Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 36 Rear Guard

Kevin Little saw a sea of flame ripple across Suwon as more North Korean shells landed — smashing tile-roofed houses and tearing huge gaps in its ancient stone walls. Other explosions rocked the summit of Paltal Mountain, near the old city’s center. Temples, pavilions, and fortresses that had taken years of hard labor to build were being destroyed in minutes. He shook his head. The allied troops guarding Suwon weren’t anywhere within a kilometer of the North’s barrage. They’d abandoned the city’s historic center in a vain effort to preserve it from destruction. The North Koreans weren’t being so accommodating.

“Hey, Lootenant? Do you suppose we could get on with this? I ain’t exactly up here to play tourist, you know. See, I cain’t go back to my CO without your John Hancock on this here form to show that I dropped the stuff off at the right unit. Okay?”

Kevin turned away from the growing firestorm and back to the portly, double-chinned sergeant waiting impatiently, clipboard in hand. Something about the man had struck him as odd, and it had taken a while for the pieces to fall into place. Now he knew what it was. The sergeant’s combat fatigues looked brand-new and unwrinkled. Odder still, the man was clean. To someone who hadn’t been within half a klick of a working shower for days, seeing the supply sergeant’s shiny and well-scrubbed face was like running head-on into an alien from outer space.

He shook off the shock and shook his head. “No, it’s not okay, Sarge. I’m not signing for anything until I’m satisfied that it meets my military requirements.”

The shorter man frowned and Kevin tried making himself clearer. He could tell vaguely that he was starting to lapse into meaningless jargon. He was getting too tired for all of this. “Look, I can’t fight my company properly without enough ammo, and the load on your trucks gives me less than half my basic supply.”

More shells burst over the city and the supply sergeant flinched at the noise. He looked worried. “Hell, I’m sorry, Lootenant. But I just plain don’t have any more ammo to give you right now. Nobody else has any more.”

Goddamn the Army. Kevin felt the fury bubbling up inside him. Not enough men. Not enough time. And now not enough frigging ammunition even to fight properly. He fought against showing the anger he felt. The sergeant wasn’t the problem, just a symptom.

He felt his jaw tightening and grimly eyed the crates his troops were hastily hauling out of a pair of mud-spattered three-quarter-ton trucks.

The sergeant saw his face and shrugged apologetically. “Brigade’s promised us more before nightfall. But the roads are a mess… so I don’t know how much stock to put in that.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Amen to that, Lootenant.” The sergeant looked back down the slope to where GIs were frantically digging foxholes and trying to clear fields of fire through the undergrowth. Kevin waited silently while the man came to some kind of decision. “Look, I’ve got a couple of boxes of claymores on the trucks. They ain’t spoken for yet. Maybe I could let you have those.”

“I’ll take ’em.” Kevin didn’t hesitate. Echo Company was stretched way too thin along this line, and a few strategically placed claymore mines might come in real handy indeed. Used properly, a claymore could do a world of hurt to an enemy infantry unit. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. When it was triggered, a claymore’s pound of C4 plastic explosive hurled six hundred steel balls out in a sixty-degree arc to its front — literally scything down anything or anyone within its burst radius. Echo could use that kind of firepower.

The supply sergeant tugged at his lower chin thoughtfully. “You’ve got them.” He nodded abruptly. “Okay, then. I’ll just go down and tell the boys to hurry it up. Got my rounds to make, and I don’t want to stay here in your hair too long, after all.”

Kevin knew the man really meant that he didn’t want to risk getting caught up in the next North Korean attack, but he couldn’t blame him one bit. Nobody in his right mind would willingly hang around to be shot at.

He returned the sergeant’s salute and watched him move off down the hill toward the now-nearly-empty trucks. Then he swung away impatiently, looking for his squad and platoon leaders. He had a defensive position to finish laying out and too damned little time to do it in.

Captain Chae Ku-Ho of the North Korean People’s Army waited patiently while his battalion commander scanned the horizon through a pair of East German — manufactured binoculars. The major was very proud of those binoculars, and Chae understood his pride. They were superb instruments.

“Magnificent! Magnificent! Can you see it, Captain?”

“Yes, Comrade Major.” The smoke pouring from a hundred fires obscured Suwon and billowed high into the atmosphere, mixing with heavy, gray storm clouds that still covered the sky. There would be more snow soon, Chae decided.

“And look at that blacker stuff rising beyond the city. That’s fuel oil and aviation gas burning. The imperialists must have fired their airbase to prevent us from capturing it. We have them on the run, Captain. They’re already beaten in their own minds.”

Chae agreed with his commander but didn’t see the point in saying anything. The enemy troops might be mentally defeated, but they still had to be physically destroyed for it to mean much. He waited patiently until the major had seen enough.

At last the man lowered the binoculars and turned to face him. “Very well, Chae. Let’s not waste any more time. Your orders are simple.” The major pointed to the low, tree-covered hills rising to the west of Suwon. “The division’s axis of advance runs straight through there. And we’ve been selected to spearhead the advance.” He paused.

“A great honor, Comrade Major.”

The man nodded. “Yes. In any event, Chae, I want your company to lead the battalion. Intelligence assures me that we can expect only light opposition from isolated enemy rear guard forces. The rest of the fascists are running back down the highway as fast as they can.”

