“Five, Sir,” he replied. The young private’s eyes were filled with fear and there was a tremble in his voice as the crescendo of the charging enemy grew louder as they continued to claw their way up the side of the ridge.
“Private, run back to the track and grab another five belts. We’re going to need a lot more ammo than that. You should have grabbed at least ten belts when you guys set up this gun position,” Master Sergeant Long said, directing his comments more to the corporal who was looking down the barrel at the charging enemy.
“The corporal should have known better,” he thought. “Once the shooting starts, they won’t have a lot of time to keep running back and forth for more ammo.”
The young Marine grabbed his M4 and ran back to the track to grab more ammo. Looking down the ridge, Sergeant Long could see the enemy soldiers were probably 500 meters away now. The corporal looked at him for permission to start firing. Master Sergeant Long nodded, and the corporal immediately looked down his barrel and squeezed off several controlled three- and five-round bursts. While the M240 could chew through hundreds of rounds a minute, the corporal knew not to burn through ammo too quickly, especially since doing so could overheat the barrel in the first couple minutes of the fight.
With the enemy now less than 300 meters away, the rest of the Marines and Army soldiers opened fire with their M4s and their newly issued M27 infantry automatic rifles. The barrage of hot lead being thrown at the enemy tore into their ranks, decimating the advancing hordes. Thousands of bullets crisscrossed back and forth between the American and Chinese lines, intermixed with red and green tracers. The thunderous noise of war was deafening as the two sides tried their best to kill each other.
“Incoming!” yelled one of the Americans. Suddenly, the whistling noise of mortars screamed out from the enemy lines, moments before half a dozen explosions rocked their positions. More American soldiers cried out for help as the Chinese soldiers continued to mortar their positions. Meanwhile, their ground troops continued to close the gap between their two forces.
Long brought his rifle to his shoulder, placing his cheek firmly against the stock of his M4 with the tip of his nose centimeters away from the charging handle as he gently squeezed off one round after another at the advancing enemy soldiers. He saw, two, three, then four enemy soldiers drop to the ground after each trigger squeeze.
“Stay calm, just keep pulling the trigger,” he thought. “Focus on one target at a time. Kill the guy in front of you and then move to the next one,” he told himself.
As the Army soldiers and Marines continued to decimate the advancing Chinese, they heard another set of whistles, softer and further away.
‘‘Dear God — that must be the next wave of enemy soldiers. If we don’t get more help soon, they’re going to overrun us,” Master Sergeant Long realized in horror.
He turned and looked for his RTO. “Tipson! See if you can raise Falcon Six! We need fire support now!” he yelled to his radioman. Tipson stopped shooting and tried to get their CO back on the radio.
Long took aim and fired another four more rounds before he heard some static and pops in his ear and the response he was hoping for. “This is Falcon Six. Go ahead, Falcon Three,” replied Captain Culley.
“Sir, we’re under heavy attack. We’ve beaten back the first wave, but the second wave is hitting us now. How soon until we get additional reinforcements to our position?” He yelled to be heard over the continuous gunfire happening all around him.
“We’re halfway up the ridge behind you. We should be to your location within the next thirty minutes. Continue to hold the line. Reinforcements are nearly to you guys,” Culley said reassuringly.
Master Sergeant Long handed the handset back to Lance Corporal Tipson and picked his rifle back up, ready to resume fire on the oncoming horde. “Keep trying to reach the artillery group, OK? Maybe we get lucky and their signal was just jammed.”
Tipson grabbed the handset and depressed the talk button. “Thunder Five, this is Falcon Three. Fire mission. How copy?”
The fire direction officer on the other end replied, “Good copy, Falcon Three. We’re back online now. Send fire mission.”
“I need one round HE. NK 7413 8774. Danger close!” he yelled, trying to be heard over the constant machine-gun fire.
A minute went by with silence on the radio. Then they heard, “Shot out, advise on adjustments.”
Long took aim at the enemy soldiers now constituting the second wave as they continued to close the gap. They were less than 200 meters away when he heard the whistling sound of the incoming artillery round. The high-explosive round landed roughly a hundred meters behind the enemy soldiers, throwing shrapnel in all directions, killing many of them.
“Spot-on. Now we need to lay it on thick,” Master Sergeant Long thought.
“Good BDA. Adjust fire, down one hundred meters. Fifty-foot airburst, fire for effect, three rounds HE. Danger close!” he yelled into the handset. He had readjusted the target to give his own troops more of a safe radius. The airburst rounds would also throw significantly more shrapnel at the enemy and cause a lot of the pine trees to splinter, throwing wood chunks at the Chinese soldiers.
While Master Sergeant Long was waiting for the fire support to decimate the advancing enemy, a series of thunderous explosions rocked their position. Long felt himself being lifted into the air. He floated briefly above his soldiers’ position, weightless, before gravity took over and he was thrown violently to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.
Long regained consciousness a few seconds later, desperately trying to breathe. As his lungs filled with air, his body ached everywhere. His brain was still trying to register what had just happened to him. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure where he was. Then his hearing began to return, and the roar of explosions and machine-gun fire brought him back to the reality of where he was and what was happening.
“How long was I out?” he asked himself. He patted down his chest and legs, checking to make sure everything was still there and working properly. Sitting up, he saw the fighting position he had previously occupied with the heavy machine gun was gone. In its place was a smoldering crater, surrounded by the torn body parts of the two Marines who had been operating the heavy weapon.
Long turned to his left and saw his RTO, Lance Corporal Tipson, crying out toward the amtrack, where several of the corpsmen and medics had set up a triage point. Both of Tipson’s legs were gone, and his left arm was shredded. Tipson desperately tried to use his right arm to pull his body toward help. A few seconds later, he stopped and went limp.
Turning to look back toward the advancing Chinese, Master Sergeant Long saw that the enemy soldiers were now less than thirty meters from him. He looked around him, desperately trying to find his rifle. Bullets kicked up dirt all around him. He frantically continued searching, but he still couldn’t find his rifle. His mind was still a haze. Now desperate for a weapon, his eyes settled on an entrenching shovel less than a few feet from him.
Long reached down, grabbing the entrenching tool. At that moment, he knew he was most likely going to die, and an inner rage welled up within him. His grip on the shovel tightened. He brought it up like a bayonet and yelled a primordial scream, charging fiercely into the rushing enemy soldiers.
In his peripheral vision, he saw both Marines and Army soldiers firing point-blank into the Chinese, and he swung the shovel for all his worth at the enemy soldier nearest to him. The blade of the digging tool sliced cleanly through the man’s throat, ripping it open. A stream of arterial spray reached Sergeant Long, hitting him in the chest. The Chinese soldier dropped his weapon, both of his hands reaching for his throat in a desperate attempt to stop the rushing flow of blood.