This time, however, there is a difference in the circumstances under which we await them: our ammunition is practically exhausted. The solution to our problem may lie in the grenade on the edge of my trench—a grenade which will release a great cloud of violet coloured smoke when I throw it forward. But there is only one of these grenades. I must judge the moment carefully or we shall be under the fire of our own aircraft as well as that from the Chinese.
High above us, their silver wings shining in the sunlight, the F 80s are circling before making their run-in. The flight-leader is already turning to begin the air strike. I unscrew the black bakelite cap of the grenade, half unwind the tape, and throw it up into the air with all my might. It lands beyond the tree trunks on the path and bursts. Released, the violet smoke seems to hang for a moment in a dense cloud, then spreads across the ridge, obscuring the mound, the track, and the dwarf oaks from our view.
This is an anxious moment. If I have thrown the grenade too soon, the smoke that marks the forward edge of our positions will have dispersed before the aircraft reach us, and the chances are that they will release their terrible load as much on us as upon the Chinese. If the Chinese are ready to attack instantly, are sufficiently well-controlled to seize their opportunity, they will rise under cover of the smoke and rush us in such strength that our few weapons will be unable to destroy them before we are overwhelmed. Twenty—maybe thirty—seconds will show what turn in events the smoke grenade will bring.
There is a shout from the rear; a distant whine grows to a deafening high-pitched scream; a great, tumbling wave of air descends on the position, forcing the red dust up all around us in a choking cloud; one’s mind retains an impression of a silver object that appeared and, in the same instant that it was perceived, disappeared. The F 80s are making their strike!
In passing, they have dispersed the violet marker smoke except for a single tentacle that hangs in the air just to the left of the track. Our eyes do not linger upon this. Forward, where the dwarf oaks and pines stood, there is a raging mass of flame, still rising, still spreading, from the napalm tanks the planes have dropped. There will be no attack from this direction for a time; and the men who lay in readiness beneath the cover of the oaks will never rise to make their charge. The aircraft make a second run. This time we are less concerned with watching for the enemy and see, in the brief moment that they pass over us, that they fly across the mound half-right. As they reach us, they release two aluminium tanks and these descend upon the rear approaches to the mound. They are napalm tanks; ignited, the jellied gasoline bursts out and up into a great sheet of yellow flame, consuming everything that it envelops. Now it is the turn of the mound itself. On the third run, the 80s drop their tanks early, before they reach us, and the tanks drop on to the very area from which the enemy machine-guns were firing. They are firing no longer.
In all, the air-strike involved seven runs; for, after they had dropped their napalm, they returned to distribute their rockets and machine-gun fire amongst the mortar crews, the reserve assault waves, and a heavy machine-gun firing down into Tom’s position from the east. I watched them climb back to the white clouds as they returned to base to refuel and re-arm. As the shapes receded, I saw three more coming towards us from the south-east, flying at about ten thousand feet. They were transport aircraft and they had our supplies aboard. It was nine thirty; in half an hour we might begin to look for the relief column; in the meantime we were about to receive a supply drop. On our own front, the enemy had received a setback which would take them at least an hour to overcome—in fact, the time it would take to bring forward more reinforcements from, say, the area of Castle Hill. Things were really looking up! I followed the flight of the transports as they flew over us, expecting them to circle preparatory to a run-in.
They began to turn before they reached the Imjin, altering course towards the west. All at once, I realized that they were flying out of sight, had disappeared, indeed, in a direction that would take them out to sea. I was pondering over this when I got a hail from Sergeant-Major Gallagher.
“You’re wanted at Battalion Headquarters, sir,” he called. I told Sergeant Tuggey to take charge and ran back across the hilltop. On the reverse slope, the Sergeant-Major was busy trying to repair a Bren by removing parts from two others, also damaged. The wounded had long since been removed to the Regimental Aid Post.
“You’d better watch that ridge as you go back, sir,” said the Sergeant-Major. “There’s a machine-gun firing from the west—somewhere across the valley, I should think.”
He was still warning me as a burst of tracer shot across the ridge from the west. It was a long burst and, while it lasted, separated A Company from Battalion Headquarters. Once it ceased, it was time to go. I dashed back along the ridge like a quarter-miler, only stopping when I reached the Rear-Link wireless set. The whole Headquarters had moved from the position I had left earlier that morning, principally because of the machine-gun firing from the west. It was this weapon that had killed Richard as he walked across to the wireless set where Dawe and Allum kept watch. He was killed instantly, of course, for the round entered his forehead. As I passed the spot where he lay, I could hardly believe that he was really dead; it was impossible that someone as full of life and fun as he was could be cut down as suddenly as that.
The Colonel was sitting by himself below the Rear-Link set, looking at his map. He stood up as I approached, looking so completely calm that I had no idea of the importance of his news. I might have known that he would not have called me back to discuss some commonplace.
“You know that armoured/infantry column that’s coming up from 3 Div to relieve us,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, it isn’t coming.”
I said, “Right, sir.” There did not seem to be much else to say.
