought of seeing more slaughter sent a chill up his spine. He’d seen enough in his first battle to last a lifetime.

“We’d better report in.” Rhee’s breath steamed.

“Yeah.” Depression settled in over Kevin, a mantle of gray despair and self-doubt so tangible that he felt his shoulders slump beneath its weight. He’d failed up on Malibu West. What use could they possibly have for him now?

He heard the Korean lieutenant ask a passing GI the way to the battalion CO’s quarters. Kevin felt lower than he’d ever felt before in his life, and he was content to let Rhee lead him deeper into the cluster of camouflage-netted tents.

Major Donaldson was waiting for them in a small, tarp-floored tent crowded with maps, radio gear, and a charcoal-burning camp stove. The short, square-jawed major had been running the battalion since the first day of the war. The old CO, Colonel Harriman, was on his way home minus a leg, thanks to a North Korean 152mm shell.

Donaldson greeted them with a quick, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and waved them over to chairs clustered around the stove. He didn’t waste time on small talk but started right in asking questions about what had happened at Malibu West. Kevin had already written up an after-action report back at the field hospital, but the major wanted to hear it firsthand.

When Kevin told him about the jamming that had made it impossible to call in artillery support, Donaldson grimaced. “Goddamn if I don’t know just what you mean, Lieutenant. The NKs were able to do the same thing all up and down the Z.” The major rocked back slightly on his camp stool. “Well, I can tell you that we’ve been paying some pretty serious attention to those jamming units since then.”

He smiled thinly. “A little radio triangulation and a few quick salvos of eight-inch arty fire usually works wonders for the commo situation.” He waved Kevin on with his report.

Kevin told him everything — all the way up to their pickup by the SAR helicopter. He could hear the strain in his own voice but felt oddly removed from it all. Almost as though it had happened to someone else in some other place at some other time.

When he finished, Donaldson sat silently for several seconds, his eyes fixed on Kevin’s face as though searching intently for something hidden there. Then he leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on Kevin’s knee. “Now look, Kev. What happened to your platoon happened in other places, too. And I want you to know that I believe you did everything you could under the circumstances. You personally led your troops up until the last possible moment in the middle of the worst kind of nightmare any commander could face. No one could ask for more than that. If you hadn’t played dead when you did, the results would still have been the same — except that I’d be short another platoon leader. As it is, you’re here and alive and I can use you.”

“But — ”

Donaldson interrupted him. “No buts about it, Kev. It wasn’t your fault. You understand me?”

Kevin nodded as if he did.

“Good. Okay, then. Let’s get down to brass tacks.” The major pulled his hand back and stood up. He stepped across the tent to a map covered with cryptic grease-pencil markings. The two lieutenants followed him.

In short, clipped sentences Donaldson brought them up to date on the overall situation facing the Combined Forces. Put simply, it was grim. North Korea’s armored spearheads were driving hard, gaining ground and inflicting serious casualties on the units trying vainly to stop them. More troops were desperately needed.

South Korea’s vast reserves were mobilizing, but the process of getting them to the fighting front had been badly disrupted by NK commando attacks and by the need to secure logistics centers, headquarters sites, and communications facilities against new raids. American reinforcements were on the way, but they would be slow in arriving. Even with every available cargo and troop carrier plane pressed into service, it could take up to ten days to ship a full division by air. The units coming by sea would take even longer to get there. It took time to bring mothballed cargo ships back into service, time to load them, and even steaming at full speed the ships would take at least ten days to cross the Pacific. All of which meant that the Combined Forces’ retreat wasn’t likely to stop anytime soon, Donaldson told them.

When he came to the high command’s decision to pull back south of Seoul, Rhee’s face tightened and the South Korean stood rigid as a statue. Kevin suddenly remembered that Rhee’s family lived in one of the capital’s northern suburbs.

Donaldson traced the route of the North Korean column pushing west of the city. It was headed straight for them. Notations on the map showed its steady progress. “Now that is what we’re up against. We’ve got to slow this column down. The roads through Seoul are completely choked with refugees and other units, and there’s still a lot of our guys on this side of the Han. And that bridge” — Donaldson jerked a thumb over his shoulder back toward the span they’d crossed earlier — “that bridge is the only one left standing west of the city. It’s the only way a lot of our people are going to make it out.”

