Red Phoenix

by Larry Bond

  Anne was trying to tear the envelope of an MRE open. She had planned on skipping breakfast, but hunger and Hutchins’s lecture about “eating when you can” had won her over. Her teeth proved inadequate to the task, and finally she borrowed Bell’s bayonet again.

  The convoy, with her truck still in the lead, came around a bend in the road. There was a clearing on the right with a helicopter in it. Hutchins told Bell to slow down, and she spotted three men by the nose of the craft, waving at them.

  The captain ordered Bell to pull over and stop, and they all climbed out. Anne stepped out and saw — TONY? — and two other men coming over.

  Hutchins couldn’t understand. Miss Larson had seemed like a reserved woman, certainly not the type to display affection for complete strangers.

  Hooter and Chips explained the situation to Captain Hutchins and his men while Tony and Anne strolled off to talk. After an initial explanation, Anne’s head was whirling. She didn’t know what to talk about first. His trip to see her, the attack by the commandos, or her trip from Seoul. So she didn’t talk about any of these things. She just listened and looked at Tony.

  Their wanderings had taken them back behind the Huey, out of plain sight of the convoy. He was pointing out the damage to the aircraft when he stopped and changed the subject.

  “Anne, I was really worried when I heard about the attack on Seoul airport. I… it’s hard to explain.”

  She smiled. “Don’t try. I think I understand.”

  “No, Anne, I have to tell you how scared I was when I learned about the attack on Kimpo.”

  He paused and looked into her eyes. “I thought I’d lost you.” She looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze, but he continued, “I don’t want to ever lose you, Anne. I love you.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “You sure proved that. A helicopter?”

  “Anne, I had to see you.” He explained about the timing.

  “Tony, I’m glad you came, but I don’t know how I feel yet. I haven’t got my feelings sorted out.”

  “Mine are definitely sorted, but I understand. I just had to tell you where I stood.”

  “Well, I kind of like where you’re standing. But a helicopter?” She peered at the machine. “It looks damaged.”

  “I’m hoping I can hitch a ride with your convoy after the bridge is cleared. I don’t have any way to get back to Kunsan.”

  “I’m glad. We’ll have time to talk.”

  “Hey, guys!” Hooter’s call invaded their world. “The Army’s here.”

  They walked back to the road. Pulled up next to Anne’s convoy was a new group, four vehicles crammed with Korean soldiers and weapons. Hooter and Chips were talking with a burly-looking captain, who stood lopsidedly. Hutchins and Evans were still deploying their men around the area, in case there were any commandos nearby.

  “Tony, this is Captain Cha.” Cha saluted briskly. “Chips and I have been filling him in on what we saw.”

  Cha picked up the conversation. “Yes, sir. It’s almost certainly a group of enemy infiltrators. My men and I will clear them out. It cannot be more than a few men, and I have a reinforced platoon.” He looked at the three pilots. “Would you like to accompany us?”

  The Americans exchanged quick glances and simultaneously said, “No thanks.” Tony added, “I’ll leave ground combat to the professionals.”

  Cha actually looked disappointed, seemed about to try to persuade them, but changed his mind and boarded his jeep. “We will drive up closer to the bridge and then deploy. This shouldn’t take too long. We will send a messenger back when the road is clear.” Saluting, the captain and his troops roared off.

  AT THE CHOSAN RIVER BRIDGE

  Captain Yi knew that there would be some sort of attempt to clear the bridge, and he was going to make them pay dearly for this piece of territory. They would never get the bridge back, and even the ruins would be expensive.

  Private Suh waited in a camouflaged spider hole three hundred meters up the road. He was isolated from the bridge by a small rise, and his hole was dug into the edge of a copse of trees. He had found the time to line his hideout with pine boughs, and outside of the cramped quarters, it was moderately comfortable.

  He had been waiting for over an hour, ever since the American helicopter had escaped. He heard the engines, and his rush of excitement and fear at the approach of the enemy was mixed with relief.