The Colonel continued with all the news he had to that moment. It appeared that the Chinese were now pressing so hard to the east that the relief column intended for us would be required to cover the withdrawal of the Division through Uijongbu, below which the new defence line was being established. Our commitment was at an end; in a short time, under cover of the guns, we should commence to fight our way south.
Mike, called back from D Company Headquarters, joined us; and Bob, the Doctor; the Gunners came over; Sam appeared from Support Company Headquarters across the way, where he lodged with Spike; Guido came doubling up from the south-east to represent Denis; and last of all, Henry climbed up from the Drums position, which he had been visiting. The Colonel explained the position and gave us our orders for the withdrawal from the main feature. We should move south-west towards the right flank of the Ist ROK Division, where tanks had come forward to assist them. The Colonel took us to the edge of the ridge and pointed out the route we should take: at least there would be cover once we reached the end of the valley. We were to start at ten o’clock. When he had finished, he paused for a moment before turning to Bob.
“Bob,” he said, eventually. “I’m afraid we shall have to leave the wounded behind.”
Bob paused, too—just for a moment—before he replied.
“Very well, sir,” he said; “I quite understand the position.”
We went back to our respective places of duty to make preparations for the withdrawal.
A Company were to be the first to withdraw. We distributed our remaining ammunition amongst those fit to bear arms and made the walking wounded as comfortable as possible. Each rifleman had three rounds; each Bren, one and a half magazines: each Sten, a half magazine. There were seven Mills grenades left and four white-phosphorus smoke. With this armament, we were going to fight our way back across at least four miles of hill country. We destroyed everything that might be of the smallest use to the enemy and then sat back to await the time when we should move.
We were so thirsty. The few rations distributed during the previous night remained almost untouched; only the tins of fruit and milk had been opened. Sitting there, on the fo
rward slope of Hill 235, we thought of all the water that was flowing, at that very moment, down the Imjin River to be wasted in the sea! In front of us, the blackened surface of the hill still smoked from the napalm fires; the mound lay bare and deserted—no longer a menace, now that its cover was destroyed. One by one, the minutes ticked away towards ten o’clock.
At three minutes to ten, I gave the sign to Jumbo to set off with the main body of A Company. Although there was no sign of the enemy, we knew that we were under observation and wished, of course, to keep from him, as long as possible, the news that we were leaving our position. At ten, exactly, the small party that remained got out of their trenches under cover of white-phosphorus smoke and withdrew across the hilltop. The job was over; a new task was begun.
Back on the ridge, I saw that Jumbo was waiting with the main body just above Support Company Headquarters, where a section of the machine-guns was established to cover Hill 235. A Company moved off, and I rejoined Battalion Headquarters; for A Company were now so weak that one officer could command them without difficulty. I reached the Colonel just as he finished talking on the Rear-Link wireless, and I saw that his face was grave.
“Let Sam know,” he said, “that I have just been told by the Brigadier that the guns are unable to support us—the gun lines are under attack themselves. Our orders are quite simple: every man to make his own way back.”
He began talking to the other companies on the wireless, as I ran over to Sam’s Headquarters. All was bustle now. Above Spike’s positions, the machine-gun section were destroying their heavy gear as I went back to the ridge. Nearby, I met Bob returning to the Regimental Aid Post from a talk with the Colonel. The signallers had already destroyed their sets, and Henry was stamping on the ashes of the codebook he had just burnt. We were all ready to move. In small groups, the Headquarters split up and ran over the ridge. When they had gone, I, too, came up on to the ridge crest and prepared to descend the other side. Bob was standing alone by the path that led to the steep slopes below us.
“Come on, Bob,” I said. “We’re about the last to go—you ought to have gone before this. The Colonel will be off in a minute and that will be the lot.”
He looked at me for a moment before saying:
“I can—t go. I must stay with the wounded.”
For a few seconds I did not comprehend his meaning: we were all making our way out—there seemed a very fair chance that some of us would make it; to stay here was to stay certainly for capture, possibly for death, when the Chinese launched their final assault on the position. And then I realized that he had weighed all this—weighed it all and made a deliberate choice: he would place his own life in the utmost jeopardy in order to remain with the wounded at the time when they would need him most. Somewhere, the words appear, “Greater love hath no man than this.…” I knew now exactly what those words meant. Too moved to speak again, I clapped my hand upon his shoulder and went on.
By now, the greater portion of the Battalion who had descended from my end of the ridge had reached the valley floor. Scrambling, slipping, jumping from rock to rock, I caught up the rear of Support Company and Battalion Headquarters. Of D Company, there was no sign. We turned towards the saddle at the head of the valley, south-west of us. Once over this, we should find cover to conceal our movements from the enemy; cover through which we might move towards the tanks, who had come forward to assist the Ist ROK Division to withdraw to the new defence line. Even now, I could see figures clambering up to the top of the saddle; some were already over the top. We hurried on along the stony path, careless of anything but speed. If we were to escape capture, we must reach the saddle. There was no hope of concealment on the bare slopes on either side of us; for what little cover there had been was burning from the napalm attacks made earlier in the day. A little way from the saddle, the main valley divided and we took the right branch. The way narrowed, forcing us to march in single file in places. A stream, which rose at the head of this branch, wove in and out across the path, and the surface became slippery with mud from our boots as we crossed a succession of fords. Nearer the foot of the saddle, where a patch of dead bushes formed a transparent arch over the stream, I saw that one of the Gunner officers was lying, face down, the back of his battledress blouse soaked in blood. I glanced at him in passing, and thought I recognized Frank.
