"I just wish I could've died someplace warmer," Pomeroy said.
"Stop with that talk. You ain't dead yet."
"No, I'm not," Pomeroy agreed. "And before I go, I sure plan to take some of these Chinese with me."
"Amen to that," Cole said.
They tried to get some sleep before nightfall, when they all knew there wouldn't be any chance of getting some shuteye. But they were cold and hungry, not to mention shivering so bad that it was impossible to nod off. Weber came around to see how they were doing. When they asked about ammo, he just shrugged. He didn't have anything to give them but encouragement.
Cole watched the shadows lengthen across the mountains, which made him miss home. The scenery here in Korea would have a haunting beauty if death and destruction had not lurked in those hills. One thing about the military was that it had given him the opportunity to see a lot more of the world than he ever would have experienced back home in Gashey's Creek. Then again, he might have had a longer life expectancy back home.
An hour before dusk, the snow that Cole had predicated finally began. With hardly any wind, dry snowflakes the size of silver dollars settled over the tense soldiers. In the fading light, the snow closed off the view of the mountains like a curtain swept across the stage. The snow kept on for several hours, burying the living and the dead alike. Cole was glad when it tapered off because the snow masked the movements of the enemy. From time to time, he heard a muffled shout or the ominous rumbling of a vehicle.
The kid heard it, too. "What's that?" he wondered.
"Keep your eyes peeled," Cole said.
It was midnight when they heard the bugles blaring in the hills above them. Crazy whistles echoed between the ridges.
All hell was breaking loose again.
"Here they come, boys. Whoo-ee. Get ready!"
"You don't need to tell me twice," Pomeroy grunted, getting into position. He had been sitting still for so long that Cole could literally hear the joints of the other man's body pop and creak in the cold. Pomeroy shouted into the darkness, "Come on, you sons of bitches! We're ready for you!"
Flares shot overhead, turning the night into day and illuminating the snowfall. Through the swirling snow, they could see the massed men coming for them.
The oncoming Chinese were making an awful racket. He heard horns, whistles, bugles, and angry shouts. The sounds were as frightening as the sight of the oncoming enemy.
What Cole couldn't see was the actual arrangement of the Chinese forces. These were organized into three waves. The first wave was comprised of men armed with the motley assortment of rifles available to the Chinese troops. By now, they would also be armed with whatever M-1 rifles and carbines they had captured from the Americans. The soldiers came on more like a mob than any organized military force.
Cole picked his target and started to fire.
What he could not see or know about was the second wave of Chinese troops. These men were largely unarmed, sent to follow behind the first wave and pick up the weapons dropped by the dead and dying. The Chinese had more men than guns.
Following the first two waves was a third line of Chinese, much smaller in number, but well-armed with pistols and even submachine guns. These were the political officers whose role it was to make sure that no one retreated from the attack. Advancing was the only option.
Cole felt a shudder go through him. There must be hundreds of the buggers out there, headed for the thin American line. With just a handful of magazines, how were they supposed to hold out?
"Better fix bayonets," Cole said, reaching for the weapon on his belt. He fit the bayonet to the muzzle of the rifle. He took out his Bowie knife and stuck it into the dirt, where it would be in easy reach. "Make every bullet count, boys."
A figure came running along the American lines, half hidden by the falling snow, going from foxhole to foxhole. Cole saw with surprise that it was Sergeant Weber. The son of a bitch must have a death wish, considering that the lead was already flying, like the first drops of rain in a big storm that was brewing. He handed them a handful of M-1 clips.
"Last-minute supplies, boys," he said. "Looks like the air drop did some good, after all, but it took a while for somebody to find these."
"Did you find more of that whiskey?" Pomeroy asked.
"Sorry, no booze this time. Just the bullets."
"We ain't gonna complain," Cole said.
The sergeant handed down several more clips of ammunition for their rifles, and then was gone to the next foxhole where the BAR was just getting warmed up.
The Chinese still hadn't brought up artillery, either because they didn't have any or the terrain was too mountainous to transport it, but tonight they had a lot more mortars. Explosions began to burst among the foxholes. Shrapnel whined overhead. Cole hoped to hell that the sergeant had made it to cover. Even if Weber wasn't his favorite person, the son of a bitch knew how to fight and they were going to need him tonight.
In the light from the flares, he could now see the seething mass of Chinese soldiers flowing toward them. Cole stared for a moment, mesmerized. Against the backdrop of fresh snow, the white uniforms made it seem as if the ground itself was flowing down the slopes toward the U.S. position. It looked like nothing so much as a human avalanche.
Some of the GIs started shooting, but the enemy was still too far away to do any good. Cole wished that he could tell them to hold their fire. Judging by the sheer number of Chinese, they were going to need every last bullet.
"Steady now," Cole said, as much to himself as for the benefit of the kid or Pomeroy.
"That's a lot of goddamn Chinese," Pomeroy said, his voice touched by awe. "Now I know how Custer must have felt at the Little Big Horn."
"You might not want to mention that, New Jersey," Cole said. "Things didn't work out so well for General Custer."
"At least the Chinese won't scalp us."
The human avalanche flowed closer. In the glow of the flares, Cole began to pick out individual faces. "Fire!" he shouted.
He put the sights on a soldier in front who appeared to be waving a sword — or maybe it was just a stick. He pulled the trigger and the soldier fell. His place was instantly taken by another enemy soldier and the flood advanced. Cole fired again, and again. More enemy soldiers died.
Beside him, he heard the crack of Pomeroy's rifle, then the kid’s. He hoped to hell that they were shooting straight. All around him blazed other rifles, flashing in the night. Off to his left, the BAR opened up again with devastating effect, cutting a swath through the nearest Chinese ranks. This was shaping up to be one hell of a fight, that was for damn sure.
Chapter Sixteen
Hours before the second night’s attack, Chen had waited with more than a hundred other Chinese soldiers, shivering in a narrow ravine under the cover of the scrub brush that grew at this altitude. Enemy fighter planes swooped overhead like giant birds of prey, waiting for any sign that would give away the hiding troops so that the Corsairs could rain bombs or burning gasoline jelly down upon them. Huddling together kept the soldiers warm and gave them all a certain measure of group courage to endure.
These men hoped to survive the day, only so that they could die that night, assaulting the enemy defenses. Chen would have been rueful at this thought if he did not hate the invaders so much. They must be driven away and punished, no matter what the cost. The Americans did not belong here. What did this business matter to them? The South Koreans who fought alongside the American imperialists were traitors. They should be helping their North Korean Communist brothers, not fighting them.
Silently, the men shared what meager food they had. Mostly plain white rice, long since cold, in a portion that scarcely filled the palm of their hands. It was not enough to sustain a man trying to stay warm in this bitter cold, but no one complained because that was a sure-fire way to coming to the attention of an officer or worse yet, one of the political commissars. Those fools always had enough to eat, judging by their snug uniforms.