Chae had his own doubts about the major’s intelligence reports, but he remained silent. The Main Political Administration’s agents had unpleasant ways of dealing with officers suspected of defeatism or insufficient ardor.

“What about tank support, sir?”

The major waved his question aside. “The tanks are being sent further west, where the ground is more suitable for their use. We won’t need them. This will be infantry work only, Chae. We’ll rout the enemy out with the point of the bayonet!”

“Yes, Comrade Major.” Chae was careful not to let any expression show on his face. “I’ll get back to my troops, then.”

“Indeed, Captain.” The major’s tone grew colder. Perhaps he’d sensed Chae’s lack of enthusiasm for his leadership. “I’ll expect your column to be underway within twenty minutes.”

Chae saluted and headed back to his company’s bivouac inside the still-smoldering ruins of Uiwang. He shivered in the wind and grimaced. At least he and his troops would have a brisk six-kilometer march to warm themselves with before going into the attack. The People’s Army’s trucks were too valuable to risk to enemy fire.

They were as ready as it was humanly possible to be. Or so he hoped, Kevin Little admitted to himself. Anyway, there wasn’t time to do any more work preparing the position. He checked the magazine on his M16. It was full, but he only had six more in the pouch attached to his combat webbing. He patted the ammo pouch to make sure it was still there and for the thousandth time, he silently cursed the fouled-up supply situation. Where the hell were all those planeloads of ammo and other gear that the scuttlebutt said were landing every few minutes from the States?

Seven magazines wouldn’t last long in the kind of firefight they’d soon be facing.

A two-man OP sited along the treeline to the north had reported several infantry columns marching south toward them. And Battalion had passed along similar reports from the other companies holding this part of the line. There wasn’t much doubt about it. They were going to get hit.

Kevin trudged wearily through the ankle-deep snow, just putting one foot in front of the other — taking stock of his company’s situation for one last time. He’d had his troops dig in just behind the crestline of the small, tree-covered hill they’d been ordered to hold. The hill itself would block the line of sight for any North Korean observers and force the NK commander to commit his own forces without much idea about where the company’s main strong points were.

Not that there were many of those. Major Donaldson had scraped together a few more replacements for him, but he still had less than sixty men left to hold a position more suitable for a full-strength rifle company with attachments. As it was, he’d been forced to put everyone up on the line just to avoid leaving gaping holes in his defense. The idea of fighting without having some kind of reserve left Kevin feeling cold. It reminded him too much of the fiasco on Malibu West. That had been one of his mistakes up there, too.

He shook off the thought. This wasn’t the time or place. Maybe later. Maybe after the war, always assuming he lived that long.

His 1st and 2nd Platoon leaders — Corporal McIntyre and Sergeant Geary — just nodded when he stopped by their foxholes to go over the battle plan. They looked haggard, dog-tired and hollow-eyed. But then, hell, so did everyone else in the company. Five days and four nights out in the open under extreme stress and in arctic temperatures had pushed the troops to the edge of their endurance. Many were coming down with bronchitis, severe chest colds, or pneumonia. Kevin knew that, by rights, fully a third of his men should have been in the hospital for treatment. The trouble was, he couldn’t spare them — any more than he could spare himself.

He kept going, half-walking, half-sliding downhill through the snow toward the weakest point in his line — a brush-choked ravine that cut between the hill held by his company and the one occupied by Matuchek’s Alpha Company. A frozen, narrow stream turned and twisted its way south at the bottom of the ravine, and the tangle of small trees, shrubs, and tall grass its waters had fed made movement difficult and observation next to impossible. It was the perfect place for a North Korean infiltration through his position.

Knowing that and knowing what exactly to do about it were two very different things, but Kevin had done his best. He’d scraped together a blocking force by stripping the 2nd Platoon of a machine gun team and four precious riflemen. These six men now held positions along either edge of the ravine, ready to pour a vicious crossfire into any NK troops moving up through the dense underbrush.

He’d done more. He’d had the blocking force emplace no fewer than six claymore mines along the gully — ready to shred the vegetation and anyone in it with a total of 3,600 plastic-explosive-driven steel balls. It would be enough to give the first North Korean attack down the ravine a very bloody nose indeed. It wouldn’t be enough if there were a second or third assault.

Well, he’d have to worry about that later. Kevin moved back up the slope toward the two-man foxhole that served as his CP. Montoya was already there, helmet pulled low over a green scarf wrapped around to cover his ears. The RTO just shook his head when Kevin asked if there were any new orders from Battalion.

“What about Rhee? Any word on him?”

“Not a peep, L-T. Maybe he’s wangled himself a cushy staff job.”

Kevin grinned at Montoya’s stab at humor, but he didn’t really find it too funny. Rhee had been summoned earlier in the morning to the temporary Brigade HQ at Yongju-sa — Dragon Jewel Temple — a Buddhist temple complex several miles south of Suwon. The orders hadn’t explained why and they hadn’t given Kevin any indication of when he could expect Rhee back. Goddamned rear-area dips, Kevin thought savagely. They probably wanted the Korean lieutenant to fill out some pointless requisition. And now he was short his second-in-command just before going into battle.

He felt uneasy at the prospect. This would be the first time he’d gone into action without Rhee at his side, and Kevin knew how much he’d come to rely on the South Korean’s calm, good humor and guts. Damn it.

“L-T. Hey, L-T.” Montoya laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. “The OP’s coming in.”