The major tapped the map again. “Okay, that’s one reason we have to buy time. The other’s just as important.” He ran a finger along the riverline. “This is our next main line of resistance. But it’s just a hollow shell right now. The engineers are working fast and we’re getting more troops there as quickly as possible, but it ain’t gonna be quick enough unless we can put a crimp in dear old Uncle Kim’s advance up here.” He pointed to the red arrowhead in Wondang — just six kilometers up the main highway.

Both Kevin and Rhee nodded their understanding. Things were pretty bad all over.

“Now that’s where you come in. I need two officers to command a provisional company I’ve formed from the battalion’s service units.”

Kevin’s heart sank as Donaldson ran through the forces he was expected to lead into battle. Seventy-four supply clerks, maintenance techs, and MPs serving as riflemen, organized in two below-strength platoons, and a scratch weapons platoon made up of six M60 machine gun teams and four Dragon antitank missile teams. Even with the platoon of South Korean M-48 tanks Donaldson promised to attach, the provisional company sounded like a half-baked abortion that wouldn’t last ten minutes up against the North Koreans. A picture flashed in front of his eyes, the dead heaped at the bottom of Malibu’s main trench. It was going to happen again.

He glanced quickly at Rhee. The South Korean had an eyebrow arched slightly but showed no other sign of perturbation. How could he stay so cool?

“We’ll give you as much support as we can, Kev. You won’t be out on your own, that I promise you.”

Kevin shifted his gaze back to find Donaldson looking closely at him. He nodded and tried to smile. He’d heard that promise before and knew just how far it went. Not far at all.

Donaldson looked at him, his face serious. “I wouldn’t ask you to go back on the line so soon, Kev, but I haven’t got anyone else. Matuchek’s got his hands full over at what’s left of Alpha, and I’m already short a company commander. I’m short lieutenants, too. O’Farrell’s dead, three others are wounded, and another’s MIA.”

The major stepped back from the map. “I’m afraid you’re it, mister. Lieutenant Rhee will continue as your liaison officer and second in command. Sergeants Bryce, Geary, and Caldwell will be your platoon leaders. Any other questions?”

Kevin couldn’t think of anything more to say and Rhee stayed silent.

“Great. All right, the trucks will be here inside an hour to move you up to the front, so you’ve got that long to get some chow, meet your troops, and get acquainted.” Donaldson held out a hand. “Good luck to both of you, and I’ll see you on the other side of the Han.”

First Rhee and then Kevin shook his hand, saluted, and left the tent.

Kevin lay on his stomach in the snow, flattened behind a log just inside a copse of evergreens covering a low hill above the highway. Montoya, his new radioman, huddled beside him, teeth chattering in the cold. Troops of his 1st Platoon were spread out on either side in a line through the trees, crouching low in firing positions hastily scraped out of the frozen ground. They’d only had time to lay a few logs over their holes for overhead protection against artillery fire. To his left a two-man Dragon team sheltered behind a clump of brush, just at the limit of his vision. To the right the squat shape of an M-48 tank lay partially concealed by white camouflage netting. Rhee squatted behind the tank, ready to relay his orders to the South Korean crew inside.

Kevin lifted his binoculars and scanned the ground to his front. The hill fell away gently, sloping down to the multilane road leading to the Haengju Bridge. Beyond the highway the landscape opened up into a checkerboard pattern of diked rice paddies broken only by a raised railroad embankment running parallel with the highway. Helmeted heads bobbed above the nearest rice paddy dike where his 2nd Platoon was supposed to be lying hidden and then disappeared as quickly as they’d surfaced.

Without taking his eyes away from the binoculars, Kevin snapped his fingers and held out a hand for the radiophone. Montoya pushed it over to him.

“Echo Five Two, this is Echo Five Six. Keep your people down. We’re gonna have company in a bit, and I don’t want to give ’em anything for free. Over.”

Sergeant Geary, the 2nd Platoon’s CO, answered himself. “Roger that, Six. Out.”

Kevin handed the phone back to Montoya. Shit, these people were green. They were going to get sliced apart by the North Koreans. He didn’t even know their names. He held the thought for a second and then wondered what they thought of him. Nothing good, that was for sure.

The story of the massacre on Malibu West had run through the battalion like wildfire, and he’d seen the looks thrown his way by the men of his own company on the ride north. He knew what they saw. A washed-out wreck. Before leaving Battalion HQ, he’d seen himself in a mirror and been shocked. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face was deathly pale, and he’d developed a nervous tic on his left cheek. The nerve pulsed irregularly, tightening the skin for an instant and then releasing it. How could anyone draw confidence from someone who looked like that?

