"I'll need a couple more men."
Pomeroy stepped forward. "Me and Wilson will go, sir."
"Good enough. Let's get to it, then. Keep your eyes open."
The lieutenant started off, which gave Cole the opportunity to mutter to Pomeroy, "Don't you know better than to volunteer for anything in the Army?"
"If me and the kid didn't go with you, it's likely you'd get sent out here with a couple of guys who might shoot you by accident if they get jumpy. At least with us, you’ll know that we shot you on purpose."
Cole grunted, acknowledging that Pomeroy was probably right about the likelihood of getting shot by one’s own side. In the wake of the ambush, most of the soldiers looked anxious and trigger happy. In their eyes, every bush and shadow was now an enemy soldier.
They made their way back across the ditch and into the field. Once again, Cole was overwhelmed by the smell. Even in the cool weather, the place stank like the world's biggest outhouse. He kept scanning the horizon for threats, but if any of the North Korean guerillas had survived the assault, they were long gone.
When they reached the ditch with the dead attackers, Cole was somewhat taken aback by the appearance of the four bodies sprawled in the mud because the North Koreans were unlike any enemy that he could have imagined. First of all, three of the four were young to the point of being baby-faced. The fourth dead fighter was older, with a wrinkled, lined face. His dark eyes stared, unseeing. This must have been their equivalent of an NCO, he thought. None of the troops had on a proper uniform, but wore an assortment of dark clothing that to Cole's eyes resembled pajamas. Thin-soled shoes dangled from their dead feet. No helmets.
The lieutenant nodded at the bodies. "Get down there and go through their pockets and their gear. Bring me anything that looks like it might be written orders, or maps. We need to know what these people up to and where they might hit us next."
"Sir, none of them got away," Pomeroy said. "One thing for sure is that these guys here aren't going to bother us again."
"Go on and look, soldier," the lieutenant said.
Cole, Pomeroy, and the kid slid down into the ditch. Like the ditch on the opposite side of the field where they had sheltered, this ditch had at least six inches of foul water that was now mixed with blood and flecks of something meaty that Cole didn't want to think much about. Upon closer inspection, shrapnel from the tank rounds had torn some of the bodies badly. It was not a pretty sight.
The kid bent over and vomited. The smell of fresh vomit was now added to the stench. When he was done, he swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and muttered, "Sorry."
Cole ignored him and began searching the bodies, concentrating his efforts on the older man, who looked like he would have been in charge. He didn't feel much compunction about going through the pockets of the dead man. His pockets were mostly empty, with the exception of a bit of string and a rag that might have served as a handkerchief. Not so much as a photograph or a few coins. Were these people really that poor? Hell, even the lowliest GI carried at least a photograph of a sweetheart or a deck of playing cards.
His search completed, Cole determined that the dead North Korean definitely didn't have any maps or written orders. He was no general, not even an officer. He was just a dead peasant with a battered rifle, dying for a cause that didn’t seem to give a damn about him.
Up top, the lieutenant was smoking a cigarette, gazing toward the distant mountains. They had not made much progress on the road, but even so, those forbidding crags loomed closer.
"Hell of a country. I sure won't be sending any postcards home," the lieutenant said. "Find anything?"
"No, sir," Cole said.
"All right, come on up out of there. Let's take a look at the other bodies."
They clambered out of the far side of the ditch and made their way across the field on the other side, where another three dead men lay. These were the North Koreans who had fallen to the fusillade from the road, once the surprise of the initial ambush was over. They had been shot to pieces, hit again and again long after they had fallen by the trigger-happy soldiers. Again, their search of the dead came up empty.
Cole didn’t exactly feel sorry for the dead enemy soldiers, but he could empathize with their plight. The ambush had been effective, but without any clear escape route for the attackers who had been caught in the open, it had also been basically a suicide mission, more an act of desperation than a military action. The poor bastards were just defending their home turf, even if they had the wrong idea about how that turf should be governed. No matter how you looked at it, Communism was a bad idea.
Here we are sticking our noses in, Cole thought ruefully. We ought to know better.
Or should we? Sticking his nose in had gotten him sent to Korea in the first place, he reflected. Then again, thinking about Norma Jean being helpless on the side of that road, he didn't regret his actions for a moment, although he could have done without the vacation to the Far East. South Korea was a fledgling democracy with the Communist bullies on their doorstep. They deserved someone to stick up for them.
They headed back toward the road, the lieutenant far ahead, not interested in chatting with the men. He was one of those aloof sons of bitches. The three GIs lagged behind.
"Those dead gooks were definitely something I didn't need to see," Pomeroy said. "Waste of time, anyhow. Kid, are you ready to go back home yet?"
"This isn't how I thought it would be."
"It never is, kid. Welcome to your baptism by fire."
"I didn't do so good during the fight," Tommy stated, bringing the subject up again. They could see that it was gnawing at the kid.
"It could be worse. You could be dead."
"I guess you're right."
"Hey, at least you shot at them. You probably killed some of those gooks back there."
"I guess," Tommy said.
"Cole here didn't even get a shot off," Pomeroy said. "I think that he's secretly a Communist."
The kid looked at Cole. "You didn't shoot, did you? Why is that? I know it's not because you were scared. You don't look like you're scared of much."
Even Pomeroy seemed interested in Cole's answer. "Yeah, I'm another one who'd like to know why you didn't shoot, Cole. Your rifle was stone cold. When push comes to shove and there's another fight with these gooks, we need to know that you've got our backs."
Cole thought about his answer. To his surprise, an answer didn't come readily to mind. Pomeroy had served in the previous war, but he and Cole hadn't served together, so the other man didn't know his history.
Cole wanted to tell them that he had killed enough for one lifetime, but he knew that wasn't the answer that they wanted to hear. It certainly wasn’t the answer that they needed to hear. Besides, Pomeroy was right. If it came to another fight, they had the right to know that he had their backs.
"You can count on me," he said.
The words didn't sound convincing, even to Cole's ears. Maybe he really had lost his edge. The kid gave him a look and Pomeroy just shook his head in what appeared to be disgust. There was no further opportunity for reassurance because they had crossed the field.
"Hurry your asses up," the lieutenant shouted, climbing out of the ditch at the edge of the field and hurrying toward the road beyond, where the column was getting ready to move out.
Chapter Eight
Many miles from the American and U.N. troops crawling northward, Chinese troops were massed along the north bank of the Yalu River that defined the boundary between China and North Korea.
A company of these troops was assembled on a flat plain with the Yalu sparking in the autumn light and the dark, brooding Taebaek mountains beyond.