He took the handset. “Echo Five Six to Echo Eyes. Give me a sitrep. Over.”

“Echo Five Six, this is Eyes.” Kevin could hear the man panting into his mike as he and the other sentry jogged back to the company. “We’re coming in. First November Kilos are just about four hundred meters from our position. Strength estimated at one, repeat, one battalion. No tanks or PCs.”

“Acknowledged. Five Six out.” Kevin handed the mike back to Montoya. “Pass the word to all posts that we’ve got bad guys on the way with friendlies in front of ’em. Tell everybody to hold their fire until I give the word.”

WHOOOOSH. WHAMMM. WHAMMM. WHAMMM. The howling din of artillery landing somewhere to their front drove Montoya and Kevin to the bottom of their foxhole — an action duplicated by everybody else in Echo Company. It took several seconds to realize that the shells weren’t exploding around them, and several more before anybody cared to raise his head above ground level.

Kevin wriggled out of the foxhole and bellycrawled up to the crestline of the hill. Forty-year-old pines, oaks, and willow trees blocked much of his view, but he could see well enough to realize that the North Korean shells were tearing up the whole northern edge of the forest. He almost smiled. Major Donaldson had been right. Trying to defend from there would have been tantamount to committing suicide. It was too bloody obvious a target for enemy artillery.

He slid back down to the CP and started issuing orders to his platoon leaders. Once the NK heavy guns were done shooting up the forest, their infantry would be coming through the fallen and splintered trees — straight toward his positions. The North Koreans would have scouts out in front, and Kevin wanted to make sure they got a warm reception. He had McIntyre and Geary deploy a fire team each along the crest, ready to hose down the first NKs to show themselves on the ground below the hill.

That done, he settled back inside his foxhole to wait. There wasn’t anything else he could do.

Chae scrambled over a massive tree trunk blown down by the artillery barrage and waited for the rest of his headquarters group to catch up. The three infantry platoons of his company were already a hundred meters ahead, pushing deeper into the forest. Everything was quiet, except for the crackle of a dozen small fires set by bursting shells, and Chae didn’t like it.

He motioned his second-in-command over for a hasty conference in the shadow of a pine tree whose branches had been stripped off by a near-miss. Senior Lieutenant Koh didn’t like the situation any better than he did. He thought they were walking face forward into a trap.

“Agreed. So I want you to take a squad and scout ahead. Don’t try to engage the fascists closely. Just find out where they are and we’ll let the mortars and artillery deal with them.”

Koh nodded sharply and jogged on ahead through the trees to catch up with the lead platoon. Chae followed at a more moderate pace with his staff sergeant and runners tagging along beside him. He didn’t see any point in rushing in to get his head blown off — major or no major.

Kevin went from man to man along the crest with the same warning. “Three-round bursts tops. Make every shot count. No rock-and-roll. What you’ve got in your ammo pouches is all you’ll get. Shoot it all off and you’ll have to throw snowballs at the bastards. Understood?” He’d wait for the nod and then move on to say it all over again.

He came to the end of the line, gave his speech to the wide-eyed private there, and started to scuttle away. Suddenly the PFC grabbed the lieutenant’s boot and pointed downslope toward a clump of bushes that had started waggling. Kevin dropped flat and twisted around to get his M16 lined up on the spot.

A Russian-style pot helmet emerged from the bushes, followed by the rest of an AK-armed soldier. Kevin squinted right and left and saw more North Koreans strung out in a skirmish line at the base of the hill. He counted at least ten — a squad then, with more somewhere behind.

He tried to stop breathing, willing the North Koreans farther up the slope. Please God, don’t let anybody open up until they’re a little closer, a little more out in the open, he prayed silently. He heard the PFC beside him swallow convulsively and resisted an impulse to hit him. Sounds carried too far here under the trees. Come on closer, you bastards.

Now. Kevin yelled, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

The eight other men along the crest started shooting, and he squeezed off a three-round burst at the same moment. His target, the first North Korean he’d spotted, tumbled backward down the hill. The man’s helmet fell off and rolled away to rest beneath a bare-branched willow tree.

Others were down as well, thrown off their feet by the first salvo of American rifle fire. A few survivors had burrowed into the snow, firing blindly back up at the top of the hill.

Kevin felt snow spray across his face from a near-miss and took careful aim at one of the prone NKs. He pulled the trigger once and felt the M16 jump in his hands. A hit! Blood spurted from the North Korean’s shoulder, and the man rose involuntarily to his knees clutching at the wound. Another bullet from someone else along the crestline threw the wounded man back dead.

He looked to either side, hunting for new targets. Nothing. Just six or seven crumpled bodies bleeding into the snow. The surviving North Koreans had pulled back into cover. He took his finger off the trigger and laid waiting.

An M16 cracked off to his left. Then another. Firing at nothing. Kevin put his energy into a single, harsh, penetrating whisper. “Cease fire! Stop wasting your ammo, goddamnit!”

The shooting stopped, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by low moans from somewhere out in the forest to their front. Kevin waited for his hearing to come back to normal and for his heart to stop pounding so loudly.

He cocked his head, listening. There. Muttered voices. Feet crunching in the snow. Equipment rattling. There were more North Koreans among the trees, moving up to the attack. A lot more. They’d make a rush soon.

Kevin made an instant decision. He didn’t have enough men to hold the crest against a concerted attack. “Back! Get back to your holes. Move it.”

