“Never mind,” Wu said. “It will take more than a bullet to bring down one of those helicopters.”
“Yes, but maybe I shot the pilot.”
“If you had shot the pilot, it is likely that the helicopter would have crashed.”
“Yes, sir,” said Deng sounding duly chastened.
“We have many other targets today.”
Wu believed that snipers such as Deng were especially effective. Snipers could pick off the enemy unseen, thus demoralizing and terrorizing the American troops. Fighting against a hidden enemy served to frustrate and anger their adversary.
He had come to understand the power of snipers thanks to Li Chen. Wu had put Chen’s talent to use at the Chosin Reservoir and then at the Battle of Triangle Hill. Ultimately, Chen had fallen to an American marksman, which was disappointing for Wu. At the time, Wu had believed that the Americans relied on their superior weaponry and he had been surprised to encounter the sniper with the Confederate flag painted on his helmet. That sniper was indeed a dangerous adversary, but if Wu encountered him again, he vowed that there would be a different outcome. Wu would eliminate the man, even if he needed to do it himself.
Although Chen had died, Wu had discovered that there was a kind of immortality to the fear of the Chinese snipers. As far as Wu was concerned, there would be a long line of snipers to replace Chen, like a line of dominoes. Hopefully, he would not need that many to chase the enemy from the Korean hills for good.
Deng was his latest sniper, with Wu having lost a less capable man in between Chen and Deng. Deng had the same small frame as Chen, but he was possessed of a wiry strength. Wu had witnessed Deng put much larger men in their place. When it came to a fight, Deng had the speed and killing instinct of a mongoose attacking a viper, qualities of which Wu approved.
“Major, what is that sound?” Deng asked.
Wu perked up his ears. Above the slow beat of the helicopter, he heard the roar of more aircraft. He looked up and spotted the contrails of seven airplanes streaking across the sky.
“Those are the new jet fighters,” Wu said in surprise. It was unusual to see one of these jets because the American propeller planes known as Corsairs were more common. It was these planes that the Chinese troops feared more than anything because they could swoop in and wreak devastation with their bombs and napalm and machine guns in a way that the Chinese simply could not defend against because they lacked the antiaircraft weapons as well as an adequate air force of their own.
“I see them now, sir. I hope that they are not headed this way.”
Wu pressed the binoculars to his eyes again and turned them skyward to study the planes. If this was a squadron of enemy planes, the Chinese would have just moments to seek shelter before the storm of bombs.
The aircraft had a stubby look about them, so different from the American Corsairs. As the planes approached, he picked out the red stars on the wings.
“Look, Deng, look! Those are our planes! These belong to us!”
With a sudden thrill of joy, he realized that these were not American planes coming to bomb and strafe them, but were instead the new MiG fighters that were being sent to bolster the Chinese defenses. Another present from their friends, the Soviets.
Wu was excited to see them because it was such an unusual sight. He scanned the sky with the binoculars, wondering where the aircraft were going in such a hurry. With a gasp, he saw that the Soviet planes were not alone. Just beneath them and off to the west, he picked out two more planes flying wingtip to wingtip. These other aircraft clearly had the appearance of American planes. As they grew closer, he could pick out the United States insignia on their wings.
“Look at that,” Deng said. He had the eyesight of a marksman, much better than Wu’s in any case, so that he didn't even need the binoculars to distinguish the planes against the clear blue sky. “Those are imperialist planes. I wonder if there's going to be an air battle, sir.”
“That is a good question,” Wu said, captivated by the sight of the two sets of combat aircraft. “If you put two hornets in a jar, they will fight. I would think that pilots in the same sky are much the same.”
The question was soon answered. As Wu watched through the binoculars, the American planes suddenly shifted direction and swept upward toward the formation of MiGS. From the wings of the planes, he saw the flash of guns and cannon fire. As the Americans charged at the formation, it seemed foolhardy because they were so outnumbered. But when had the Americans ever had any sense? In their own minds, they thought of themselves as being invincible.
In response to the attack, the Soviet planes broke into two groups, four of the aircraft peeling off in another direction, and three sweeping down to meet the threat.
“Those others are running away,” Deng said incredulously.
“Perhaps,” Wu said. “Let us see what happens. Perhaps our comrades have a trick up their sleeve.”
Flashes came from the MiGs as they attacked the American planes. Wu found himself mesmerized by the sight. He found it thrilling because he had never witnessed a dogfight before. It was almost like seeing the gods of old battle in the sky. He could hear the roar of the jet engines straining in the distance. However, the sound of the planes’ guns did not reach them, although they could see the flashes of the guns.
Those distant flashes were more than a fireworks show. To their horror, one of the MiGs erupted into a fireball. Bits and pieces of the burning plane showered down from the sky.
“They have shot down one of ours!”
“I can see that,” Wu snapped. “Perhaps the pilots are inexperienced.”
Truly, the attack did not seem to be going well for the Soviet planes. Another MiG began to stream smoke and peeled away from the formation, headed back toward its base — most likely in Vladivostok. The remaining Soviet jet was now outnumbered, two against one.
But the four other jets had not simply disappeared. Instead, they suddenly reappeared out of the sun, diving toward the two American planes. One of these disappeared in a halo of fire, which left the lone plane badly outnumbered.
In an instant, the tables had turned.
The American wasn't about to give up the fight. He should have run away. Instead, he banked sharply and flew directly toward the oncoming planes.
Rapid fire flashed between the aircraft.
Madness, Wu thought, following the action through the binoculars as the single plane took on the entire squadron.
One of the MiGs exploded. The American jet plunged through the cloud of debris, but the pilot still had three enemy planes on his tail. And perhaps another waiting to pounce. By Wu’s count, that still made it four against one. There was no way that the enemy pilot could survive this bout today.
Wu watched the enemy fighter plane dodge and dip, but he was unable to shake so many adversaries. Seconds later, another burst of cannon fire from the MiGs brought smoke pouring from the American fighter.
“He's done for,” Deng said.
“Our forces have triumphed,” Wu said, slipping into his political officer’s role. “We should expect nothing less.”
Wu was surprised that the American plane had done so well against such overwhelming odds. Their pilots must be well trained. Not for the first time, he realized that these Americans were not to be underestimated. Time and again, they had proven themselves to be highly motivated adversaries. Wu thought with a satisfied smile to himself that the Chinese had shown themselves to be capable as well.
Wu stared through the binoculars as a white parachute blossomed in the sky and began to drift downward, carried northwest by the wind.
“He is bailing out,” Deng said.
“Why don’t they shoot him down?” Wu demanded. “He destroyed three of our aircraft. “Shoot him down! What are they waiting for?”