by Jeff Shaara
“This will be over soon, Doctor. The airstrip will be ready for transport planes in a day or two.”
“If you say so, sir. Please excuse me.”
Hering turned away, moved to the worktable, assisting the other doctor. Smith knew he was out of place here, could offer nothing to help these men do their work. But he could not just leave, said aloud, “We will be out of here very soon. We are doing everything we can.”
No one responded, and Smith pulled the coat tightly around him, backed out of the tent.
—
He stared down at the letter, reread, erased a word, made a correction, wrote again, “Our clerks were out there with weapons. Our lines held.”
He slid the paper aside, thought, I cannot tell her more. I don’t have to. She understands. She knows what I do, and how it is done. She knows there is a cost. I should cry to her, sing sad songs? I won’t give her that. It isn’t a part of me. One day, I will sit with her, and perhaps we will cry. But not now. It’s like Dr. Hering. I offer him encouraging words and he stares at me with a man’s guts on his hands. How is he encouraged about that? All I can really give any of them is confidence. The men must see that, must always feel that from their commander. It is not enough for me to hope that we survive this. We must prevail here. No matter what the fools in Tokyo believe, no matter what they tell us to do, we will win this thing. I believe that, and so we will all believe it. We must believe it. Yes, our lines held. They will hold. And as God is my witness, I will do what must be done to protect these men, to repair the raw, ugly stupidity that sent us out here.
—
Early that morning, another column of armor moved out on the road east of the reservoir, one more attempt to drive through the enemy’s stranglehold on the isolated position of the army’s Thirty-first regimental combat team. A few miles northeast of the Marine perimeter at Hagaru-ri, a dozen tanks, commanded by army captain Robert Drake, had held position at the small village of Hudong-ni, close to the shores of the reservoir. Drake’s plan was to push the armored column through the Chinese roadblocks, blowing open a path of escape for the troops to withdraw back down to Hagaru-ri. The tanks were accompanied by some three dozen infantry, some of those South Korean troops. But Drake’s plan had two major problems. First, the tankers did not have their own forward air controller, and so he could not communicate with the air protection he had hoped for, even as the Corsairs patrolled the skies directly overhead. With no instructions where to place their fire, the Corsairs were partially blind, and ultimately inflicted casualties on both sides. The second problem had more to do with the first effort General Hodes had made to rescue his troops. That column had lost four tanks, one of which completely blocked the only road Drake could use. Drake’s alternative plan was to push his armor directly up the hill that guarded the passageway, which was heavily occupied by Chinese troops. But the tanks could not maneuver up the frozen slopes. Faced with a potential disaster to the column, Drake had no choice but to withdraw once more.
A few miles to the north, the Thirty-first’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Don Faith, with no radio contact with the tanks, or with anyone at Hagaru-ri, had no idea that anyone had made the effort to help the twenty-eight hundred men in his command.
The only positive that resulted from Drake’s mission was that, now, with no reason to remain at the advance position at Hudong-ni, he ordered the tank column to pull back to the defensive lines at Hagaru-ri, adding to the forces there who had every reason to expect another nighttime attack.
—
Just before ten that morning, Colonel Douglas Drysdale led his nine-hundred-man task force northward out of Koto-ri. Almost immediately, Drysdale confronted the same obstacles that had faced the Americans along every part of the main road. The eleven-mile journey to Hagaru-ri was sliced through by Chinese roadblocks, troop placements fortified by machine guns and mortars. Facing a far stronger enemy than he had anticipated, Drysdale radioed his situation back to Chesty Puller. Puller responded by ordering a company of nearly thirty tanks out of Koto-ri, to add considerable firepower to Drysdale’s column. Drysdale appreciated the advantages the tanks offered, and ordered their commander to distribute the tanks in pairs all along the column. But the tank commander, Captain Bruce Clark, insisted the tanks remain together, a formidable force the Chinese could not hope to stop. Drysdale had no authority over Clark’s command, and the tanks remained mostly clustered together, leading the way north.