All the way up the valley I had heard machine-gun fire sounding and resounding among the hills; but none had been directed at us. Only now, as we drew near to the saddle, as the walls of the valley seemed to close right in upon us in this dark and cheerless spot—now almost a ravine—did we feel the breath of the enemy’s fire. From the hills on either side, from the hills to our rear, light and heavy machine-guns fired towards us. Yet they did not hit us. There can be no doubt that, had they wished to, they could have mown us down like grass before a scythe. Exposed entirely to their weapons, we moved along the path under the very muzzles. The message that they conveyed was quite plain: we are up here; you are down there; you are exposed; we are concealed and you are in our sights. As we moved on, the fire from three machine-guns came down again, this time a good deal lower—unmistakably lower. I knew there was but one course open to me if the men with me were to remain alive for more than five minutes. Feeling as if I was betraying everything that I loved and believed in, I raised my voice and called:
“Stop!”
They stopped and looked towards me, their faces expectant. I shall never know what order they anticipated. Then I said:
“Put down your arms!”
A few seconds later, just at the foot of the saddle, I heard Sam say the same thing to those with whom he had moved. The words rang in my ears like an echo, a shameful echo. After all that we had done, after all the effort we had exerted in fulfilling our task, this was the end: surrender to the enemy!
PART TWO
UNEASY LEISURE
CHAPTER ONE
IT was difficult to realize that we were captives. For a few minutes we stood about on the narrow valley path, held there by weapons and men at least two hundred yards away. I still had some tobacco and, removing my pouch from a pocket sweat-soaked after my recent exertions, I filled and lit my pipe. Hardly a word was said between any one of us; the position was now clear to all as we awaited the next move—a move that lay with the enemy. Perhaps one man asked another for a match to light his cigarette; perhaps another whispered a question to a comrade—but there was nothing more than this. The whole valley had fallen silent; and so had we.
We did not have to wait very long. Sam had just strolled down to join me when we heard a shout from the main valley. Running towards us were three men; three Chinese soldiers. These were the men who were to put the seal on our capture. As they drew closer, we examined them with curiosity; for this was our first chance to look at the enemy dispassionately—except for the prisoners that we had taken earlier in the year. Now we were the prisoners; and they were the very soldiers against whom we had just been fighting. They approached us, obviously very excited and very pleased with themselves.
They were all short men by our standards, but two of them were stocky, and of these two, one had an exceptionally pock-marked face. They wore the ragged yellow-khaki cotton uniforms we were accustomed to seeing them in—though the pock-marked man had apparently tried to patch his, with material of a different colour. They all carried burp-guns and kept their spare magazines in cheap web and leather belts strapped round their waists. None had a badge of any sort, but I noticed that the leader—one of the stocky pair—had a mark in the centre of his cap above the peak, which had quite obviously been made by a badge. The cloth of his cap had faded a good deal except where this badge had been, but at that point showed clearly the outline of a five-pointed star.
They were not unfriendly; that is to say, they did not maltreat us, though they would not let us carry those of the walking wounded who were too exhausted to go farther. It never occurred to us, of course, that they would maltreat us—much le
ss, kill us. After all, this was the mid-twentieth century, and we had every right to expect to be treated as human beings by troops of a nation constantly proclaiming its humanitarianism. They were really quite incapable of controlling us; they certainly had not the first idea how to organize us; and there were many arguments between themselves as to whether we should be allowed to drink from the mountain stream, whether we should be permitted to smoke or not, and so on. Had it not been for the fact that those infernal machine-guns still covered us, we would have disarmed them and sent them on their way—if only because they so exasperated us with their manifest indecision as to what to do. Eventually, by sign-language, Sam determined that they had decided to move us back down the valley. So back down the valley we went. We were certainly not going to spend the rest of the day sitting under the machine-guns in that dark little ravine.
The main valley was filled with sunlight. But for our circumstances, it would have been rather pleasant to stroll along the track, chatting. As it was, exhausted, hungry, captive, it merely eased our situation that the weather was so fine! We drew near to the foot of the slope, which we had descended originally in our withdrawal from the ridge, and found another group of prisoners awaiting us, under a very much stronger guard. Guy was there— beginning his second spell in captivity—the Drum-Major, Sergeant Peglar—as many as fifty others; so many of us had been caught, it seemed. We could only hope that the others had all got away. We stayed there for some time, and I decided to re-open with Sam the topic which I had broached at the point of capture: escape! The night would surely bring a good opportunity, and we must be ready for it. Originally, before I realized that Sam was only just ahead of us, I had discussed the prospect with Crompton, the Intelligence Sergeant, and Lucas. They were game to come with me if we could only keep together; and I now told Sam that I felt confident that the four of us could make it together. We began to discuss ways and means, while Peglar discreetly assembled one or two items of gear that we should find useful.
The Edge of the Sword Page 7