The Frozen Hours

by Jeff Shaara

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Smith

  FIRST MARINE DIVISION HQ—HAMHUNG, NORTH KOREA—NOVEMBER 6, 1950

  THE HELICOPTER CAME IN low over the river, Smith relieved to see the flat landing square appearing beneath him. The chopper settled more calmly now, the pilot easing the craft exactly in the center of the square. Smith waited for the impact, grateful as the chopper settled onto solid ground, allowing himself to relax on the hard seat. The pilot cut the engine, looked toward him with a smile, seemingly oblivious to Smith’s tension.

  “Here you are, sir. Back home.”

  Smith tried to return the smile. He slid out from the side of the craft, dropped down, steadied himself as always against the frame, fought to straighten his legs. He knew he was being unreasonable, that this ride had been no different than the others, the pilot skilled at skipping low over the tall hills, maneuvering the chopper through narrow passes. But the craft never felt wholly secure, even the pilots referring to them as buckets of loose bolts. That gave Smith no assurance at all, and more than once he had boarded the chopper only to pinch his fingers around various screws, a foolish effort to tighten whatever it might be that held the craft together.

  The pilot had come around to his side, concern showing now on the young man’s face, his hand extended slowly, an offering Smith didn’t need.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Smith scowled at the young man, shook his head, stood without the aid of the chopper’s support. “Not at all, Lieutenant.”

  “My apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to give you such a rough ride. The winds are pretty nasty in those hills.”

  “No need. It was fine. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir, do you mind if I tend to this bird’s maintenance? It’s protocol. Need to check the fluid levels.”

  Smith knew that, scolded himself, the annoying uneasiness affecting his decorum. “Fine. Do the job.”

  Smith eyed the headquarters building, another nondescript place, the former home of what seemed to be a low-level Korean official, that man long gone. He forced himself to steady steps, tried to ignore the painful stiffness in his knee, saw staff officers emerge, the sound of the helicopter drawing them out. He had no need to speak to any of them, the hard scowl on his face backing them away. Bowser was there now, a cup of coffee in the man’s hand, Bowser saluting him, a show for the enlisted aides. Captain Sexton emerged as well, said, “Welcome back, sir. Anything you require?”

  “I’ll have some of that coffee.”

  “Right away, sir. We have a visitor. Our friend General Lowe has returned.”

  Smith stopped, couldn’t avoid a twinge of alarm, still didn’t trust that Truman’s man wasn’t there for more dirt than he seemed to admit.

  “Just bring me the coffee, Captain. Not much in the mood for a visit.”

  He stepped into the quarters, the usual smell of Korean spices and cigarette smoke, his aides dutifully engrossed in their usual labor. There were two other rooms to the rear, one established as the sleeping quarters for Smith and General Craig. He looked that way, thought, I wonder if Lowe’s staying long. The staff glanced up at him as he passed, smiles, short greetings. He nodded them away, moved to the first of the smaller rooms, what served now as his office. Craig was there, behind a small desk, another aide helping him with a radio set.

  “Welcome back, General. Happy times at the front?”

  It was an odd comment, and Smith said, “Litzenberg has his situation in hand. They’re regrouping, drawing up into a more practical position. It’s not easy. That blessed road isn’t wide enough for a donkey cart. At least the enemy’s pulled away, for now.”

  “I suppose that’s good. General Lowe will be pleased to hear that, anyway.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Next door. Your quarters. He has an aide now. They’re setting up his sleeping arrangements.”

  “What arrangements?”

  “Spreading out his sleeping bag on the floor, right beside mine. We allowed you the larger space. I know the rules. So, apparently, does Lowe.”

  There was a grim edge in Craig’s words, no smile, Craig returning to work with the radio. Coffee in hand, Smith eased toward the second of the smaller rooms, peered in, saw Lowe on his knees on the floor, digging in a haversack, retrieving a variety of personal items, arranging them in a neat display beside his sleeping bag. His aide stood beside him, the young man noticing Smith, a quick pat on Lowe’s shoulder, the aide regarding Smith with boyish terror. Lowe turned, said, “Ah, General! You survived another daredevil mission. Survived one myself.”

  Lowe rose to his feet, stretched himself tall, said to the aide, “Corporal, this will do for now. Go get yourself some of that coffee, if the general’s staff will oblige you.”

  The young man offered a weak “Thank you, sir,” then moved past Smith, flattening himself against the wall as he passed. Smith saw something new on Lowe’s face, a hint of despair similar to Craig’s. Lowe said, “Do you mind if we close that door?”

  Smith stepped into the room, pulled the flimsy door shut with a rattling thump. “You know you can speak freely in front of my staff.”

  Lowe sat on the floor again, leaning against one wall, his knees pulled up. “Rather keep this between us. It has been a difficult few days.”

  Lowe had conceded the lone chair to Smith, who sat, allowed himself to sag into the chair. Smith said, “I’ve just come from Colonel Litzenberg’s CP. The Seventh Regiment inflicted heavy casualties on an entire division of Chinese in the hills up toward Sudong. We took casualties of our own, perhaps seventy dead. My division is spread a hundred fifty miles along a road I can’t adequately defend. We’re ordered to move northward on what the Koreans call a highway, and not too many miles in front of us, that road will be too narrow for nearly every mechanized vehicle we have. My superior is extremely unhappy that we have not yet waded into the Yalu River.” He paused. “So tell me, Frank, how are things with you?”

