Kevin made an instant decision. He didn’t have enough men to hold the crest against a concerted attack. “Back! Get back to your holes. Move it.”
The two American fire teams slid downhill into their foxholes, joining up with the rest of Echo Company. They’d meet the next North Korean assault when it came over the top of the hill.
Senior Lieutenant Koh lay ashen-faced while the medic worked on him, trying to stem the loss of blood from his wounds. “As you suspected, they were waiting for us. At least a platoon, perhaps more.” He gasped as the medic pulled a bandage tighter.
“Lie still, comrade.” Chae put a hand on his second-in-command’s shoulder. “You did well. Now we’ll smoke the bastards out with a few rounds of artillery fire, eh?”
Koh nodded weakly and closed his eyes. Chae looked sharply at the medic, who simply shrugged. The lieutenant’s wounds were beyond his ability to treat, and the nearest aid station was more than an hour’s march away. It was all in the hands of chance — Koh would live or die as fate dictated.
Chae stood up and stared around the small hollow that held his command group and the battered remnants of his scouting force. His first two platoons were already deployed in a skirmish line about two hundred meters below the top of the American-held hill. The men of the 3rd Platoon, his reserves, squatted on their haunches just outside the hollow.
He snapped an order to his sergeant and headed back the way they’d come. He needed artillery support to press the attack and only the battalion commander could make the necessary arrangements.
“Absolutely not! There’s no time for such foolishness. It would be a waste of valuable ammunition and time. Drive them off that hill with a lightning attack.”
Chae was astonished. He’d known his commander was overconfident, but until that very moment he hadn’t been sure that the man was a simpleton as well. “Comrade Major, the enemy position is a strong one. An unsupported infantry attack will only fail. We must have artillery support.”
The major’s eyes narrowed. “Comrade Captain. My orders to you were explicit, were they not? Are you disobeying a direct command?”
Chae knew he was within moments of being placed under arrest — an arrest that could only have one result: his execution. And that left him with a choice of two equally unpleasant alternatives. He shook his head slowly. “No, Comrade Major. Your orders will be carried out.”
The major smiled. “Excellent, Captain. Excellent.” He patted Chae’s shoulder. “I’m sure there’s nothing there but a small delaying force. One sharp attack by your company will overwhelm them and clear the way for our continued advance.”
Chae could only nod.
“Very well, Chae.” The major glanced at his watch. “I’ll expect your assault to get under way in twenty minutes. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover today. Division expects us to reach the fascist government’s Agricultural Experiment Station by nightfall. And I don’t intend to disappoint them. Is that clear?”
“Extremely so, Comrade Major.” Chae saluted and wheeled away sharply, seething internally. He and his troops would just have to do their best and hope for the best. He’d send his 1st and 2nd platoons in on a wild rush. Perhaps they’d be able to get in among the Americans holding the hill without suffering crippling casualties. And if that failed, at least he’d still have the 3rd Platoon on hand with which to try something else.
The bugle’s high-pitched, discordant shriek echoed eerily off the surrounding tree trunks and branches.
“Here they come, you bastards! Get set for it!” Kevin flicked the M16’s safety off and made sure it was set for semiautomatic fire. He crouched lower in the foxhole.
WHUMMMP! Dirt and snow thrown by an NK grenade sprayed up along the crest of the hill. More grenades burst in quick succession, flashing brightly in the half-light under the overhanging trees. A fragment whined over his head. Above it all, the bugle continued to sound.
There they were. Kevin saw the first figures silhouetted against the skyline, bayonet-tipped assault rifles in their hands. M16s and M60 light machine guns crashed repeatedly along the row of American foxholes, and North Koreans fell or were tossed backward. Others dropped flat and tried to return fire.
Heavier-sounding AK shots mingled with the lighter-pitched cracks made by M16s.
An American private gurgled and suddenly clutched with bloody hands at a throat that wasn’t there anymore. Another screamed in anguish and fell back holding a shattered forearm. But the North Koreans were caught in the open without good cover and they were dying faster.
Kevin shot a man trying to crawl behind a tree and yanked the now-empty magazine out of his rifle, fumbling to insert a new one. Five left. Something round flicked through his line of sight and thumped into a tree just beyond his foxhole. He ignored it and took quick aim at an NK standing full upright, arm extended from the throw.
“Grenade!” Montoya screamed, and dragged Kevin to the bottom of the hole.
WHUUMMMP! The ground shook and both men felt the blast punch the air out of their foxhole. Fragments gouged dirt out of the sides and sprayed overhead. Their ears rang.
“Asshole!” Kevin reared up and pumped three shots at close range into the North Korean preparing a second grenade. The man died with a look of absolute surprise frozen on his face.
Another grenade exploded farther down the line, and Kevin heard men screaming in agony. His men. Kevin cursed and kept firing. Empty. Eject. Reload. Four magazines left now.
The North Korean fire didn’t seem so loud now. Visibility was down to just a few meters, but it seemed that there were fewer muzzle flashes up along the crest. Bodies sprawled everywhere along the slope.
He saw a North Korean trying to roll back over the top of the hill and fired again — kicking up a miniature snowstorm all around the man. He couldn’t tell if he’d hit him. Another NK tried to run. Four rounds hit the man at the same instant and threw him bodily against a bullet-pocked oak tree.
He ripped another empty magazine out of the rifle and reloaded again. Three left in the pouch.
Kevin scanned a sixty-degree arc around his hole, looking for new targets. He waited for the smoke and dust to thin. There were’t any new targets. The bugle had stopped sounding. The North Koreans were gone.
“Cease fire! Hold it! Hold it!” His hearing was coming back, but slowly, too slowly. He could just make out McIntyre and Geary screaming at their men to call them off. They sounded as if they were a thousand miles away.
Kevin shook his head from side to side, trying to clear the last of the ringing out of his ears. He eased his finger off the M16’s trigger and leaned heavily against the foxhole’s dirt wall, breathing hard. Echo Company and its rookie commander had won another skirmish. He felt a surge of triumph and elation and almost laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it. Then he suppressed the feelings as quickly as they had come.
The trouble was the North Koreans would be back for more soon enough, and his troops had already shot off half their ready ammunition. One more attack would burn up the rest. And then what would he do? Kevin didn’t have the answer to that one, but he knew that he’d have to think of one pretty damned quickly. There was an enemy commander out there somewhere in the forest already planning his next move.
Chae stared at the shattered fragments of his 1st and 2nd platoons in rage. Nearly seventy men had been thrown away to no useful end, slaughtered because the battalion commander was a fool of the first magnitude. The Americans over the hill were too well dug-in to be dislodged by a frontal attack. He would have to find another way to get at them.