He shook his head. No way. No one could or would. Move on, Kevin, the thought came. Move on. There’s nothing you can do about it. They’ll either follow you or they won’t. But you’ve got to act as though they will.

He lifted the binoculars again, surveying the rest of the battle positions he’d picked for his troops. The 1st Platoon held this low, forested hill; 2nd Platoon’s squads were deployed along the other side of the road. He’d divided the machine guns and Dragon missile teams of his understrength Weapons Platoon among the two rifle platoons. The three attached M-48s were spread out in a rough arc along the fringe of the woods — a deployment that gave them good fields of fire out into the rice paddies beyond. The trucks that had carried his troops up from the battalion HQ waited behind the hill, hidden on a narrow side road. Kevin had pressed their drivers into service as extra riflemen. He wasn’t sure how useful they’d be in a fight, but at least it would keep them from abandoning the company when the first shells started dropping.

Other hastily formed companies were dug in to the east and west of his force — in position to cover his flanks if the North Korean advance guard spilled off the highway.

He shifted his gaze north up the highway, seeing the smoke drifting lazily away from Wondang. A mixed bag of American and South Korean armored cavalry units were up there, dueling with advancing North Korean tanks and infantry. They’d bought enough time for his men to arrive and filter into hastily prepared positions, but the price had been high. Now they were getting ready to break off the battle, dash back south, pass through his positions, and cross the bridge.

Kevin frowned and felt the nerve in his cheek jump. Once that happened the North Koreans would be on the move — coming on fast to cut off any stragglers left on this side of the Han.

Montoya nudged him. “It’s the major, Lieutenant.”

Kevin took the handset. “India One Two, this is Echo Five Six, over.”

Major Donaldson’s voice crackled through the receiver. “Covering force is pulling out now. Stand by for handoff. Over.”

“Roger, Two. Out.” Kevin felt his hands trembling. The enemy was on the way. He lifted the handset again. “This is Echo Five Six. Handoff imminent. Keep an eye peeled for friendlies and hostiles and hold your fire until I give the word. Acknowledge.”

Kevin listened as his platoon leaders signaled their understanding and rose to his knees to get a better view down the road. Smoke shells were bursting now at the edge of his vision, providing cover for the grab-bag armored cavalry squadron trying to break contact with the enemy.

He focused the binoculars as the first vehicles emerged from the gray smoke pall hanging over the highway, racing toward his positions. One by one they sped past. A battle-scarred M-60 tank, several M-113 APCs packed with troops, another damaged M-60, and then a pair of ITVs — M-113s modified to carry TOW antitank guided missile launchers. A last M-60 rolled back down the road, its turret facing backward, ready to fire at the first North Korean vehicles to appear out of the smoke.

The radio crackled again. “Kilo Two One, this is Kilo Two Eight, November Kilos in sight. Three Tango Seven Twos. Repeat, Three Tango Seven Twos. Engaging now — ”

The transmission ended abruptly and Kevin watched in horror as the M-60 lurched to a halt and burst into flame. The top hatch blew skyward as ammo inside the tank cooked off.

“Oh, shit, man.” Montoya sounded sick. “Oh, Jesus.”

Kevin clicked the transmit button on the handset. “Echo Five Six to Five Two. Hold your fire. Repeat, hold your fire. Do not engage the November Kilos. Out.” He wanted to keep the 2nd Platoon hidden as an ace in the hole.

He let go of the handset and rose to a low crouch. “Sergeant Bryce!”

A helmet down the line turned. “Lieutenant?”

“Pass the word to the Dragon teams. Tell ’em to open fire as soon as the first NKs come in range. Hit their tanks first. Got it?”

Bryce nodded and scuttled off to relay his orders. Kevin glanced at Rhee. The South Korean grinned and gave him a thumbs-up signal. He’d already briefed the tank commanders on what they were expected to do. Kevin nodded and dropped back behind his log.

Shapes were appearing at the edge of the smoke, resolving into low-hulled tanks with long-barreled 125mm guns pointed south down the road: T-72s. Five of them. This was modern, first-line equipment. The M-48 tanks opposing them were over twenty years old and had 105mm guns. Two veered to pass to the left of the burning M-60, and the other three rolled off the road to the right, treads squealing as they reformed into line.

Other vehicles appeared out of the drifting smoke. Troop carriers. Tracked BMPs and wheeled BTR-60s. Kevin grimaced. There wasn’t much doubt of the importance the North Korean high command attached to this attack. That was the first string out there.

