“I don’t see our position.”
The co-pilot pointed. “Down there. That’s Hill 199 where you can see our guys dug in. That’s Outpost Kelly beyond the line.”
Hardy squinted and on a hilltop was finally able to pick out a few foxholes and what looked like a command dugout. A handful of tanks appeared to be mired in the mud. “Doesn’t look like much,” he said.
“Blink and you’d miss it,” the co-pilot agreed. “Good thing we didn’t blink, huh? Nothing beyond here but mountains and Chinese.”
From below, by way of greeting, they saw a few muzzle flashes and even some green tracer fire that indicated Chinese machine guns in the surrounding hills. If Hardy hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that the tiny outpost was virtually surrounded by enemy troops. Nobody had said anything about the soldiers here taking on the whole damn Chinese army. As far as he knew, he was just supposed to be writing a fluff piece about the Puerto Rican troops.
“Still sitting on your helmet?” the co-pilot asked. “I would if I were you.”
Still perched on his helmet, Hardy tucked himself into as small of a ball as possible, which wasn’t easy, given his gangly frame. He held his breath, watching as the tracers stabbed skyward. At any moment, he expected the chopper to be riddled with bullets.
If he flew back on this thing, maybe he’d bring along something more useful, like the lid of a garbage can or better yet, some armor plating.
The chopper settled lower, the low hills themselves helping to screen the ungainly machine from incoming fire. There was just enough of an open, flat area at the base of the hill occupied by American troops for the helicopter to land.
“All right, let’s move it,” said the pilot, speaking for the first time. “This is as close as we can fly you. We’re sitting ducks out here. You’ll have to catch a ride the rest of the way.”
The co-pilot got out, enabling Hardy to crawl between the two seats, then across the co-pilot’s empty seat and out the door. If the chopper had crash-landed, he wondered how the hell he ever would have gotten out.
He dragged his pack behind him, careful because it contained his camera. He held his helmet in his other hand. It was only then that he realized that he had forgotten to bring along a weapon. From the looks of things, he might be needing it.
The co-pilot gave him a hand as he crawled awkwardly from the chopper. “You’ll be back in two days, right?” Hardy asked.
“Sorry, Mac, all you’ve got is a one-way ticket unless someone tells us different. Besides, the weather forecast says there’s a lot of rain coming. These birds don’t like to get wet.”
Hardy knew there was no point in arguing. He’d have to find a Jeep to take him back. Then again, he hadn’t seen any Jeeps on the ground as they flew in.
“Thank you for flying the U.S. Army,” the co-pilot said. “Now get the hell out of the way.”
Hardy didn’t need to be told twice. He ran from the chopper, keeping low as the blades whirred overhead.
Behind him, the chopper lifted back into the air and raced away. Hardy fought the urge to watch it out of sight. Even above the sound of the receding helicopter, he could hear the Chinese taking potshots at the unwieldy aircraft.
He suddenly found himself alone. Not another soldier in sight. Nervously, he glanced around at the rocks and scrub trees, half-expecting to see Chinese soldiers emerge. Never mind that he was technically behind the front line. What would he do if he suddenly saw the enemy? He didn’t even have a weapon.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long for a ride. The driver of a supply truck saw him standing by the side of the road and came to a stop.
“Need a ride, Mac? Hop in. It’s either me or the Chinese.”
“That would be great,” Hardy said, and climbed aboard the cab. He was a little surprised to find the driver alone in the cab.
“Don’t you have anyone with you?”
“Sure, there’s half a dozen South Koreans with me to load and unload the truck, but I make them ride in back. I don’t want those slant-eyed bastards up here with me.”
“OK,” Hardy said, wondering, not for the first time, why so many of the American troops had nothing but disdain for the Koreans. He had found the people and the culture fascinating.
“What are you doing out here, anyhow?” the driver asked. “This isn’t the best place to hitchhike.”
“Believe it or not, I just got dropped off by helicopter.”
“That was you? Huh. I saw that chopper. I thought only the brass and the wounded got to fly in choppers.”
“I guess I was an exception.”
“Lucky you,” the driver said. He looked Hardy up and down. “You got a rifle?”
“No. I’m a reporter for Stars and Stripes. A rifle was too much to lug along, but I brought my camera instead.”
The driver reached under the seat and took out an old-fashioned revolver, like something straight out of the Old West. He set it on the seat between them. “It’s not regulation, but I brought it from home. I figure if it was good enough for Wyatt Earp, it’s good enough for me. You see any Chinese, you start shooting.”
“What are you going to do?”
“If we see any Chinese, I’ll be the one driving like hell in the opposite direction.”
The driver went on to talk about the intricacies of hauling supplies and the difficulty of working with lazy Koreans. Hardy’s mind wandered. He went back to observing the scenery.
They approached a large sign, nearly the size of a billboard. DANGER! YOU ARE UNDER ENEMY OBSERVATION FOR THE NEXT 500 YARDS. DANGER!
Beyond the sign, the road was overhung with camouflage netting. Hardy glimpsed the sky through it. Could the enemy see them?
“Should we be worried?” Hardy asked.
“What, that sign? You never know. Sometimes the Chinese shoot at us and sometimes they don’t.”
The driver shifted gears and the truck sped up, the motor straining as they began to climb a grade. Hardy held his breath, but no enemy shells came raining down on them.
Several tense minutes later, they had passed through the tunnel of netting and finally reached the top of the hill.
“Must have been your lucky day,” the driver said, pulling to a stop.
Hardy wasn’t so sure about that. He looked around at the outpost and wasn’t encouraged by what he saw. The command dugout was more like a cave scooped from the side of the hill, fortified with a few logs that had been dragged into place to create a low wall at the entrance. In most encampments, there was at least some concertina wire strung around the perimeter to keep out Chinese infiltrators, but here there was no such barrier. A couple of tanks were the only reassuring sight.
He thanked the driver and climbed down from the truck.
Hardy was still looking around, trying to get his bearings, when a patrol materialized from the surrounding brush. He recognized the lieutenant leading the unit right away. The officer he’d been talking to walked away to the dugout.
“Lieutenant Ballard?” Hardy asked. “Sir?”
The lieutenant scowled, but then recognized the reporter. His face lit up.
“You’re the Stars and Stripes reporter. Hardy, right? What are you doing out here?”
“I’m here to write a story about the troops from Puerto Rico, sir. I suppose you might say that it’s an article to make them look good.”
Ballard’s smile faded. “Good luck with that.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
“I was hoping they would have someone here to meet me.”
“There’s a lot going on here, Hardy. But I’m glad to see you, even if nobody else has rolled out the welcome mat. You did a damn fine job writing about what happened at Triangle Hill.”
“Thank you, sir. Is your sniper still here? The one I took a picture of?”