Again they made the right call. They climbed down the hill amid the random bursts of artillery without so much as a scratch. But as they caught their breath in a trough between two crests, the bombers had begun to sweep in. These were not Chinese aircraft, of course, but American F-16s. Strangely enough, however, they pounded the same hill as the Chinese. The same hill on which Kate and Woody had sought refuge.
The nearest bombs fell only a few hundred meters away. Kate and Woody flattened themselves on the ground as the hill above burst into boiling flame. The bombs had struck right where they’d just taped the report. The next pass blanketed the north slope they’d just descended. There was no debate this time. As soon as the bomber passed, they both rose and labored up the next hill farther to the south. They saw the next jet bank and begin its final approach. They took cover before the bombs rained down. The explosions’ concussions were more stunning than before. When they looked up, they saw the bombs had fallen in the trough where they’d only recently rested. The air controllers were rolling the fire to the south. Kate and Woody were where they shouldn’t be — in an American free-fire zone.
They climbed the hill with furiously pumping knees, throwing themselves to the ground as bombs fell ever closer. Thin trees were toppled from the force of the blasts alone. Their dry needles crackled in flame from the fiery bursts. When Woody pulled Kate up to her feet she almost fainted. Her head was swimming from the thundering blasts so near at hand. Kate cursed as Woody pushed and pulled her to the top of the hill.
Streaking toward them at eye level was an F-16 heavily laden with bombs. They cowered in the rocks as the jet screamed over the ridge. Kate’s throat was pinched tight with fear and she covered her ears. The bare stone crevice in which she lay thudded against her back repeatedly. The world rocked on its axis with each stunning blast. Dust rose up. Clouds of smoke filled the air. Dirt rained down. Kate gagged and gasped for breath. Her head swam and temples pounded and ears rang.
Again Woody tugged at her arms. ‘No-o-o!’ she screamed. It was no use. They were losing the race with the curtain of fire.
Kate lay on her back — waiting for the end. She stared up at the blue sky visible in gaps through the passing black clouds. She saw criss-crossing contrails and tried to decide which one would kill them.
Woody yanked at her arm so hard it almost pulled her shoulder out of joint. She staggered to her feet with tears in her eyes. He led her down the south face in what became almost a sprint. Her head was spinning and she stumbled and slipped on the rocks. Woody’s steadying grip kept her upright — her feet flying.
The next bomber came too fast for them to react. The air thumped her chest, rattled her insides, popped her ears painfully and shook the earth on which her ankles were planted. Flames shot skyward all around, But miraculously they kept on their feet until they collapsed in exhaustion at the bottom. To the sound of the bombs, Kate slowly realized, was now added the popping gunfire of a nearby firefight. There was no going on, now.
They were ringed in fire with no way out. No hope of survival. Kate buried her face in her knees. Her tears flowed as she sobbed.
‘Now, Kate! If you wanta live, come with me now!’
She had no reserves of energy — physical or emotional. But for Woody’s sake she allowed him to drag her up another hill. They passed rocks draped in dead Chinese. Her lungs burned. Her head swam. Sweat poured out of her hair and down her forehead. The sound of fighting had grown louder than the bombs. Finally, they stopped running. Woody climbed up onto a flat rock and said, ‘Come here and look!’ When he insisted, she crawled up the smooth granite face of the boulder. Twice she had to grab and hold the rock for dear life. Twice her equilibrium took an unexpected spin. Not from new bombs, but from the after-effects of earlier explosions. When she reached Woody’s side, she looked out across a relatively flat and rocky ridge line. The crest rose gently toward the summit of their hill’s higher twin. There — interspersed among the rocks of the neighboring hilltop — were the flaming muzzles of a battle. Slowly climbing the hill under withering fire looked to be the entire Chinese army.
All of a sudden, the wooded valley paralleling their own erupted in rolling flame. The shock waves from a hundred bombs formed rings of white mist — expanding outward from each of the hundred bursts at supersonic speed. The storm of fire raced down the valley on the opposite side of their hill. ‘B-52s,’ Woody said with an awestricken voice.
After a brief discussion, the man-made earthquake began again. When it was over, Kate’s nerves lay in tatters. She stared at the rising flames and flattened woods. She raised her eyes to the sky and saw the white contrails high above. There were three planes following one after another. The tortured valley erupted in a continuous gush of flame a mile long. It was over in a matter of seconds, but the scene repeated itself a third time. The final bomber of the three-plane cell completed the total devastation of their bomb box. Kate screamed at the top of her lungs. She grabbed her hair and shook her head and clenched her teeth. Fire and smoke drifted over their hill and blotted out the sun. The day grew dark and her stinging eyes watered and teared.
Woody picked her up in his arms and ran. He jostled and shook her with each laboring step. When Woody put her down, she realized she’d drifted off. She looked up at a soldier in an American army helmet. His rifle was cradled against his shoulder. His teeth were parted in a toothy smile in the midst of a thick, graying beard; His hair was bound in a long ponytail.
Another soldier appeared over Kate — this one with short hair and a stubble-covered face. She looked back at the first man and realized it was Woody.
Kate sat up too quickly and almost vomited. She had to lie back down.
‘Take it easy, ma’am,’ came the gravel voice of the real soldier.
‘Where are we?’ she asked.
Woody answered. ‘We’ve gone from being lost to being surrounded. I’d say that’s an improvement.’ He raised a Chinese assault rifle and inspected it closely. ‘Oh, and they’re all wounded,’ Woody added. ‘Every last soldier up here.’
Harold Stempel stumbled along the steep slope of the hill more asleep than awake. Battles raged against enemy positions on the other side of a finger ridge near the road below and in the distance in every direction. But they mattered little to Harold. His world was small. His concerns narrow. His depth of thinking and feeling shallow.
His lungs burned from the cold air that he sucked through chapped lips. Just moving his legs without tumbling down the hill took all the effort he could muster. The weight of his ammo, sleeping bag and machine-gun were now familiar. But his legs quivered and shook with every step. His aching knees threatened to buckle each time he called upon them for support. The soles of his feet were a mass of blisters.
When they took to ground under fire, the real pain set in. His joints stiffened so much that bending them caused searing pain. His muscles cooled and tightened. He had to stretch and massage them constantly to ward off the imminent cramps.
He was so exhausted that his movements — even under fire — slowed to a crawl. Despite facing the flaming muzzles of the Chinese weapons, he could only make his sore body move so fast. He’d drop to his knees and then to his belly like an old man. He’d unfasten his pack and drag it to the front in slow motion. Bullets whizzed by but he barely flinched any more. With lethargic motions he’d line up the 60 on the bright orange flames. He’d lay down a base of fire while riflemen with grenades maneuvered. Harold’s gun kept the enemy’s heads low. Grenades tossed into their holes then snuffed them out like vermin. One by one the Chinese muzzles would fall dark.