Another argument broke out, this one seemingly about who got to keep Cole's knife. Again, the Chinese sniper spoke a sharp word or two, and the soldier who had taken it off Cole reluctantly handed it over to the sniper.
All that Cole could do was glare at him. The son of a bitch had taken his knife. The Chinese sniper sneered back in what seemed to be his first display of emotion. He tucked the Bowie knife into his belt.
Satisfied that their prisoners were subdued and disarmed, the Chinese motioned for them to climb out of the ravine. Evidently, it was time to get a move on. Cole could see that Tommy wanted to ask him again what was happening, but Cole shook his head at him. There was no sense in provoking their captors. He glanced at Pomeroy, saw his pained expression as they started walking. His frostbitten feet must hurt like hell, but Pomeroy didn’t make a sound.
They headed north, most likely toward the larger body of Chinese troops. There was no cover aside from the thickets of brush and the rocky outcroppings. The whole countryside appeared arid and desolate, especially in winter. They didn't seem to be following any sort of trail, but were striking out cross country, likely taking what their captors saw as the shortest route back to the main body of Chinese troops. The route might be faster, but they were taking a chance with those planes roaming overhead. Cole didn’t want to get barbecued alive with a load of napalm.
Cole tried not to think too much about what might await them there. Definitely interrogation, maybe even torture. If they were taken as far as the main Chinese army, there would be no escape. Their only hope was to get away while they still had some chance of returning to the retreating column on the road. But how?
The Chinese seemed worried about that same possibility, keeping a close eye on their captors. The captives were forced to walk in a single file, with the kid leading the way. Next came the ROK soldier and Thompson, followed by Pomeroy and Cole. The Chinese urged them on with angry commands that cracked like whips, even if Cole couldn't understand a single word.
Off in the distance, he heard a couple of planes. Because they had yet to see a single Chinese plane, these must surely be American aircraft. The Chinese heard them, too, and looked nervously in that direction. But the planes were too far off to be any threat to the Chinese, or to be any help to the captives. Still, the Chinese urged them on with sharp words in hope of covering the open ground without being seen.
They set a fast pace. Cole could see that the soldier named Thompson was having a hard time keeping up. His leg still bled from the wound that he had received, and he soon began dragging it and stumbling. Pain was etched clearly in the man's face, but the nearest Chinese soldier hit him cruelly in the ribs with a butt of a rifle, urging him on. Cole glanced at Pomeroy, who was managing to keep up so far.
Behind his back, Cole kept moving his hands, working to loosen the rope binding his wrists even more. If he could just get his hands free, he might have some kind of chance of escape. He sure as hell wouldn't get very far with his hands tied. He would have to make a move soon — each step was carrying them closer to the main Chinese force, from which there would be no hope of escape.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A few steps ahead of Cole, the wounded soldier stumbled yet again. The man was obviously in a lot of pain and was going to be slowing them down. They were wading through drifted snow past their knees, and Thompson was leaving a bloody trail behind. It was a wonder that the man was still on his feet.
However, the Chinese sniper appeared to be losing patience with the wounded man. The sniper shouted and shoved the man roughly. Once again, the man stumbled. Instead of waiting for him to get to his feet, the sniper raised his rifle and shot him in the head. There had been no warning. One moment, the soldier was struggling through the snow. The next moment, a spray of gore that had once been the man's brains painted the snow. His body twitched a few times and lay still.
Horrified, the kid froze and stared at the mangled body. The Chinese were not interested in stopping, however. They shouted angrily and gave Tommy a vicious shove.
"Yídòng tā!"
The message needed no translation: Keep moving! The kid was smart enough to do just that, for which Cole was grateful. These soldiers were murderous bastards. In the deep snow, the surviving captors were forced to step over the dead man's body in order to stay on the trail carved by the two Chinese soldiers in the lead. Cole had seen a few cold-blooded killings in his time, and was even guilty of a few himself, but what he had just witnessed won the prize. That sniper was a son of a bitch.
In the excitement, nobody noticed that Cole had worked his hands free. He held them behind his back, leaving the rope around his wrists. He kept his head down, not wanting to attract any attention to himself. He noticed that the South Korean was doing the same. If they'd shot an American POW just because he was wounded, then a South Korean POW was worth less than spit to these people.
He'd have to wait for the right moment, which wasn't going to be easy with that trigger-happy sniper. Besides, the odds were now down to six against four, with the six Chinese captors having weapons. It didn't look good. On the other hand, if Cole didn't make a move soon, they would be too far from the American line to ever get back.
The Chinese had their own timeline, but the deeper, drifted snow out here in the open was slowing them down. They kept shouting Yídòng tā! at their captives, their eyes glancing nervously at the clearing skies. Several planes prowled in the distance, mostly following the mountain ridges where it was likely that the main body of Chinese troops was hidden. Other planes flew cover for the American column, attacking enemy troops to clear a way for the Army retreat. These planes gave Cole a rough idea of where the road was located, although each step carried them farther away and closer to the Chinese headquarters. Overhead, the planes hovered and plunged like hawks over a field of newly mown hay. They circled in ever-widening loops, but never came close enough, although the sight of the planes was making the Chinese anxious.
At that moment, Cole got an idea. All they needed to do was get the attention of one of those planes. And he had a pretty good idea of how to do it. It was an idea that might also get him killed if it didn't go right. Then again, it was a given that the Chinese were going to kill them one way or another — either a slow death as POWs or quick like Thompson. Maybe it was better to get it over with quickly.
Finally, one of the planes broke free and flew an even wider pattern. This was too much for the Chinese, who shouted at their captives and pointed toward the nearest thicket. Apparently, the idea was to hide until the plane had gone past. Their Chinese captors seemed close to panic. Only the sniper managed to keep his cool, eying the plane warily, with his rifle raised partway to his shoulder, as if debating whether or not to shoot at it. The plane was coming at them from the west — the same direction as the lowering sun. So far, it didn't seem that the plane had spotted them because it hadn't changed altitude as it normally would for a bombing run or strafing. Not only that, but its path was going to take it west of their group, keeping closer to the distant road.
Fortunately for Cole, nobody was paying any attention to him. The Chinese had bigger problems now — one with two wings and a 500-pound payload that it was itching to drop on somebody’s head.
Cole spoke quietly to Tommy nearby. “Kid, I want you to look right at the sun. See if you can get your glasses to flash at that plane.”
He knew it was a long shot, but working in their favor was the fact that the pilot would be looking for anything on the ground that was out of the ordinary. A flash of sunlight off the lenses of the kid’s glasses might be enough.