“Go on, Private!” the officer said impatiently. “Those are my orders.”
Again, Cisco translated. This time, there were grumbles of disbelief, but the lieutenant did not seem to hear them, or if he did, he didn’t much care.
The lieutenant was not done. “There will be no more rations of rice and beans. You can eat C rations like everyone else. The special treatment of this unit ends today. Under normal circumstances, there would be serious re-training of this unit for combat readiness, but we cannot afford the time or effort right now.”
Prodded by his fellow soldiers, Cisco finally raised his hand. “Sir, estos soldados want to know if they will get their rifles back.”
The lieutenant glared at him a long time before answering. Cisco felt himself shrinking smaller and wished that he had kept quiet. Finally, the lieutenant seemed to lose patience.
“If I could, I’d take away your damn uniforms, let alone your rifles,” Ballard said. “If you ask me, you don’t deserve to wear them.”
Cisco struggled to keep his voice even. They deserved better treatment than this, but he didn’t dare say anything to the officer. “Yes, sir.”
“No weapons, but you’ll all get shovels,” the lieutenant said. “Instead of being soldiers, you can expect to be put back to work as laborers, digging ditches and so forth. It seems to suit your people. Once we’ve dealt with this latest threat from the Chinese, we’ll start the court-martial process for all of you cowards.”
Having addressed the former Borinqueneers, Lieutenant Ballard stood some distance away and surveyed the dejected soldiers, shaking his head. Sergeant Weber and Cole stood beside him, along with the pilot, Lieutenant Commander Miller. Although no love was lost between Lieutenant Ballard and his hillbilly sniper, the lieutenant respected Cole’s skills as a scout and marksman. Ballard knew that if anyone could take the measure of these men and do something with them, it was Cole and the sergeant.
“Sergeant, is there any hope for these men?” the lieutenant asked.
“I do not know, sir,” said the old German sergeant, who had served in the Wehrmacht in the last war in Europe. He had seen his share of both the worst and the best troops. “To be fair, it is clear that they have had little training and with the loss of their officers and sergeants, no leadership.”
“Cole?”
“Sir, I don’t believe half them boys could find the pointy end of a bayonet.”
Ballard nodded. “Gentlemen, your assessment matches my own conclusions.”
Cole and the sergeant exchanged a look. Ballard had a knack for talking like a college boy, which he was. Someday, he’d likely go far in the officer corps if he survived Korea.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Cole added. “They’ve got plenty of fight. Look in their eyes. Those could be some mean sons of bitches if somebody taught ‘em the ass end of a rifle from the muzzle.”
“Fortunately, that’s not our job,” the lieutenant said. “We’ve just got to teach them to use a shovel, which shouldn’t take long. They’re basically wetbacks, after all.”
The Army had only integrated in July 1948, and old attitudes prevailed. Many officers were not very accepting of the idea of all soldiers being equal. In Ballard’s mind, there were white troops — and then there was everybody else. His assessment of “others” failed to take into account the heroism of blacks, Hispanics, and Asians — Koreans in particular.
While there were South Korean troops, and many had fought with distinction, there was a much larger number of South Korean laborers, or KSC. These men were given all the dirty work from digging latrines to building roads. The prevalent thought was that it was their country, so they could work for it.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “I will find shovels.”
“They can work alongside the KSC,” the lieutenant said. “They will fit right in with the gooks.”
Lieutenant Commander Miller had kept quiet until then, but he now spoke up. “Hey now, don’t call them that. If it wasn’t for the Koreans, I wouldn’t be here. Those people are a lot braver than you think. They’ve been fighting for their country for centuries, and we’ve been here for a couple of years.”
Lieutenant Ballard was not impressed by the pilot’s speech. “I’m sure things have a way of looking different from the air,” Ballard said. “Here on the ground, you’ll find out how things really are.”
With the loss of Outpost Kelly — not once, but twice — the problems for the troops defending the MLR were just beginning. The outposts were meant as a buffer. In a game of chess, the hilltop outposts would have been the pawns. The Chinese were maneuvering for a checkmate, but short of that, they’d be happy to clear the board of as many other pieces as possible.
Now, the Chinese had a foothold within easy striking distance of the main line. Up until then, the Chinese had been content with raids such as the one against the tanks, in which they had tried to disable the tanks using their Bangalore torpedoes. Fortunately, that attack had failed thanks to an alert sentry. However, it was only a matter of time before a larger force attacked the line.
Much to Lieutenant Commander Miller’s disappointment, Jang-mi had left with her two fellow villagers, intending to return home.
Cole had been present when she came to make her goodbyes. The pilot had taken her by the shoulders and thanked her again for rescuing him and saving his life. But Cole could see that the pilot’s emotions went deeper than that. The poor son of a bitch was smitten.
Cole grinned at the thought. The pilot had known the Korean woman for just a few days. Was there such a thing as love at first sight? He didn’t spend much time pondering such things. In Cole’s view, emotions were an annoyance, along the lines of rain or a bitter wind. You had to ignore them and keep going.
What he did know was that he himself had experienced an intense wartime romance with a French freedom fighter named Jolie Molyneux. That romance had been cut short in a field outside Bienville in Normandy, when she had been badly wounded. They had reunited months later at the Battle of the Bulge, but things hadn’t lasted. The cold and snow of the battlefield had smothered the spark between them.
Sometimes in war, Cole knew, you just needed a human touch as a reminder that you were still alive. With the pilot having survived a dogfight in which he lost his plane and wingman, and then being the object of a manhunt by the Chinese, Cole could understand the pilot’s connection with Jang-mi. She was also the softest and prettiest thing around and despite her mannish clothing, she had received more than a few second looks from the young soldiers.
“In a different time and place,” the pilot had muttered, watching her go. “Well, who knows?”
Jang-mi had looked back once over her shoulder, and then slipped into no-man’s land.
Much to their surprise, Jang-mi had returned several hours later. The pilot was pleased to see her, but Jang-mi’s face was troubled. She explained that a large Chinese force was marching through the hills toward the MLR. This was far worse than a few attacks based out of Outpost Kelly. It was clear that the Chinese planned a massive push to overwhelm the line and perhaps change the boundaries being discussed at the negotiating table.
The news was passed up the chain of command. Within an hour of Jang-mi’s return, Lieutenant Colonel Switalski had called a staff meeting to discuss the situation. In a highly unusual move, he had included Jang-mi in the meeting. Lieutenant Commander Miller stood beside her for moral support.
“There has been some prior intelligence that the Chinese were up to something big,” he said. “But nobody knew what.”