Once their company had secured the air base on D-Day, their unit had completed the long trudge up to the top of the Dulan Forest. They’d been prepared to fight their way to the top, but once they’d pushed past the first set of defenses, the enemy had just evaporated. Granted, the Australians had had it hard taking the beach and securing the city, but once that initial fight had been won, the enemy had withdrawn into the countryside.
They’d spent nearly three weeks patrolling and clearing the ridge and low-lying mountaintops for enemy bunkers and hidden positions, but now they were coming up empty and it was finally time to move further inland. The terrain they had been battling on was brutal, similar to some of the mountains of Afghanistan. It had definitely been a challenge to traverse this area with eighty-pound packs and body armor. Sergeant Price would certainly not be alone in his excitement to get off the ridge.
The soldiers gladly finished stuffing any last items into their packs and prepared to move out. Sergeant Price noticed that one of his soldiers seemed a little less excited than everyone else to be moving on.
“Sergeant, you know the nice thing about being stuck on this mountain, patrolling through the woods like this?” he asked.
Price pulled his ruck straps tight. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” he answered with a chuckle.
“We haven’t lost anyone since the first day,” the trooper replied with a somber look. Then he made his way down to one of the trails where the rest of the squad was forming up.
“Man, he’s right,” Price thought. “Poor guy’s still hurting over Tyler.”
Like a lot of soldiers in their unit, Private Tyler had been killed during the combat jump on the first day of the invasion. He was a well-liked guy from Colorado, the sort of guy everyone wanted to hang out with on a Friday night. His loss had hit several of the guys really hard. Of course, it didn’t help anything that they’d only had five privates join them during the three weeks they were in the field — they were still short six soldiers in their platoon and eighteen for their company.
They all slowly made their way down the mountain, until they came across a small family farm. At first, the sight of nearly a hundred heavily armed soldiers coming in their direction scared the family, who had been tending to their property. However, once the locals learned the soldiers were Americans, they were more than happy to greet them and talk with them.
The soldiers fanned out and secured the area, and then Sergeant Price brought their interpreter over so they could have a legitimate conversation with the man who owned the farm. Since they didn’t have a Chinese linguist in their unit, their battalion had hired a few dozen local nationals to act as their guides and interpreters, at least until vetted contracted linguists could be brought in. The local national that was working with Sergeant Price’s company had been a college student studying to be a doctor, so his English was superb. It sure didn’t hurt anything that he was very physically fit, considering all the rough terrain they’d been traversing. He’d told the Americans to call him Mr. Lee, since none of them could pronounce his Chinese name without butchering it.
Mr. Lee warmly introduced himself, the major and the lieutenant to the farmer, who then began speaking very rapidly, waving his arms wildly and pointing toward the large river a couple of kilometers below their current position.
Major Adam Fowler, the company CO, told Mr. Lee, “Hey, get this guy to calm down so we can ask him some questions.”
Mr. Lee nodded. “The man and his family really just wanted to thank you and your men for liberating them from the communists. He said they would prepare food for your men if you would like.”
The officers nodded, not wanting to insult them. The woman set off for the house along with two of their children. Lieutenant Martinez and one of the other soldiers went with her, to make sure the house was clear of enemy soldiers, and to make sure the woman knew they would be paying them for the food. They wouldn’t take from a family in need, and the company could easily write up a voucher receipt that follow-on units would honor.
Major Fowler changed the topic. “Mr. Lee, ask him where the communist soldiers went,” he instructed.
The two men went back and forth for a few minutes before Mr. Lee turned to face Fowler again. “The man says the communists left the area shortly after we arrived,” he explained. “The enemy soldiers moved to a fort they built nearby. It’s over in that area there.” He pointed toward what appeared to be a large hilltop across the river, at least seven or eight kilometers away from their current position.
Major Fowler nodded. “Ask the man if the roads and trails are clear of enemy soldiers until we reach the edge of this side of the river.”
More banter went on between the two Taiwanese men before Mr. Lee once again turned back toward Fowler. “Yes,” he answered. “The road and trails around here are clear of enemy soldiers. He said we don’t need to take the hard way down the mountain. The communists left the area several weeks ago, and they’ve been using the roads and trails without incident.”
The company stayed at the farm for an hour while they refilled their camelbacks and contacted battalion. They wanted to pass along the intelligence they’d found and see if any of the other units had heard the same thing about this enemy fort. Shortly before they left, the farmer’s wife brought out some sort of chicken and rice dish for the soldiers, which they greedily ate every morsel of. With full bellies, it was time to get back on the road.
Continuing their descent to the bottom of the mountain, they encountered half a dozen other small farm plots. In each location, the people were eager to greet them and share what information they knew about the enemy with the men they viewed as liberators.
As they neared the base of the mountain, they came across a small village that sat just above the river they would eventually need to cross. Once they entered the village, several locals came out to greet them and talk with them. One of the locals who introduced himself caught the major’s attention because he identified himself as the only police officer left in the local area.
“The other police officers were killed or taken away by the communists, never to be heard from again,” Mr. Lee translated.
Mr. Lee and Major Fowler started talking with the man to try and gather as much intelligence as possible on this enemy fort they kept hearing about.
“He has confirmed that he knows the fort exists, but he doesn’t have the exact details of how big it is or know how many soldiers are there,” translated Mr. Lee. “All he knows is that most of the local villagers were rounded up many months ago to work on building it.”
Given this new bit of information, Mr. Lee looked for volunteers to provide some more information. One of the villagers seemed particularly happy to divulge any information that might compromise their occupiers. “The bunker is built with reinforced cement — it’s going to be hard to destroy,” explained Mr. Lee. “He says its located at Luyeh Highland, which has a commanding view of the river and surrounding area. If we are going to move further inland, he says we have to destroy it.” The villager and the policeman confirmed on a map the location of the fort.
Sergeant Price had been listening to all the back-and-forth exchanges between the interpreter and the major. He hoped they would just make camp at this village for the night and try to probe the enemy fort in the morning. It had already been a long day, and it seemed like finding this fortified position could wait another day.