  It was a rare show of sarcasm, and Lowe let out a breath, said, “I do not mean to suggest that this entire operation…this entire war, is not difficult for us all. For you all. I am most sorry to hear about your casualties.”

  “The enemy is more sorry to hear about his.”

  “Yes, well, of course. I was wondering how well you know Walton Walker?”

  “Not very well.”

  Lowe looked down into his hands, nodded slowly. “Nor I. I know him a bit better now. Spent several days with his command. I suppose you’re not so familiar with Hobart Gay.”

  “Met him. Somewhere.”

  Lowe peered up at him. “They have problems over there. They took heavy casualties against an enemy that wasn’t supposed to be there. General Gay commands the First Cavalry, and I can smell the rats surrounding him. The army always has need of a scapegoat, and Gay’s troops took the worst of the assault from the enemy. They lost an entire battalion, for God’s sake. Morale is awful, all through Walker’s command, and of course, somebody has to walk the plank for that one. I’m afraid it will be Gay. I couldn’t say a word. If I bring the president into a situation like that, I’ll lose every bit of cooperation from every officer in Tokyo, Tenth Corps, and likely even Walker won’t be too happy. I had to keep my mouth shut while I watched Walker’s people scramble to create elaborate justifications for every move they’re making.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Nothing I can do. You think Almond cares what anyone here thinks?”

  “Sorry. I just had to say it. I’ll inform the president all that’s happening, of course. But I’ll also caution him about jumping into the fray. MacArthur would explode like a rocket on the Fourth of July if Harry Truman told him how to deal with his subordinates. I’m not even sure I should offer the president my own opinion, that the fault isn’t with Eighth Army at all. It’s Tenth Corps. No effort has been made to move in tandem, to support either flank. There is a gap of nearly seventy miles between Walker’s troops and yours.” He paus
ed, Smith’s expression not changing. “Of course you know that. Forgive me, General.”

  “You can call me O.P. You’ve been here long enough.”

  Lowe smiled, nodded. “No. You’re the one man I’ve come into contact with who deserves to be called general. Right now Walker’s people are contemplating their possible withdrawal, some of them expecting the order to come from Tokyo that it’s time to pull the entire Eighth Army back through the port of Pusan.”

  “That won’t happen. That would be the equivalent of surrender, and MacArthur’s having none of that. He’ll replace people first.”

  Lowe stared at the floor in front of him. “You’re right, of course. But the morale. No one wanted to talk to me, since they assumed I would relay every swear word to the president. And there were plenty of those. Just before I left, a call came in from Tokyo, the first time anyone there has acknowledged that the Chinese might actually be in this war. I thought Walker would have a stroke, like he wanted to reach through the wire and strangle whoever was on the other end. And even then, G-2 was pulling back from that, claiming that perhaps it was Walker who was mistaken. There is apparently some kind of argument going on in MacArthur’s headquarters. No one wants to admit they were wrong about the Chinese being down here.”

  Smith finished the coffee, set the cup down on the floor beside him. “I can’t do much to relieve your anxiety. But I can assure you, the Chinese are out there, and they aren’t hesitant about punching us in the nose. We have the prisoners to prove it. According to them, we were hit by a single division, the One Hundred Twenty-fourth. Those prisoners have been talking like the dickens, claims of a dozen more divisions, waiting for us up the road.”

  Lowe said, “Walker’s hearing that, too. You believe your prisoners?”

  “Hard to tell. The interpreters believe them. To my mind, it’s unlikely that low-level foot soldiers would have access to high-level planning.”

  “That’s exactly what Walker believes. He has prisoners, too, so they tell me. His interrogators don’t necessarily trust what the prisoners are saying. Have you spoken to him? Perhaps you two should be coordinating your efforts directly.”

  “I would enjoy speaking with General Walker. I’m sure he and I could fight this war in a way the president would approve. But that’s not how it works. Should we want to speak to Eighth Army, we go through Tenth Corps. No one here has the luxury of a direct line to anyone in Walker’s command.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “If you say so. It’s chain of command.”

  Lowe stared at the floor for a long moment, visible frustration on his face. He looked up at Smith again.

  “What happens now? What are your orders?”

  Smith glanced at the door, heard the soft knock. “Enter.”

  Sexton pushed his way in, two cups of coffee balanced in his hands. He handed one to Lowe, then moved to Smith.

  “It’s really hot, sir. Been boiling for about an hour. Best let it cool a bit.”

  Lowe sipped carefully, grunted, staring into the cup. Smith took the cup, waved Sexton away.

  “Thank you, Captain. That’s all.”

  Sexton backed out of the room and Smith said, “General Almond will visit here tomorrow. When he has new orders, he usually demands that we go to him. When he wants orders carried out with haste, he goes directly to my regimental commanders, company commanders, anyone he can intimidate. I’ve tried to break him of that habit, with some success. You may of course involve yourself in any such meeting, here, or on the front lines, assuming we can determine where that might be.”

