‘Two!’ yelled another voice in the night.
The orientation and shouted orders continued. There was about one grenadier every two or three M-16s. When the count reached number six, the shout came from the guy just to Andre’s right. There followed a conversation in a much quieter voice. ‘You doin’ okay?’ asked the senior NCO.
‘I’m not feelin’ real good,’ the guy said. ‘I think I’m still bleedin’, and my leg really hurts.’
There was a click. Andre could see the beam of a flashlight dimly reflected off overhanging rocks. ‘Yeah, you’re still bleedin’ some,’ the older man said. ‘You just don’t do any movin’ around. Try to maybe prop yer foot up on the rocks and keep it elevated.’
‘Like… uh, like this?’ The master sergeant approved. Andre’s mouth was dry and he got his canteen. He took a swig of the cool liquid and felt refreshed. ‘Take it easy on that water,’ ordered the master sergeant. His teeth were bared as he eased himself into the rocks. His rifle was slung over his shoulder and he hopped on one leg. ‘You’re lucky seven — call it out!’
‘Seven!’ Andre barked quickly and with decent volume.
He didn’t sound wounded, and he was pleased by that fact.
The master sergeant looked Andre over with his fading flashlight. ‘You’re on the reaction team.’ Andre didn’t object. He saw in the reflected light that the man was clearly in agony. His face was shiny with sweat. He appeared to be at least in his forties. Must’ve been from battalion staff. ‘Listen for the call. “Right” means head over to where we came up,’ he said — pointing up the hill through the huge boulders. ‘ “Left” means that way,’ he pointed the other direction — also up the hill.
Andre nodded, and the man was off to continue his tour. The count grew past ten as the fight below raged on. It poured from left to right — south to north — as it moved up the valley. Marked by flashing muzzles, bursting grenades and streaking tracers, the beleaguered Americans were clearly in full retreat. Andre pitied the poor bastards far below. But fear took its place as he watched the fiery lines slowly recede. They were leaving Andre’s hilltop far behind.
‘Where the hell’re they goin? asked the man next to Andre — number six.
The question wasn’t directed toward anyone. But when no one else answered, Andre felt obliged to reply. ‘They’re failin’ back.’
‘But how far? I mean, it looks like they pulled right on back past where we are.’
The master sergeant’s weakening voice came from the distance. ‘Last one’s a grenadier!’
‘Twenty-two!’ came a much louder shout.
‘And that makes me twenty-three!’ the master sergeant managed. His booming voice was failing fast, but he was done. Twenty-three, Andre thought. He watched the fighting down below. Thousands and thousands of muzzles spat deadly fire.
The figures looked like stealthy mountaineers as they climbed in complete darkness. Andre kept his rifle trained on the nearest man. He switched from time to time as a more suitable target appeared. The wounded Americans waited in silence as the Chinese approached.
Pebbles trickled down the hill into Andre’s position.
The climbers all froze. Words were spoken in hushed Chinese. Moments passed before a short order was given and they resumed their ascent toward the guns.
Everyone waited on the master sergeant to fire the first round. Andre drew a bead on a dark form. The man scaled a steep rock. He stood upright momentarily with his rifle slung over his back. He climbed on — now less than fifteen meters away.
A single M-16 fired. An avalanche of noise thundered down the hill. Andre fired once and knocked a man off the rocks. For the first few moments the fight was totally one-sided. The Chinese were completely exposed. But even so the pace of killing was measured. The Americans squeezed off shots one at a time. At first they were the only ones firing.
That all changed after five or six seconds. The entire hillside came alive with muzzle flashes. Bullets sparked off bare granite all around. The Americans’ 40-mm grenades burst almost the instant they were fired. The explosions seemed dangerously close.
Andre lay on a smooth, cold rock. He did his damnedest to aim each shot. But bullets hit the rocks all around. It was unnerving how thick the fire was. Every squeeze of Andre’s trigger was followed by an angry swarm of buzzing death. Both sides sprayed the rocks at point-blank range. When one Chinese soldier emptied a magazine on full-auto, every American had a clear fix on him for two seconds. Before Andre could fire, the man was thrown backwards from his perch.
The Chinese soldiers died in such great numbers the battle ended quickly. The Americans occupied a steep uphill position, and had surprise to add to their advantage. Andre’s rifle had killed every second or third shot. A company of infantry lay dead after a minute of combat.
‘Cease fire!’ the master sergeant called out. ‘Cease fire! Cease fire!’
The American soldiers quickly ended the killing. The only sounds were now made by the wounded. A lone Chinese gun opened up. Single shots by a dozen Americans sounded like a machine-gun. They all aimed at where the flame had been and there followed silence.
After awhile, Andre slid back onto the dirt. He replaced the half-empty magazine in his rifle with a full one and rose up. He took long looks into the darkness in search of movement. But there were only the moans, bleating calls, and choking gurgles. They would weaken soon and all would be silent.
The wounds along Andre’s side began to ache with renewed vigor. He wasn’t cold, but he began to shiver till he was quickly exhausted. He got his canteen and took a Vicodin to settle down.
‘Anybody wounded?’ the master sergeant asked.
At first there was no answer. Then, ‘Everybody’s fuckin’ wounded!’ came a reply. Andre joined in the laughter. That was their brief victory celebration. They rejoiced for a moment at having survived the first encounter.
‘Less than eight hours now,’ said a jubilant number six.
Andre wondered at the comment, then asked, ‘Eight hours till what?’
‘Till they’re comin’ back for us. Didn’t you hear?’
It was the most stupid remark Andre had ever heard. Didn’t the guy have eyes? Couldn’t he see that their ‘relief was being beaten farther and farther away? The guy chattered on about their impending rescue. Each word grated on Andre, but he held his peace. He let the man go through the night with his dreams intact.
Elaine stuck her head in the door. ‘Time for bed, sweetie.’ Gordon sat at his desk all alone. She came over and asked, ‘What’s that?’ Gordon showed her the letter. It was the original and would probably end up in the Smithsonian. ‘Does that thing bother you, Gordon?’
He shrugged. ‘Sort of. Plus ordering someone killed doesn’t exactly leave you in the best of spirits.’
She snorted. ‘That man Kartsev sure has ordered plenty of people killed, and I imagine his spirits are just fine.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Gordon looked again at the handwritten text — in English. There were no mistakes in his script. ‘I think Kartsev is a very unhappy man.’
‘He’s also about to be a very dead man,’ Elaine said. Gordon looked up. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, honey. That was the wrong thing to say. I know you feel bad about that Executive Order. But you’ve had too much on your shoulders for too long. You can’t dwell on the things this office demands of you. It’s the toughest job on earth, Gordon. But in my unbiased opinion, every decision you’ve made was just and moral.’