The two American fire teams slid downhill into their foxholes, joining up with the rest of Echo Company. They’d meet the next North Korean assault when it came over the top of the hill.

Senior Lieutenant Koh lay ashen-faced while the medic worked on him, trying to stem the loss of blood from his wounds. “As you suspected, they were waiting for us. At least a platoon, perhaps more.” He gasped as the medic pulled a bandage tighter.

“Lie still, comrade.” Chae put a hand on his second-in-command’s shoulder. “You did well. Now we’ll smoke the bastards out with a few rounds of artillery fire, eh?”

Koh nodded weakly and closed his eyes. Chae looked sharply at the medic, who simply shrugged. The lieutenant’s wounds were beyond his ability to treat, and the nearest aid station was more than an hour’s march away. It was all in the hands of chance — Koh would live or die as fate dictated.

Chae stood up and stared around the small hollow that held his command group and the battered remnants of his scouting force. His first two platoons were already deployed in a skirmish line about two hundred meters below the top of the American-held hill. The men of the 3rd Platoon, his reserves, squatted on their haunches just outside the hollow.

He snapped an order to his sergeant and headed back the way they’d come. He needed artillery support to press the attack and only the battalion commander could make the necessary arrangements.

“Absolutely not! There’s no time for such foolishness. It would be a waste of valuable ammunition and time. Drive them off that hill with a lightning attack.”

Chae was astonished. He’d known his commander was overconfident, but until that very moment he hadn’t been sure that the man was a simpleton as well. “Comrade Major, the enemy position is a strong one. An unsupported infantry attack will only fail. We must have artillery support.”

The major’s eyes narrowed. “Comrade Captain. My orders to you were explicit, were they not? Are you disobeying a direct command?”

Chae knew he was within moments of being placed under arrest — an arrest that could only have one result: his execution. And that left him with a choice of two equally unpleasant alternatives. He shook his head slowly. “No, Comrade Major. Your orders will be carried out.”

The major smiled. “Excellent, Captain. Excellent.” He patted Chae’s shoulder. “I’m sure there’s nothing there but a small delaying force. One sharp attack by your company will overwhelm them and clear the way for our continued advance.”

Chae could only nod.

“Very well, Chae.” The major glanced at his watch. “I’ll expect your assault to get under way in twenty minutes. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover today. Division expects us to reach the fascist government’s Agricultural Experiment Station by nightfall. And I don’t intend to disappoint them. Is that clear?”

“Extremely so, Comrade Major.” Chae saluted and wheeled away sharply, seething internally. He and his troops would just have to do their best and hope for the best. He’d send his 1st and 2nd platoons in on a wild rush. Perhaps they’d be able to get in among the Americans holding the hill without suffering crippling casualties. And if that failed, at least he’d still have the 3rd Platoon on hand with which to try something else.

The bugle’s high-pitched, discordant shriek echoed eerily off the surrounding tree trunks and branches.

“Here they come, you bastards! Get set for it!” Kevin flicked the M16’s safety off and made sure it was set for semiautomatic fire. He crouched lower in the foxhole.

WHUMMMP! Dirt and snow thrown by an NK grenade sprayed up along the crest of the hill. More grenades burst in quick succession, flashing brightly in the half-light under the overhanging trees. A fragment whined over his head. Above it all, the bugle continued to sound.

There they were. Kevin saw the first figures silhouetted against the skyline, bayonet-tipped assault rifles in their hands. M16s and M60 light machine guns crashed repeatedly along the row of American foxholes, and North Koreans fell or were tossed backward. Others dropped flat and tried to return fire.

Heavier-sounding AK shots mingled with the lighter-pitched cracks made by M16s.

An American private gurgled and suddenly clutched with bloody hands at a throat that wasn’t there anymore. Another screamed in anguish and fell back holding a shattered forearm. But the North Koreans were caught in the open without good cover and they were dying faster.

Kevin shot a man trying to crawl behind a tree and yanked the now-empty magazine out of his rifle, fumbling to insert a new one. Five left. Something round flicked through his line of sight and thumped into a tree just beyond his foxhole. He ignored it and took quick aim at an NK standing full upright, arm extended from the throw.

“Grenade!” Montoya screamed, and dragged Kevin to the bottom of the hole.

WHUUMMMP! The ground shook and both men felt the blast punch the air out of their foxhole. Fragments gouged dirt out of the sides and sprayed overhead. Their ears rang.

“Asshole!” Kevin reared up and pumped three shots at close range into the North Korean preparing a second grenade. The man died with a look of absolute surprise frozen on his face.

Another grenade exploded farther down the line, and Kevin heard men screaming in agony. His men. Kevin cursed and kept firing. Empty. Eject. Reload. Four magazines left now.

The North Korean fire didn’t seem so loud now. Visibility was down to just a few meters, but it seemed that there were fewer muzzle flashes up along the crest. Bodies sprawled everywhere along the slope.

He saw a North Korean trying to roll back over the top of the hill and fired again — kicking up a miniature snowstorm all around the man. He couldn’t tell if he’d hit him. Another NK tried to run. Four rounds hit the man at the same instant and threw him bodily against a bullet-pocked oak tree.

He ripped another empty magazine out of the rifle and reloaded again. Three left in the pouch.

Kevin scanned a sixty-degree arc around his hole, looking for new targets. He waited for the smoke and dust to thin. There were’t any new targets. The bugle had stopped sounding. The North Koreans were gone.