  Lowe tested the coffee again, his face in a hard curl. “If that requires me to ride in another helicopter, I’d prefer it be here.”

  FIRST MARINE DIVISION HQ—HAMHUNG, NORTH KOREA—NOVEMBER 7, 1950

  “With the orders I’ve been given, my division is now spread out over nearly a hundred seventy miles. I am greatly concerned that our fighting efficiency has been severely compromised. It is crucial that we be able to move in support of any vulnerable position. Had Litzenberg’s people been attacked by a greater force, he might have suffered substantial casualties. There was no way we could have provided him support from either Puller’s or Murray’s forces. General Almond, the First Marine Division is a powerful instrument, if it is allowed to be. Scattered as we are, our power is greatly diminished.”

  Smith paused, expected the usual dismissiveness from Almond. But Almond was glum, seemed to absorb Smith’s angry lecture with strange acceptance. Smith glanced at Bowser, the only one of his staff officers in the room. Almond’s man, Colonel Gaffney, sat against the wall behind his commander, had offered nothing of his own. Almond kept his eyes downward, said, “Would you suggest drawing your forces more tightly together?”

  Smith was surprised, leapt on the opportunity. “Yes! I have insisted on that for days now. Your orders were for the army to replace Puller’s people around the ports. My next move would be to order Puller to march north, lessening the gap between him and Litzenberg. The Seventh is already occupying the town of Chinhung-ni, the Fifth is spread out behind them, and Puller is still at Wonsan. As I said, sir, that’s a hundred seventy miles’ distance.”

  “The Third Division.”

  The words came from Almond as though he was reminding himself just who he commanded.

  “Yes, fine. The Third Division. Once they move into Puller’s area, I would order him to advance northward with all speed. He’ll like that, I assure you. He doesn’t care for having his people so far removed from the fighting.”

  Almond shifted his weight in the chair, seemed uncomfortable. Smith stood, stepped closer to him, looking down at the man. He had never felt this way, that Almond was actually listening to him.

  Almond said, “How much fighting has there been? I know of the attack at Sudong. Is Colonel Litzenberg prepared for another assault?”

  “Yes, of course. But Litzenberg wasn’t caught with his pants down. Despite your orders to advance with haste, our own intelligence reports indicated the presence of a great many of the enemy. Litzenberg moved accordingly. The enemy’s attack at Sudong was certainly designed to drive us back. Their success against the First Cavalry had no doubt convinced them they could gain a strong upper hand in our front as well.” He stopped, thought, Enough of that. No need to be a cheerleader for the Corps. “I do not know exactly what happened with Eighth Army. I do not mean to criticize anyone’s command decisions.”

  Almond seemed oblivious to Smith’s show of protocol, said, “The cavalry suffered a great many casualties. The ROK units failed to hold their line. General MacArthur has become aware of the weakness of our allies. It was unexpected.”

  Smith said nothing. He had a great deal of respect for the South Korean marines, a well-trained and seemingly disciplined force. But the ROK army troops had not distinguished themselves at all, certainly not when facing the Chinese.

  Smith glanced at Bowser, who watched Almond with curiosity.

  Bowser said, “General Smith, might I point out that the approach of winter will have a direct effect on our operations in the mountains to the north? Supplying our men as they advance farther north could be most difficult.”

  Smith was grateful for the cue, said to Almond, “I agree. I had hoped that with the Chinese demonstrating a strong presence and a willingness to engage us, General MacArthur would appreciate that the most prudent course would be to stop our advance northward, consolidate our positions below the steeper mountains, and strengthen the defenses around the ports of Wonsan and Hungnam. Colonel Bowser is correct that if we move up into the plateau country north of Chinhung-ni, we could be vulnerable.”

  Almond kept his eyes away from Smith’s, shook his head. “No. General MacArthur would not accept a withdrawal away from those positions we have already occupied. We must continue to demonstrate to the enemy, and to the world, that we are moving forward. You should advance at least as far as Hagaru-ri. Once your division is concentrated, you should b
e able to prevent the enemy from any major success. General MacArthur has ordered the Eighth Army to secure their position as well. We cannot suffer any more reverses.”

  There was no enthusiasm in Almond’s voice, and Smith knew not to push too hard. He glanced at Bowser again, thought, He’s giving me nearly everything I’m asking for. When has that ever happened?

  —

  Within two days, orders were received from Tenth Corps detailing how ROK units would move into areas closer to Puller’s command, relieving Puller from policing the more southern areas. In addition, the army’s Third Division would occupy the port cities, freeing Puller’s First Regiment from what had amounted to garrison duty. Puller responded with exactly the enthusiasm Smith expected, the First Regiment quickly put into motion, lessening the wide gap between the extremes of Smith’s position. But Almond’s orders also included instructions for the Marines to continue their advance not only to Hagaru-ri, at the southern tip of the Chosin Reservoir, but to anticipate movement farther to the northwest, as far as Yudam-ni, midway up the left side of Chosin.