The T-72s swept closer, and the range dropped rapidly, 1,200 meters, 1,100, 1,000. Christ! They were in range, why hadn’t his Dragon teams fired? Kevin started to get to his feet.

WHOOOOSH. Flame leapt out from the Dragon position to his right as a missile left the launcher and streaked toward an oncoming T-72. The tank started turning, trying to evade it, but the Dragon gunner saw the attempt and corrected his missile’s flight. It slammed in to the T-72’s hull and exploded. For a second the tank kept rolling with smoke streaming out the back. Then it ground to a halt and sat immobile, wreathed in flame.

CRACK! The M-48 to his right fired its cannon. Kevin swiveled, looking for the target. There. Another T-72 sat motionless, caught with its vulnerable belly exposed while climbing a rice-paddy dike.

Another Dragon team fired off to the flank, but its target tank suddenly disappeared in a cloud of whitish-gray smoke. Must’ve popped its smoke dispenser, Kevin thought. The missile plunged into the smoke cloud and missed. Damn.

CRACK! An M-48 further down the line fired at a T-72 that had closed to within five hundred meters. WHANG! The 105mm round glanced off the North Korean tank’s bow armor and bounded high in the air. The T-72 came on and fired back.

The M-48 exploded, spewing orange flame and metal fragments through the trees. There were screams from some of the infantry foxholes near the wrecked tank. “I’m hit! Oh, GOD! I’m hit!”

Kevin dropped flat to the ground, pressing his hands to his ears, trying to shut out the sounds. It was happening again, just like Malibu West.

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” It was Montoya, nudging him, holding out the radio handset. “It’s Echo Five Two.”

Kevin looked up. The RTO was crouched with his back to the log, staring at him like a little lost puppy dog. Somehow the sight gave him a sense of purpose. Montoya needed him. Maybe they all needed him.

He grabbed the handset. “Two, this is Six. Over.”

Geary’s voice quavered audibly; he’d been shaken by what he was seeing. “Six, PCs to your front are unloading troops.”

Kevin grabbed his binoculars and focused them on the open ground below the hill. No good. The smoke from the two burning T-72s blocked his view. The other three had disappeared. Had they pulled back?

He swept the binoculars from right to left, searching for signs of movement. There. He could see shapes moving in the smoke — men carrying AKM rifles, RPK light machine guns, and RPG-7 launchers. Engine noises were audible above the crackling flames. Troop carriers backing up the North Korean infantry he could now see clearly. They were only four hundred meters away and trotting in fast.

“Sierra Echo Two One, this is Juliet Echo Five Six. I have a Delta Tango for Yankee Delta two three zero six seven five. Over.” Kevin called in a DT — a defensive target artillery fire mission. He wanted to see how the North Koreans liked a dose of their own medicine.

“Roger, Echo Five Six. Stand by.” The NK infantry kept moving forward, hunched over under the weight of their gear. BMPs and BTRs were visible now, nosing out from the smoke.

The BMPs and BTRs were armored vehicles, designed to carry infantry. Kevin had forgotten what the letters stood for, an abbreviation of their Russian designations. The Soviets rarely gave their equipment sexy names like “Patton” or “Bradley.”

The BTR was an eight-wheeled armored box with a machine gun on top. It was big and could carry fourteen men. The BMP was a nastier beast but could only carry nine troops. To make up for the difference, it carried a small turret with a 73mm gun, an antitank missile launcher, and a machine gun. It had better armor and was tracked, so it could go places the BTR couldn’t. Both could swim across rivers.

The radio spoke: “Shot, out.”

Kevin heard a high-pitched howling arcing overhead and saw dirt spray skyward behind the advancing North Koreans. “Echo Two One, this is Six. Drop fifty and fire for effect!”

He dropped back behind cover as the first time-fused shells whirred over and exploded in midair, showering deadly fragments across the wave of North Korean infantry charging toward the hill. A dozen or more dropped into the snow without a sound, mowed down like standing wheat at harvest time. Others were thrown back screaming, torn apart by splinters.

Kevin felt the ground rock. A shell burst two hundred meters away, hurling dirt away in a black cloud. Then another exploded, closer in. Holy shit! Those weren’t American shells. The North Koreans were responding in kind, walking their own artillery in on his positions.

“Cover! Cover! Incoming!” He threw himself back into a shallow foxhole and dragged Montoya in after him. Evergreen needles slashed at his face. They hadn’t had time to strip the branches off the logs providing overhead cover for their holes.