“Cease fire! Hold it! Hold it!” His hearing was coming back, but slowly, too slowly. He could just make out McIntyre and Geary screaming at their men to call them off. They sounded as if they were a thousand miles away.

Kevin shook his head from side to side, trying to clear the last of the ringing out of his ears. He eased his finger off the M16’s trigger and leaned heavily against the foxhole’s dirt wall, breathing hard. Echo Company and its rookie commander had won another skirmish. He felt a surge of triumph and elation and almost laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it. Then he suppressed the feelings as quickly as they had come.

The trouble was the North Koreans would be back for more soon enough, and his troops had already shot off half their ready ammunition. One more attack would burn up the rest. And then what would he do? Kevin didn’t have the answer to that one, but he knew that he’d have to think of one pretty damned quickly. There was an enemy commander out there somewhere in the forest already planning his next move.

Chae stared at the shattered fragments of his 1st and 2nd platoons in rage. Nearly seventy men had been thrown away to no useful end, slaughtered because the battalion commander was a fool of the first magnitude. The Americans over the hill were too well dug-in to be dislodged by a frontal attack. He would have to find another way to get at them.

He frowned. The moans from the wounded were distracting. He turned to his staff sergeant and snapped an order. “Get the wounded on their way back to the aid station and rejoin me here after that’s done.”

“You” — he pointed to the corporal now leading what was left of the 1st Platoon — ”take your able-bodied men up to the base of the hill and keep the Yankees occupied. Don’t expose yourselves, but don’t let them see how few of you there really are. Understand?”

The corporal saluted and wheeled to gather his troops and go forward again. Chae felt his anger grow again. These soldiers were too good to be led by an incompetent like the major, a puffed-up idiot with his pretty binoculars. He growled at an orderly and took his AK assault rifle from the man. The Makarov pistol holstered at his side marked him as an officer, but it wasn’t the proper weapon for this kind of fight.

He waited until the skirmishers he’d sent ahead to pin down the enemy started firing. Then he turned to the lieutenant commanding the 3rd Platoon. “Follow me. And keep silent. The first man to make a sound will spend what’s left of his miserable life breaking rocks in a work camp.”

Without waiting for a reply, Chae moved off through the trees, angling left toward the ravine he’d spotted earlier and marked as a possible way through the American defenses. If he could get in behind the Yankees, he could repay them for the massacre of his men in their own coin. The 3rd Platoon followed him in a column of twos.

The isolated spatters of rifle fire made it difficult to hear.

“Say again your last, India One Two. Over.”

The shooting died away for a moment, allowing Kevin to make out Donaldson’s voice through a thin wash of static. “I need a sitrep, Five Six. Over.”

“Understood, Two. Attack was by a company-size formation. We’re still getting sniper fire, but no heavy weapons stuff. I have two Kilo India Alphas and four Whiskey India Alphas who need evac. Over.”

“Okay, Kev. We’ll get a jeep on the way. The air boys tell me we can’t get a dust-off in through those trees so it’ll be a few minutes.”

Kevin swore under his breath at that. One of his wounded men could die before a jeep pushed its way over the rutted, narrow tracks they called roads in this part of South Korea. He clicked the transmit button. “Roger, Two. Tell ’em to make it fast. What about my request for ammo resupply?”

“Understand your situation, but I have nothing to give you at this time. We’re hunting for some more, Kev, but I can’t make any promises.” Donaldson sounded harried. He’d probably been getting the same urgent request from each of his other line units.

Kevin clenched the handset tighter. He needed ammo to hold this position. Didn’t any of the higher-ups give a damn about that? “Two, I can hold through one more attack like that last one, but that’s it.”

“Understood. Do what you can. Two out.”

Kevin tossed the handset back to Montoya and slung his M16. He’d been jawing with the useless high command long enough. He’d better inspect his line for new weak spots before the North Koreans tried their next move. And the ravine was the most likely place they’d try it. He set off at a fast, angry walk with Montoya in tow.

Chae crawled carefully through the narrow gap, moving cautiously to avoid rustling the snow-covered bushes on either side. Sweat trickled into his eyes and he stopped to wipe it away, conscious of the small sounds of movement from all sides as his troops continued their painstaking progress down the ravine past the enemy-held hill. Gunfire rattled in the near distance where his other platoons were still skirmishing with the Yankees, and Chae allowed himself a short, breathless prayer that his ploy would work. Then he put his hands back down in the snow and slid forward again. Soon they would be able to strike the Americans from the rear and send them running.

Kevin heard it first, a soft, whispering hiss as something knocked the snow off an overhanging limb. He glanced quickly around; there wasn’t any wind, though from the look of the sky there soon would be. And every animal for miles around must have already been frightened away by the noise of the fighting. That left only one other possibility.

He flattened himself and motioned for Montoya to do the same. One hand tapped the shoulder of the corporal in charge of the ravine detail, the other pulled his M16 closer.

The corporal, a tall black man named Reese, nodded his understanding and waved slowly to attract the attention of the sentries stationed above the other side of the ravine. They waved back and slid down deeper into their camouflaged foxholes.

Kevin waited.

Ten meters below and to the front, something moved. It changed shape and then grew clearer — a single North Korean soldier bellycrawling through the tangle of brush and tall grass with serpentlike care. Reese laid his thumb on the switch that would trigger the claymores, but Kevin quickly shook his head. This was just a scout. There would be others behind him, and he wanted to catch the whole group in the ambush if possible.