  A jeep appeared first, then three trucks. The lead jeep held an officer and had a machine gun over the back. As he watched, it pulled off the road, with the officer motioning to the vehicles behind. It slowed and stopped, exactly where his captain had said it would.

  The waiting was hardest. If they had dashed off quickly, he might have been helpless, but they were in no hurry to unload. As soon as the last truck had come to a stop, he pushed the plunger.

  Claymore mines weighed about ten pounds. They were the size and shape of a telephone book and were not supposed to be buried in the ground. They had two prongs that a soldier could push into the ground. The prongs allowed them to sit on one edge, while wires ran back to electric firing switches. One side of each mine said “Place Toward Enemy.”

  They were directional mines. On detonation, plastic explosive fired hundreds of steel balls several hundred feet in a fan-shaped pattern. And the North Korean commandos had planted five of them in an arc, facing the road.

  A mixture of snow, smoke, and fragments filled the air, followed by screams and splanging sounds of metal balls hitting metal.

  Suh waited. As the mist thinned, the horror it hid was revealed slowly. Men lay sprawled in the snow, red patches outlining their forms. He could see at least a dozen bodies, and he knew that as yet, he could not have been detected.

  The sudden silence was filled with moans and cries, and Suh waited a few minutes for the leaders to appear, to start giving orders and get the men organized. Then he started shooting.

  They all heard the explosion, and the firing. Tony and Anne and everyone else listened for the smallest sound, trying to follow distant events. After the first explosion and gunfire, there was nothing.

  Hooter bounced up and down a little bit. “Short fight. I guess there weren’t too many bad guys.” He smiled.

  The others ignored him. Tony looked at Hutchins. “That didn’t sound like what I would have expected.”

  The captain agreed. “It didn’t sound good.”

  “Should we check it out?”

  Hutchins, more from courtesy than need, considered the question. “No, Major. We don’t know the situation and might stumble into something. Even if everything’s okay, Cha wouldn’t like having his elbow joggled.”

  He looked at Hooter. “If that was all of the fight, they’ll send word back. EVANS!”

  The sergeant came running over. “Sir!”

  “Double-check the perimeter. Make sure there’s no way for a man to be taken alone, and no way for anyone to slip in between our men.”

  To no one in particular he announced, “We will sit tight.”

  The South Korean soldier appeared twenty minutes later. They all heard the call from one of the lookouts, but there was no real need for a warning. He staggered up the road, doing his best to hurry, but slowed down by wounds and shock and half-frozen to boot.

  The sergeant started snapping orders. “Get him in the truck! Hughes, get your aid kit! Murphy and Rodriguez, scout down the road and find out what happened. Shoot at anything that moves.”

  Hutchins, Evans, and the aid man disappeared into the truck while the others waited outside. Anne kept on looking up the road, feeling the cold grow with her uncertainty.

  After five minutes Hutchins and Evans jumped out of the truck. Anne ran up with a questioning look, and Hutchins answered, “He’ll probably live.”

  “What happened?” she demanded.

  “They walked into some sort of ambush. Most of them are killed, the rest are wounded. The Korean says they only got one man.”

  Sergeant Eva
ns came up to the officer with a walkie-talkie. “Sir, Murphy’s reached the spot.”

  Hutchins took the radio. “This is Six, over. … How many?… Okay. Sit tight and watch the road to the south. We’re on our way.” He turned to the sergeant and nodded.

  Evans started giving orders. “Saddle up! Everybody into the trucks.”

  Anne got the story from Hutchins as they rode forward. “It was a massacre. Murphy says the area is secure, but they need help. My men and I will have to tackle the commandos.

  “Miss Larson, you and your people can’t fight, but we will need anyone who knows first aid. You can stay back and help the wounded while we move up.”

  Anne protested. “Why don’t we just wait for more troops?”

  “Our radios are too weak to call for help. Since the nearest detachment reacted, it would be even longer before anybody else could respond. Hours probably. That gives those bastards too much time. Besides, I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and let someone else do my fighting while I’ve got effectives.”

