But now the Chinese were firing also. The volume of guns from the two sides was shocking. It was like racing across a live firing range. The simple act of remaining upright seemed impossibly perilous. Andre’s mind blanked out all thoughts but one. He began to sprint and fled out ahead of the struggling squad leader. When he reached the alternate defensive line he dove to the ground. He crawled behind a tree and watched the sergeant struggle on. He’d almost made it when his legs just seemed to fold. He fell to his knees and the dead man’s weight crashed down on top of him. The Chinese poured out of the woods fifty meters away. The sergeant squirmed out from under the weight and began to pull the dead man to the rear.
‘Leave him be-e-e, sarge!’ Andre shouted. But his voice was lost in the maelstrom of noise. He raised his rifle and fired repeatedly. But still the Chinese came. ‘Come on, sarge? Andre shouted. He never took his eye from his rifle’s sights. He emptied his magazine in frenzied firing.
‘Shit!’ Andre cursed. He laid his empty rifle beside the tree and began to crawl forward. Andre couldn’t hear the whizzing bullets now. Chinese hand grenades began to fall all around. They were hurled on the dead run and burst everywhere.
He crawled low and as fast as he could. By the time he reached the sergeant he could see the bobbing heads of racing Chinese. The squad leader paid Andre no attention. He just dragged the hood of his man’s corpse. A trail of blood through the white snow marked his progress.
‘They’re too close!’ Andre shouted. The sarge heard him but only gritted his teeth and pulled.
Stray rounds skimmed through the snow all around. Andre was amazed he hadn’t been hit. The gusting blizzard rose to a howl. He grabbed the wounded man’s arm and began to pull with all his might. He kicked at the ground and propelled himself through the thick drifts.
Through the swirling snow he saw several Chinese. He lay back in terror and stared at the attackers, awaiting the inevitable. His rifle was ten meters away.
My grenades! he thought. As the sergeant continued his slow retreat, Andre pulled a pin and slung the heavy frag side-armed. It didn’t go far. It didn’t go far enough. But it was just right.
The explosion rattled Andre’s insides. It lifted two men into the air with their feet still running. He took his last grenade, pulled the pin and rose to his knees. He hurled it football-style into the thickest clump of approaching Chinese.
The air around him was buzzing with bullets thick as buckshot. One caught the dead man’s leg and splattered Andre with blood.
The second grenade lit the woods ahead. A brief orange day. It riddled the attackers with the metal knots of the pineapple. Andre scampered back, grabbed the dead man and pulled. He pulled until his elbows landed on his M-16. The sergeant began life-saving CPR. Andre fired up his half-empty magazine. He then fired the sergeant’s and his dead squadmate’s M-16s. He fired till ‘Cease fire!’ was shouted.
Flurries of shots rang out on the still-dangerous battlefield. Between the bursts of gunfire, Andre heard the puffing breaths of the hard-working sergeant. The man lowered his mouth onto the dead private’s lips and blew. Andre crawled over to him.
‘He’s dead, sarge,’ Andre whispered. Still the man worked frantically.
A medic slid to the ground and pried open the man’s sagging eyelids. He then opened his bag and pulled out a pair of scissors. He cut away at the man’s clothing. The two men applied bandages and continued CPR. Others joined them in the life-saving effort. Andre slunk away and rested his back against a tree.
The guy was alive. He was alive, but Andre had given up on him to save his own skin. He couldn’t believe it, but it was true. The sergeant caught his eye and crawled over to where Andre lay.
Andre braced himself.
‘Thanks, ’Dre,’ the sergeant said.
The man’s words should’ve eased Andre’s guilt. The wretched feeling of having given up on a wounded buddy. His squadmates came by and added their words of praise. They backhanded Andre’s leg or said, ‘Way to go.’ Andre ignored them all.
The man died before they got him off the battlefield. But even that didn’t absolve Andre of his sin.
Woody framed the shot. Kate in the foreground. Rising smoke from the firelights in the background. Kate held the stick mike to her mouth. Woody rolled the tape. ‘The skies have cleared over this narrow mountain valley. What the sunlight has revealed is death, death and more death.’
She stopped and shook her head. ‘That’s too much, don’t you think?’
‘Just keep going. We’ll edit it out.’
Kate fixed the appropriate expression on her face. ‘To reach this valley, Chinese troops must advance along winding mountain roads through a gauntlet of fire from the air. Sources estimate that as many as forty percent are killed or wounded before reaching this valley. What awaits those who make it can only be called murderous fire. Behind every rock and tree, it seems, is an American machine-gun or grenade launcher or rifle. The fire pours down on the valley floor from the steep mountain walls. An estimated ten thousand Chinese soldiers have tried to force their way into this valley since the fighting began two days ago. Their deepest penetration is less than a mile into a valley that is twelve miles long.’
The thrum of engines from another flight of C-130s caused Kate to change the order of her story.
‘Now that the weather has lifted, U.S. Air Force C-130s have become a familiar sight in the skies overhead.’ Woody shifted positions to take in the stubby transport. Kate could see out of the corner of her eyes the very scene she was describing. ‘Rolling down their rear ramps are the tons of supplies that the intense fighting consumes round the clock. The trees are draped in the nylon of hundreds of parachutes. High above are the criss-crossing contrails of air superiority fighters. This may be Chinese real estate, but up above it’s UNRUSFOR airspace.’
Woody swung the camera to follow the low and slow transports. They belched supplies into the valley. Parachutes from previous drops were draped over treetops to form an arrow easily seen from the air. More parachutes bloomed out of the backs of the fat planes, pulling heavy pallets filled with boxes or crates down the aircrafts’ ramps. The supplies fell in and around the clearing at the tip of the giant nylon arrow.
Woody lowered the camera from his shoulder. Kate sat on a rock. ‘Aren’t you glad I talked you into hiking up here?’ she asked.
‘I’m tickled pink,’ Woody said. He read the tape counter and made notes on what he’d shot.
‘Are they gonna let you recharge the batteries at the hospital?’
‘Yep,’ Woody replied, not looking up at her. They sat there. The breeze was cold but not gusting. Woody had a scowl on his face.
‘Aren’t you going to get high?’ Kate asked. Woody shrugged. ‘Jesus Christ, Woody! What’s the matter with you?’
‘You want me to get high?’ he snapped. ‘Will that make you happy?’
‘No-o! I just wanta know what’s wrong? You’re not acting like yourself.’
He took a deep breath and looked across the rugged landscape. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that we’re sitting on a ridge in the middle of China?’
She waited for more, but that was it. She snickered. ‘Well… ye-e-eah! It has, as a matter of fact.’ He ignored her barbed reply. ‘What’s your point?’