WHAMMM! WHAMMM! WHAMMM! WHAMMM! Shells burst all along the fringe of woods sheltering the 1st Platoon. Treetops exploded as North Korean guns found the range, spraying clouds of whining wood and metal splinters across the hill. A foxhole with two GIs crouching low inside it suddenly disappeared in a flash of bright white light, leaving nothing but a smoking crater.

The noise was deafening, maddening. Kevin and Montoya coughed as dirt thrown by a near-miss cascaded into their foxhole.

“Echo Five Six, this is Two. Over.” He could barely hear it.

He wriggled round to get at the radio strapped to Montoya’s back and had to shout to make himself heard. “Two, this is Six! Go ahead.”

“NK infantry stopped. But the BMPs are still closing with you.”

It was time to show his ace. “Two, this is Six. Open fire! Say again, open fire!”

“You got it!” Geary sounded excited now. He and his men had flank shots on most of the approaching North Korean vehicles. BMPs started going up in flames as Dragon teams hidden among the rice paddies found the range.

WHAMMM! WHAMMM! WHAMMM! Enemy shells continued landing all over the hill, shaking the ground, toppling trees, blasting foxholes — killing and wounding men crouching helpless under the barrage. The 2nd Platoon’s missile teams and machinegunners were wreaking havoc on the North Korean vehicles, but they kept coming, surging forward toward the pinned-down 1st Platoon. Kevin knew he had to get his men out from under this artillery fire or they’d be overrun. But how?

“Target, sir!” The corporal’s yell brought the captain’s head back inside the darkened radar van.

“Where?”

The corporal leaned closer to his green-glowing monitor, pounding keys as the van’s onboard computer evaluated radar traces made by the North Korean shells pounding Echo Company’s hill. In a microsecond it backtracked along their projected trajectory, compensated for known temperature and wind velocity, and flashed the estimated position of the North Korean battery on-screen. It was in range.

The captain grabbed his command phone. “Fire mission! Counterbattery!” He squatted to look at the corporal’s computer monitor. “Target at Yankee Delta six five eight two three zero!”

He carried the handset over to the van’s open door, looking down into the shallow valley where the four surviving guns of Battery B were deployed.

“Target laid in.” The battery commander’s voice was flat, all emotion ground out by more than ninety-six hours of near-continuous combat and heavy losses.

“Fire at will!”

Battery B’s 155mm self-propelled howitzers crashed back, flinging four HE shells toward the North Korean artillery battery sixteen kilometers away. Four more followed fifteen seconds later.

The North Korean artillery captain froze in shock as the first American shells exploded on and around his battery’s gunline.

His second-in-command had quicker reflexes. He dove to the bottom of a slit trench dug next to the CP and stayed there for a full minute as the ground trembled from hit after hit. When the barrage lifted, he raised his head cautiously above ground level to survey the damage.

He glanced back at the CP and quickly averted his gaze from the bloody scraps of flesh that had once been his captain. Things weren’t any better anywhere else. One D-30 howitzer had taken a direct hit and sat mangled on its central firing jack, with its seven-man crew lying dead beside it. Four of the battery’s five remaining guns were also out of action, and more than half his gunners were dead or severely wounded. Moans rose from the wreckage.

The North Korean lieutenant stared at the carnage for a moment and then went to help the wounded. The attacking force his howitzers had been supporting would have to fend for itself. Battery 3 was out of action.

At first the silence was overpowering. But then, as Kevin’s hearing returned, other sounds of the battle came flooding back — the rattle of machine gun fire from 2nd Platoon’s rice-paddy dikes, sharp explosions as American proximity-fused shells continued to burst in midair over open fields now carpeted with North Korean dead, and the grinding squeal of North Korean BMPs lumbering up the slope toward the woods he and his men held.

Kevin wriggled out from under the logs of his foxhole and sat up. Montoya followed him.

Trees had been blown down all around their position, sheared off by the North Korean barrage. The next foxhole over wasn’t there anymore; an evergreen had landed right on top of it. Kevin swallowed hard and looked away from the thin red smear oozing out from under the fallen tree.

Burning vehicles dotted the ground below his hill. A handful of BMPs, a scattering of wheeled BTR-60s, and five T-72 tanks sat motionless, spewing smoke. But three BMPs were still advancing, spraying the woods with machine gun fire and rounds from their 73mm cannons. Kevin couldn’t see any return fire from his own positions.

He craned his head, looking for the M-48 tanks attached to his command. One sat afire in the woods nearby. A thick, black column of smoke marked the funeral pyre of a second farther down the line. But where was the third? They needed armor support to stop the BMPs from overrunning the hill.

