“Cole?” The lieutenant shook his head. “He’s off on a wild goose chase, trying to find a pilot who bailed out.”
Hardy perked up. “That would be a good story, sir.”
“Would it? Maybe, if he finds him. Cole was on patrol with his squad when he saw the plane go down. Chances are that the pilot is already dead or captured, but you never know. Poor bastard. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to parachute into countryside crawling with Chinese.”
“If anyone can find that pilot, sir, I suppose it’s Cole.”
“You might be right about that. But I’ve got to tell you that not only did Cole send back word about the pilot, but also sent back news that the whole damn Chinese army is headed this way. You picked one hell of a time to visit Outpost Kelly.”
“I saw the Chinese from the helicopter, sir. Lots of them. They were shooting at us.”
“You should have turned around and gotten back on that helicopter,” Ballard said. “You might have one hell of a story to write depending on what happens over the next few days, but I’m not so sure that it’s going to have a happy ending.”
Chapter Four
Crouched behind a large rock on the summit of a nearby hill, Major Wu scanned the American position for a target. He was far enough that, through his binoculars, the enemy soldiers appeared insect-like. Somewhat larger than ants … more like locusts, perhaps? He thought that any insect analogy was fitting when it came to the enemy.
He pressed the binoculars tightly to his eyes and searched the lines for any soldier foolish enough to show himself. He knew from experience that it was only a matter of time before someone made himself a target. The Americans couldn’t stay hidden forever.
Beside him was a soldier with a rifle equipped with a telescopic sight. This was Deng, Wu's new sniper and designated Hero of the People.
“Do you see that tank down there, off to the right?” Wu asked Deng, who acknowledged his superior with a grunt. Wiry but strong, he was a man of few words and simple tastes, which were qualities that Wu admired. So far, Deng did exactly what Wu told him to do without argument, which was a good arrangement.
The distinction even extended to their uniforms. Deng wore a drab, padded jacket and trousers that looked as if they had been sewn from a quilt, along with the ushanka-style hat typically worn by Chinese troops. No Chinese soldiers possessed helmets. Wu wore a crisp officer’s uniform with bright red hash marks and stars at his collar. He supposed that he stood out to any enemy snipers, much like a colorful bird in the surrounding brush, but Wu was too proud to think of not displaying his officer’s rank.
“Keep your eyes on that tank,” Wu said. “The hatch is open. Soon enough, you will see a head pop through that hatch. That will be your target. You should have no trouble reaching the target from here.”
“Yes, sir,” Deng said, his eye never wavering from the rifle scope. “Will it be an imperialist officer?”
“Of course,” Wu said. “Don’t you know by now that everyone you shoot is an officer?”
Wu wrote all of the reports and made a point of identifying most of Deng’s targets as officers. It sounded better in the official reports.
It was unusual for someone of Wu’s rank to be here in the field, directing one man. Most political officers would have been content to remain in camp until it was time for an attack. At that point, they would have taken up their position in the rear, pistols or submachine guns in hand, to encourage the heroes of the Chinese army by shooting anyone who dared to retreat.
Wu had no compunctions about shooting the cowards in the ranks, but he found that publicizing the achievements of outstanding snipers, artillery gunners, or other seemingly ordinary soldiers was a more constructive method of inspiring the troops. Also, with his eye always on personal advancement, Wu had learned that his ability to tell these stories was much admired by those in power. No one questioned the accuracy or truth of his stories, so long as they were motivational. As a result, Wu had created a special place for himself in the command structure of the People’s Liberation Army.
Through the binoculars, he watched the tank. Wu thought of how he had once seen a fox waiting beside a gopher hole, patiently biding his time until the gopher raised its head. He and Deng were like that fox now, waiting behind this rock in the distance.
“Isn’t there another target?” Deng asked, after several minutes had gone by.
“Shoot the tank officer. We must be patient,” Wu said. Normally, it was Wu who felt that every minute not spent shooting at the enemy was a minute wasted.
Again, Deng answered with a grunt, but he obeyed the order.
Wu became aware of a strange sound, like thudding in the air. As he listened, the noise grew louder. He recognized the sound, but was surprised to hear it in this desolate place at the edge of the UN-held territory.
Deng took his eye away from the scope and asked, “What is that?”
“It is one of the American helicopters. Perhaps that will be a better target for us. Let's wait and see if it appears.”
The sound grew yet louder. The thudding noise that the helicopter made was very distinctive. Although Wu thought that the flying machines looked ungainly, he knew that the helicopters generally carried the highest-ranking officers. The approach of this helicopter puzzled him somewhat because he was not sure why a helicopter would come all the way out here. What interest would a high-ranking officer have in this remote post?
The helicopter made him a bit nervous because at his back there was gathering a sizable Chinese force for yet one more push against the United Nations troops. The element of surprise was important if they hoped to overwhelm the enemy.
The fact that the helicopter had appeared might signal that the Americans knew something was happening. Why else would a high-ranking officer visit this remote outpost?
“Do you see it yet?” Deng asked. He was busy searching the sky with the telescopic sight, but the field of view was quite limited. The surrounding hills made the sound echo so that it was hard to tell where it was coming from.
“I will tell you when I do,” Wu replied, using the binoculars, which had a much greater field of view. Binoculars remained rare in the Chinese military, and Wu guarded them closely as one of his most prized possessions.
He scanned the horizon, but there was still no sign of the helicopter, despite the fact that they heard it plainly. The rhythm of the rotors thumping in the mountain air vibrated throughout his body.
The problem here was that the hills were so low that they obscured much of the view across the more open territory that lay to the South. They could hear the helicopter, but they could not see it. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the flying machine, but it was moving quickly.
“It is off to your left, just above that middle hill,” he said to Deng. “Do you see it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Moments later, Deng squeezed the trigger. It was impossible to say whether or not he hit the flying target. He didn't have a chance for a second shot because the helicopter slipped behind a hill and disappeared.
“Did you hit him?”
“I don't know, sir. He was still in the air.”
“You are too slow. You should have fired a second shot.”
A long second went by before Deng replied, “Yes, sir.”
This was Deng’s way of showing that he thought the major was being unreasonable. Wu realized that he had hoped against hope that a single bullet from Deng would cause the helicopter to erupt into a massive fireball. He had seen that happening in his mind’s eye. Could he get away with stating in his report that Deng had actually shot down the helicopter? Probably not.