Andre summoned all his strength for one spin move. He surprised the man and threw him off. Andre followed him without losing his grip on the rifle. The guy now was underneath Andre. He was at Andre’s mercy, and Andre had none. Andre lunged forward and head-butted the man’s exposed face. His helmet flew off, but the blow had stunned the man. Blood flowed profusely from his nose.
Andre knew he had to use the knife. He pressed his torso down and let go of the man’s rifle with his right hand. He crushed him flat with his chest and shoulders. He jammed his chin sharply into his collarbone. There was panicked breathing m Andre’s ear. Then searing pain shot from Andre’s neck where the man bit him hard. Andre seized the combat knife by the handle. It slipped out of its leather scabbard with hardly a sound. But the man sensed something.
The AK-47 trapped in between them roared on full auto. The bolt tore back and forth against Andre’s chest. Horrible pain shot through Andre’s right side in a half-dozen places. Andre rose up and jabbed the knife into his enemy’s chest in one motion. But it didn’t go in far. It hit something hard — a belt, a pouch, a bone. For a moment the two men were motionless. The man whispered something in Chinese. Andre raised the knife with both hands. The man raised his hands. With all his might Andre sunk the knife through the feeble defense. It was awful beyond belief. The most sickening sound and feel.
Andre hurled himself backwards to get away. To get down under the machine-gun fire. He lay bareheaded against the frigid rocks. Sweat streamed from every pore. His left ear burned in pain. From it trickled blood whose course changed with his new position. From his thigh to his ribs were agonizing wounds. Andre stared straight up at the night sky. The burning tracers looked like shooting stars. The fire of two M-60s and a .50 caliber overlapped. It went on, and on, and on. In the end it was just American guns. They fired and then fired some more.
Andre awoke while being dragged out of his hole. Someone pulled him roughly by his armpits. Andre grabbed for his rifle and was dropped to the rocks. ‘A-ah!’ he shouted. The world started spinning with the pain. It built and built until Andre feared it alone would kill him. He moaned and yelped with sickening dizziness.
Jesus!’ came the voice of his squad leader. He scampered to Andre’s side. Andre opened his eyes. Everything hurt. He’d never felt worse. He saw it was morning. The sun was up. ‘I thought you said he was dead!’ the squad leader snapped at one of the replacements.
‘Well, look at him! He was lyin’ there with his mouth all open! And his freakin’ eyes were starin’ up at the freakin’ sky!’
‘Never mind,’ the sergeant said. He knelt beside Andre. ‘You hurt bad?’
‘I…’ The words caught in Andre’s bone-dry throat. He coughed. Incredible pain shot from his ribs. ‘…don’t know,’ he croaked. ‘Water.’ They gave him a taste. The more alert he became, the more pain he felt. It wasn’t a good sign.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ barked an NCO Andre had never seen before. Andre raised his pounding head. The man looked all around Andre’s hole. Bodies, brass shell casings and equipment littered the hillside. But the two most dramatic sights lay at Andre’s feet. Andre’s knife stuck straight up from the chest of the Chinese soldier. And the now-faceless guy from Iowa or Indiana.
Everyone was staring at Andre. At the AK-47 whose pistoning bolt had caught in the loose fabric of his parka. It was now stuck to Andre’s chest. Andre felt wave after wave of nausea. He couldn’t answer their questions. They tried to work the bolt. But it was locked tight and wouldn’t come free. They finally cut it loose, leaving a two-inch hole in Andre’s parka. The unknown NCO’s probing hands elicited yelps from Andre. Must be another platoon leader, Andre figured. Command of their platoon had been passed several times. They rolled Andre onto his left side and cut more fabric away.
‘You want me to clean this thing up for you, ’Dre?’ asked a squadmate, holding Andre’s bloody knife.
A pit of burning vomit boiled up. ‘I’m gonna puke,’ he groaned, and they stood back. Andre emptied his stomach on the ground. ‘That’s all right,’ the new platoon leader said. ‘Go ahead and get that bad shit outta there.’ When Andre was done, they went back to work. ‘Tell ’em six shrapnel punctures,’ the platoon leader said, ‘plus one wound that looks like a bullet hole.’ Andre whimpered as he probed his side. ‘It looks like a through-and-through, but they oughta look real good.’ They applied pressure bandages.
‘There’s another hole up here,’ said the replacement. He held Andre’s right arm in the air. ‘But it’s little, and it ain’t Weedin’ any more.’
The air was chilly where they had cut away his clothing.
‘Tell the clearing station about it anyway. It looks like fragments from a round that must’ve hit these rocks. Ain’t too deep. I can see a piece right here.’ Andre raised his head and watched the man dig a metal sliver from his hip. He used Andre’s black combat knife. Its edges were honed and silvery. Andre threw up again. He heaved even though nothing came out. The NCO gave them directions to the aid station.
‘You mean, like, it’s on the other side of this hill? We’re clearin’ casualties outside the valley?’
‘Just go. This man needs aid!
They hoisted Andre to his feet. He cursed and hissed and gasped. With the squad leader and replacement on either side, he remained standing. For the first time he saw the extent of the battle’s devastation. The slope was covered with dead. Nowhere were there more bodies than around his position.
‘Did he fight?’ his squad leader asked.
‘Who?’ Andre replied.
‘Hansen! The guy from Illinois. Did he fight or was all that talk about the Third Infantry bullshit?’
‘He saved my life,’ Andre finally answered. Hansen, he committed to memory. From Illinois.
At first Andreev thought the sound came from a lunatic. A howling, half-human sound emanating from the desolate streets. But then there was laughter and an attempt at imitation. The mimicked howl ended in boisterous glee.
Andreev was crouched in a notch taken out of the sidewalk. He squatted next to a window that opened below street level. When he’d heard the noise he had leapt into it. He risked looking out through a small railing past some dead flowers. His eyes were level with the pavement. There wasn’t much light in the street. But what there was streaked across rain-soaked pavement from a single bright lamp on the opposite kerb.
The beam skirted a triangular median with trees, a bench and a smallish monument.
Three streets merged at the tiny park. A band of swaggering men strolled down one. The lead held an AK-47 one-handed. It was pointed skyward and casually resting on his shoulder. With his other hand he raised a bottle of vodka. The liquid was sloshing — about half-empty. Andreev felt inside his valise. He’d packed only soft things — quiet things — around the weapon. The Ingram came out without making a noise.
‘No-o-o-o-o!’ wailed a man who fell to his knees. The leash around his neck was yanked. He collapsed. His fall onto the concrete was unbroken. His hands were bound tightly at his back. One of the trailing men kicked him. Pyotr counted four around the prisoner. But a fifth suddenly appeared — straggling behind the rest.
‘Oh, look!’ shouted the slurring leader. He held his right hand pointed straight at the park. ‘Over there!’ From the sound of it the man was drunk, bored, tired. The armed men all wore black from head to toe. Their boots scraped across the pavement as they dragged their captive by his neck toward the trees. The man struggled mightily to get to his feet He never managed to rise above his knees. Pyotr sank slowly into the tight space making sure he made no sudden movements. He listened. All too quickly it became clear what was going on.