A soldier bellycrawled over from behind a splintered tree stump. It was Rhee.

Kevin reached out and pulled him into cover. “Where’s the fucking tank?”

Rhee’s face was grim. “Gone.” He pointed over his shoulder. “It fled and abandoned us.”

“Shit!” The BMPs were closer now, shooting up the forward edges of the wood. Kevin could see his men now. They were starting to give ground, slipping back through the trees. Echo Company’s defense was collapsing all around him. He felt the nerve under his left cheek twitch again. Another failure.

Three men ran past, one without a rifle.

Bastards. Kevin stood up and yelled, “Get back on the line! Goddamnit, we can hold ’em! Get back in your holes!”

They swept by without answering. Others were following them.

Kevin jumped up out of the foxhole. He felt Rhee’s hand on his leg, pulling him down, but he shook it off. He moved to intercept the troops heading away from the oncoming BMPs.

One carrying a LAW slung over his back came right at him. Kevin stepped into his path and held out a hand to stop him. “Hold it right there, soldier. We need that weapon.”

The man shoved him aside without even looking and snarled, “Fuck off!”

Kevin felt something explode in his brain for just an instant. Something infinitely cold and infinitely hot. An anger greater than he had ever known before surged through him. He gave in to it and threw himself at the soldier’s back — knocking the GI flat into the snow.

Kevin got to his knees first and wrenched the fiberglass-tubed antitank rocket off over the man’s neck, tearing away skin and the soldier’s helmet. The lead BMP was pushing its way into the mangled woods just twenty meters to the right, roaring up and over fallen trees.

Ignoring the white-faced GI on the ground, Kevin scrambled to his feet and ran toward the North Korean infantry combat vehicle, swinging the LAW up and onto his shoulder as he ran. He could hear himself shouting something at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Snow spurted all around him, and wood splinters sprayed off a tree to the side. A second BMP had spotted him and was firing its coaxial machine gun. Kevin ignored it, really conscious only of his target and the white-hot rage he felt.

He got to within ten meters of the lead BMP and slid to a stop, feet plowing through the snow and churned-up mud. He braced and aimed, focusing along the length of the LAW toward the BMP’s massive, armored flank.

“Bastards!” Kevin screamed, and pulled the trigger. The 66mm antitank rocket roared out of its launch tube and slammed into the BMP It ripped through sixteen millimeters of steel armor and exploded inside. The BMP shuddered to a halt with smoke pouring out of its firing slits.

Kevin stood staring at it for a second and then felt himself knocked to the ground. Machine gun bullets cracked overhead, ripping branches off the evergreens around him and tearing away deeper into the woods. Kevin rolled over and came face-to-face with a grinning Lieutenant Rhee. He opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

Rhee shook his head and waved a hand at the woods around them. American soldiers were settling back into foxholes, their weapons out and ready. Kevin saw one man raise another LAW, point it downslope toward the second BMP and fire. It hit, but the BMP kept coming. A second soldier off to the flank saw it and fired a third antitank rocket. This one burst near the driver’s slit and sent fragments ricocheting around the interior of the North Korean vehicle. It rolled on for a few meters more and then juddered slowly to a stop.

The last BMP abruptly popped its smoke dispensers and reversed rapidly away from the hill, jinking from side to side to throw off the aim of any American missile teams zeroing in on it.

Kevin sat up slowly and then levered himself to his feet, looking at the wrecked vehicles and corpses scattered across the hillside and through the woods. He could hear faint cheering coming from the rice paddies occupied by his 2nd Platoon, but the men of his 1st Platoon sat silent, relieved just to be alive. He reached down and helped Rhee to his feet, gradually realizing that a smile was spreading across his face — an expression he hadn’t worn for what seemed like an eternity.

He looked down at his hands and saw that they were steady. No more trembling. They had won — at least this round. They’d stopped the North Koreans cold.

Kevin turned on his heel and started back through the tangle of shredded trees, looking for Montoya. His orders still stood. They’d bought some time. Now it was time to fall back to the next battle position and do it again.

“Drop one hundred, right fifty.”

The spotting round sent chunks of asphalt flying as it gouged a crater in the highway. Kevin clicked the transmit button. “Got it! On target! Let ’em have it!”

More artillery rounds screamed in, blasting the road and the open ground around it. North Korean infantrymen scattered in all directions, seeking cover where there was none. Earth and fragments of torn bodies fountained high into the air.