  They saw the carnage spread out along the road, and Anne felt something twisting her insides. She felt flushed and stared at the soldiers’ wounds, imagining them on her body.

  Hutchins shook her shoulder. “Don’t think about it, Miss Larson. Just keep busy. You can’t get sick if you’re helping them.”

  The scene changed to one of organized confusion. The wounded were found and moved into the comparative warmth of the trucks. The dead, frozen into grotesque shapes, were stacked off to one side. Evans had his men throw up a defensive perimeter, while the pilots scavenged weapons and equipment.

  It was an impressive pile, including antitank rockets, a heavy machine gun and two lighter ones, and ammunition. Evans’s eyes gleamed and he started distributing it to his men. Tony and Hooter refused to take rifles. They each had a pistol and fervently hoped they wouldn’t have to use them.

  One volunteer from Anne’s staff and a lightly wounded soldier were sent back up the road to report to Taech’on.

  Evans made his report. “Sir, there were thirty-eight Koreans here. Twenty-one are dead. Ten are seriously wounded, the rest are walking wounded. Cha is dead and his sergeant is incapacitated.”

  Hutchins was shaken by the losses but looked determined. “Will they fight?”

  “No question, sir. I recommend giving them another few minutes to thaw out and eat, but they’re mad, sir. They’d go alone if we weren’t here.”

  There was a popping sound from the south that quickly exploded into rifle and machine gun fire. Evans yelled, “Hold your positions!” and sprinted over in that direction.

  Hutchins looked at the pilots. “I think we’ve spent all the time we’re going to get. Let’s go.”

  The captain kept it simple. Forming a skirmish line, he had his men advance in a line on both sides of the road. Moving from tree to tree, they knew they were up against the best the enemy had. They had to depend on numbers. Hutchins had briefed them all to watch for more claymore mines, and their progress was slowed as every man searched for trip wires.

  It wasn’t enough. A man’s scream of fear was cut off as he tripped a mine. The sound of an explosion was replaced by rifle fire. Everyone fell flat as bullets whined around them. The commandos’ numbers were impossible to determine, but they were making their presence felt.

  Tony blew snow out of his face and looked for Hooter. Like any good wingman, he was back a little and to one side.

  Crawling backward, Tony moved next to John and punched him in the shoulder. Hooter looked at him questioningly, and Tony pointed over to where the mine had detonated.

  Tony turned without waiting for answer and started crawling. Off to his left, men lay or crouched in the snow, firing at targets he couldn’t see. The effort of moving while staying flat to the ground tired him but kept him warm as well.

  In front of him the snow was streaked with brown and gray. His eyes followed the lines back to the source, where a small depression was the only sign of the mine’s presence. He crawled a little farther, and another sign of its presence revealed itself.

  The man lay on his back, half-covered by snow and debris. Tony could see a dark patch on his chest, and his face was bloody, dripping onto the snow.

  As the pilots crawled up to him, he moaned. At least they hadn’t crawled all this way for nothing. Bullets whizzed over them, and it was obvious that the first thing to do was get him out of here.

  Grabbing his arms, they started crawling away from the fighting. Occasionally a rifle bullet would remind them of which direction to go.

  They reached a small fold in the ground, and Tony yelled for Hughes. The aid man came running and professionally eased in to attend the wounds.

  After a few minutes the soldier moaned and his eyelids flickered. Hughes sounded positive. “He’s got two light wounds. The one in the chest needs surgery, but he should make it fine. Thank you, sirs.”

  They had heard other men fall. Tony started to head back. “Come on, Hooter. No rest for the weary.”

  Yi looked at his command. With seven men at the start of the fight, the odds were against him. He was down to two now, just himself and a private on the detonator for the bridge. There was no point in waiting any longer.

  Tony and Hooter were resting between trips, congratulating themselves on not getting hit themselves, when there was an earth-shattering KABOOM! They could see a large cloud of smoke and dust to the south.

  Hutchins jumped up and shouted, “That’s it! They’ve blown the bridge! They know they’ve lost.”

