Normally, there was some intimation of such things that the longtime campaigners about them could sense in the way that the pain in an old man's knee warns that rain is coming. Chen had not sensed any of that, but the battle plan might simply have meant that a sudden opportunity had presented itself. They might even be reacting to some movement on the enemy's part. As a wise general once said, Opportunities multiply as they are seized.
He would not mind bringing the fight to the Americans and their U.N. allies once again. With their well-supplied troops and warplanes, along with their Caucasian skins, the enemy seemed to believe in their own superiority. But time and again, Chen and his rifle had taught them otherwise. He existed to punish the enemy. For that reason, if for no other, Chen welcomed the promise of the coming dawn.
Chen looked around at the growing light, trying to get a sense of what the day would bring. He could see groups of officers moving around, including the dreaded commissars talking among themselves as if they harbored some secret. That in itself was not unusual, but this morning, there seemed to be actual plans afoot.
Studying the political officers in their fine uniforms, so much better than those worn by the rank-and-file soldiers, Chen thought, We are all just peasants to them.
Chen considered that the revolution was supposed to mean something. It was what he and so many others had fought for, but he saw now that he had been naive.
The revolution was meant to transform their society, but in the end nothing had changed. He would always be one of the peasants, even as a designated sniper.
Chen's duties were separated from those of the regular soldiers. Once he had finished breakfast, he began gathering his equipment. Russian rifle with telescopic sight. Ammunition. Canteen and a cold, boiled yam that he slipped into a pocket. A highly coveted pair of binoculars that he kept in a day pack, out of sight until he reached the place where he would work that day. Like a peasant going into the fields, he thought, except that instead of harvesting crops, he would be harvesting the lives of enemy soldiers.
Punishing them for their arrogance.
His plan was to move into position on one of the ridges that overlooked the American forces and harass them during the day. If he was lucky, he might even be able to target a few of their officers.
Chen hated the Americans deeply. He sensed their overconfidence. He sensed that they thought so little of the Chinese and looked down upon them. They had dared to invade the Korean peninsula and had threatened China itself for that. They were now paying the price.
Chen himself had exacted a heavy toll against the American and UN forces. He had lost count of how many soldiers he had shot, but Major Wu informed him that it was more than one hundred. Chen wasn't sure about that. The number may have been greater or lower than that, but he was wise enough to know that whatever Major Wu reported was the correct number.
As if summoned by Chen’s thoughts, he saw Major Wu approaching him. Now Wu had traded his dress coat that he normally wore for a simple field jacket. His fancy officer's cap had been replaced by a fur-trimmed Ushanka that was ubiquitous among the Chinese troops. The hats were warm and practical as cold weather arrived in the mountains. Officially, the hats were trimmed in wolf fur, but Chen suspected that it was dog fur. No matter. The hats kept them warm all the same.
"There you are," Wu said happily, upon seeing Chen. "I've been looking for you."
"Yes, sir," Chen said, feeling himself instantly on guard. Having Wu looking for you could never be a good thing. Of course, it was Wu who had brought him to this battlefield. Wu never did anything without purpose. It was Wu's hope to use Chen to help put pressure on the Americans. It was one thing for the Americans to see their boys killed by bombs and bullets, but there was something horrifying about the thought of them being singled out and killed by a sniper. Wu had explained to Chen that such things helped to turn the Americans back home away from the war in distaste, because they had no stomach for that sort of war.
"You and I have work to do today," the major said cheerfully.
"Yes, sir."
Chen nodded, managing to keep his face a mask. Simply put, work meant killing. He did not share the major's cheerfulness. While he was as eager as anyone to punish the Americans, it was serious business.
"You don't say much, do you, Chen? No matter. Whenever there is something to say that matters, I shall say it for you."
Chen preferred working alone, but he saw now that Major Wu carried a set of binoculars and also a rifle, which was uncharacteristic for the commissar.
"Of course, sir," Chen said. "I will do as you direct me."
"Good, good," Wu said. "We are going to head up into the hills and provide support for the attack."
"The attack, sir?"
"Yes, yes. The attack. The Americans are launching an attack of their own this morning."
"How do we know, sir?"
"We have our spies, just as they do, Chen. We are going to let them come and think that they have pushed us off the ridge that they so desperately want. Meanwhile, we will have moved around to their flank. We may even be able to get some troops to attack them from the rear if we can maintain the element of surprise."
Chen understood now the activity this morning and the hearty breakfast. He could see the officers organizing the troops, forming up the squads and companies in what looked like marching order. Although there were veterans such as Chen among the ranks, most of the Chinese troops were conscripts with very little training. They caught on quickly, but any large-scale action generated its share of confusion. At least now, the Chinese army had resolved its issue with not being able to equip every soldier with a rifle.
When the Chinese had first crossed the Yalu River last autumn in support of North Korea, there were rifles for only about half the men. Those in the first ranks of attackers were armed. The second wave of attackers carried hand grenades — or simply waited for someone with a rifle to fall. Most of the new weapons had come from their communist comrades in the Soviet Union or had been captured from U.N. forces.
Chen was no general, but even he could see the brilliance of the plan that Wu had just outlined. The Americans were always so convinced of their superiority that they would keep advancing into the hills, certain that their enemy had fled and that they had won the day. The Americans were always so certain of victory that they were blind to the possibility of anything else.
Meanwhile, they were being outsmarted. It was as if the Americans and their allies were dogs and the Chinese forces were like the foxes of the Mongol plains, ever more agile and cunning.
Chen smiled at the thought.
Major Wu smiled back. "Good. I can see that you approve of the plan. Let's go."
"Yes, sir."
They moved through the camp and Chen inhaled the smells of cooking fires and hot tea and food. Comforting smells for a soldier and not so different from mornings on a farm or in the small villages that most of the soldiers had come from. What was lacking this morning, however, were the usual jokes and laughter. Instead, an air of deadly seriousness and intent had settled over the Chinese camp. There was a realization that many who went into action this morning likely would not return.
Chen led the way over the familiar ground and Wu followed. Chen had taken this path many times before, winding his way up into the ridges facing the American defenses.
He climbed higher and higher, his legs easily covering the steep ground. He came to a place where the path had washed out in the last heavy rain and had to jump nearly a meter across the gully. The ground rose steeply on the other side. Major Wu struggled to keep up, huffing and puffing. Chen's nimble feet picked a way across the rocky ground. Once or twice, Wu slipped and fell, leaving his pristine uniform streaked with mud.