They couldn't know it at the time, but their colonel would be the highest-ranking U.S. officer to be captured in the entire war.
Once the colonel was out of sight, it was open season on the enemy troops still on the bridge. Someone opened up with a BAR, and corpses soon covered the bridge. More fell into the river. Some of those men hadn't even been hit, but were forced off the bridge in the turmoil, only to drown in the swift, icy current.
Wanting to save his ammunition, Cole lowered his rifle and let the BAR do its deadly work. The bridge was soon clear of enemy soldiers, and the first trucks of the convoy rolled across it. If they were lucky, the column would get across before the enemy organized a counterattack.
"It's a hell of a thing," Pomeroy said, as they waited their turn to cross the bridge. "If they got the colonel like that, those sons of bitches can get anybody."
"Hell of a thing," Cole agreed, trying not to think too much about the last glimpse he'd seen of the colonel, being hauled away like a carcass being dragged by a pack of wolves. He shook his head to clear that vision. "Like I said, keep your eyes open."
Earlier that morning, Chen had rejoiced with the other Chinese troops when they saw that the enemy was leaving. They watched with fascination as the enemy soldiers loaded their trucks with supplies, then their wounded, and even their dead. Chen was puzzled about the dead being taken away. He thought it was macabre and strange. Let the dead rest in peace. He had seen enough of war that he knew it made very little difference to the dead where they lay. Their spirits had moved on to join their ancestors.
Not only that, but when it came to the imperialist invaders, he would have preferred to see their bones picked clean and bleached where they had fallen.
Finally, the enemy convoy began to move, but not before setting fire to what they could not carry. Again, it made no sense to Chen. Why carry away the dead but leave supplies that the living could use? With thinking like that, perhaps it was no surprise that the Americans had been defeated.
But letting the Americans escape was not enough. They must punish them. The officers gave orders, sending squads of men racing into the hills to cut off the Americans. Chen and his comrades were eager for this task. A further number of troops were sent to simply attack the rear of the American convoy. What the Americans could not know was that there was no open road ahead of them, either. More soldiers already waited for them, blocking the road.
Chen attached himself to a small squad that ran into the hills. Their orders were to move parallel to the column and attack it. Although the enemy was already some distance ahead, that mattered little to Chen and his comrades, who ran like deer through the snow and brush. The promise of revenge made them fleet.
Yet the enemy was not entirely toothless. One of the soldiers pointed at the sky and shouted, "Plane!"
The man had good hearing, but Chen had sharp eyes. "It is coming from the South!" he warned them.
Out in the open, the men scattered, trying to hide in the brush or even to cower among the rocks and boulders.
The Corsair came in low, its engines roaring. Had the pilot spotted them?
Chen and the others held their breath. They knew all too well what the enemy bomb and napalm could do.
With a roar, the plane swept overhead and was gone.
Either the pilot hadn't spotted them, after all, or he simply hadn't wanted to bother with a handful of men and was looking for a bigger target.
Dusting the snow off themselves, they gave a nervous look at the sky, and ran on.
They reached a hill that overlooked the road and looked down at the plodding enemy column, each of the Chinese soldiers panting as they caught their breath. There was no need for orders. He and the others started moving down the hill, approaching the column.
By now, Chen thought, he and his comrades must surely be in plain sight of the enemy. But the Americans ignored them, heads down, intent only on the road. They moved so close that they could plainly see the pale, ugly, haggard faces of the enemy.
"Now, Comrades!" Chen said.
Their orders were to attack the trucks. To fire directly into them. To target the drivers. Chen knew that the trucks carried the enemy wounded. Helpless men. But it did not matter. He and the others had come to harass the enemy. The enemy would be shown no mercy, not even the wounded.
Chen took aim at the canvas sides of a truck and fired. Worked the bolt. Fired again. And again. He was so close that he could see the actual holes that his bullets punched through the fabric. Inside the truck, he could hear the agonized cries of the wounded. Ignoring them, he continued to fire.
Since crossing the bridge, hit and run attacks had been happening all around Cole and the others. This time, the Chinese were attacking a truck right in front of them.
"The sons of bitches are shooting into the trucks!" someone shouted.
Horrified, they realized that the Chinese were targeting the wounded. From inside the trucks, they could hear the screams of helpless men as bullets found them. A Chinese soldier ran onto the road, ignoring Cole and the others. He dashed right to the back of another truck and tossed something inside.
"Grenade!" someone screamed.
The Chinese soldier threw himself flat, but it didn't do him any good because Cole shot him, leaving him writhing on the ground. He didn’t bother to finish him off.
Then the grenade detonated, exploding with a flash that instantly incinerated the canvas sides. Some men spilled out, their clothes on fire. Others screamed as they burned in their stretchers. The lucky ones had died instantly. Now, the fire was spreading to the rest of the truck, the tires catching, flames flaring from under the hood.
At the side of the road, the Chinese advanced, shooting at any of the wounded clawing their way out of the burning truck. The stunned, disorganized soldiers were torn between attacking the Chinese and helping the wounded escape the onslaught.
It was too much to watch. With a roar of rage, a soldier near Cole rushed at the Chinese, firing an M-1 carbine from the hip as he ran.
"Come on!" Pomeroy cried, and likewise ran at the enemy, firing. The kid followed at his heels, screaming what sounded like an Indian war cry. Two ROK soldiers joined in.
Startled by the ferocity of the rushing soldiers, the Chinese fell back. They scattered and ran deeper into the roadside brush. After all, their intent had been to harass the Americans, not stand and fight.
Cole chased after the others, although he had not fired a shot during the pursuit. Ahead of him, he watched with concern as his buddies ran deeper into the brush. "Come back!" he shouted, but nobody was listening.
Muttering a curse, he ran after them. Cole knew that this entire countryside was crawling with enemy soldiers. If those guys didn't watch it, they were going to run smack dab into the whole damn Chinese army.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A mad rage overtook the men chasing the Chinese soldiers. All the anger and pent-up fear of the last few days added wings to their feet. They ran after the fleeing attackers like hounds hunting rabbits. The Chinese obliged them by running for their lives, rather than staying to fight.
"Those sons of bitches are getting away!" somebody shouted, urging the others on.
Even Pomeroy managed to join the chase, running with an awkward lope because of his frostbitten feet, carried along by adrenalin, pausing now and then to fire his carbine at the retreating Chinese. Along with Cole, Pomeroy, and Tommy, three other soldiers from their squad had joined the chase, intent on revenge.
Cole was fairly certain that a couple of those guys were ROK. The South Koreans hadn't been great soldiers, being more than happy to let the Americans do the lion's share of fighting, but now desperation was making them ferocious. They finally understood that it was kill or be killed on the road to Hagaru-ri.