"About time I got my knife back, you thievin' son of a bitch," he muttered.
Cole felt a wave of anger. There wasn't anything else that he could do to the sniper, who was now beyond the reach of his revenge. But Cole wasn't done yet.
Cole picked up the rifle. It was Russian, a Mosin-Nagant being more than a little familiar to Cole, it being one of the superior sniper weapons of the last war and just as deadly in this one. Although it was hardly an elegant rifle, it was sturdy and efficient. This one looked battered and well-used, its stock scarred and the finish worn away from being held against a cheek, locked into the shooter.
Cole set down his own Springfield and picked up the Russian rifle. With practiced hands, he shucked out the bolt and threw it far out into the muddy surroundings, where it would never be found. He unfastened the scope and then smashed it under his boot.
He lacked any tools to destroy the rifle itself, so he did the next best thing. He wedged the barrel between two big rocks — no shortage of those around here — and tried to lever those boulders out of place, grunting and straining with the effort. After a minute, working until his muscles burned, he was sure that the rifle would never shoot straight again.
That was some satisfaction, at least. He also felt calmer now.
Gathering himself, he realized with some surprise that he had tuned out the chatter of gunfire all around him. He had been too busy eliminating some sort of Chinese Grand Poobah, as well as the enemy sniper, to pay a whole lot of attention to what was unfolding around him.
The shooting that he had done was just the beginning of more to come. From the sounds of it, Cole now had a whole new battle to fight.
With a growing sense of dread, he realized that he was on the wrong side of a few thousand Chinese troops, and he would have to find a way through if he ever hoped to get back to the American lines again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cole didn't have a lot of options, except to get the hell out of there. All hell was breaking loose with this American attack on the ridge. On the one hand, the attack had been a good distraction, drawing the attention of the Chinese defenders, but he hadn't counted on getting caught up on the wrong side of it.
There were foxholes filled with enemy soldiers on his right and left. It was only a matter of time before somebody came along and noticed that he didn't belong there. Things would get a little hot then.
He took a quick peek over the edge of the dead sniper's trench. He could hear firing all around him, but caught only glimpses of the padded Chinese uniforms or their Ushanka-style caps. If they happened to look up and notice him, he'd be a goner. Time to get out of Dodge.
He scrambled up out of the trench and started running back the way he had come, roughly following his original path. He made sure to zigzag as he ran, just in case one of the enemy spotted him. He didn't want to be an easy target.
He came to the wide path that he had crossed coming up the backside of the ridge. He had been lucky that first time around and hadn't seen anyone, but his luck had just run out.
He ran smack dab into the path of a Chinese platoon, moving on the double to reinforce the soldiers under attack. Cole burst out of the underbrush just ahead of them, appearing so suddenly that the lead soldiers halted in surprise. The troops still coming up the trail behind them piled up behind them like water behind a dam.
For the longest of seconds, he and the Chinese stood there, blinking at each other in astonishment.
However, the element of surprise did not last long.
One of the soldiers actually shouted in outrage — or maybe in terror.
I know just how you feel, buddy.
An officer, or maybe a sergeant, started shouting commands. As fast as you could say lickety-split, several rifles were pointed at Cole.
He responded by raising his rifle and firing it point-blank at the nearest soldier. The startled Chinese troops fired back, but Cole was already tearing through the scrub trees on the other side of the path. Bullets zipped around him, but the entire platoon didn't give chase. That would have been quite a rabbit hunt, with Cole as the rabbit. Instead, a couple of soldiers peeled off to go after Cole, while the rest of the unit moved on toward the front line, where there were a whole lot more American soldiers to worry about.
Behind him, he could hear the soldiers crashing through the brush in pursuit, firing as they ran. Cole dropped to one knee and waited until he had a clear shot. He pulled the trigger. One down.
The second man threw himself flat and blasted away in Cole's direction with what sounded like a captured burp gun. Bullets flickered overhead, turning the branches into toothpicks. Cole kept himself as low to the ground as possible.
When the enemy soldier took his finger off the trigger — or perhaps he had run out of ammo — Cole fired at where he had last seen the muzzle flash. He rolled to his feet and kept running. He didn't hear anyone behind him. Either he'd gotten lucky with the shot, or his pursuer had decided that chasing him off was good enough.
In any case, one pursuing soldier was the least of his worries. The artillery was really chewing up the ridge, throwing geysers of dirt and rock around. Chunks of red-hot shrapnel sounded like a whickering horse as it cut the air. He ran down the slope, away from the ridge, to avoid the bursting shells, but a few still overshot the target and exploded in the rear.
Breathing heavily, he finally reached the section of the Chinese line where he had sneaked through earlier. He knew that getting past the enemy troops this time around would be even harder because they would be on high alert.
What he hadn't counted on was there being a lot more troops. This had been the sleepy end of the flank, but it wasn't anymore.
Crouched in the shrubs, he caught his breath and stared in amazement at the swarm of enemy soldiers who now filled the area. Before, there had been just a handful.
Briefly, he worried that they were there to catch him. Maybe word had gotten out that there was a sniper behind their lines. Good lord, I hope they ain't waitin' for me.
However, the troops here seemed to be preparing for the attack. All at once, Cole understood what was happening. While the American attack was happening at the center of the line, the Chinese were planning a counter-attack on the American flank. Worse, they might slip around the flank altogether and attack the rear, targeting the camp itself.
If that happened, the American attack might fall to pieces as men were called back to defend HQ or worse yet, found themselves surrounded.
This was a classic Chinese tactic. Swarm the line and hope to break through. Attack the flanks and slip into the rear. Cole had to admit, the enemy was the master of the surprise attack. And he had just stumbled right into the middle of it.
Maybe he could throw a wrench into the works.
Cole took stock. He had the Springfield and plenty of ammunition. There was a Browning 1911 .45 strapped to his hip. He carried two hand grenades. And if worse came to worse, he even had his old Bowie knife back. He pulled the blade from the sheath and inspected it. He saw with satisfaction that the blade still gleamed. At least the Chinese sniper knew enough to take good care of a knife.
Time to get to work if he was going to stop — or at least, slow down — this Chinese sneak attack on the American flank.
Just me and about fifty Chinese fellers, Cole thought. Pretty good odds.
But first, he needed a better place from which to shoot. Although he had concealment, he was too exposed to return fire. He needed to find some cover.
Keeping low, he skirted the enemy position and moved toward a knoll that rose just behind it. There were a couple of big rocks up there that would do nicely for what he had in mind.