"You ever seen anything like this?" Weber asked. "Maybe at the Ardennes Forest? Some of the guys said you were there."
"Yeah, I was there." Cole shook his head, thinking back to the winter fighting at the battle of the Bulge. "It was miserable, and it was cold and snowy, but not this cold."
"Some of these poor bastards tried to at least get warm at the aid station, but you know what? As soon as they warmed up, they started bleeding again. There was really no help for them and more than a few died. It's a hell of a thing."
Cole had to agree. His heart went out to the wounded men. They were on borrowed time. The aid station wasn't more than a couple of drafty tents with a little bit of heat and some bandages and morphine. A handful of overworked medics did the best they could. These wounded men needed a military hospital. They needed surgeons.
Cole knew better than to ask how much longer they all had to hang on. Without more ammo, without medical supplies, without reinforcements, there would be no holding this position. You didn't have to be a general to know that. Or maybe in this case, everybody seemed to know it except the generals, but that was the Army for you.
As it turned out, Cole didn't need to ask. The lieutenant came looking for Sergeant Weber. He nodded at Cole, but didn't bother to dismiss him. "Sergeant, we've got orders to move out. Get the wounded that can't walk onto the trucks. Tell the men to take all the gear that they can carry. The colonel wants us as far down the road as possible while we still have air cover. We're headed back to Hagaru-ri."
Although the news was inevitable — after all, it was either pull out or get ground to pieces in the next attack — the enormity of it left them more than a little stunned as the news sank in. After pushing so deep into North Korea, the U.S. Army was about to retreat.
Chapter Nineteen
The rumbling of tank engines carried far in the frigid air. Like armored beasts, the tanks seemed right at home in the brutal landscape. With a clanking of treads and a roar, they started up the frozen road toward the Pungyuri Inlet.
Contrary to what the surrounded soldiers might think, they had not been completely abandoned or forgotten. Riding with the 31st Tank Company, Brigadier General Henry “Hammerin’ Hank” Hodes was among those trying to fight their way north to help the stranded troops.
Despite the tanks' appearance of invincibility, so far, the effort to bring the tanks into play on the battlefield had not gone all that well. The tanks under Captain Drake had rushed to the battle zone and arrived by nightfall on November 27th, but their commander had wisely opted for daylight the next day before attempting the narrow road leading north from Hudong-ni.
"Keep your eyes open," Drake had exhorted his men the next day as the three tank platoons moved along the narrow road. His warning was unnecessary because it was more than clear that the road was heavily defended by the Chinese. The Chinese did not have armor or heavy artillery to attack the tanks, but they did have their version of the bazooka. The weapon could fire into the tracks of a tank and disable it. As the tankers quickly discovered, knocking out the lead tank on the narrow road was as good as crippling them all because there was no easy way to get around it.
This was not ideal country for tanks. First of all, there were no clear avenues of fire. Here in the mountains, a tank could only see as far as the next bend in the road. And in this rugged terrain, the road was the only option. Striking out cross country through the steep ravines and mountains was not even possible.
But it was not in the nature of the tankers to sit idly by. If there was even a remote chance of reinforcing their stranded troops, they had to try.
One of those tanks was commanded by Staff Sergeant Paul Roxbury. At age 26, and untested in battle, he was as eager as anyone to take on the enemy.
"Look at this," Roxbury said, pointing out the remains of a medical unit that had tried in vain to bring supplies north. All of their trucks and most of their men had been wiped out by the Chinese. To Roxbury's eyes, the scene looked something like the remains of burned wagons left behind by an Indian attack. "The poor bastards never stood a chance."
Roxbury had to admit that the North Koreans and their Chinese allies knew the terrain, that was for damn sure. The enemy had set up their defenses in and around what was designated as Hill 1221, the tallest and largest of the mountains ringing the Chosin Reservoir. Ironically, the heights had been occupied by Marines until it was necessary for them to withdraw. The Chinese had since taken the high ground, occupied the abandoned defenses, and created a roadblock at a hairpin turn in the road that followed the foot of the mountain. Clearly, the Chinese plan was to use the blockade to prevent U.S. and U.N. forces from retreating — or from anything like this tank column to reinforce them.
Roxbury's tank was the third one back in the column. Up ahead, there was a flash and a trail of blowing smoke that signaled that the Chinese had fired one of their own bazookas at the lead tank.
"They got a direct hit on the lead tank!" Roxbury shouted to his men, practically unable to believe his eyes. The round had knocked the treads off the tank, effectively crippling it. "We have no choice but to go around it."
This proved easier said than done. For starters, the tank just ahead of Roxbury was heading downhill on the frozen road at a good clip. When the tank tried to brake, the result was that it slewed sideways and slid the rest of the way down, coming to rest against the crippled tank. Immediately, the second tank came under small arms fire. Chinese soldiers rushed toward it. Without supporting infantry, the behemoth tanks were largely helpless.
Roxbury looked around for a target to unleash his tank’s main gun upon, but saw nothing.
Another Chinese bazooka fired, hitting a tank. This shot had gotten luckier, though, and smoke soon poured from that tank's hatch.
"Back it up!" Roxbury shouted. Again, it was easier said than done. The tracks spun for purchase on the frozen slope. The tank immediately behind Roxbury tried the same maneuver and began to slip off the road and down a steep embankment.
Before long, the order came to withdraw. But for four tanks and twelve men of the unit, the order came too late. There had been a heavy price to pay for trying to relieve the stranded men. And in the end, the rescue attempt hadn't made any difference.
For all their snorting and power, the tanks had not proved up to the task.
Although they were itching to fire on something — anything — Roxbury and his crew had no choice but to withdraw with the other tanks.
Not that the remaining tanks of the 31st were ready to give up. They regrouped and were ordered to try again the next day. Now, they had just a dozen tanks, including the captain's command vehicle. This time, they also had air cover and even a platoon of supporting infantry. The question was, would that platoon be enough?
"I don't know that they'll hold up," Roxbury muttered. "Look at those poor SOBs."
Indeed, the sight of the supporting infantry did not inspire much confidence. Short on men, the captain had rounded up a motley collection of men who did not normally carry a rifle. These were cooks, clerks, and assorted support staff. They all looked grimly determined.
Roxbury had to give them that much. The trouble was that none of them had fired a weapon since basic training. But no one had the luxury anymore of simply being a clerk or a cook. This was turning into one of those battles where a soldier had to be a soldier.