The North Korean came closer, and now Kevin could see and hear a dozen other signs of movement in the ravine just below his vantage point — a rustling bush, a metallic clank, a moving shadow among others motionless. He held his breath and let it out slowly, stealthily. Closer. Closer. More North Koreans were visible now, crawling quietly into range.

One of the machine gunners posted behind a fallen tree coughed — a light sound loud in the still air. Kevin saw the North Korean scout’s eyes widen and his mouth open to shout a warning.

“Reese!”

Reese jammed a thumb down on the claymore trigger — setting off the whole daisy-chained string of six with a thunderous roar. A moving curtain of steel shrapnel sleeted the length of the ravine at just above ground level, shredding vegetation and human flesh with equal ease in a horrible kaleidoscopic spray of green, white, and reddish pink. The mines killed almost every North Korean within their burst radius and left the survivors stunned.

The other GIs opened up at the same moment, pumping round after round into the ravine. More North Koreans fell, knocked down dead or wounded. Screams reached above the chatter of the M60 and the crack of M16s.

“Pour it on! We’ve got these bastards!” Kevin jammed a new magazine into his rifle and kept shooting.

He heard Reese panting the same words over and over again as he fired: “Yeah, take it! Yeah, take it!”

The M60 stopped chattering. It had jammed when its loader let the ammo belt twist through his hands.

Chae heard the American machine gun stop firing and tore the pin out of a grenade. He held it a second longer, rolled right, and hurled it toward the enemy foxhole. Three. It sailed perfectly through the air and fell in between the two Americans trying frantically to unjam their weapon. Two. One saw it, tried to grab it, and missed. One.

The grenade went off and the explosion catapulted both men out of the hole, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

Without the machine gun the American fire seemed much lighter to Chae. The North Korean captain glanced to either side. Bodies lay all around, heaped on top of one another in some places. But there were survivors and they were starting to shoot back at the Americans dug in above the ravine. Chae counted quickly. He had perhaps half a platoon left in shape to fight. If they could push through here, he might still be able to win this battle.

An AK burst kicked dirt up right in front of Kevin and he rolled away. That was too damned close.

He stopped rolling and squinted down the M16’s sight, squeezing off another burst. The rifle fired once, then twice, and then the bolt clicked on an empty chamber. He hit the release and tore the magazine out, automatically reaching for another in his ammo pouch. There wasn’t one. Oh, my God, now what?

“L-T! Catch!” Montoya yelled and tossed him another magazine.

“Tell McIntyre we need another fire team down here, now!” Kevin spotted an NK trying to crawl forward and shot the man through the head.

“Medic!” One of Reese’s men was down, bleeding from the mouth and chest. Things were getting tight. He had just four riflemen left and the North Korean return fire was getting heavier. Something had to give.

Something did.

Suddenly there were men wearing green camouflage gear and old-style U.S. helmets kneeling at the edge of the ravine, firing down into the North Koreans below. All were Orientals. Kevin took his finger off the trigger and stared at them. South Koreans? Where’d they come from?

Rhee dropped to the ground beside him, a grin spread all across his lean, sharp-featured face. “Third Platoon, reporting in as ordered, Lieutenant Little.”

“Jesus Christ, who the hell are these guys?”

Rhee ducked as an AK burst cracked low overhead, but he kept smiling. “Forty KATUSAs attached to the company, Lieutenant. That’s why they wanted me back at Brigade HQ — to pick these men up and lead them to the front.”

“Fantastic.” KATUSAs were Korean troops attached to the U.S. Army, and they were exactly what Echo Company needed. Kevin started to relax as he watched Rhee’s troops push the North Korean attack down the ravine. The gunfire faded as more and more of the NKs took to their heels, dragging their wounded with them.

Kevin sat up. “How much ammo do you people have?”

“Not much.” Rhee’s smile faltered. “The rear area is a complete madhouse, Lieutenant. Nobody seems to know where anything is.”

“Swell. Okay, call your boys off and string a couple of squads along the edge of this ravine. Keep one squad back.” Kevin grimaced. “That’ll be our company reserve.”

Rhee nodded and moved away to carry out his orders.

“Montoya?” Kevin looked for his RTO and saw him trying to clear a jam from his M16. “Montoya! Get Battalion on that radio of yours. I’ve got some serious talking to do with the major.”

Chae limped into the small clearing at the head of a ragged band of fifteen men, almost all wearing bloodstained bandages. He brushed past a sentry and walked up to the major standing at a fold-up map table.

The major looked up from the map he was studying in surprise. His mouth thinned. “Chae, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you up attacking with your company?”

“This is my company, or what’s left of it.” Chae’s voice was flat, emotionless. “The attack has failed.”

The major stared at the tiny group of soldiers in front of him. Something in their faces seemed to frighten him. “I…” He broke off and moistened his lips with his tongue. “I see. Well, then, we’ll… uh, we’ll have to try something else, Captain.” He forced a sickly smile. “I’m sure your men fought very bravely. They are to be commended.”

Chae felt his right hand twitch toward the revolver at his side and forced it down. The swine wasn’t worth it. “Yes. They fought well, Major. I’m taking them back for a rest now. I’ll need replacements for my losses as soon as possible.”