Kevin stopped watching the barrage and wriggled back into his foxhole to consider his next move. Echo Company and the units covering its flanks had fought steadily all day, gradually giving ground in the face of repeated North Korean attacks. Each time the pattern had been the same. Bloody the NK columns from concealed positions. Force them to waste time deploying for a more deliberate attack and then beat a quick retreat down the road to the next set of defensive positions.

It had worked. They’d bought time for the other units fleeing across the Haengju Bridge. But the price had been high. Sergeant Caldwell, his Weapons Platoon leader, was dead. Bryce, the 1st Platoon leader, had been medevacked two hours ago, bleeding from a dozen shrapnel wounds. All told, nearly thirty of his men were out of action — dead or seriously wounded.

Kevin rubbed a weary hand across his face, feeling the bristles of his beard mixed in with caked-on mud. How much longer could he ask his troops to go on taking losses like that? They were being ground up by this constant fighting. How much longer would they have to hold? This hill was the last barrier between the North Koreans and the Han.

He squinted west into the setting sun. Not more than an hour of daylight left. He turned to look down the slope behind him. There were still trucks crowding the bridge, but the traffic seemed somewhat lighter.

“Sir. It’s Major Donaldson.” Montoya nudged him gently.

Kevin took the handset and clicked the transmit button. “India One Two, this is Echo Five Six, over.”

Donaldson sounded tired, too. “Stand by for withdrawal. Say again, stand by for withdrawal.”

Kevin shook his head, not quite understanding. He felt as if his head had been wrapped in cotton. What was that? Withdraw? How? When? He clicked the transmit button again. “One Two, this is Five Six. Request instructions.”

“Okay, Kev.” Donaldson spaced his words out carefully. “Foxtrot and Bravo are pulling out now. They’re clear of NK contact. What’s your situation? Over.”

Kevin sat up higher in the foxhole. The fire mission he’d called down had ended. There were bodies thrown all around the road, some motionless, others writhing in agony. The scattered survivors of the NK infantry company he’d spotted were in full retreat — scampering back up the road as fast as their legs would carry them.

He lifted his binoculars, looking farther up the highway toward the low, rolling hills he and his men had left behind an hour before. He could see shapes moving among the trees. Tanks and other armored vehicles forming up for another attack.

He lowered the binoculars, thinking hard. “Two, this is Six. Estimate three zero minutes before next NK push, over.”

“Understood, Kev. Start your people across in five minutes, but leave a force to cover the bridge approaches until everybody’s clear. Got it?”

Kevin acknowledged and signed off. He handed the radio back to Montoya and looked around for Rhee. The shorter man’s steadiness and absolute reliability made him the perfect choice for the task Kevin had in mind. The South Korean lieutenant had shown himself to be a damned fine combat leader — one who could be counted on to inspire his men and use them well in the heat of battle. Just as important, he’d proved that he had brains as well as guts. During the day’s fighting, the dapper South Korean had earned his assigned slot as Kevin’s right-hand man a hundred times over.

Rhee was crouched beside one of the three remaining Dragon launchers. He saw Kevin’s wave and scuttled over.

Kevin filled him in on the situation and gave him his orders, trying to use the formal tone he knew the South Korean liked. “Lieutenant Rhee, I want you to lead the boys across. Leave me one Dragon team, one MG team, and a rifle squad. We’ll follow after you’re on the span. Clear?”

The South Korean nodded.

“Okay, then. Get moving.” Rhee rose to a crouch, but Kevin stopped him with a hand. “But keep everybody out of sight as long as you can. I don’t want the NKs to know we’re going until we’re long gone.”

Rhee nodded again and moved off to get the company organized and loaded onto its trucks.

The exhausted men of Echo Company needed no urging to leave their foxholes behind and crowd onto the waiting vehicles. One by one the trucks pulled out onto the road and roared off down toward the bridge and safety.

Kevin spread his remaining eleven men out in a thin skirmish line along the crest of the hill. Montoya crouched beside him in the foxhole that served as his CP, turning every five seconds or so to see how far the company had gotten. Kevin kept his eyes on the woods to the north.

He didn’t have any illusions left. Another North Korean tank attack would sweep through this last squad as if it weren’t even there. The most they could do would be to give a little warning to the men waiting to blow the bridge.

Minutes passed. The signs of movement in the woods were increasing. The NKs could come anytime now. He glanced at his watch. Come on, Rhee!

“Echo Five Six, this is Five Four.” It was Rhee.

