Alpha and Bravo broke into nine groups of two men each in order to break open the prisoner barracks doors and let people out.
The American soldiers bringing up the QBZ-03s entered through the eastern gate and set themselves up in the courtyard.
John reached into his back pocket and came out with the picture of Gregory. The edges were frayed and the image wasn’t terribly recent, but he hoped that someone here would be able to help John find him.
He and Moss kicked in the door to the nearest prison barracks and went in, weapons drawn.
“We’re Americans,” John shouted to rows of empty bunk beds. “And we’re here to free you.” For a moment, his heart stuttered in his chest. The place was empty. Had the people inside already been shipped somewhere else, or worse, had they been killed?
Slowly a frightened woman emerged from behind one of the beds. That was when it dawned on him. They didn’t trust him—probably thought this was some sort of North Korean mind game designed to find out who’d jump at the chance to escape and then execute them on the spot.
“Do I need to start singing a Britney Spears song for you people to do as I say? You’ve got one chance to get out of here and this is it.”
Suddenly more heads popped up and the room that had seemed empty at first was now filled with women in tattered clothing rushing for the door. They seemed weak and befuddled, but John hoped they knew this was only the beginning. He stood by the door as Moss went to the back of the barracks, flushing out any resisters. Outside, the troops who’d brought the weapons ushered the prisoners into the courtyard.
The picture of his son was in John’s hand, illuminated by the glow of his tactical light. “Do any of you know my son? His name is Gregory.”
Several ran past in a hurry, glancing quickly and shaking their heads.
“I just need to know which barracks he’s in.”
An older woman in her late sixties or early seventies with stringy silver hair studied the picture before grinning. “I’ve seen him before. Sweet boy.”
“Where can I find him?”
The expression on her thin face shifted. “I think they killed him.”
John tried to hide the devastation that must have clearly been visible, choking back the sudden urge to vomit.
“I’m so sorry.”
John nodded, covering his mouth. From what seemed like a great distance, he heard the other squad leaders report back over the radio that the prisoners were being assembled in the courtyard and the most able-bodied among them armed. John’s head was still reeling when another message came through, this one from Foxtrot.
“Colonel, we’ve got a large force incoming. At least battalion strength and backed up by ZBD-08 Infantry fighting vehicles.”
The enemy counterattack had come sooner than he expected.
Chapter 38
“Echo,” John called over the walkie, stuffing staggering grief down as far as it would go. “Do you copy?”
“Loud and clear,” the team leader reported back.
“Move your men west to support Foxtrot. There’s a large enemy force coming your way. Could be as many as eight hundred men supported by armor. Use your AT-4s and if it gets too hot, fall back to the prison camp.”
“Roger that.”
John ordered Reese and Hoffman to redeploy north along the tree line so they could get a clear field of fire down 1st Street.
At this rate, they would never be able to get everyone out in time. John had known that going in, so he ordered women, children and anyone too weakened by starvation to fight to head toward the St. Francis reserve. At least there they could hide and stay safe for the time being. If the worst happened and the enemy overran the prison, at least they might have a chance of escape.
Moss ran up to him. “I just ran into what’s left of Charlie. Found them straggling in through the southern gate. Said they got spotted and pinned down after their team leader was killed. Half of them didn’t make it.”
It could have been much worse. “Have some of the armed prisoners take over liberating the barracks and handing out weapons,” John told his number two. “We’re nearly out of time. Grab what you can off of dead guards if need be. And there must be an armory in here somewhere. Find it.”
“Will do,” Moss said, about to run off. “What about the prisoners we’ve already equipped?”
“Get them into the towers along the northwestern wall to help Foxtrot and Echo. I’ll take what’s left of Alpha, Bravo and Charlie out the western gate and see if we can’t flank these guys and catch them in a pincer.”
Moss laughed. “Heinz Guderian would be proud to hear you say that.”
He was referring to the founder of the German blitzkrieg, a tactic used to great effect during World War Two to encircle and destroy large enemy formations.
By the time John assembled the remaining squad members and charged out the western gates, reports were already coming in from Foxtrot that the enemy was approaching the kill zone. A cornfield up ahead would offer the concealment they needed to get within striking range. They reached a depression in the terrain which in the rapidly fading light John assumed was another drainage ditch. But as they drew closer they saw that it was far too deep and wide to be a ditch. The smell of lye became strong, almost overpowering as the beams of their tactical lights illuminated a pit filled with hundreds of bodies. For a moment, the men stood transfixed, unable to look away and struggling to process the sight before them.
“What the heck is this?” Heller, Alpha’s explosives expert, asked.
John switched his light off, feeling the rage surging up his throat like bile. “A mass grave,” he answered. “And it’s filled with dead Americans.”
Chapter 39
After circling around the mass grave, they entered the cornfield and John was thankful to have the smell of decaying bodies replaced with that of damp earth. A violent explosion sounded up ahead as the trap sprang. Echo and Foxtrot were no doubt pouring anti-tank rockets and gunfire into the kill zone. His own men were deployed in a line-abreast formation as they pushed through the rows of cornstalks before them.