Clark’s men soon engaged Chinese targets all along the route, and though most of those fights were one-sided in favor of the armor, the tanks’ slow progress meant that the lengthy column of trucks behind them would move slowly as well. If the tanks were intimidating to the Chinese, not so the column in their wake. With the vulnerable vehicles spread out in a grindingly slow advance, the Chinese attacked the column in several locations, turning a single convoy into at least three separate parts.
Frustrated with the slow progress of the tanks, Drysdale understood what was happening to his task force behind him. The most acceptable alternative seemed to be to withdraw and fight their way back to Koto-ri. But Oliver Smith had a very different view. Reaching Smith by radio, Drysdale explained his situation. Smith, still faced with the desperate need to bolster the defenses around Hagaru-ri, ordered Drysdale to push onward, at all costs. Drysdale responded with typical British aplomb: “Very well, then, we’ll give them a show.”
Late in the evening on November 29, the vanguard of Task Force Drysdale reached the southern perimeter at Hagaru-ri. With Drysdale were most of the tanks, most of his Royal Marine Commandos, and the company of American Marines. At the rear of the convoy, nearly a third of the column, including many of the trucks and supply vehicles, escaped the worst of the Chinese assaults and pulled back in a desperate escape to Koto-ri. But in the center, fully one-third of the task force could not move in either direction, and throughout one awful night were left to the mercy of the Chinese.
HAGARU-RI—NOVEMBER 29, 10:00 P.M.
The tanks had inspired a raucous cheer, the men along the southern perimeter welcoming the added strength of the armor with a mix of joy and exhausted relief. The Marines were welcomed, too, Tom Ridge’s George Company adding to the manpower that Ridge was still shifting into the most vulnerable positions all around the town. But the men at Hagaru-ri had seen these men and their heavy equipment before. What caused the most curiosity, a respectful salute, was the appearance of the Royal Marines. Their dress was different, of course, green berets worn instead of helmets, those men stiffening, a show of perfect decorum as they marched past the men who welcomed them. None carried that decorum with more pride than their commander.
—
Smith stood, Drysdale saluting him, and he stared at the Englishman for a long moment. Drysdale seemed uncertain now, as though he may have violated some kind of American protocol.
“At your service, sir. It was a bit dicey. I very much regret that we could not advance the entire column. It is a rather dismal outcome, to be sure.”
“Colonel, you are wounded.”
Drysdale ignored the ripped shirtsleeve, the caked blood soaking through his uniform. “Appears so, yes, sir. Not a problem. You have medical people here, yes? They should be able to fix me up, good as new.”
Smith glanced at Bowser, who kept his stare on Drysdale. “Yes, by all means. My aide will escort you to the medical tent. You may report to me when you’re up to it.”
Drysdale seemed disappointed. “Oh, sir, I’d rather lay out the details now, if you don’t mind.”
Smith couldn’t avoid looking at the man’s wounded arm. “Are you quite certain you’re up to it?”
Drysdale attempted a small laugh. “Oh, I assure you, sir, I’ve endured much worse. Never run into an Oriental yet who could pull the starch from a British Marine.”
Smith thought, Not the time for this sort of thing. But he seems to mean it. “Very well, Colonel. I am gravely concerned about the condition of you
r column. Colonel Puller radioed that some of the men and equipment returned to Koto-ri. I suppose we should be grateful for that.”
“If you say so, sir. I regret that we could not maintain contact. The enemy was bloody eager to chop us to bits, and with most of the armor gathered in the vanguard, there was little to protect the soft vehicles. I would hope that those who did not accompany me here were successful in escaping the enemy’s grasp. I suspect there were losses, sir.” He paused, a crack showing in the stern demeanor. “Considerable losses, I’m afraid.”
Smith had already received a ragged estimate from Puller, though no one yet could know just what was still happening along the narrow winding road.
“We will do what we can for anyone still out there, Colonel. My greater concern is right here. If Hagaru-ri falls into the enemy’s hands, it will jeopardize the entire force we have employed to the north of here. How many men made it through with you?”
“Near three hundred, I am happy to say.”
“I would be happier still if your entire force had reached here.”
Drysdale seemed subdued now, said, “Yes, of course. As would I, sir. I will bear the responsibility for our losses, General.”