Kevin grabbed the handset. “Go ahead, Four.”

“We’re on the bridge.”

Kevin felt relief wash over him. He stood up and cupped his hands. “Second Squad! Let’s get the fuck out of here. Let’s go, people!”

He watched the woods while his troops grabbed their weapons and jogged downhill toward the last truck. The driver already had its engine running. Men swarmed over the tailgate, turning once they were on board to help others up.

Oh, God. Tanks were emerging from the tree line, forming up for the attack. Ten, eleven, twelve… Kevin counted them rapidly. There were at least two North Korean tank companies moving toward him.

“Lieutenant!” It was Montoya yelling at him from the truck. “C’mon, sir. We gotta get out of here!”

No shit. Kevin spun away from the oncoming North Korean tanks and sprinted hard for the waiting truck. KARRUMP. KARRUMP. Dirt kicked high behind him. NK mortars were zeroing in on the hill. He ran faster, arms pumping out from his sides.

KARRUMP. Rock fragments and splinters whined overhead, thrown by an explosion to his right. Kevin skidded to a stop, panting, at the back of the truck. Hands reached down to pull him aboard as the driver put it in gear and raced away toward the bridge. Behind them the hill they’d been defending disappeared in a sea of blindingly bright flashes as the NK heavy artillery opened up.

WHAMMM! The truck careened around a shell crater and roared onto the empty bridge. Kevin sat up amid his men as they swayed from side to side under the low canvas roof. Gray-white smoke billowed high in the air above the hill. The North Koreans were laying a smoke screen to cover their attack. He smiled crookedly. They were wasting a lot of ammunition on people who weren’t there anymore.

The truck crossed over to the south side of the Han and slowed, turning off onto an access road running along the riverbank. The driver slammed on his brakes, fighting a skid, as he turned a corner and came face-to-face with a row of concertina wire laid across the road.

“Everybody out! Out! Take cover over there!” Grim-faced combat engineers waved Kevin and his men out of the truck. They jumped down over the tailgate, some falling to their knees in the mud, and staggered over behind a snowbank.

“Blow it!” Kevin looked up at the voice and saw an engineer wearing colonel’s insignia staring intently at the bridge. He followed the man’s gaze.

WHUMMP. WHUMMP. WHUMMP. WHUMMP. Kevin covered his ears as the series of explosions grew louder and closer together, rippling across the bridge from north to south. Whole sections of the roadway buckled and then flew upward, spinning end over end before splashing into the river below. Others simply sagged and then fell over, crashing into the water in a spray of white foam and ice.

When the smoke cleared, the Haengju Bridge lay in ruins, torn and ripped into a mangled mass of twisted steel and shattered concrete, poking above the water here and there. Tanks appeared momentarily on the hill to the north of the river and then backed hastily out of sight. The North Koreans would have to find another way across.

The camera view showed a computer-generated map of South Korea, with red arrows showing the known positions of the attacking North Korean columns.

“Defense Department sources admit that, although the enemy’s advance has been slowed, it is still continuing. According to these sources, American and South Korean troops are currently engaged in what is called a ‘determined fighting withdrawal.’ Other people tell us that’s what used to be called a retreat.

“For other news of the day’s events, we go to ABC’s Karen Fuchida near the small town of Benicia, California.”

The camera cut away to an aerial view of row after row of gray-painted merchant ships riding motionless at anchor against a backdrop of flat marshland and low, rolling hills. As the helicopter moved closer and swooped lower, work crews could be seen swarming over several of the vessels.

“Civilian contract workers continued their ‘round-the-clock’ efforts today, as they pushed relentlessly to ready these ships of the nation’s ‘mothball fleet’ for sea. Once they’re ready to go, these ships will join others already carrying much-needed cargo to the troops fighting in South Korea.”

The camera view shifted again, this time to the main street of a small town nestled among snow-covered cornfields in Iowa. Men in green uniform fatigues moved purposefully around a square, brick building.

“Meanwhile, National Guard and Reserve units around the country received orders putting them on standby alert for possible movement overseas. There wasn’t a lot of flag-waving enthusiasm, just a lot of quiet determination. ABC’s John Peterson asked one Guardsman about his feelings.”

The camera cut to a close-up of one middle-aged man in full gear.

“Sure I’m hoping this thing gets settled without us. I’ve got a wife and couple of kids to think of. But I guess this is what they pay us for and all. So, if the country figures they need us, why, I guess we’ll go. Nope, not much doubt about that.”

The man seemed to stand taller as he spoke.