Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

“Pay attention. Warming tents are over that way, and there’s rations just past, in the mess tents. Lieutenant Hunt here will show you the way. I’m heading back out, seeing if I can round up any more of you characters.”

Smith saw Hunt now, the young officer buried in his coat, responding to Beall’s command, herding the troops into a makeshift parade, leading them to a waiting truck. Smith focused more on the soldiers now, some men barely able to walk, assisted by others in no better condition. He let them pass, the lieutenant eyeing him, a sudden salute.

“Sir.”

Smith returned it with a gloved hand, said nothing, the soldiers moving past him at a shuffle, most ignoring him. There was no talk, no smiles, and Smith had a sudden thought, the image of prisoners of war, marching off to their camps.

Sexton was beside him now, cold legs marching in place, the futile routine of every one of his staff when he brought them out into the chill. He felt it himself, the usual tremors in his hands, clamped them under his arms, moved closer to the fire, and Beall’s jeep. Beall jumped down, seemed to notice the two officers for the first time, and Smith saw annoyance on the man’s face, a snarl of impatience.

“What can I do for you two?” Smith said nothing, stood straight, gave Beall the time to study him. He saw it now, the burst of recognition in the colonel’s eyes, but Beall was unrepentant, said, “Didn’t expect to see you, General. I’ve got to get back out on the ice. My boys are out there still, hauling in whatever catch we can find.”

Olin Beall was nearly as old as Smith, the Hollywood image of the crusty old veteran, with more than thirty years in the Corps. He was one of the very few men Smith had in his command who had actually served in World War I.

“Colonel, I’ve been told you’re doing some fine work out here. How many men have you found?”

He knew Beall would appreciate a minimum of conversation, Beall nodding briefly, the only show of formality he offered.

“Dozens. Lost count, but I’ll have a report for you when we’re done. They’re a mess, General. No fight left in ’em at all. Found a pile of ’em hiding along the shoreline, anyplace they could keep away from the enemy. Some of ’em couldn’t walk, frostbite, whatnot. Took some of my trucks out there the last run and hauled a bunch straight to the tents. They’re mostly frozen stiff, some bad wounds. Some of ’em are worth a salute, helping the worst of the wounded. Brave damn men. Others. Well, less so. Damn Chinese tried to slow us down, we took out a pile of snipers along the shore. Sir, I need to get back out there. No idea how many more we’ll find.”

Smith nodded, Beall responding without speaking, jumping into the jeep, driving it himself, spinning around in the snow, a quick surge toward the edge of the reservoir. Smith watched the jeep rolling out onto the snow-covered ice, could see a small truck coming in toward him, had a sudden fear, wondered about the strength of the ice. But the two vehicles passed each other, Beall waving the truck’s driver back toward the shore. Smith said to Sexton, “Only advantage to this cold. If that ice wasn’t solid, there’d be an even bigger mess.”

Sexton shivered, said, “He’s not about to lose a single jeep by drowning it. He’d rather drown you.”

Smith ignored the comment, said, “He deserves a medal for this.” Smith blinked, the ice already crusting around his eyes. He was tempted to move closer to the fire, two of Beall’s men stoking it with scrap timbers. But there was a better way to warm himself, where a coffeepot could be found. “Let’s get over to the aid tent. I want a better look at some of these soldiers. If there’s some officers to be found, I want to know just what happened out there.”

“How many more flights are we expecting today, General?”

Smith removed his coat, saw the anxiety in the doctor’s face. “As many as they’ll send us. There’s still plenty of daylight, and the enemy seems to ignore most of the planes.”

Hering wiped his hands on his white smock, said, “I’d like to see another couple hundred men out of here as soon as possible. I’m hoping you will allow the lot of the wounded to leave before the rest of the men. That will require a good many of those small transports.”

Smith tossed the coat to Sexton behind him, realized the doctor was making an assumption he had already heard from some of the other officers. “Doctor, the men who can fight are not flying out of here at all. Quite the opposite. I’ve ordered replacements to be flown in on the planes you’re using for transport. No point in flying empty boxes up here. We’ve got new recruits down at the ports, plus there are a good many of the wounded who’ve recovered well enough to fight. I’ve ordered as many as possible to be transported up here.”

Hering seemed surprised. “Good Lord, why?”

“Doctor, our next mission is to make the move southward, pulling this entire force back to the seaports. We’ve got far too many vehicles and far too much ordnance here just to leave it all to the enemy. If the Chinese observe us loading up plane after plane with fighting men, all hell will break out. They’ll push as hard as they can, disrupt the entire operation, probably with a general assault, and I’m certain they’ll do everything they can to knock those planes out of the air. We’re fighting our way out of here, Doctor. There’s no other way. The replacements will add considerably to our strength.”

Hering seemed distressed, said, “Well, in that case, I have a problem to report. I have kept a very accurate count of the wounded men whom we’ve prepared for evacuation. But we’re shipping far more men out of here than I have on my lists. It seems, sir, that there are able-bodied men, including a good many of the newly arrived army personnel, who are doing all they can to hitch a ride out of here, wounded or not.”

Now Smith was surprised, said, “That’s unacceptable, Doctor. Put a stop to it.”

“Well, yes, sir. I’m assuming that some of the men are burying themselves under blankets, and…God I hate using the word. They’re simply faking it. I came across one man, moans and groans, calling for his mama. I didn’t have him on my list, so I had my aide take a look under the cover. No injury, no wound. He admitted as much, begged me to let him go. I didn’t have orders not to, so we stuck him on the plane.”

“That was a mistake, Doctor. How often has this happened? How many men have you let slip?”

Hering folded his arms across his chest, resigned to Smith’s anger. “This morning, I had four hundred fifty men awaiting evacuation. So far we’ve loaded up better than nine hundred men. I’ve no idea where they all came from. My tents couldn’t hold that many if I wedged ’em in with a crowbar. And I still have two hundred seriously wounded here waiting for a spot.”

Smith felt his anger boiling, his jaw clamped tight. “How many of those men have been Marines?”

“You mean, compared to army troops? I can’t be sure. It seemed to us this morning that a majority of the men boarding the C-47s were army.”

Smith closed his eyes for a brief moment, thought of Almond. You’ll love it if I raise Cain about this. One more reason to slam the door on anything the Marines might need down the road. I can hear you bitching now. All we do is find reasons to fault the army .

“Put a stop to this nonsense, Doctor.” He turned to Sexton. “Captain, have a squad of MPs sent over here on the double. I want an MP on each plane, keeping a tight watch on the boarding. Nobody leaves here who isn’t worthy, who doesn’t have a pass signed by Dr. Hering. You understand that?”