“I’ll take ’em.” Kevin didn’t hesitate. Echo Company was stretched way too thin along this line, and a few strategically placed claymore mines might come in real handy indeed. Used properly, a claymore could do a world of hurt to an enemy infantry unit. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. When it was triggered, a claymore’s pound of C4 plastic explosive hurled six hundred steel balls out in a sixty-degree arc to its front — literally scything down anything or anyone within its burst radius. Echo could use that kind of firepower.
The supply sergeant tugged at his lower chin thoughtfully. “You’ve got them.” He nodded abruptly. “Okay, then. I’ll just go down and tell the boys to hurry it up. Got my rounds to make, and I don’t want to stay here in your hair too long, after all.”
Kevin knew the man really meant that he didn’t want to risk getting caught up in the next North Korean attack, but he couldn’t blame him one bit. Nobody in his right mind would willingly hang around to be shot at.
He returned the sergeant’s salute and watched him move off down the hill toward the now-nearly-empty trucks. Then he swung away impatiently, looking for his squad and platoon leaders. He had a defensive position to finish laying out and too damned little time to do it in.
Captain Chae Ku-Ho of the North Korean People’s Army waited patiently while his battalion commander scanned the horizon through a pair of East German — manufactured binoculars. The major was very proud of those binoculars, and Chae understood his pride. They were superb instruments.
“Magnificent! Magnificent! Can you see it, Captain?”
“Yes, Comrade Major.” The smoke pouring from a hundred fires obscured Suwon and billowed high into the atmosphere, mixing with heavy, gray storm clouds that still covered the sky. There would be more snow soon, Chae decided.
“And look at that blacker stuff rising beyond the city. That’s fuel oil and aviation gas burning. The imperialists must have fired their airbase to prevent us from capturing it. We have them on the run, Captain. They’re already beaten in their own minds.”
Chae agreed with his commander but didn’t see the point in saying anything. The enemy troops might be mentally defeated, but they still had to be physically destroyed for it to mean much. He waited patiently until the major had seen enough.
At last the man lowered the binoculars and turned to face him. “Very well, Chae. Let’s not waste any more time. Your orders are simple.” The major pointed to the low, tree-covered hills rising to the west of Suwon. “The division’s axis of advance runs straight through there. And we’ve been selected to spearhead the advance.” He paused.
“A great honor, Comrade Major.”
The man nodded. “Yes. In any event, Chae, I want your company to lead the battalion. Intelligence assures me that we can expect only light opposition from isolated enemy rear guard forces. The rest of the fascists are running back down the highway as fast as they can.”
Chae had his own doubts about the major’s intelligence reports, but he remained silent. The Main Political Administration’s agents had unpleasant ways of dealing with officers suspected of defeatism or insufficient ardor.
“What about tank support, sir?”
The major waved his question aside. “The tanks are being sent further west, where the ground is more suitable for their use. We won’t need them. This will be infantry work only, Chae. We’ll rout the enemy out with the point of the bayonet!”
“Yes, Comrade Major.” Chae was careful not to let any expression show on his face. “I’ll get back to my troops, then.”
“Indeed, Captain.” The major’s tone grew colder. Perhaps he’d sensed Chae’s lack of enthusiasm for his leadership. “I’ll expect your column to be underway within twenty minutes.”
Chae saluted and headed back to his company’s bivouac inside the still-smoldering ruins of Uiwang. He shivered in the wind and grimaced. At least he and his troops would have a brisk six-kilometer march to warm themselves with before going into the attack. The People’s Army’s trucks were too valuable to risk to enemy fire.
They were as ready as it was humanly possible to be. Or so he hoped, Kevin Little admitted to himself. Anyway, there wasn’t time to do any more work preparing the position. He checked the magazine on his M16. It was full, but he only had six more in the pouch attached to his combat webbing. He patted the ammo pouch to make sure it was still there and for the thousandth time, he silently cursed the fouled-up supply situation. Where the hell were all those planeloads of ammo and other gear that the scuttlebutt said were landing every few minutes from the States?
Seven magazines wouldn’t last long in the kind of firefight they’d soon be facing.
A two-man OP sited along the treeline to the north had reported several infantry columns marching south toward them. And Battalion had passed along similar reports from the other companies holding this part of the line. There wasn’t much doubt about it. They were going to get hit.
Kevin trudged wearily through the ankle-deep snow, just putting one foot in front of the other — taking stock of his company’s situation for one last time. He’d had his troops dig in just behind the crestline of the small, tree-covered hill they’d been ordered to hold. The hill itself would block the line of sight for any North Korean observers and force the NK commander to commit his own forces without much idea about where the company’s main strong points were.
Not that there were many of those. Major Donaldson had scraped together a few more replacements for him, but he still had less than sixty men left to hold a position more suitable for a full-strength rifle company with attachments. As it was, he’d been forced to put everyone up on the line just to avoid leaving gaping holes in his defense. The idea of fighting without having some kind of reserve left Kevin feeling cold. It reminded him too much of the fiasco on Malibu West. That had been one of his mistakes up there, too.
He shook off the thought. This wasn’t the time or place. Maybe later. Maybe after the war, always assuming he lived that long.
His 1st and 2nd Platoon leaders — Corporal McIntyre and Sergeant Geary — just nodded when he stopped by their foxholes to go over the battle plan. They looked haggard, dog-tired and hollow-eyed. But then, hell, so did everyone else in the company. Five days and four nights out in the open under extreme stress and in arctic temperatures had pushed the troops to the edge of their endurance. Many were coming down with bronchitis, severe chest colds, or pneumonia. Kevin knew that, by rights, fully a third of his men should have been in the hospital for treatment. The trouble was, he couldn’t spare them — any more than he could spare himself.
He kept going, half-walking, half-sliding downhill through the snow toward the weakest point in his line — a brush-choked ravine that cut between the hill held by his company and the one occupied by Matuchek’s Alpha Company. A frozen, narrow stream turned and twisted its way south at the bottom of the ravine, and the tangle of small trees, shrubs, and tall grass its waters had fed made movement difficult and observation next to impossible. It was the perfect place for a North Korean infiltration through his position.
Knowing that and knowing what exactly to do about it were two very different things, but Kevin had done his best. He’d scraped together a blocking force by stripping the 2nd Platoon of a machine gun team and four precious riflemen. These six men now held positions along either edge of the ravine, ready to pour a vicious crossfire into any NK troops moving up through the dense underbrush.