“No, you won’t. That responsibility falls upon me.” He looked again at Drysdale’s wounds. “When you are able, you will report to Colonel Ridge. He commands the perimeter here. We will make the best use of your men as we can, I assure you. I am grateful for your efforts.”
The compliment rolled out of Smith with no enthusiasm, as though he were greeting the man at a formal dinner party. He was uncomfortable now, still eyed the man’s arm. “Really, Colonel, I insist you go to the medical tent. Colonel Bowser, will you ask one of the aides to show him the way?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Drysdale saluted Smith again, said, “I shan’t be long, sir. I should see to my men, at least for the evening. They have had one devil of a day, as it were.”
Smith returned the salute, motioned toward the door, Drysdale moving out with the young aide. Smith waited for Drysdale to leave, felt a chill, the stove not quite adequate to heat both rooms. Bowser stood out in the larger room, said, “He dripped blood all over the place. I’ll have it cleaned up, sir.”
“Let it go, Alpha.” Smith pulled the pipe from his shirt pocket. “What do you make of that fellow?”
“He’s British, no doubt about that. He’d rather pass out from loss of blood than admit he might be in pain. We colonists should never observe such weakness in one of His Majesty’s troops.”
Smith had no use for the kind of rivalries that always seemed to rise up. “It was a very bad day, Colonel. Lewie says he counted three hundred men who made it back to Koto-ri. Three hundred made it here. Nothing complicated about the math. Three hundred men are either dead, or grabbed by the Chinese. All of that stiff-upper-lip business. It’s their way, for sure. But he knows what I ordered him to do, and he’s not likely to forget that. And no matter what kind of foolishness you or anyone else wants to toss around about the Brits, there’s nobody on this earth I’d rather have next to me in a foxhole.”
HAGARU-RI—NOVEMBER 29, 10:30 P.M.
He sat alone, enjoying the pipe, another letter to Esther forming itself in his mind. You’ll read about this one, I’m afraid. I had no choice. No one ever wants to hear that excuse, but it’s what I believe. There have been decisions made by others, handed to me this entire campaign, most of them incredible, ridiculous. This one was mine. Did I truly believe we could open that road, that the Chinese weren’t as strong there, or that they might just back away? Someone will ask those questions one day. Drysdale is asking them right now, as he wonders if he’s going to lose his arm.
The outer door burst open, the guard making way for the wrapped bundle of a man, another behind him. Smith couldn’t avoid a nagging dread, rapped the pipe against the chair, stuffed it in his pocket. He waited, saw Bowser’s head emerge from the coat, the man red-faced, out of breath, the aide waiting for Bowser to remove the coat.
“Have you two been out doing maneuvers in this cold, Colonel?”
Bowser kept the coat on, was breathing heavily still, tore through a pocket, pulled out a piece of paper. “Sir, this is momentous. Finally, somebody up there is thinking straight.”
“Up there. Heaven?”
Bowser seemed to miss the joke, said, “Tokyo, sir. MacArthur’s HQ. This just came from Tenth Corps. Shall I read it?”
Smith could see Bowser’s excitement. “Give it here. You might rip it to pieces.”
Smith took the paper, felt the cold on the man and the paper, moved to a lantern.
Effective at once, all elements Seventh Infantry Division…are attached to First Marine Division. First Marine Division redeploy one regiment without delay from Yudam-ni area to Hagaru-ri area, gain contact with elements of Seventh Infantry Division east of Chosin Reservoir; coordinate all forces in and north of Hagaru-ri in a defense based on Hagaru-ri; open and secure Hagaru-ri and Koto-ri main supply road….
Bowser waited impatiently, said, “Does that mean what it sounds like it means?”
Smith lowered the paper, absorbed the order. “Someone has determined that they require a single command to dig Tenth Corps out of its hole.”
“MacArthur, you think?”
Smith shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it? I’ve been handed the results of someone else’s idiotic decisions. There’s still a finger stirring the pot, though. The middle section…Almond is ordering that we rescue the army units. He also insists we return at least one of our regiments from Yudam-ni. I would assume he will allow us to do the latter before the former. We have no one here now we can spare to go driving up the east side of the reservoir. The army’s own tanks can’t push through. I’m not going to tell Colonel Drysdale that the next duty for his Marines might be the most hopeless task we face.”