A few more meters and they would reach the clearing. Just then John’s radio crackled to life.
“Colonel, we found the armory,” Moss reported. “She’s filled with lots of small arms and grenades.”
“Good news,” John replied, pulling the charging handle on his AR and swinging his rifle into the low ready position.
“Well, if you liked that, then you’re going to love this.”
“Spit it out, Moss, there’s no time for cuteness.”
“We found an 81mm mortar.”
John smiled. “You’re right, I do love it. Set it up on the double. I’ll correct your round placement. Just remember that everything you send downrange will be danger close.”
The firefight was still going strong by the time John and the rest of the men reached the edge of the cornfield. The roadway was filled with enemy soldiers. To the right, a handful of infantry fighting vehicles burned on the road. Squatting behind them were clumps of North Korean soldiers, taking cover. Two platoon-sized reinforcements moved along the opposite side of the road and John called for his men to open fire.
Rounds peppered the unsuspecting enemy soldiers, tearing many of them to pieces. Several tried to fall back into the cornfield on the north side of the road and were cut down. The incoming rounds thudded into men and stalks of corn alike, sending them both tumbling to the ground as though a giant scythe had chopped them at the knee.
Some of the enemy soldiers who made it into the field began returning fire. Bullets whizzed by inches from John’s head, striking ears of corn nearby.
Even over the sound of battle John caught the distant crack of Reese’s sniper rifle and saw the devastating effects first-hand as the rounds found their mark, killing one and sometimes two soldiers at a time. A group of the enemy peeled away from the main force on the road and entered the cornfield to the left of John’s position.
“Bravo,” John shouted over the radio. “We’ve got company along our left flank. Have your men form a line along to intercept them.”
“Will do,” Gardner, the team leader, replied.
That was when the first mortar round came whistling overhead and slammed into the cornfield fifty yards in front of them. John signalled Moss on the radio.
“Left thirty, drop ten,” he said.
“Left thirty, drop ten,” Moss repeated.
Another round came sailing over and exploded ten yards into the cornfield, sending plants and men flying into the air.
“Great shot,” John called back. “Adjust fire. Left ten. Drop five.”
The North Korean soldiers firing at John and the other Americans seemed oblivious that the mortar team was zeroing in on their position. That was the difference between experienced troops and the kind who’d just come out of basic training.
The next mortar was loud as it came whistling in.
“Heads down,” John shouted, not wanting his men to take any shrapnel from so close a strike.
The mortar round struck the edge of the field, churning up soil and men in a giant explosion.
“Heavy contact,” Bravo’s team leader shouted over the radio. “Need reinforcements.”
John shifted what was left of Charlie over to help out while his own men in Alpha continued firing toward the road.
From the rear of their position came the sound of men charging through the cornfield. John turned, his weapon poised, just in time to see skinny men draped in tattered clothing wielding AKs and QBZ-03s. They were prisoners who had likely stripped weapons from the arsenal and were thirsty for revenge. They streamed past John’s men without any concern for their own personal safety. Alpha held their fire as they ran by, the prisoners letting loose with what sounded like the rebel yell as they opened up on a terrified enemy.
John radioed Moss and his mortar team to stand down. For their part, the North Koreans broke and ran in every direction. Many were shot in the back as they tried to flee. Without a doubt, this went against John’s sense of honour and dignity on the battlefield. But in this kind of war, where you were fighting for your very way of life, there wasn’t any room for mercy. As he had said before during that meeting in Oneida, John’s Rough Riders weren’t going to be like Jeb Stuart’s cavalry. They were Bloody Bill Anderson’s men reborn.
With the enemy broken and running back toward Jonesboro, John pulled his men together and made a quick tally of Alpha, Bravo and Charlie’s losses. Five killed and six with mostly minor wounds. They moved over the battlefield, finishing off the enemy wounded and collecting as much gear as they could. Even members of Foxtrot and Echo came to help. It wouldn’t be long before an even bigger force showed up and that meant they needed to leave and fast.
They headed back toward the prison, carrying the men who’d lost their lives, along with the plundered gear.
“What about those yahoos who ran off chasing the North Koreans?” Heller asked, not entirely able to hide his amusement.
“With no way to call them back,” John said, “I guess we’ll just have to let them have their fun and hope they don’t get themselves killed.”
“Colonel,” Moss said over the radio, “I think you better come quick.”
Chapter 40
When John and his men reached the camp, they found Moss and a handful of others waiting for them at the mouth of the western gate. His second-in-command had his arm around a young prisoner in rags, the boy’s cheeks and eye sockets sunken with hunger. But it was only when John got to within a few feet that he recognized his son.
In spite of his weakened condition, Gregory ran into his father’s arms. John clutched him tightly, weeping with disbelief, his hands running over ribs that were never meant to protrude so far.
