Something moved in the brush off to his right and Cole froze. Automatically, his hand went to his knife. It was a standard-issue combat knife, not the hand-forged Bowie knife that he had lost at the Chosin when he was briefly captured, but Cole had honed this blade to a wickedly sharp edge. Slowly, he eased the knife out of the sheath.
The movement stopped. He heard a satisfied grunt, and then came the unmistakable sound of a stream of urine pattering on the ground. So damn close it almost splashed him. Cole froze. The Chinese soldier farted loudly, sighed contentedly, then buttoned up and moved away. He was sure that the Chinese had designated latrine areas, but out here, if there were no officers around, who cared? It was easier to take a few steps away to relieve yourself. That soldier couldn't have known how close he'd come to getting stabbed.
Cole moved on, right through a damp place that was likely courtesy of the soldier, but all he cared about was being silent. Slowly, each move calculated, he moved forward until the sounds from the foxhole faded a bit and moved around to his rear quadrant. He had managed to sneak right past the enemy.
The brush began to thin, giving way to a boulder-strewn field, like the backwash from some long-ago flood. Keeping low, he worked his way through the boulders, thankful that the ground was too rough for the Chinese to have dug any foxholes here. He was now on Sniper Ridge, to the east of the center where the bulk of the two armies faced each other. Nobody seemed to be around, and there wasn't any sign of established enemy occupation in this section. No roads, no telephone lines. Just rocks and brush. Just the way he liked it.
Cole moved east toward the center of the line, following the northern face of the ridge, behind where the enemy line was located. His plan was to stealthily move parallel to the enemy position, keeping out of sight using whatever cover was available, until he came to the center where the enemy sniper had been hidden on the previous days. With any luck, Cole would be right behind him.
But first, Cole had to get there. If sneaking through the enemy position was a crazy idea, there weren’t even any words to describe what he was doing now. Bat shit crazy? That came close.
Of course, he was breaking every goddamn rule he could think of. If the Chinese caught him, they'd likely shoot him as a spy. Maybe torture him first. As for his own side, he hadn't asked for permission to go on this one-man mission because he was sure nobody would have given it. What if he never came back? He grinned. Desertion wasn't much of an issue in Korea. Where the hell would anyone go? Wasn't anything or anyone that was real welcoming in this place. Nope — Lieutenant Ballard and all the rest would just figure that Cole had fallen off a cliff somewhere.
Not that Cole gave a damn. He had some business to settle.
Pushing all other thoughts out of his mind, he kept moving, keeping to the brush and boulders. Once or twice he crossed a path leading down from the face of the ridge, but didn't encounter anyone moving up or down to the Chinese line.
Eventually, he reached a path that was bigger and wider than the rest — big enough for numbers of men or maybe even artillery to be dragged into position. He must be near the Chinese center. Off in the distance, he saw a few tents, even a wisp or two of smoke rising into the still morning air. With a shock, he realized that he could actually see the Chinese HQ. Holy hell, Hillbilly, this shit is gettin' real.
He turned south now and began bushwhacking toward the peak of the ridge itself. The ridge ran like the back of a bony, swaybacked mule, narrow in some of the high places, lower and wider in others. He got onto one of these high places so that when he raised his head above the rocks and brush, he could see down the length of the mule's spine.
From here, he could see the network of Chinese defenses: men in their trenches and foxholes, machine gun nests, a bunker or two that must have sheltered command centers. It was like a goddamn army of ants. Chinese ants.
Almost directly beneath him was a knobby outcropping that he had memorized all too well from staring at it from the opposite direction. The landmark was known as Mao's Ears. The enemy sniper was somewhere down there.
Moving his scope slowly, slowly over the surrounding foxholes and trenches, he searched every square foot. He could see what was invisible from the American side. From here, he could see the back end of the Chinese position.
Finally, he spotted what he was looking for. A Chinese soldier, crouched in a hole, peering through a rifle with a telescopic sight. To his surprise, it was only the sniper by himself this morning. What had become of the spotter? Never mind; it just made Cole's job a fraction easier. One man to eliminate, instead of two.
In spite of himself, Cole felt his heart quicken. His sights were already on the sniper's back. Wasn't even that hard of a shot. Hell, at this range, he could have taken out his pistol and had a good chance of hitting him. All that he had to do was squeeze the trigger.
But not yet. The absence of the enemy sniper's spotter reminded Cole that he had better pay attention to his own surroundings. Cole was on his own here — he wasn't getting any help. Without anyone to watch his back, it was possible for someone to sneak right up on him. His plan would go all to pieces if he got back shot right about now. Hell now, that would ruin his whole day.
He turned away from the ridge and swept his scope across the landscape around him. He didn't see anything threatening.
Behind him, looking down, he also had a good view of the distant Chinese HQ. Out of curiosity, he put the scope to his eye and saw the movement of troops and vehicles. It was a long ways off, but in the still air, he felt confident that he could have sent a bullet down there if the need arose. He watched for a while through the scope. There seemed to be some commotion as more vehicles arrived and some of the Chinese brass got out. A knot of what must be officers surrounded one man in particular, apparently out of deference.
There wasn't anything special about the man that Cole could see, other than the fact that his frame looked somewhat older and heavier. The Chinese didn't go much for fancy uniforms. However, he was clearly a man of some importance. He turned to say something to an aide, who went racing away on some errand. That there has got to be a Chinese general.
Cole thought about that. He hadn't come all this way to shoot a general. Hadn't been his plan at all. But here was the opportunity, staring at him right through the rifle scope. It was like he'd gone squirrel huntin' and walked right up on a big ol' twelve-point buck. A man would be a fool to stick with the plan and shoot at squirrels instead.
Cole felt torn. He owed it to Pomeroy to shoot this sniper. He owed it to all those dead and wounded American boys he had seen in the field hospital. This sniper had done that to them. He had come all this way to triumph over his enemy, even had him in his sights, and yet, the general could be the more important target.
He paused, thinking it over. If he fired first at the general, the enemy sniper was so close that he would hear the shot and be alerted. Cole might lose his chance.
Already, he was running out of time. In the distance, he heard the concussive whump of artillery firing. Rounds began to strike the ridge far to his right, sending the enemy scurrying. The beginning of the artillery barrage could only mean that the planned attack had begun. The artillery fire walked back from the ridge, even with where Cole was hiding, although not in the area he was in. He had to hurry it up before all hell broke loose or the artillery shifted its aim and pulverized him in the process.