With the column stalled by the roadblock and no clear plan of action evident, the enemy grew emboldened. More heavy firing tore into the column from the surrounding hills. Up and down the column, Chinese squads carried out hit and run attacks, brutally targeting the trucks loaded with wounded or supplies. The enemy was being drawn to the stalled soldiers like moths to a sputtering flame. As darkness fell, the situation grew more desperate.
The lieutenant came along, Sergeant Weber following in his wake. Since Cole didn’t smoke anymore, Pomeroy bummed a cigarette off the sergeant.
“What’s the matter, Sarge, you didn’t get enough fighting in the last war?” Pomeroy asked Weber.
The German shrugged. “Being a soldier was all I knew. When I came to American, it was the only job I could get.”
“Huh. You think the Wehrmacht would be in this jam?”
“You ever hear of Russia, my friend?”
The lieutenant signaled for the nearest men to gather around.
"Listen, fellas. I'm going to be honest with you. The situation is not good. The road ahead is good and plugged tighter than the cork in my grandma’s whiskey jug. We've tried to push the Chinese off, but no go. We just don't have the men or the ammo."
It was shocking to hear that they were now cut off from Hagaru-ri. The men listening absorbed the information stoically.
"What are your orders, sir?" asked a soldier who looked a decade older than the lieutenant.
"We all know that this road leads south to Hagaru-ri," he said. "What we don't know is whether or not we still hold Hagaru-ri. The base may have been overrun. We just don't know, but it's the only chance we've got. The thing is, there's another way to get there besides the road. Basically, the lake runs parallel to the road. If you get out there on the ice and head south, you'll reach our guys — if they're still there."
"Are you saying we ought to make a run for it? What about the wounded? We can't just leave them."
"Listen, I am not saying it's every man for himself. Stick together. I'm going to take one of these trucks and try to get it across the ice. I don't even know if there's enough gas for that, but I'm sure going to try."
The lieutenant moved away toward the nearest truck, and a group of men gathered around him — not more than twenty. It suddenly became clear that this was all the direction that they were going to get. The lieutenant had claimed that it wasn't every man for himself — but he was wrong about that. Surrounded and trapped, the task force soldiers now had to survive any way that they could. The unit was splintering.
Knowing that he had come to a crossroads of sorts, Cole considered his options. He always had been a loner, since his earliest days hunting and trapping in the mountains back home. He knew that his own chances of survival were likely better if he struck out on his own. Alone, he could easily dodge the Chinese and reach the American lines — wherever they were. His best option was to go it alone.
He looked around at the other faces nearby: Pomeroy, the kid, and half a dozen others he barely knew. They looked scared but determined. No way in hell would he ever leave them alone.
Cole nodded at another truck. "You heard the lieutenant. Let's grab that truck and get as many of those wounded out of here as we can."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Let's move out," Cole said. "Leave anything you can't carry."
"What about my rifle?" Tommy asked, stammering. Cole wasn't sure if the kid was cold, or scared, or maybe a little of both. Can’t blame him none on either count, Cole thought.
"Leave everything except your rifle," Cole clarified. "There may be Chinese between here and where we want to be."
The driver of the truck was a young soldier named Kelwick. Improbably, he was chewing gum and blowing bubbles in the bitter cold. He also was riding up front alone, which was unusual. "Ain't you got a passenger?" Cole asked.
"He died," Kelwick said, pointing to a bullet hole in the windshield. It wasn't any secret that the Chinese were targeting the truck drivers as a way to knock out the vehicles. Whatever else he was, Kelwick was a brave son of a bitch.
"You up for this?" Cole asked him.
"Not much choice there, buddy," Kelwick said. "It's either drive out onto that ice or stay here for the Chicoms."
Cole nodded. "Pomeroy, you better ride shotgun."
"I can walk."
He had figured that Pomeroy would argue about riding in the truck. "Save your energy, New Jersey. You might need it. Get in the damn truck. Kelwick, how are you fixed for fuel?"
"I've got enough gas for maybe five or six miles," he said. "How far do you think we've got to go?"
"That might be enough gas, but who the hell knows. See what I mean, Pomeroy? Better save your energy. You might have to walk the rest of the way, after all."
The cabin of the truck was cramped and uncomfortable, but at least Pomeroy could get some of the weight off his feet.
All along the road, similar scenes were taking place. The few officers who were left tried to maintain order and lead as many men as they could to safety — or what they hoped was safety, because it was not a given that they would be fleeing into the arms of the Marines rather than the Chinese. So much uncertainly gave every action a tang of fear.
However, it was more of a certainty that to be left behind in one of the trucks meant death — the Chinese didn't seem all that interested in taking any of the wounded as prisoners. They didn't want to be bothered caring for them.
By way of proof, they had to look no further than the rear of the column, where several trucks burned. The crackling flames could not entirely cover up the screams of the wounded men being burned alive, unable to get out of the trucks before they had been hit by grenades, mortars, or machine-gun fire. Now that it was growing dark, the flames reflected off the snow-covered hills, illuminating the landscape in a flickering glare like some frozen hellish scene. Visible from time to time were the quilted uniforms of the Chinese, creeping ever closer. Cole wrinkled his nose at the awful smell of burning gasoline and rubber tires, mixed with the telltale smell of burning human flesh. Having experienced that in Europe, it was a smell that he had hoped never to experience again.
“Here we go!” Kelwick shouted, blowing one last bubble for good measure.
The truck bumped wildly as it left the road and headed down the gentle slope toward the frozen reservoir. Inside, the wounded men held on for dear life, becoming even more battered in the process. Bad as this ride was turning out to be, it was much better than being left behind for the Chinese.
A handful of soldiers walked beside the truck, pausing now and then to help push it out of a hole. Exhausted, hungry, and mostly frozen, they kept their weapons at the ready.
The reservoir itself was shaped a bit like a crow’s foot. They were headed onto the lower right-hand prong that led toward Hagaru-ri — and hopefully toward help. Not that the soldiers would have known or cared, but this was a man-made lake and its Korean name was the Changjin Lake. Chosin was the Japanese pronunciation, remaining from when the imperialist Japanese had occupied Korea and used it as a hunting ground for the Siberian tigers, bears, leopards, and wolves that had once roamed the mountains. Those predators had been hunted to extinction by Japanese big game hunters in the early 1900s, but plenty of dangerous two-legged predators now roamed the landscape.
Finally, the truck gave one last, tremendous lurch and drove out onto the ice itself. The change from the rocky ground to the smooth ice was jarringly abrupt. It was almost eerie, the sudden switch to flat terrain after days of staring at nothing but hills, ravines, and mountains.