  As Hutchins’s men had advanced, each trip to their impromptu aid station had gotten longer. Tony was creeping forward, with Hooter behind him, when he realized that they could see a small building, and that someone in it was shooting.

  They flattened, Tony wiping snow off his face again. Looking left and right, he could see the troops pouring fire into the doors and windows. This went on for some time, when suddenly there was a whooshing sound and a smoke trail drew a line from the trees to the building. A second joined it, and the twin explosions tore chunks out of the walls, blew out the windows, and finally collapsed the roof.

  There was no more firing.

  CHAPTER 34

  Crossings

  DECEMBER 31 — SOUTH BANK OF THE HAN RIVER, SOUTH KOREA

  McLaren focused his binoculars on the far side and listened to the tempo of the shelling. It was shifting, moving back from the rear areas toward the river, and increasing in volume as heavy mortars and other guns joined in. He nodded to himself. His instincts had been right. The North Koreans were trying to bull their way across the Han quickly — without a prolonged preparatory barrage.

  He glanced at Hansen, who lay flat on the snowbank beside him. “Doug, make sure all commands are on their toes. It’s going to hit the fan any minute now.”

  Hansen nodded and wriggled away toward the M577 command vehicle sheltered in a clump of trees. He dropped back into the snow a moment later.

  “They’re as ready as they can be, General.” Hansen stopped talking and lowered his face as a shell whirred overhead and exploded two hundred meters behind them. When he looked up again, McLaren saw a deep frown. “Look, General. Staying around is crazy. There isn’t anything more you can do here — ’cept get killed, that is.”

  McLaren knew his aide was right. He had an army to run, and he couldn’t do it with North Korean shells dropping all around his ears. But something in him resisted the idea of leaving. He’d grown tired of watching pins move back and forth across a bloodless map. It had grown too clinical, made him feel too detached from reality.

  He’d come up to see the battle, to get a feel for what his troops were really going through. And McLaren was convinced that he needed that understanding. How else could he realistically appraise his units’ ability to carry out his orders? Prewar staff analyses of things like the effects of heavy artillery fire on unit morale and cohesion were one thing. It was quite another to hear the shells coming in, to
see the explosions, and to witness the terrible carnage they could cause. Nothing he’d seen during his three tours in South Vietnam had quite prepared him for the terrible reality of this full-scale, flat-out war. That had been a different kind of fighting.

  KARRUMPH. KARRUMMPH. KARRUMPH. Shells burst in the ice on the edge of the river, spewing clouds of gray smoke that drifted and merged with the freshening wind. The North Koreans were trying to build a smoke screen to cover their assault force.

  They were unlucky in the wind. It was strong enough to thin and rip any screen almost as fast as it was laid. McLaren kept his binoculars on where he knew the far bank to be, waiting for a gap in the acrid-smelling smoke big enough to see through.

  There. Squat, boat-hulled vehicles swarmed into view and trundled down the slope to slide into Han. They bellied through the ice-choked river, moving fast on twin engine-driven waterjets. McLaren identified them as BTR-60s — amphibious, wheeled APCs that could carry sixteen troops each. They vanished into gray obscurity as more smoke shells exploded along the near bank.

  He hadn’t been able to get a good fix on their numbers, but if the NKs were following Soviet doctrine as rigidly as they had up till now, there was at least a battalion’s worth of armored vehicles out there swimming the river toward his position. Other North Korean battalions were undoubtedly attacking at other points along the Han — all probing for the weak spot.

  McLaren smiled grimly to himself. If they got across, they’d soon realize that his defense line was weak along its entire length. In some places battalions were defending frontages that staff theoreticians would have thought too wide for brigades. And that meant that his troops couldn’t afford to lose this fight on the Han. Every enemy assault had to be driven back into the river before the NKs could start laying pontoon bridges to bring their heavy armor across.

  He shook his head. If his men could just blunt this North Korean drive, they’d buy him a badly needed day to strengthen his defenses and assemble more of the reinforcements arriving hourly from the States and from South Korea’s reserve depots.