The major waited for him to continue, but Chae had finished. He turned without saluting and moved away, toward his waiting troops.

“Captain…”

Chae turned. “Yes, Major?”

The man still looked pale. “What about the hill? What…”

Chae was brutal, past caring that he’d crossed the line into insubordination. “I don’t know, Major. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He swung round and walked away, half-expecting a bullet in the back.

It didn’t come.

“Can you hold, Echo Five Six?” Donaldson’s voice filtered through the static.

“Negative, Two. We’re down to less than two clips per man and barely a belt per machine gun. That’s just not enough.” Kevin rocked back on his heels, staring across the hillside to where his men were stripping the North Korean dead — collecting their rifles and ammunition. If another attack came in, his company would have to use the NKs’ own weapons against them. It wasn’t an acceptable situation.

Nearly ten minutes went by before Donaldson came back on. “Very well, Six. Foxtrot, Alpha, and Bravo are all in the same shape. I’ve been on the horn to Brigade, and we’re pulling back to resupply. With me so far?”

“Affirmative, Two.”

“Okay. Charlie Company’s going to cover the withdrawal, so be ready to pull out when they get there. We’ll re-form at the Yangju-sa temple complex and try to set up a new line anchored there. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Two.” Kevin was glad to be going but was sobered by the thought that they were yielding another six or seven kilometers to the North Koreans. He shook his head. They could stop those guys if they could just get some reinforcements and enough supplies to do the job. He signed off and rose to his feet to organize Echo Company’s retreat.

Taxiing C-5s and C-141 Starlifters threw gigantic shadows under the floodlights illuminating Kunsan’s hard-surfaced runways. Howling jet engines made conversation and even thinking difficult.

McLaren squinted into the glare and shaped his face into a mask of tremendous anger aimed at the hapless officer in front of him. “I don’t want to hear any more goddamned excuses, Frank. I want this frigging mess sorted out. And I mean as in yesterday, mister. Do you read me?”

The man started to say something and stopped as a C-5 roared past on the runway and lumbered awkwardly into the air. When the noise level dropped, he went on, “General, we’re doing our best. But we’ve got one MAC aircraft landing every three minutes or so. And every one of them has thirty to one hundred tons of cargo aboard that we’ve got to unload and stow before it can turn around and go back for more.”

McLaren grimaced. “Look, I’ve got infantry battalions that are running out of ammo at the worst possible fucking times. I’ve got tanks that don’t have enough gas to move. And I’ve got artillery batteries that don’t have enough rounds to fight off a troop of NK Boy Scouts.”

He moved closer to the supply officer and poked him in the chest with an outstretched finger. “So I don’t care how many hernias your men get. I want my men properly supplied, or by God, I’ll see you in hell, personally.”

The man took a step backward. “But General, it isn’t as easy as all that. We’re getting the planes off-loaded without any problem. That’s just a muscle exercise. The trouble is sorting out what we’re getting. The people back stateside are loading everything from medical kits to bullets to spare uniforms into each cargo.”

“So?”

A Starlifter touched down and braked hard immediately, screeching down the runway to a stop. Trucks were moving toward the cargo plane before it had even stopped rolling.

“We can get the stuff out okay, but there’s just time to pile it off to the side before the next plane lands.” The officer shrugged. “I don’t have the manpower or the computer power available to keep track of everything once it’s on the ground. And that’s the bottleneck, General.”

McLaren smoothed his features out into a cold, impassive stare. “So who’s not doing their job?”

“Normally routing comes out of the logistics office in Seoul. They know what’s on each plane and who needs it. My guys unload it and put the required crates on the designated trucks and away it goes.”

“In other words, you just unload it and load it again,” McLaren prompted.

“Yessir.” The officer brightened. “I don’t have the men or the organization to find out what’s on each plane or to match it up with the requisitions. The staff in Seoul has been evacuated. They’re here on the base, I think. They’re scheduled to fly out to Japan tomorrow morning, and set up in…” He realized that McLaren was staring at him intently.

“Yes, sir. I’ll countermand those orders.”

“Good thinking. I don’t want any more foul-ups. If those are the people to fix this mess, get them on the job, now.” He nodded toward the flight line where forklifts were busy hauling cargo pallets out of the refueling C-141. “Pass my commendation along to your boys for their work.”

“I will, General.”

McLaren nodded and started to swing away. Then he stopped. “Oh, Frank?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t want to have to come back here again. Is that clear?”

The supply officer straightened. “Absolutely, sir.”

McLaren returned his salute and moved off toward his waiting helicopter. He saw the look on Hansen’s face. “You think I was too hard on the man, Doug?”

“Well, General…” Hansen stopped, but it was clear that he did.

McLaren grinned at him. “Prerogative of rank, Captain. When a general throws a temper tantrum, it’s called ‘exercising command authority.’” He clambered into the Cobra and buckled himself into the copilot’s seat. “Let’s get back to HQ. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

The gunship lifted and clattered off into the night sky. Another snowstorm was expected before midnight.

Anne looked at the disorder around her. Not her own group. They had adapted well to this ridiculous situation and almost looked on the MAC terminal as home now. Almost all were asleep, curled up as best as comfort allowed. They had been stuck here for four days, caught up in the logistic logjam they were supposed to be solving.