Bowser seemed frustrated, pointed to the paper. “Sir, they’ve given you command of the entire situation. Seventh Division included. The whole show.”
“Careful, Alpha. Read between the lines. Yes, I am now in command of those troops who, from all we can determine, are presently surrounded by overwhelming numbers of Chinese forces. The most obvious conclusion here is that General Almond has had his mind changed about pushing us on to the Yalu. He can’t figure out what to do next, so he’s tossing it to me.”
Bowser smiled now. “I’m sorry, sir. But that seems to me to be a positive thing.”
Smith had the sudden aching need for a cup of coffee, looked out to the waiting aide. “Sergeant, there’s a coffeepot in that corner. Will you do what you can to put it to work?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Smith sat again, stared at the covered window, could hear the wind rattling the glass. “They haven’t come yet, have they?”
“The enemy? No, sir. I can’t help but wonder if this cold isn’t killing them as efficiently as we are.”
Smith shook his head. “No. They’re coming. And now I can do what needs to be done. Send in one of the secretaries. I’m preparing orders for Murray and Litzenberg to make immediate preparations to extricate themselves from contact with the enemy at Yudam-ni, to clear the road between Yudam-ni and here. They have worked well together and they can continue to do so.”
The sergeant was there now, said, “Sir, I will fetch Corporal Hanley, if you wish. He’s good with a pencil.”
Bowser motioned toward the door. “Then go fetch him.”
The man moved out quickly, and Smith saw more enthusiasm from Bowser, the man’s pulsating energy, Bowser starting to pace the room. Smith retrieved the pipe again, could hear the percolating of the coffeepot.
“It could all come down on us, Alpha.” Bowser still paced, seemed not to absorb what he was saying. He stopped now, looked at Smith.
“You mean a scapegoat?”
“Of course a scapegoat. Or any other form of goat. Almond thinks he’s handing me enough rope to hang with. It’s our job to show the men out
here, all of the men in this command, that this campaign is a success.”
“I don’t follow you, sir.”
“I could care two hoots how Tokyo or Tenth Corps judges us. But right now, there are near fifteen thousand men out there in this cold who believe somebody’s paying attention.”
“You’ve always been paying attention, sir.”
Smith picked up the paper, held it up. “Now I can do more than that. Now I can fix this thing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Riley
FOX HILL—NOVEMBER 29, 5:00 P.M.
“THIS ISN’T A GOOD SITUATION. But I don’t want to leave this ridge. If they can’t knock us off here, I’m not handing it to ’em for free.”
The others seemed to agree with the captain, Riley hanging close behind Welch, his eyes on Barber’s crude crutches. They had gathered back behind the rocky ridge, mostly out of sight of the snipers across the saddle. The Chinese hadn’t improved their marksmanship, but any gathering outside of the cover of the foxholes would invite more than just the single rifleman. The air cover had been effective, certainly, and Riley guessed, along with Welch, that in the daylight the Chinese would have one eye focused on the skies above them. But the air strikes had not erased the threat. It was plainly obvious that when the Chinese lost any of their machine guns, it was very soon replaced with another.
Late that afternoon, columns of fresh enemy troops had been spotted out to the west of Second Platoon, on the hill across the road. It was an unusual tactic, not much surprise to their assault, the Chinese coming out of the woods, attempting to cross the main road, driving up the hill nearer the aid stations. But Lieutenant Peterson, Second Platoon’s commander, had observed the move along with his men, the columns of troops marching in full view down the draws on the west hill. When they made their strike, it began as it always had, bugles blaring, whistles blowing, but now the Marines were fully prepared. Line after line of Chinese soldiers emerged through the tree line, only to be cut down by the light and heavy machine guns, the BARs and rifles of the men who saw it all coming. The fight lasted no more than a half hour, and to every observer on the hill, it seemed only to have been a one-sided slaughter. Second Platoon lost only a single man killed.