Sniper Ridge

Chapter Five

For a long time, Chen struggled in and out of consciousness. His mind became confused as he drifted through time and space. Suddenly, he was a child again, telling his brother to release him as they wrestled. Let me go! His brother was older and bigger, so he always had the advantage when they scuffled, as boys will do, constantly measuring their strength against the other.

Chen felt his legs being pinned down. Was his brother here? Chen's heart gladdened even in his mental confusion, for his brother had been dead for many years, murdered by the Japanese.

When he finally came to, he found himself hanging upside down under the Soviet-made vehicle. Tentatively, he tried to move his legs, half-expecting to be greeted by screaming pain. But to his surprise, his legs worked. He felt cuts and scrapes, but no major injuries.

Not that his entire body didn't hurt from the crash. But for the moment, he seemed to be whole.

His next concern was that he smelled a strong odor of gasoline. The fuel line must have ruptured during the accident. Thinking of fire, he fought back panic. He had seen men burn to death previously in similar accidents. He had to get out of here before something burst into flame.

Tugging at his legs, twisting and pulling, he extricated himself from the backseat, glad that he had not been pinned under the wreckage. Just ahead of him, he could see the driver who had been so jolly in life, generously sharing a bottle with Chen. It was clear that the weight of the vehicle had crushed the man — if the rounds from the American plane had not killed him outright before then.

The young officer was nowhere in sight.

Chen started to crawl away, then reached back and freed his rifle from where it was wedged under the back seats. Still wrapped in its protective blanket, the rifle appeared to be unharmed.

On his belly, Chen managed to worm his way free of the vehicle. Panting from the effort, he got to his hands and knees, but felt too dizzy to stand just yet. Looking around, he saw the young officer, who had been thrown clear of the wreck. A slight movement showed that the officer was still alive. Chen moved closer to see if he could give any assistance, but he saw that both the young man's legs were twisted at odd angles. A broken shaft of bone jutted from one leg. The young officer's legs had snapped like dry kindling.

"You must help me," the young officer said, struggling to speak through the pain.

Chen considered what to do. The vehicle was destroyed, which meant that the only option would be to build a litter of some sort to drag the officer along. He looked at the rough, winding road ahead and wondered how many miles they would need to cross.

Too many.

Looking down at the young officer, Chen shook his head. "You must rest here, sir. I will send help back for you."

"That will take hours!" the injured man complained. "You can't leave me here!"

Recalling the young officer's words to him earlier, Chen said: "Remember that we are not important, sir. You and I are not important. It is the mission that is important."

At that, Chen straightened up.

"What? You cannot leave me here like this!"

"I will send help," Chen reassured him. They both knew, of course, that even if a patrol could be spared, by the time it reached this location there would only be a need to collect the bodies.

If there were any bodies left. In this remote mountain area, there would likely be wolves or wild dogs scavenging once darkness fell.

The young officer seemed to be having much the same thought. “Don’t leave me!” he cried, using his hands to tug at his legs, as if trying to arrange them into working order. They flopped uselessly. The effort caused the officer to whimper in pain.

“You have your pistol if you need it, sir,” Chen said. He did not elaborate on the fact that, like a wounded horse, the officer might need to put himself out of his own misery.

Ignoring the young officer's protests, Chen started up the road on foot. Thankfully, the American planes were long since gone.

The American pilots could not have known that they were targeting the vehicle carrying a celebrated enemy sniper to the battlefield, but their attack had been more than effective. Already, the mission to bring Chen to the battlefield had cost the lives of two men.

Nothing else moved on the road, although other wrecked vehicles indicated that many other Chinese troops had met the same fate due to the airplanes. Chen wouldn't mind shooting one of them down, one of these days, for some small measure of revenge against the imperialists.

Finally, he stood up, reeling. He must have hit his head in the crash. Considering that he was still alive, however, he had nothing to complain about.

Shouldering the bundled rifle, he began to make his way down the road, limping. In the distance, he could hear the thump of artillery, which meant that he must not be more than a few miles from his destination.

Sometimes, it seemed as if Chen had been fighting his whole life. If he'd had any sense, he might have slipped away into the mountains. Surely, there must be someplace he could sit out the rest of the war.

But running away was not in Chen's nature. Resolutely, he put one foot in front of the other, marching toward the sound of the fighting.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of the American planes returning, scorching their way across the blue skies in a blur of speed. They were coming back to finish the job that they had started.

Chen didn't even bother to look over his shoulder. This time, the planes were not strafing the road, but were using rockets. He heard the first rocket hit the road near the wreckage of the vehicle. He put his head down and ran to hide among the rocks at the side of the road.

Once the American planes had gone again, leaving more pockmarks on the mountain road, Chen moved on toward the sound of the fighting. He walked all the rest of the day and as dusk neared, the crackling cold settled in, sinking its claws into exposed flesh.

