Listening to their enraged shouts, Cole was beginning to think that maybe he had underestimated the ROK soldiers up until now.
All the pent-up frustrations of the past few days propelled the American and ROK soldiers across the snowy landscape. Branches tore at their uniforms and rocks threatened to trip them. They lost their footing in the snow and ice, but they didn't slow down.
Only Cole hung back. There would be plenty of other enemy soldiers to deal with before the day was through. "Hold up!" he shouted, trying to rein in the others. "Let 'em go!"
Nobody was listening. He chased the others up the side of a hill, then at the crest he stopped to glance back at the road, where the column of trucks and soldiers was almost out of sight through the scrub brush. The column moved at a snail's pace, but Cole worried that they might get left behind, nonetheless.
From his vantage point, he could see now that it had been the perfect location for an ambush. Come to think of it, this entire countryside was the perfect place for an ambush.
The Chinese hadn't even targeted the soldiers on foot or the truck drivers. Instead, they had blatantly shot into the canvas sides of the trucks, knowing full well that the trucks carried wounded men. From a war-fighting standpoint, it didn't make much sense to shoot men who had already been shot. However, the Chinese seemed to want to send a message that they could attack the wounded, and there wasn't a damn thing that the American soldiers could do about it.
Cole was as mad as the rest, but he didn't see the sense of running right into a larger unit. It was a classic decoy tactic. He had seen coyotes do the same thing. A single coyote would come onto a farm and lure a dog into chasing it. A coyote on its own was no match for most dogs, being much smaller. But once the dog was far enough from the farm, the rest of the coyote pack would descend. Overwhelmed from all sides, the dog didn't have a chance.
"Ya'll come back!" Cole shouted, but no one paid him any mind. "New Jersey! Kid! Git yer asses back here!"
All that he could see was the backs of the other soldiers, pushing deeper into the scrub brush. He considered firing a shot into the air to get their attention, but he might need that bullet later.
"Dang fools," he muttered, scrambling down the other side of the hill. The snow-covered rocks and shale threatened to send him sprawling, but he managed to keep his balance. He looked behind him again, but now the American convoy was hidden from view.
Up ahead, he heard a sudden burst of fire, then shouting. More shots followed as the Americans returned fire. Their M-1 rifles had a distinctive crack that sounded different from the Chinese weapons.
Cole hurried to catch up, worried that the others had finally run into the main body of Chinese soldiers. But there didn't seem to be enough shooting for that. Maybe the Chinese that they'd been chasing had finally turned to fight.
Cole knew better than to go charging into the middle of the firefight. He had lost sight of the others; if he ran up to them they might mistake him for an enemy. Cole decided to circle wide around the fight and see if he could come at the enemy from the flank.
He swung up another hill, keeping to the high ground. That would give him a vantage point to come at the enemy from above.
Silently, he cursed the fact that he had just two full clips for the M-1. He had to make each bullet count.
Cole kept to the low brush, picking his way quietly through the tangled branches. He was beyond quiet, despite his hurry, moving with no more sound than the snow had made sifting down the night before. This was a skill that he had mastered in the mountains as a boy. There was quiet, and then there was Cole.
Below and to his left, the firing grew in intensity. The Chinese were making it plenty hot for the other guys, that was for sure. Like Cole, they were also short on ammo. If more Chinese troops appeared, they would be in big trouble.
Finally, Cole emerged through a break in the brush where he could look down and get a glimpse of the enemy soldiers firing on the Americans. There were a lot more Chinese than they had seen running from the road. Sure enough, the Americans had run smack-dab into a larger unit. Unfortunately, they also seemed to have plenty of bullets.
Cole decided to even the odds. He lay down on his belly in the snow. One thing that the Chinese had figured out that the Americans hadn't was camouflage. Against the snowy backdrop, the quilted cotton uniforms that the Chinese wore blended in all too well. Some of the enemy also wore white snow capes or ponchos — simple but effective for concealment. Cole kicked himself for not borrowing a cape from one of the dead Chinese.
To stay hidden, he kept among the tangled scrub brush, where his olive drab coat blended in somewhat. Then he took aim at the Chinese below. He missed having a telescopic sight, but at this range he saw his targets clearly in the iron sights of the Garand. Shooting downhill, he aimed a little low. When he squeezed the trigger, his first target went down. He moved his rifle and picked out the next soldier.
Considering that they were deep in Indian Country, the thought of who might be sneaking up behind him made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He forced the unnerving thought from his mind and focused on the enemy targets. Without a spotter, he would just have to trust his ears and his natural sixth sense, the Critter. So far, it had kept him alive.
He fired again, and again, making each shot count. He heard the distinctive ping of the empty clip sailing away and quickly loaded his final clip but held his fire. The Chinese had stopped firing. Confronted by the determination of the Americans and now a sniper on their flank, the Chinese appeared to be falling back.
Cole crept down toward where the Americans had been making their stand.
"It's Cole," he said as loud as he dared, with the Chinese so close. "I'm coming in. Don't shoot my ass."
"Cole, where the hell you been?"
"Saving your sorry asses, that's where."
Sheltering in a shallow ravine, Cole found the other men who had given chase. Now that their initial rage at the Chinese had worn off, they looked as if they might be regretting their choices. Alone and low on ammo, for all they knew they had been cut off from the American column on the road. Cole wondered how far had they run chasing these bastards? Looking around at the bleak, empty landscape, the answer was clear enough. Too far.
He was glad to see that Pomeroy and the kid were OK. He couldn't say the same for the others. One of the ROK soldiers was dead, surrounded by gore-soaked snow. The surviving ROK soldier was busy going through the dead man's pockets — whether to loot them or just collect his valuables for his family, it was hard to say. Cole wasn’t curious enough to ask. The other American had been hit in the leg, and he was clumsily trying to bandage it himself.
"Here, let me do that," Cole muttered with a grunt. Setting his rifle nearby, he bent down to inspect the leg. "Lucky for you, it looks like the bullet went through the meat of your calf. Once we get the bleeding stopped, you should be able to walk on it."
"It's gonna be a long walk back to the road," the soldier said, gritting his teeth as Cole set to work wrapping the leg tightly.
"It's an even longer walk back to Shanghai," Cole said. It was the only Chinese city that he could think of, although he was pretty sure that had more to do with sailors than soldiers. "Let's hope to hell that we can get back to the main column before these Chinese come back with a few of their friends."
He bent low to pull the last of the bandage tightly. Pomeroy and the kid had been whispering together about something, and he was dimly aware that they had fallen silent.