“Oh, I reckon it will,” Cole drawled. “That fort is solid. I’m more worried about how solid we are.”
Miller handed back Cole’s canteen and clapped him on the shoulder. “No worries there, Hillbilly. From what I understand, that’s going to be your job once we get this barricade built. It’s up to you to make sure the Puerto Ricans know how to stand and fight.”
“Where the hell is Sergeant Weber when you need him?”
“He’s finishing up the barricade and setting up the defenses. That leaves you.”
Cole grunted, wishing he felt more confident about whipping these former Borinqueneers into shape. He just hoped that he had not been imagining the determination he seen earlier burning in the Borinqueneers’ eyes.
He stood up and walked toward them. They were all tired; hell, Cole was tired, but there was precious little time to lose. “Cisco!” he called. “Gather them boys over here. We’re gonna learn you all to fight.”
Sullenly, the Puerto Rican soldiers assembled in the clearing. They stood quietly, watching Cole expectantly. Some simply glared at him with open hostility. As far as they were concerned, he was just another soldier insulting them and keeping them down. That was fine by Cole — he wanted these men to feel riled up. He wanted them full of piss and vinegar. How else would they ever defeat the enemy?
Cole glared back, taking their measure. One by one, even the angriest of the Borinqueneers looked away. They weren’t the first to find his intense, cut-glass eyes to be unsettling.
Meanwhile, Cole considered what to say. He never had been in charge of more than a handful of men in a squad, and even then, he hadn’t much liked it. Cole felt content being a lone wolf. It went against his nature to give speeches. But when he finally spoke, his voice rang high and clear in the mountain air.
“Everyone says you’re cowards,” Cole began. Standing off to one side, Cisco translated like a Spanish echo. When he got to the word cobardes, Cole could see the Borinqueneers bristle angrily. He paused, letting that cobardes insult sink in. “Here’s your chance to prove everybody wrong. You can be brave instead. So what is it gonna be? Are the Borinqueneers cowards or are they brave?”
Cisco posed the question in Spanish. It hung there for a moment, and then the men shouted their reply. “Valiente!”
“Bueno,” Cole said. “Let’s get to work.”
The first thing that they did was to make sure their weapons were thoroughly cleaned. The cursory cleaning they had done earlier — simply to make sure the rifles were not so caked with mud that they wouldn’t function — had not been enough. Again with Cisco translating, he ordered the men to spread out blankets and clean their weapons. Some of the men didn’t even know how to dismantle their rifles for cleaning, which showed an utter lack of training. Cole began to appreciate that these men had been tossed into the lion’s den without any preparation. There was no way that he could teach them to be soldiers in a few hours, but he would do his best.
He went from man to man, inspecting their work.
The kid came over to help. “If you ask me, what you ought to do is teach them to shoot.”
“The first thing to do is get to know all the parts,” Cole said. He added with a grin, “Ain’t that what you’d do with your girlfriend?”
The kid blushed. “I guess so.”
“There you go, then. Getting to know all the parts and how they work is half the fun. A rifle ain’t that much different from a woman.”
Cole’s approach quickly showed its effectiveness as men who had not previously been familiar with their rifles began to handle them with greater ease. He knew that to be good shots, they would need to know their rifles inside and out. That was at least as important as knowing how to aim.
Soon, the cleaning kits were put away and the blankets were stowed. The men waited expectantly, their eyes on Cole.
He was getting ready to teach them how to shoot those rifles when a commotion interrupted them. There had been a warning shout, and someone was pointing toward the forest edge. Cole reached for his rifle, fearing that the enemy had outsmarted them and somehow circled around to attack from an unexpected direction. His heart sank; they were in no way ready for an attack.
“Hold your fire!” Lieutenant Ballard shouted. Jang-mi had appeared at his side, resting her hand on his carbine as if to keep it from being aimed at whoever was lurking in the forest.
“What the hell?” Cole wondered, keeping his rifle ready.
The kid seemed just as puzzled. “Who are they?” he asked.
Cole watched, amazed, as figures began to emerge silently from the forest. They materialized from the shadows as silently as ghosts and entered the clearing at the base of the fortress walls. They carried weapons, but they didn’t seem to be attacking.
One thing for sure was that these were not Chinese troops. These were civilians, mostly men and a few women, old and young. None of them wore uniforms.
Jang-mi stepped forward to meet these people and Cole realized that these must be more villagers — if not from her own battered village, then from other settlements dotted across the hills. They had come as allies to help fight the Communist invaders.
“I’ll be damned,” Cole said.
From across the clearing, he saw Lieutenant Ballard point in his direction as Jang-mi nodded, seemingly in agreement. Soon, Jang-mi gathered the newcomers and led them toward Cole. “Teach them, too,” she said.
“They can’t understand me.”
“I will translate.”
Cole nodded. “Join the party,” he said.
He looked around at the motley force, Borinqueneers on one side and Korean villagers on the other. The Borinqueneers looked like soldiers, at least. The same could not be said for the villagers, who looked exactly like the peasants they were, right down to their ragged clothing. Some wore only sandals, despite the increasingly cool temperatures in the mountains. But as with the Borinqueneers, Cole saw determination in their faces. These were people who would fight.
“All right,” he announced. “Here is what we are gonna do. Kid, you and Cisco run down to the other end of the clearing and set up some targets. Just set up some chunks of wood on rocks and stumps. That’ll work just fine.”
“You got it,” said the kid. He and Cisco trotted off.
When they returned, Cole had his motley assortment of troops line up, facing the targets. At first, he had them go through dry firing, practicing their breathe, aim, fire technique. This was the most basic foundation of marksmanship. Sure, it could be learned in an afternoon — but marksmanship often took months or years to perfect. Once again, he relayed the orders through Cisco and Jang-mi. Along the line, firing pins clicked on empty chambers.
“Make each shot count,” he said. “Nothing fancy. Aim dead center.”
As the sun began to dip behind the mountain peaks, reminding them all that time was limited, they moved on to live firing. Sergeant Weber came to join them. Walking behind the shooters, he and Cole gave as much instruction to each shooter as they could, having each of their new soldiers fire three rounds each. It was all the ammunition they could spare. In a fight with the Chinese, they would need every round.
Some of the chunks of wood flew off the rocks and stumps at the first shots, while others stubbornly refused to be hit no matter how many rounds the Borinqueneers and villagers fired. Cole went around snugging shoulders to rifle butts, raising elbows, and otherwise doing whatever he could to help this motley crew improve their aim. A few more chunks fell.
Weber shook his head. “This is not good.”
“Sarge, we both know the enemy will be closer and bigger.”