"Stick with me and keep your head down, kid," he murmured to Tommy Wilson. He wanted to keep the kid within whispering distance because sound traveled far on the morning air. A few wisps of cold mist drifted close to the ground. The air dragged at them, feeling heavy and cold.
"How far have we got to go?"
Cole paused long enough to nod at the peak ahead. "There's a place where I want to set up on yonder ridge."
"Isn't that near where you set up yesterday?"
"Thereabouts."
"Won't he be expecting you, then? The other sniper, I mean."
"That's the whole idea, kid. We've got to find each other to try and kill each other."
The kid didn't have an answer to that, so they kept heading up the trail. The slope was gradual at first, but would rise more steeply the closer that they came to the ridge.
Cole had mixed emotions about dragging the kid into this mess. On the one hand, the kid was dependable and would do what Cole told him. He had enough sense to keep his head down or he wouldn't have survived this long. A lot of soldiers hadn't — the life expectancy wasn't exactly long for a greenbean fresh from boot camp. But even Cole had to grudgingly admit that the kid was no greenbean anymore. Tommy Wilson had trudged his way out of the Chosin Reservoir with the best of them. Since then, he had seen plenty of action as part of the rifle squad.
On the other hand, Cole was wary of this Chinese sniper that he was about to confront. That son of a bitch could shoot like nobody’s business and he was slippery as an eel. More than likely, it had been this same sniper who settled Heywood's hash. Yesterday, the sniper had damn near killed Pomeroy. Another inch and, well, that would have been that.
Cole hadn't been able to protect Pomeroy, who was a seasoned veteran. How the hell was Cole supposed to protect the kid?
As far as Cole was concerned, all bets were off.
"Like I said, kid, keep your head down and don't take any chances today," he found himself saying. He didn't add that he had almost gotten Pomeroy killed yesterday, so didn't want to see the kid added to the casualty list.
The ground rose and their leg muscles began to get a workout. Cole's breathing deepened, sounding loud as a forge bellows in the quiet morning, although that was likely just his imagination. Good thing they were traveling light. Cole had his rifle and spare ammo, a canteen filled with lukewarm metallic-flavored water, and some rations stuffed in his pockets. The kid carried about the same, along with the binoculars. Miraculously, they were unscathed after yesterday's close call, which was a good thing because a decent pair of binoculars was hard to come by on the front lines. The binoculars seemed to be fine, except for Pomeroy's blood dried into the nooks and crannies.
He approached the same trench where he had set up yesterday. Silently, he jumped down into it. The kid followed, but looked around a little mystified. The low wall was still set up, along with a rest that Cole had created, complete with an old folded sheet of canvas.
"Here?" Tommy asked. "It looks like some other sniper was already using this spot. Wait a minute—"
"Yeah, this is where I was yesterday. Now he'll know where to find me," Cole said.
Breaking every rule in his book, Cole was returning to the same location. Generally, a sniper who moved around survived because he wasn't expected in the same place. Routine led to danger — an enemy who knew your approach and exit routes might simply be waiting to pick you off. But Cole didn't expect that to be the case here. He'd had the sense this morning that he was headed to a duel, and he wasn't far off.
Cole did make a few adjustments, adding a few more stones in front of the trench where the kid was positioned. He was shorter than Pomeroy, anyhow, so that was something. As long as the kid didn't go sticking his head up, he ought to be fine.
Ought to be, Cole reminded himself.
It took Cole just a few minutes to set up and get his bearings. Through the scope, he studied the ridge in front of them. It looked about the same. He told the kid where the enemy sniper had been set up yesterday.
"That ain't to say he won't move around," Cole said. "Keep your eyes open."
"Maybe he won't even be there."
"Oh, he'll be there."
"How do you know?"
"He'll be there." To himself, he added because he's just like me.
Slowly, the defenses around them woke up for the day, now that it was getting light enough to see the enemy position. Any night when there hadn't been a Chinese surprise attack was a good one. Any morning when you woke up at all was a good one when you were on the front line.
Across from them, Sniper Ridge was coming into sharper focus. Beyond it stood the twin peaks of the hill known as Jane Russell, with Pike's Peak nearby. Cole thought that maybe Pike's Peak was back in Chinese control — or had that been two days ago? It was hard to say because the two sides swapped faster than partners at a barn dance. Dosey-doe, away we go.
For now, the enemy was dug securely into the hilltop.
"I feel sorry for the poor bastards who have to push them off," he said. "All they had to do two days ago was throw rocks down at us."
"One step forward, two steps back," the kid agreed.
From time to time, a few bursts of artillery rained down on the ridge to help keep the Chinese pinned in place. The shells passed overhead with a sound like ripping paper before striking with an earth-shattering detonation. Not to be outdone, the Chinese released a few volleys of their own artillery fire back at the American positions.
Now that it was getting light, they could already hear the drone of approaching aircraft. A couple of planes came in low over the ridge off to the east, saying good morning to the enemy with a round of napalm.
It was lucky for the US and UN forces that they never had to worry about air superiority. There had been some noises about the Chinese having some planes, but they had never seen any.
"Give 'em hell, boys," Cole muttered, watching the hillside blossom with a bright orange fireball that billowed out into a gaseous ball before fading to shades of red and black. Shreds of burning flame were left behind on the mountainside as the fire claimed shrubs, scrub trees, and whatever else lay in its path — such as the Chinese soldiers occupying the trenches there.
From a distance, the bombing made for a captivating show. Up close, the bombing must have been terrifying. The slight breeze shifted, and after a while, Cole caught a whiff of the smell of the burning jellied gasoline. The stink of it roiled his stomach.
Their bombs dropped, the planes turned to circle over the American-held ridge. They waggled their wings, coming in low enough to make out the figure in the cockpit, then swept away toward the distant coast.
"I wouldn't mind being a pilot," the kid said. "That's got to be the easiest job in the world. Fly in, drop your bombs, fly back in time for dinner."
"Not so easy when you have engine troubles or when somebody decides to shoot at you."
"I'd take my chances," the kid said. “It’s got to be better than being in a foxhole.”
Cole was glad to keep his feet on the ground and on dry land, for that matter.
He turned his gaze back to the enemy's ridge, looking for targets.
They had come out here to get the attention of the enemy sniper. It was time to poke the hornet's nest. Short of being able to determine where the sniper was hiding — if he was even out there at all this morning — the next best thing was to pick off a few of the enemy soldiers. If he started doing that, then somebody would notice him, eventually.
Cole's practiced eye soon saw some movement on the ridge opposite them. Just as on the American side, the enemy troops were waking up and starting their day. That meant there were orders to relay. Messages to carry. Even rations to deliver, because the Chinese relied more on freshly cooked food than the US and UN forces, who had their packaged rations. From the evidence that they had found in abandoned or captured enemy defenses, it appeared that the enemy lived mostly on rice. Cole almost felt sorry for them. Rice was a hell of a thing to have to fight a war on.