“I was told you were dead,” John said, unable to stop squeezing. Part of him wondered if this was real or some cruel hallucination.
“It was Brandon,” Gregory replied in a low voice. His chestnut hair was long now and in his face. “He offered to take my place and was taken away.”
“Taken away to where?” John asked, checking his son for wounds.
“To fight for the Chinese.”
They’d conscripted him. It was an inevitable move that had happened countless times throughout history as conquering armies sought to replace depleted manpower. Often that took the form of slave labour camps, like the one they had just liberated. But even the Nazi army had raised troops to fight for its cause in France, Norway and a host of other countries that would surprise many.
“Don’t worry, son,” John said. “We’ll find him and get him back.” John couldn’t help thinking about Emma and how devastated she would be by the news.
“We don’t have long,” Moss reminded him gently. “Several groups of prisoners have already fled into the countryside.”
John looked up, remembering what he’d seen on the way to the cornfield.
“We’re not done yet. I want every North Korean you can find assembled in the courtyard within five minutes.”
“Already done, boss,” Moss replied.
John grinned and clapped him on the back as they headed in that direction.
When they arrived, they found a dozen officers tied to poles. According to Gregory, these men had executed Dixon and countless others. Hearing that made John pause. His time in Iraq and warzones around the world continued to torture him to this very day. He couldn’t imagine what his son had seen in this terrible place and how that might impact him down the road.
“Where are the rest of the guards?” John asked.
Moss shook his head with disgust. “They’re all dead. Fought to the last man or shot in the back trying to run away. Most of these clowns we found hiding under desks or in crawl spaces.” He pointed to a small group of Americans huddled together with the remaining North Korean guards. “And I don’t have words for these ones. Prisoners tell me they’re American collaborators.”
John shook his head. “What about the camp commandant?”
Moss pulled him forward. “We caught him in the process of changing into prisoner’s clothes. Thought he could pull a fast one on us.”
“He speak English?” John asked.
Moss shrugged. “Don’t think so. I slapped him around a few times and all he does is grunt.”
“He does speak English,” Gregory said. “He’s the one who traded me for Brandon.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jang Yong-ho,” Gregory said, struggling with the pronunciation. He pointed to one of the North Korean guards they’d rounded up. “And that guard’s name is Pug Face. He’s the commandant’s pit bull who killed Dixon.”
Moss smacked the guard across the face with the butt of his rifle.
Jang Yong-ho looked on with a blank expression.
“Where are the Americans you conscripted?” John asked the commandant, who didn’t speak. John asked the man next to him. Again, no answer. “Cat got your tongue? Well, maybe you will all understand this. You’re hereby charged and deemed guilty of war crimes. Care to know what your sentence is?”
Moss and the other soldiers stared at John. “Are you sure about this?” his second-in-command asked.
John pointed a finger toward the cornfield. “You walk out that gate and in two minutes you’ll see a pit filled with dead Americans, all killed on this man’s orders. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Freeing ourselves from oppression will mean doing things we might not be proud of. But saving the things we love sometimes requires us to suspend the very ideals this country was founded on. Execute them now, on my order.”
At once, dozens of rifles were raised up, Rough Riders as well as prisoners wielding North Korean rifles.
Jang Yong-ho and Pug Face screamed right as the men fired. John thought Gregory would look away, as he’d done many times in the past when he witnessed violent acts, but his son watched each of the men slump as they fell dead.
/> John drew in a long, ragged breath. “Leave them there, as a reminder of what will happen to anyone who murders innocent Americans.” After that he got on the walkie and ordered his men to collect the wounded and pull back to the treeline. They were heading home.
Chapter 41
Berry Field Air National Guard Base
“When I was growing up in a small village along the banks of the Yellow River, my grandmother loved to tell the tale of Kua Fu Chasing the Sun,” General Wei Liang said as he removed his hat, set it firmly on his desk and used the palm of his hand to tame a stray tuft of thinning hair. Standing before him were his four aides and all of them, including his most trusted, Colonel Guo Fenghui, wore blank expressions.
“You’ve not heard it?” the general asked them. He was a natural-born storyteller and might have pursued a life in the theatre had his father not pushed him to enter the military academy at a young age.
Colonel Guo shook his head.
Liang smiled. “It’s an ancient and delightful tale. Long before humans, giants roamed the earth. Their leader Kua Fu was sworn to protect his people. One year the weather became incredibly hot, scorching the crops and subjecting his followers to torturous heat from the sun. Kua Fu vowed to catch the sun and bind it to his will. He chased it like the wind as it fled across the sky. As he did, the dust from his shoes became the hills and his walking stick the forests and the trees. After nine days and nights, he finally caught up to the sun, but its fire was too intense and it made him thirsty. Kua drank from the Yellow and Wei Rivers, but it wasn’t enough and before he could reach the Great Lake, Kua died of thirst.”
His aides continued to stare at the general, befuddled. If there was a lesson he was trying to get across, they weren’t getting it.
Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4) Page 13