Wu cursed as a bullet plucked at his sleeve, causing him to drop the submachine gun, which he had grabbed in frustration from one of the soldiers. He picked it up and threw it at the startled soldier. “What are you waiting for? Shoot back!”
The soldier did as ordered, firing wildly. Wu had to admit that it would be a miracle if the soldier hit anything, although he was doing a good job of trimming the tree branches. “Aim lower, you fool!”
Cursing, Wu wondered at the reversal of fortunes that had sent him cowering for cover among the stunted trees. Minutes before, he and his men had caught the American pilot and his helpers trying to escape along the river. He had sensed his great prize — the American pilot — almost within his grasp. But then, the enemy sniper had attacked.
Even so, his prize was still within reach, if Wu could only organize the tattered remains of his patrol to go after him.
Beside him, Deng sat crouched behind a fallen log, picking his shots carefully. His one bullet was more effective than a spray of fire from the submachine gun. If they were going to defeat this American sniper and capture the pilot, Wu had to admit that Deng was their best hope of doing so.
“Did you get him?”
As if in response, a single rifle shot cracked overhead, making Wu wince.
Deng fired, grunted in dissatisfaction, and worked the bolt. Wu wanted to ask more questions but refrained. He would let Deng do what he did best.
The submachine gunner had reloaded and he opened fire again at the hidden enemy. Seconds later, there came a shot from the enemy position, then another. The man wielding the submachine gun yelped in pain and the firing stopped.
Wu looked expectantly at Deng, hoping that he had seen where the enemy sniper was hidden. When Deng didn’t shoot, Wu asked, “Don’t you see him?”
Deng didn’t answer for a long moment. “They are running,” he announced.
Wu waved his remaining men to their feet. “Come on!” he urged, although he kept his voice to a harsh whisper. “After them!”
For Cole and the others, their path moved steadily south toward the Allied lines. Having been worn by animals and unhurried peasants, the path tended to wander, but at least it was taking them in the right direction.
They had given their pursuers the slip, but for how long? Cole recalled the angry look on the Chinese officer’s face. That fella wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, that was for sure. The thought encouraged Cole to keep up with Jang-Li, who moved swiftly and gracefully along the mountain path. The boy and even the wounded old man kept pace easily. It was the Americans who struggled to keep up.
Part of the problem was their boots. While the Koreans wore light, thin-soled shoes even in the rocky terrain, Cole and the kid wore heavy military-issue boots. The rugged boots were well-suited to the kind of duty that the soldiers faced, from digging foxholes to keeping their feet warm on the cold Korean nights, but they were not made for traveling light and fast.
The boots worn by the pilot weren’t much better, although they were shinier. Pilots didn’t spend much time digging foxholes or slogging through mud and dust, Cole reckoned.
Annoyed at the Americans’ pace, Jang-Mi slowed just long enough to glance over her shoulder and wave at them to hurry it up.
“Go!” she whispered urgently.
“You go, we’ll keep up,” Cole replied, waving her forward. He realized that he was just this side of panting for breath.
They had gone another mile or close to it, when they heard a rifle shot behind them. A bullet ricocheted through the scrub trees. Something about the whine of a stray bullet always sent a strange tingle down Cole’s spine.
The Chinese pursuers were sending them a message that they hadn’t given up.
There were still a lot of miles back to the American lines. Cole didn’t like their chances in a running battle all that way. But for now, they had no choice but to make a run for it. He was happy to let Jang-mi lead the way. He was second right behind her, but he dropped back to the back of their group. The Korean teen-ager had been bringing up the rear. If it came to a fight, Cole liked his own chances better of stopping the Chinese. But even that wasn’t a sure thing, not with the enemy sniper on his tail, and not when they were packing at least one submachine gun.
The trail meandered until coming to a fork. One branch wandered off to the left, maybe following the river, while the right-hand branch headed upward into the rocky hills.
Jang-Mi hesitated for only a moment, as if debating which way might be faster, but then started up the steeper right-hand branch. Cole felt reassured that this woman seemed sure of which direction to take.
Behind them, he heard a shout and another rifle shot. Closer this time. The Chinese seemed to be gaining on them, although he wouldn’t have thought it was possible. Those Chinamen must have wings on their feet.
Waiting for the others in front of him to follow Jang-Mi, he found himself staring at the fork in the trail a moment. An idea came to him.
“Hey!” he called. “Hold up.”
Jang-mi had already started up the right-hand fork, and she looked back over her shoulder, clearly puzzled, as Cole waved her back.
“I know the way,” she said defensively.
“I reckon you do,” he said. “But these fellers are right behind us. Maybe we can throw them off our trail. Everybody follow me.”
Cole started down the left-hand fork, the opposite of the one that Jang-mi had chosen.
“Wrong way!” she protested.
“Trust me on this,” he said. “Come on.”
They went about a hundred yards down the trail before Cole called a halt. The surface of the path had been dirt up to that point, making their footprint plainly visible, but now they had reached a rock-strewn patch. It was just the footing that Cole had in mind. He stepped off the trail, then unsheathed his big Bowie knife and easily chopped through the leafy branch of a nearby shrub.
“Everybody, go on back to that fork.”
Again, Jang-mi led the way, moving confidently. She had figured out what Cole was up to and apparently approved. When they reached the fork again, she started up the right-hand branch that she had initially chosen.
Cole lingered behind.
“What are you up to?” Lieutenant Commander Miller asked.
“Hiding our tracks.”
Deftly, Cole used the branch he had cut on the other trail to sweep the path behind him. Their footsteps were quickly erased from the dusty trail. Now, their footsteps clearly led up the left-hand trail.
Cole tossed the makeshift broom deep into the brush. “Let’s go,” he said.
The pilot needed no other prompting. Both men ran for all they were worth to catch up to the others.
Scant minutes later, Deng arrived at the same fork. Without hesitation, he followed the left-hand branch with the footprints of the group they were chasing. It made sense that they would be heading down toward the river again, rather than up into the hills. There was nothing up there but rocks and ridges, whereas the river flowed directly toward the American encampment.
“We are close,” Wu said behind him.
“Yes,” Deng agree, keeping his rifle ready in case the Americans decided to ambush them and make a desperate last stand. If that happened, they would need some firepower. “Better get that fool with the submachine gun up here, sir.”
Major Wu shoved the submachine gunner forward and they continued up the trail.
When they reached the rocky section of the path, Deng didn’t give it much thought. Any footprints would not be visible on the rocky ground.
After another ten minutes of hard running, the ground grew soft and damp as they approached the river again. The path grew extremely narrow as the brush pressed in around them.