First there had been problems with the paperwork catching up with their move to Kunsan. Then there were priority squabbles, then wounded being evacuated. Weather complicated everything. If she hadn’t been so familiar with the supply system, she would have thought it impossible.

The airfield was a mess. Crates, boxes, and equipment were piled everywhere. Every hour of delay added to the chaos they would have to fight when they finally arrived in Japan.

Meanwhile, they sat at the airport. She remembered Kimpo Airport, and waiting for another airplane. Intellectually she knew she was safer here, but her imagination put smoke columns wherever she looked.

She waited for the airplane and hoped Kunsan really was well-defended.

Tony had insisted that it was, four days earlier at lunch. They’d arrived just after noon that day, and after they said good-bye to Captain Hutchins and his men, the entire staff had been invited to the Officers’ Club for lunch. Tony and Anne had taken a small table some distance away from the main group. Anne was sure her staff were gossiping about them, but she couldn’t hear it, so she didn’t care.

“Please, Anne, don’t worry about air attacks. The ‘Kun’ hasn’t been hit since the third day of the war. We’ve even got a Patriot SAM battery guarding the place.”

“Should you be telling me that?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, talking around a mouthful of salad. “The NKs already found out about it — the hard way.”

“Oh.”

They were sitting at a table with tablecloths and silverware, having the salad bar and sandwich special, and Anne marveled at how novel it all seemed. She imagined what it must be like for men really in the field, who had lived in the killing cold and mud for over a week now.

They talked, mostly about what Anne would do in Japan, and Tony’s experiences there. Tony was trying to clue her in on the best places to go. “There’re a lot of great restaurants in Misawa. Just outside the main gate, if you take a left — ”

“Tony, I’m going to be working twenty-hour days when we get there. I’ll be lucky if I have time to eat. I may even be too busy to miss you.” She smiled when she said it, though.

“I guess you’ll be too busy to think about us, then.” He smiled back, but his expression was serious.

“Please, Tony, too much has happened. Things need to calm down.”

He looked sour. “It could be a long time.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll call, and write every day.” It was her turn to look unhappy. “I worry about you.”

He waved her off. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to get my butt shot off. They say if you survive the first ten missions you’re good for the duration. I hit the tenth three days in. Besides, the NKs are running out of airplanes.”

He looked at his watch, then sighed. “I’ve got a briefing in twenty minutes. I’ve got to go.”

“And who knows when we’ll be together again,” she said.

“Soon, Anne.” He stood up to leave and she got up as well. Stepping around the table, she came up and embraced him.

Surprised, he hugged her back but protested, “Isn’t this a little public?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do. Let’s go outside.”

As they walked to the door, Anne suddenly felt very sad, more than she wanted to admit, at going to Japan and leaving Tony.

Just outside there was a grassy area with a few bare trees. There were plenty of people about, but they were all strangers, too busy with their own concerns to care about two people kissing good-bye.

She wondered where Captain Hutchins was now and then worried about Tony. He had came by to see her twice for a short while, but they were hurried visits, overlaid with her concern for his safety. Moreover, he couldn’t really console her. She was right, combat flying…

An Air Force general was coming toward her, with a group of junior officers and enlisted men in tow. He was tired, but determined, and definitely looked in charge. He strode up to her briskly and she fought the urge to salute.

“Miss Larson? I’m Frank Sheffield, base logistics officer.” He saw the recognition in her face. “Yes, ma’am, I’m in charge of that disaster outside. Your orders have been changed. We’re going to have you set up shop right here in Kunsan.”

Raising his voice a little, he said, “Sorry, folks, no trip to Japan this time. Lieutenant!”

A short, chunky officer stepped forward. The general introduced him. “This is Lieutenant Pettigrew. He will act as a liaison between your group and me.

“Miss Larson, the supply situation in Korea is critical. Field units are short of everything while cargo piles up at airfields and ports, and transport assets are being wasted.”

He pointed out the window. “That scene is being repeated all over Korea, and I need you and your people to sort it out. We can’t afford to delay another minute.”

He softened his tone. “You can have anything you want, and the lieutenant is here to see you get it. We’re giving you the aircraft maintenance records offices. Nobody’s keeping track of the stuff properly, anyway. Lieutenant, take over.”

Without waiting for Anne’s reply, the general and most of his entourage left, leaving the lieutenant and two enlisted men behind. The young officer stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’m Tom Pettigrew, ma’am. If you and your people will come with me, I’ve got some buses waiting outside…”

He couldn’t understand why everyone screamed. Luckily it was a short ride across the base, just long enough to fill in the young officer on the group’s adventures to date. And the buses were heated.

Anne tried to rein in her emotions. Yet another change of plans. If it was so important, they could have told them about this days ago. She wasn’t sure that there wouldn’t be another change, either.

She hoped this one was real, though. Being on the same base with Tony! It was too good to be true. There had to be another change in the works.

Half of her staff was here with her, sitting in the first bus. She decided to get a head start. “Claire, you take the computer center and tell me where we stand. Bill, make up a building plan and assign work spaces for everyone. Set aside some large room as a sleeping area.”

They pulled up outside a concrete-block building and hurried inside, eager to get out of the cold and see their new offices. The previous tenants were still packing, signs of a hurried departure everywhere.

Anne started directing the setup. The chance of actually doing her job, helping to straighten out the supply situation, excited her. It was going to be a long, hard night, the third in a row. She had a list of things to do as long as her arm. But she had to make a phone call first.