William Weber - Turning the Tide

Pushing back onto this feet, John spotted Heller and three other men from Alpha already at the gate, prepping the charge.

“Cover on eastern gate,” John radioed to Reese and Hoffman.

“On it,” came the reply.

When the charge was set, Heller and the others pulled back and dropped to the ground.

A second later, the satchel detonated with such force it tossed the gate twenty feet into the air, where it landed on an unsuspecting guard.

Heller looked surprised and elated. “Hole in one.”

“Good job,” John said, before he got on the walkie and ordered the men tasked with carrying the QBZ-03s to come forward. The minute those prisoners were freed, he wanted to arm as many of them as he could.

With that done, Alpha surged forward and into the camp. If everything had gone smoothly on Bravo’s end, he expected to meet them somewhere in the center of camp. As for Charlie, he could only hope he would see them there too.

Half-dressed North Korean troops stormed from their military barracks in the center of camp directly into the sights of John and his men. Dropping down to one knee, John and the other members of Alpha opened fire, mowing them down in a hail of bullets. Each team member knew their role and which angle to cover as the group pushed forward. When Bravo showed up a moment later, pouring in fire from the south, the North Koreans’ will to fight seemed to dissolve entirely. Many enemy soldiers ran for the front gate where they were met by Echo and quickly eliminated.

John met up with Bravo’s squad leader, a young, quiet soldier named Gardner. “Any word from Charlie?” John asked, hopeful.

Working a piece of chewing tobacco under his bottom lip, Gardner spat on the ground. “Not yet, sir.”

Staring down the path that looked onto the western gate, John saw that it hadn’t been blown. That meant Charlie was still out there, wounded or possibly KIA. “All right, let’s proceed with the mission. We can check on them once we free these prisoners.”

Sporadic gunfire signaled pockets of enemy soldiers still holding out. John checked his stopwatch. Ten minutes had already gone by. They would need to hurry before reinforcements arrived.

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.

“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.