Their role was to guard the main road leading to the base, but it was a cakewalk in that they didn't have to worry any about the enemy. The Chinese were all in the hills and mountains, but not on the open plain that led nearly twenty miles back to Seoul.
Cole carried his scoped Springfield on a sling over one shoulder. Although he wouldn't be needing it down here on sentry duty, it wasn't safe to leave the rifle in his tent for somebody from another unit to "requisition" something as scarce as a sniper rifle. In this Army, possession was nine-tenths of the law.
It was dull duty, but it was a hell of a lot better than being up on the line getting shot at. The platoon was rotated in and out of sentry duty to give the soldiers a break. In addition, every few days they had a day in camp just to clean and inspect their equipment. Mostly, they used that down time just to smoke cigarettes, play cards, write letters home, and sleep. Soldiers never could get enough sleep.
Right now, at the southern entrance to the encampment, the most that they had to worry about were officers coming and going. And even they weren't all that important, because the officers who mattered came and went by helicopter, not Jeep. This morning, however, the road into and out of camp seemed particularly busy, with the tough Jeeps churning through the muddy roads. Several trucks arrived, laden with ammo or reinforcements, most of whom wore spanking new uniforms.
"Look at all those greenbeans. More fodder for the cannons," said one of the sentries, shaking his head.
"Something's up," the kid said. "Lots of traffic."
"Maybe there's another attack planned," Cole said. "The Chinese still hold Sniper Ridge, and I know that doesn't sit well with the brass."
"You're probably right," the kid agreed. "But when that attack happens, I hope that I'm back here on sentry duty."
Ballard approached, and Cole tensed. He hadn't seen the lieutenant since the kid's warning last night that Ballard was looking for him.
Now, the lieutenant had found him.
"Cole, goddammit, where have you been?"
"Sir? I—"
"Never mind," Ballard said impatiently. "Listen up. You have got to do something about that sniper up there on the ridge. Everybody from the colonel on down has been on me about it."
"You, sir?"
"Yes, me. Because I have the unfortunate situation of having you in my platoon, and word has gotten around that you are the best shot we’ve got. Which puts me in charge of snipers and counter-sniper measures, apparently. All of which I need like I need a hole in the head."
"If you say so, sir."
Ballard glared at him. "If you were an actual sniper, you'd be getting the job done and we wouldn't have that problem with that Chinese dead-eye, now would we?"
Cole glared at the lieutenant, but had the good sense to tamp down what he really wanted to say. "No sir, I reckon not."
"Think about that, Cole. Think about how you can eliminate him."
"Yes, sir."
“You’ll get your chance tomorrow,” Ballard added. “There’s going to be another attack on Sniper Ridge. We are going to take it back from the enemy for good.”
Ballard stalked off, grumbling, and leaving a silent Cole in his wake.
They went back to guard duty, watching the comings and goings of Jeeps and trucks, but that was mostly quiet — a little too quiet. Cole never had a whole lot to say, and they were all feeling the absence from the squad of the loquacious Pomeroy, but the hillbilly marksman was especially silent this morning.
The kid couldn't help but start jabbering to fill the quiet. "I sure do miss Pomeroy," the kid said. "At least he had something to say now and then."
"I reckon we all miss him, kid."
"Why didn't you go back to that ridge this morning, Cole?" the kid asked. He was always cautious about calling Cole "hillbilly" like Pomeroy had. "I would have gone with you."
"I don't know," Cole said. "Maybe I needed to take a break."
"By coming down here and watching the brass go by in their Jeeps?" The kid paused. "Wait a minute. You're not scared, are you?"
Cole bristled. "Scared of what?"
"Well, you missed that Chinese sniper yesterday and when you got into that shooting contest, you couldn't seem to hit that old bottle that the enemy stuck out there on a rock. The other guy didn't seem to have any trouble hitting our canteen."
"Thanks a lot for noticing, kid," Cole said, tamping down his anger because he knew that the kid was just stating the obvious. "Ballard already busted my balls about all this, and the last thing I need is more of the same from you."
For now, it appeared that the lieutenant was keeping him on sniper duty. He was sure that the lieutenant would have taken away the scoped rifle and given it to someone else if there had been any good candidates. At the same time, Cole also felt a weight on his shoulders. The kid’s comments were not helping.
Cole held out the rifle to the kid. "Kid, do you think maybe you want to give it a try and see if you can do any better?"
The kid stared at him and shook his head. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I can sure tell you one thing. Nobody else can shoot like you can, Cole."
"Listen, kid—"
"No, let me finish," the kid said. "You have got to be the coolest customer with a rifle that I've ever seen. That anybody has seen. You were born to do this, Cole. I'm not like you. None of us is like you. This is what you were made for."
"In case you didn't notice, I almost got Pomeroy killed."
"If Pomeroy were here, he would agree with me. So what, you had a bad day. Your one bad day is better than any of the rest of us could do in a year."
Having said his piece, the kid turned and walked away, giving Cole something to chew over.
The lieutenant had kicked him in the ass a short while ago. That, he could take. The kid had just kicked him in the gut, which hurt a whole lot worse.
Having walked a few feet away, the kid stopped and looked back at Cole.
"What are you still doing here?" the kid asked. "You need to get after that sniper."
For the first time in a while, Cole grinned. But there was nothing humorous or friendly in his expression. It was more like a wolf showing its teeth.
Nervously, the kid took a step back, as if to create some distance between them.
"All right, kid," Cole said. "You win."
He left the guard post and started to walk back toward the main encampment.
"Hey, where are you going?" the kid called after him.
Cole said over his shoulder, "If you see the lieutenant, tell him I went hunting."
Chapter Twenty-One
Cole knew that he had to get his mind right if he was going to have a chance at getting this enemy sniper for once and for all, and that started with getting his rifle right.
It was time to return to the basics.
What nagged at him from yesterday's shooting match was that he should have hit the target. It wasn't like him to miss anything that he shot at. Well, not miss all that much, at any rate. He especially did not to miss three times in a row, like he had missed that bottle. His sights had been just where they should have been. He had not jerked the trigger or coughed at the last instant, sending the bullet astray.
What if it hadn't been him, but the rifle itself?
There was only one thing to do to find that out, which was to put the rifle through its paces.
Cole went out to the edges of the camp, out to where the plain opened up, away from the hills and ridges where the fighting was taking place. He had stopped by the mess area and procured a couple of empty bottles, not so different from the ones that he'd been shooting at unsuccessfully the day before. He set one of the bottles on a rock and walked back about a hundred yards and then put his rifle across another rock, his rolled-up jacket underneath the stock.