Chen approached the Chinese position, taking stock in the dim light. What he saw was not encouraging. It was true that the Chinese occupied the high ground, but their positions had been heavily shelled by the Americans. Everywhere that Chen looked, he saw churned earth, shattered trees, and ground plowed by enemy artillery. Wherever there was a ditch or trench, it was occupied by troops, who looked cold despite their padded uniforms. Originally white or light gray, these uniforms were now almost universally a brown color from caked mud and the filth of living close to the ground in order to avoid the American shelling. Faces stared back at him, some curiously, but most of the faces remained expressionless. Chinese soldiers were used to simply enduring and they knew better than to ask questions.

Despite passing several sentries, none bothered to stop him or ask his business, but why should they? He was clearly Chinese, which meant that he was not the enemy. Also, the sniper rifle he carried was as good as a special pass or an officer’s insignia.

The enemy was down in the valley below, trying to displace the Chinese with their endless supply of artillery shells. So far, the Chinese had held — just barely. The desperate faces that Chen had seen showed him just how close his comrades were to the breaking point.

When the Americans stopped shelling and when darkness came to protect them from the American planes, the Chinese attacked in force. They had not yet managed to displace the Americans.

Back and forth, the two sides went. They had reached a stalemate, and a stalemate never made the officers happy.

And so they had sent for Chen.

He and his rifle could create a wedge of fear that even the big guns could not provide. The sooner that he struck, the better. He was reminded of an old proverb that advised, the first blow is half the battle.

Having reached the Chinese lines, he was soon able to find the headquarters. Not long after that, he was called before Major Wu, whom he had met before during the Chosin Reservoir campaign against the imperialists. Chen trusted Wu about as much as one might trust a hungry wolf, but he had no choice in the matter, considering that it must have been Wu who had summoned Chen here in the first place.

The major looked him up and down, grinning all the while. He was not outwardly serious like the young lieutenant had been, but Chen knew that the good humor was a mask.

"Where is Lieutenant Huang?" the major asked.

Chen shook his head. "He is dead, sir. We were attacked on the road by American planes." Chen did not bother to explain that the lieutenant had still been alive when Chen had left him. Perhaps he had been killed in the second attack by the American planes. If he had lived, and the mountain wolves or wild dogs had not gotten to the lieutenant by now, they would soon. If the lieutenant had been smart, he would have shot himself. Better to die swiftly than to suffer in the chill of the mountain night, or worse.

Major Wu nodded, still grinning. He wore the perpetual smile that made him resemble a shishi, one of the traditional Chinese guardian lions. "That Huang, he was too full of himself, anyhow. What matters is that you are here now. First, we must get you a better uniform. One that is not covered in mud and blood, anyhow."

The major shouted for an aide, explained what he wanted, and sent him on his errand. While he was gone, the major chatted pleasantly with Chen, wanting to know something of his childhood and details of his military service. He seemed pleased that Chen had fought against the Japanese and that he had received some of his sniper training from German advisors, back before they had become allied with the armies of the Rising Sun.

"The Germans were very good snipers," Chen said. He wished that he had one of their rifles equipped with a finely made telescopic sight, but he knew better than to complain. The old Moisin-Nagant was as good as it was going to get for him.

"From what I have seen, they taught you well," Wu said.

Then, the aide was back, panting as if he had been running the whole time. He presented Chen with a pristine new uniform.

"I took this from the field hospital," he explained. "The soldier it belonged to won't be needing it anymore."

Wu made a face. "I hope that he did not die from something contagious."

"Sir, I could find another uniform—"

"Never mind that!" Major Wu said impatiently, sending the aide out. He turned to Chen. "Put that on, and come with me."

Chen did as he was told, quickly changing into the fresh uniform and trying not to dwell on how it had managed to stay so pristine if its original owner was dead. His old uniform was tossed into a heap — dirty, smelling of gasoline, and spattered with blood that Chen had not noticed before — more than likely, it was the blood of the dead driver.

When he followed the major out of the tent, he was amazed to see that hundreds of soldiers had been assembled outside. Chen moved to take his place in the ranks, but Major Wu caught him by the elbow. "Where are you going, Chen?" he asked, appearing to be amused, grinning widely once again. "You stay right here. Hold your rifle up so that everyone may see it!"

It was then that Chen realized he was to be put on display. He froze with fear worse than he had ever felt on the battlefield. A sniper was someone who kept to the shadows, after all.

He stood at attention, holding his rifle in the present arms position until his arms ached, while the major gave a long-winded speech about how the Chinese army would soon be defeating the United Nations forces — mainly the American army — in no time at all now that the famed sniper Chen Li was here on the battlefield.

Major Wu turned to him, his eyes blazing with the excitement of the moment. "You will turn the tide of battle single-handedly!" Behind Wu, other officers raised their arms as a signal for the soldiers to cheer. As the sound swelled up to fill the gathering darkness, Chen felt ill and overwhelmed.

To add to his discomfort, a uniformed photographer stepped forward and took a flash photo, leaving Chen blinded.

He was no people's hero, just a man with a rifle. But looking around at his comrades, hope finally evident on their faces, he turned to Wu. "Please, sir. This is an honor that I do not deserve."

"Do not be so selfish," Wu said, smiling out at the crowd, but addressing Chen. "You are thinking only of yourself right now. Do not deny them a hero."

Chen realized that he was in no position to argue. He raised the rifle half-heartedly over his head, and the gathered soldiers cheered.