Laughing at what they had been told, both of the Russians had to take a minute to regain their composure. “Very clever, General. You’re just as crafty and devious as I have heard. Now, can you put that craftiness to use in slowing down the Americans?”
Turning serious, General Chertterji responded, “I have a plan to deal with them. My engineering brigade has finally arrived. We’re starting construction of twelve new airfields. When they’re completed, the Air Force will be sending 150 fighter aircraft, and we’ll also receive a few squadrons of Jaguar ground-attack planes. When our air operations are up and running, we’ll stop the Americans from advancing any further, and then as additional brigades arrive from home, we’ll work on removing them altogether. Under your leadership, this joint Russian-Indian task force is sure to prevail. By the end of summer, we’ll have 90,000 Indian soldiers here, and double that number next spring.”
Leaning forward, he looked the Russians in the eyes. “I’m going to rely on you for your help and expertise. You have hard-fought experience fighting the Americans. With your help, we’re going to defeat the enemy and end this bloody war,” he concluded.
General Chatterji noted the smiles spreading across his Russian compatriots’ faces. He wanted to make sure they knew they were going to be equal partners in this campaign; if they believed that, then their forces would fight harder, and the likelihood of them winning would increase significantly.
Deceiving Appearances
It had been nearly six weeks since Sergeant First Class Ian Slater and a small ragtag group of soldiers had successfully escaped capture from behind enemy lines. It had taken them another seventeen days to make it back to friendly forces. During that time, the small group of “freed soldiers” had done their best to stay hidden when they could and fight when no other choice presented itself. Slater didn’t really view himself as the leader of this motley crew, but they had latched onto him like a little brother does to his big brother on the first day of school.
During their seventeen-day ordeal, they had seen the Chinese soldiers getting pummeled from the air. The ROK and US forces were counterattacking hard. It was not unusual for them to run into a cluster of dead bodies as they traveled. Given their situation, they always searched the remains for any useful weapons or supplies that might not have been destroyed.
Then one day, a group of PLA soldiers got closer to Sergeant Slater’s motley crew. Searching for a place to hide, his men located a cluster of destroyed armored vehicles. They hid amongst the wreckage, forced to lie down near bodies until the enemy passed by. For twelve hours, they lay next to the fallen American, Korean, and Chinese soldiers, doing their best to hide in plain sight.
Finally, an American unit approached their hiding place, and they presented themselves to their fellow US comrades. Once their identities had been verified, they were brought behind the Allied lines, cleaned up, and sent back to Seoul to see what would become of them. Nearly all the prisoners had some minor injuries that needed treating. However, it was the injuries to their minds that would need more attention.
Slater, along with the other prisoners, was debriefed on what had happened at the Yalu line. Eventually, they had all been sent back to Japan, where they could have a more thorough medical and mental evaluation. Because they’d been prisoners, they weren’t going to be sent back to a line unit right away.
Two days after arriving in Japan, and only five days after they were repatriated, a colonel who was also a psychologist decided that Slater and his fellow prisoners hadn’t been deserters but rather were legitimate prisoners who had escaped capture, removing any doubt or suspicion. With this prognosis, their treatment changed for the better.
They were all assessed to determine their level of mental stability and to decide if they were fit to serve in a line unit at that time or if they would have to be cycled back to a support function for a time. Many of the prisoners were torn by these options. Some of them wanted to get payback for their comrades that had been killed, while others felt the need to serve in a support unit, or better yet, separate from the military entirely.
They went from having a cloud of suspicion over them to suddenly learning that they were being hailed as champions who had outsmarted the People’s Liberation Army. Slater overheard some of the other soldiers labeling his group the “Heroes of the Yalu Line.”
Everyone in that group of soldiers was eventually awarded the Prisoner of War medal, the Purple Heart, and a Bronze Star with Valor for overpowering and killing their captors and escaping back to the Allied lines. As a consolation prize, the Army determined that they should not have to return to combat but would all be assigned as drill instructors or other support jobs back in the States. They had done their part for their country, and now it was time for their country to take care of them.
A day after arriving in Tacoma, Washington, Sergeant Slater reported to the garrison commander’s office at Fort Lewis-McCord for his new assignment. He showed up at 0750 hours, just as he had been instructed. However, he was out of uniform. He showed up wearing a polo shirt, khaki pants, and a pair of Oakley sunglasses on the top of his closely cropped head, an ensemble he had purchased the night before at a Wal-Mart in Olympia.
When his plane arrived from Japan, the first thing he did was check himself into a Marriott in downtown Olympia. He bought some clothes, ate a steak dinner, then found a bar, where he proceeded to get as drunk as possible and try to pick up a local girl for the night. He had succeeded in nearly every goal except finding someone to spend the evening with. Frustrated, he went to the restroom, where he gave himself an honest look in the mirror.
“I’m a bit gaunt right now,” he realized. “I can’t blame a woman for running away from me — I’m all skin and bones.”
Since the start of the war, Slater had lost 32 pounds from stress, lack of food, and overactivity. Of course, dodging enemy soldiers behind the Allied lines for seventeen days hadn’t helped either. Besides that, the medication the doctors had prescribed to him to help control some of his PTSD-related anxiety had also killed his appetite. Defeated, he had left the bar to crash in his hotel room for the few hours that remained before he had to get up and report to duty.
The next morning hit him like a truck. He barely managed to pick himself up out of his bed. As he walked toward the headquarters building, the sun hurt his head, but at the same time, he wanted to soak up the warmth of the sun’s rays. He knew that sunny days were going to be a lot rarer here than in his home state of Florida.
Seeing the entrance to his new company coming up, he briskly walked along the outside of the headquarters buildings. He pulled the door open and walked in, and a young buck sergeant greeted him with a smile.
“Good Morning. How may I help you?” he asked, a bit too chipper for Slater’s liking.
“God, I have one gnarly hangover,” he thought. “I hope I don’t smell like alcohol…”
Slater pulled his personnel file out of a small daypack he had been carrying and gave the file to the young sergeant. “I’m Sergeant First Class Ian Slater. I was told to report for duty here this morning.”
The sergeant took the folder from him, opening it quickly to review the information. He asked for Slater’s ID card and verified the information with what had been written in the personnel file. “If you would please place your right index finger and right thumb on this scanner, I’ll make sure you are who you say you are,” he said with a smile. It seemed like he had done this a million times before.