“What do we do now?” she shouted to Hoover, forcing her protesting legs to run faster.
“Keep moving, dammit,” Hoover responded with stress clear in his own voice.
Behind her she heard Grogan shouting some command she didn’t clearly understand, but the machine gun fire abruptly stopped. “Shouldn’t we help them?” she asked.
“No, dammit!” Hoover cursed again. “Just keep moving.”
Kristen heard other weapons firing, and it took her a moment to realize these new sounds were coming from North Koreans firing at them. She then became conscious of a cracking sound above her head. She glanced up but saw nothing. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?!”
“That popping noise?” she asked. “What is it?”
“They’re bullets, dammit!” Hoover swore anxiously. “Now shut up and run, will you?!”
Bullets?
Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!
Behind her she heard a new sound. It was another popping sound except louder and deeper. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Grogan holding his rifle with a M203 grenade launcher under it. He’d fired a grenade from the launcher, and she saw it detonate on the road by the truck. The explosion illuminated at least ten North Koreans. As if this wasn’t bad enough, she saw more trucks approaching.
Hamilton, the machine gun smoking in his hands, bounded past them. He moved with catlike agility over the boulders until he reached a spot about ten yards ahead of them. He then stopped, turned, and took up a firing position. The second he was in position with the machine gun in his meaty shoulder, he opened fire. Kristen saw Hamilton’s face illuminated by the muzzle flash of the machine gun. His eyes looked to be the size of dinner plates, and his face was almost demonic as he unleashed a hailstorm of lead at the Koreans.
Kristen could hear the sound of men screaming in pain far behind her as they were hit. She could almost feel the heavy bullets from Hamilton’s machine gun roaring by her barely ten feet away as the SEAL kept the North Koreans’ heads down.
Stabbing pain shot up her leg as she lost her footing in the poorly fitting boots and rolled her ankle on a slippery rock. But she didn’t stop, a combination of fear and adrenaline driving her as a long streak of green tracer bullets shot overhead and sped far off into the night sky. She’d forgotten about the freezing temperature and her discomfort. Now all that mattered was reaching the water.
The ocean had become synonymous with safety in her mind.
Grogan bolted past her, leaping from rock to rock like a gazelle fleeing a panther. He found a spot about thirty yards beyond where Hamilton was firing and turned back toward the Koreans who were still firing wildly at them. Grogan pumped his left arm in the air, encouraging them to move faster. “Come on, Doc! Shake your ass!” He opened the barrel of the grenade launcher and slipped another 40mm high-explosive grenade into the breech then slammed it shut. He then pumped his fist into the air several more times. “Move, move,” he barked at them, raised his weapon and fired another grenade.
Kristen nearly fell again as she slipped on an ice-covered rock. She grimaced, lost her footing, but kept going, briefly wondering if she’d broken the ankle. She heard the grenade explode somewhere behind her. At the same time she saw Grogan already reloading, ejecting the stubby shell casing and ramming another one into the breech of the grenade launcher.
The sound of firing coming from the initial truck load of Koreans had diminished to a handful of poorly aimed, sporadic shots.
“All the way to the surf!” Grogan ordered them as they ran past him. “Trip, displace!”
Kristen was now struck by the silence surrounding them as the firing stopped. She could still hear the distant siren but it wasn’t as loud now. Especially when compared to the recent firing that had erupted all around her. For a moment she allowed herself to believe the worst was behind them. She’d come through it and nothing could be worse than the harrowing run across the boulders with the North Koreans shooting at her.
You’ve made it. You just have to reach the water.
There was a terrific explosion behind her on the road as a new flare popped open above them, once more casting all of them in a revealing — and unwanted — brilliant light. Kristen resisted the urge to take cover among the rocks, somehow knowing that to stop meant certain death.
Then, as if by magic, she saw the foam of the breakers directly ahead of her, not ten yards away. The waves were crashing against the rocks. Kristen felt a great sense of relief come over her. They’d reached the shore, and there was no more shooting.
You’re okay, you made it. Everything’s okay.
Alvarez was kneeling on a rock, his own weapon up and at the ready and waving to her and Hoover directing them to his position. “What the hell happened?” he asked as they reached him.
“Some sort of alarm was on the doctor,” Hoover explained. They set Choi down in the horseshoe-shaped break in the shoreline where they had stashed their gear. The opening of the horseshoe faced the sea and would provide some cover from incoming fire as they donned their gear. Kristen settled down into the horseshoe, fighting the feeling of elation of having made it. Her side felt like it was on fire from the exertion of running with all of her gear plus Choi’s dead weight. But the worst was behind them, she was sure of it.
She glanced back toward the road and saw the truck burning ferociously. But, any euphoria she’d felt about reaching the water ended as she saw at least four trucks on the road with men pouring out of them. She then saw Grogan and Hamilton scrambling toward them, their weapons in hand.
“Your ruck!” Hoover said to her and began clawing her waterproof rucksack off her back. She stripped it off, not certain what she should be doing. But Hoover knew. “Strip him!” he said referring to Choi.
“What?” she asked.
“Cut his coat off. It’s too big to slip the drysuit over,” Hoover told her as he opened her rucksack and pulled out the drysuit for Choi.
Kristen pulled her dive knife and began to carefully cut off the coat. Fearful of accidentally cutting Choi, she forced her hands to stop shaking and take her time. Meanwhile, Hamilton and Grogan leapt into the horseshoe shaped depression with them. Grogan saw Kristen carefully cutting off the coat. Exasperated with her slow movements, he snatched the knife out of her hand and, with three quick slashes, removed the coat.
“Trip,” Hoover pointed out to his friend as he unfolded the drysuit. “Your neck.”
Kristen looked and saw a deep gouge torn across the side of the Hamilton’s neck.
“I’m okay,” Hamilton replied as he positioned himself to the left of the horseshoe facing back toward the road. Alvarez was covering the right side. Meanwhile, Grogan grabbed one of the claymore mines from Kristen’s rucksack. The Chief then went back toward the road as more vehicle lights could be seen approaching in the distance.
“Where are you going?” she asked, but Grogan didn’t answer.
She resumed helping Hoover as he pulled the drysuit onto Choi who, in his intoxicated state, was not much help. He was speaking almost constantly however, looking at Kristen and carrying on a one-sided conversation, smiling at her and touching her affectionately.
“I think he likes you,” Hoover offered.
“Great,” she replied, her humor now more of a defense mechanism. “Just what I need, a sixty-five-year-old boyfriend with a heart condition.”