‘It’s almost warm tonight,’ the guy close behind Andre commented. Andre nodded — not sure his gesture was visible in the flickering light. ‘Hope this weather holds,’ he said. There was a quiver in his voice. Andre looked up at the clear and starry night. It was a damn sight more pleasant than it had been just a few days before. ‘We’ll pro’bly get a big airdrop tomorrow with more…’
‘Knock it off!’ came a shout from up front.
They slowly ascended a shallow humpback ridge. Everyone stooped low near the top and raised their weapons. No orders needed to be given. They’d done this countless times before. The increasing volume of the fighting alone warned of the death that lay ahead. When Andre crested the ridge, he saw the well-lit battlefield. The valley’s contours were made clearly visible by flashing muzzles and bursting flames.
The knot in Andre’s stomach tightened. He followed the others in a stoop toward the streaking fireflies below. The roar of the guns was now so great only a shout would be heard. Andre kept his eyes on the men ahead for signs of danger. The woods grew thick with smoke. The thin needles of the evergreens overhead had no color in the flashing light from the guns. Andre could no longer make out the sounds of individual weapons.
His stomach was cramping. His bowels were churning. His mouth was dry and tasted of steel. His cold-weather gear suddenly seemed too warm. His palms and armpits were damp. The line filed past a waiting man. With his free hand, the man took soldiers and shoved them to their fighting positions. ‘We dig in here!’ came the foul breath into Andre’s face. The platoon sergeant propelled Andre to the right. He walked into the darkness till the squad leader then grabbed his webbing. He pointed down. Andre dropped his fighting load to the ground and began to dig. He nervously confirmed that he was not in too wide a gap. The men on each side dug into the thawing soil sue meters away. At night their spacing was reduced by almost half. If truth be told, Andre preferred fighting at night. He was terrified by the isolation of a ten-meter spread.
He spaded the earth with his metal entrenching tool at ninety degrees. He chopped it up and then sunk the blade in deep. Chop and scrape, chop and scrape. His back ached and his lungs burned.
‘Delta Company’s gonna pass the line to us!’ the platoon sergeant informed the men as he walked down the line past Andre. ‘We got five minutes! Dig ’em deep, boys. There’s a whole lotta hurt cornin’!’
The man disappeared. No one said a word as they dug, but Andre could hear their grunts of effort. Sweat poured down his forehead and neck. He debated taking the time to remove his parka. But the shallow hole would be his grave unless he kept on digging. The next few minutes were spent deepening the hole.
Andre didn’t know why he looked up but he saw movement. It came as a shocking realization. He dropped his shovel and sank to his knee to grope for his rifle. But it was only two men helping a wounded buddy to the rear.
Andre vowed to pay more attention to their front. If all went well, they’d get plenty of warning. There’d be another visit by the platoon sergeant or platoon leader. Then the retreating D Company would pass. The last man through — usually an NCO — would call out ‘Line passed!’ Then the order to commence firing would echo from all sides.
But all didn’t always go well, Andre knew. He dropped to both knees to scrape the loose dirt with his gloves. If D Company folded or was flat overrun, the first sign they’d get of approaching danger would be a brief glimpse of sprinting Chinese soldiers. They wouldn’t stop and fight. They’d try to get to the rear where confusion would be their ally.
When he was satisfied with his position he folded his shovel and returned it to his webbing. In a hasty retreat he didn’t want to have to collect his gear. And he definitely didn’t want to leave behind his all-important shovel.
Andre placed his two spare magazines on the ground to his left. His eyes were long adjusted to the dim light. But he took the time to memorize by feel their location. The first thing to go would be his night vision. Now began the worst time of all. Andre peered into the woods ahead through his M-16’s sights. He licked his dry lips but couldn’t find the moisture to swallow.
‘Where the hell is D Comp’ny?’ the guy to his left asked.
Andre didn’t know if the question was meant for him. But he wasn’t in the mood to answer. It was the talker from the line behind him. Andre wasn’t willing to trade invisibility for any calming effect of a reply on the guy’s nerves. But the question the guy had asked was a good one. Brief strobes of light from large mortars and artillery bursts gave good enough illumination to the front. Andre grew increasingly familiar with his weapon’s sights. Nothing moved. Nothing changed. All was still.
His stomach turned over and he felt a cramp in his bowels. The tension had grown steadily into a pounding headache just behind his eyes. He pressed his fingers against his eyelids then rubbed his temples. It provided him little relief. When he looked up he saw running soldiers. The woods were filled with them.
Andre jerked his rifle to his cheek and flicked the selector to ‘Semi.’ His vision was still blurry from rubbing his eyes. ‘Hold your fire!’ was shouted up and down the line. Andre’s heart was pounding. He’d almost killed a friendly soldier. Delta Company was falling back as fast as they could run. They passed so close Andre could hear their heavy breathing. There were moans and groans of wounded men being carried too roughly by comrades. Long bursts from trailing machine-guns sprayed the woods behind the withdrawing unit. The gunners and their assistants then hustled the weapons past Andre — the new main line of defense.
One crew dropped to their knees between Andre and the guy on his left. ‘They’re about two hundred meters behind us!’ the winded gunner called out. ‘Must be about a battalion! Good luck!’ With a grunt they rose and he trotted off.
Andre glanced back at the retreating men in envy. They’d put in their time and survived. There’d be a third line setting up behind Andre’s. So Delta Company was probably done for the night. Unless, that is, everything broke.
‘Free to fire!’ echoed back up and down the line. He gritted his teeth and scanned the trees for the first Chinese. A few more muted calls cautioned, ‘Don’t waste yer ammo!’ or other similar warnings. It gave Andre a sense of comfort to hear the voices stretch into the distance to either side.
We’ll be all right, he told himself, trying to swallow. The line had been passed in good order. They were braced for the shock and ready. It was the Chinese who would die that night. Andre caught, himself grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He stretched his neck to both sides and it popped. When his eye returned to his sight he took a deep breath.
Guns first opened fire far to the left. They were machine-guns spitting out six-round bursts. Then a cascading volley of rifles. Next their own squad’s machine-gun sprayed the woods. Andre took a quick check of where the gun was to his right. Maybe fifteen meters away. Worst case he’d peel back and hook up with the 60.
Any second now, Andre thought.
Mortars whistled overhead and dropped into the trees a hundred meters to their front. They burst in the upper branches, raining shrapnel and wood splinters with surely devastating effects. Grenadiers looking down from the hills plunked 40-mms into the woods even closer. Andre knew the men on the ridges wore night-vision goggles. They could see through gaps in the trees the surging mass of Chinese infantry.
As if straight out of the blazing forest there emerged the forms of running men. They were easy shots at thirty meters.