“Chunks of wood do not shoot back.”
Cole couldn’t argue with that. He would have liked to see the soldiers get more target practice, but they were losing daylight fast. He called an end to the gunfire.
The final lesson needed no explanation. Their shooting lesson over, Cole stood before these makeshift fighters and drew his Bowie knife, raising it high overhead. The cold blade of Damascus steel caught the light of the setting sun. One by one, the fighters drew their own knives and bayonets, holding them high. Cole was letting them know that when the bullets ran out, they would resort to their blades. This would be a fight to the end.
The sun finally slid behind a hill, leaving the clearing and fortress in deep shadow as if a shade had been drawn.
Cisco and Jang-mi shouted orders in their respective languages, dismissing the fighters to find what rest and shelter they could for the night.
Lieutenant Ballard came over. “Are they ready to fight?”
“To be fair, sir, I can’t make soldiers out of these people in a few hours,” Cole replied. However, Cole had to admit that the Borinqueneers and villagers were far from timid. They had plenty of spirit. He had seen the determination in their faces and in their willingness to learn as much as they could in so short a time. “But maybe that don’t matter. They may not be soldiers, but by God, they will fight.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Ballard said. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
Chapter Eighteen
Several miles away from the old fortress of Lǒngmo Sanseong, Major Wu and Deng kept pace with the other Chinese troops hurrying through the hills. Instead of marching in columns, the soldiers had spread out so that the mass of moving men in their grayish uniforms gave the illusion that the thickets themselves were flowing across the landscape.
It always amazed Wu that such large numbers of men could move so quietly. Orders were kept to a minimum and there was no shouting. A few words spoken here and there seemed to be all that were needed. Instead, the officers and non-commissioned officers led by example.
Most of the troops wore light-soled shoes, enabling them to move quietly. However, the thin shoes were not much use against the rocks or the growing cold. Very few of the Chinese soldiers had anything resembling a winter coat and none wore helmets — the Communists lacked enough metal or factories to supply thousands of soldiers with steel helmets.
It was amazing that a force this size had no mechanized vehicles whatsoever, or even any horses or mules to carry supplies. The soldiers themselves served as pack animals, lugging mortar shells and spare food, although there was precious little of that.
No one complained.
Wu felt a swelling of pride for the soldiers around him. They had sacrificed so much and come so far. Surely, they would be rewarded with victory.
“Chairman Mao would be proud,” he shouted. “Together, we will crush the enemy in their laziness!”
Several soldiers turned toward him, their eyes wide with alarm. Everyone knew that their success depended upon silence.
“Sir, we must be quiet,” a young officer said urgently, glaring at Wu.
“Of course, but it is always good to remind the men of their Communist principles,” Wu replied, grinning, although internally he seethed at the lieutenant’s rebuke. He decided that when the time was right, he would find this young officer lacking in certain Communist ideals. He might very well find himself in a re-education camp as a result of his outburst. The thought made Wu grin that much more.
Major Wu was not part of the military planning, but as a political officer, he was privy to their objective. This Chinese army would move unseen through the hills and launch a surprise attack on the defensive positions held by the United Nations troops, particularly the United States. If there was any country that was their adversary in this war, it was America. None of the other nations was powerful enough on its own to wage this war. To kill a snake you must cut off the head. If they could strike a blow against the Americans, the victory would serve them well at the negotiating table where lines were being drawn to decide the fate of the Korean Peninsula.
Wu managed to keep silent for most of the march. They moved mostly at night, as Chinese troops always had, forced by necessity to avoid the enemy planes that prowled the skies by daylight. More and more, their own planes had been taking to the sky, but not in numbers great enough to drive away the enemy.
The air war was a bitter reminder that Wu had let the downed American pilot slip through his fingers. What a prize that pilot would have been!
Wu salved his wounded pride by telling himself that it was the American sniper who had ultimately denied him his prize. Wily and tough, he had arrived just in time to rescue the pilot and those traitorous villagers. Wu and Deng had pursued them as far as possible, but had never caught up.
Now, Wu hoped for a chance to redeem himself in the coming attack. He commanded a small but effective group of snipers.
He glanced over at Deng, carrying his rifle with its telescopic sight over one shoulder. Deng was his most reliable and celebrated sniper, but there were now two others, Liu and Huang. It spoke to Wu’s rising influence that he had been able to obtain two more rifles that shot accurately, even if these lacked telescopes, as well as two more soldiers who were good shots.
“Deng, when we reach the enemy line, we will move into position to make the best use of our sniper rifles,” Wu said quietly, having been chastised already for being too loud. “You will each shoot one hundred of the enemy.”
“I wish to shoot two hundred,” said Deng, who had caught on to the fact that Wu tended to inflate his reports.
“Yes! Even better. Soon enough, we shall put that rifle to work.”
“Do you want me to shoot that disrespectful lieutenant for you?”
Wu considered Deng’s offer. Maybe the young officer wasn’t destined for a re-education camp, after all. “If he should fall heroically in battle, this might be for the best.”
Deng nodded.
Wu patted Deng on the shoulder and handed him a bottle of rice wine to keep his spirits up. Loyalty had its rewards.
“I would not mind meeting that American sniper again. You know, the one with the flag painted on his helmet?”
“We can only hope to be so fortunate,” Wu said, his voice carrying.
“Sir? Do you mind? We must be quiet.” It was the young lieutenant again, scowling at Wu.
Wu nodded at him, grinning apologetically. Once the young officer had moved on, Wu turned to Deng and whispered, “Shoot the American sniper first, but make sure you shoot the lieutenant next.”
Deng nodded grimly.
For many miles, they had made their own way through the hills. But the hills were closing in on them, becoming steeper and more impenetrable. In fact, the army was being funneled toward a gap in the hills, which would be the more direct way of reaching the enemy positions. Closer to daylight, the soldiers began to follow a narrow road through the hills. The officers knew that this concentration of men was under grave threat of attack if seen by enemy planes. They would have to get through the gap and disperse again to use the thickets as cover before the enemy planes began their daylight patrols.
With a few whispered words, the officers urged their men on faster. Wu and his snipers were caught up like sticks swirling in a flooded stream.
All around Wu and Deng, the Chinese army flowed on, moving toward dawn and battle.
As darkness fell, the defenders made a cold camp for the night. No fires would be allowed. Their success would depend upon the enemy marching into what was essentially a trap and they couldn’t take the chance that the distant light of their fires might give them away. Sentries were strung out along the approach to the fort with orders to fire a warning shot if the enemy was sighted during the night. There was no telling when the enemy would arrive.