Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

Sexton stiffened, no sign of his usual good humor. “Completely, sir.”

Sexton withdrew, and Smith glared at Hering, the doctor offering none of his usual arguments to Smith’s orders. Smith said, “I want the evac area tightened up so much, they won’t let me on a plane. Check every man.”

“It will be done, sir.”

Smith tried to calm down, looked across the tent, faces watching him from every cot. He suddenly recalled why he was here, lowered his voice. “Doctor, there’s a Marine officer brought in this morning. Captain Stamford. I want to see him, if he’s able. That is, if he’s still here.”

The doctor seemed relieved to change the subject, said, “He’s still here, and he’s able.” Hering checked the clipboard in his hand. “I’ve got him scheduled to evacuate tomorrow. That last row, second cot from the end.”

Smith moved that way, tried to avoid the odors, the soft sounds from those men not quite conscious. He reached Stamford’s cot, saw the captain’s eyes closed, had a brief argument with himself. Don’t disturb him. Well, yes, disturb him. I’ve got things to do.

“Captain, you awake?”

Stamford’s eyes opened, wider now, surprise on the man’s face. “General Smith.”

Stamford tried to raise his right arm, the instinct for saluting, thick bandages holding him back.

“Leave it be, Captain. How bad are you hit?”

“Doc says I’ll live. Guess that’s the best news there is. They chewed me up pretty good. The enemy captured me twice, but they’re a little sloppy. I got away from ’em both times. Not so some of the others. I lost two of my men, Corporal Myron Smith, Private Billy Johnson. It was pretty bad up there, sir.”

“I’m sorry. But I want to hear your take on what happened up there. Is it true that Colonel Faith didn’t make it? Or do we list him as missing?”

Stamford shook his head slowly. “He didn’t make it, sir. I saw him after he was wounded. It was pretty bad. He caught a grenade. One of his people, a driver, said he died in the cab of a truck.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“More sorry than you know, sir. It’s not just about being a good soldier. Colonel Faith did everything in a man’s power to get his people out of that jam. Somebody let him down, sir. It’s not for me to say.”

“Say it anyway, Captain.”

Stamford seemed to study him for a long moment. “I’ll not go on the record with this, sir. There’s no future in it.”

Smith let out a breath, sat down slowly beside the cot, a glance to the man beside Stamford, heavily bandaged around his face and head. “Captain, there’s going to be hell to pay no matter what the facts are. Colonel Faith was part of my command, a choice I didn’t make. But the responsibility for what happened up there is on my shoulders. Part of the job.” He paused. “And, if nothing else, I would think Colonel Faith’s family ought to know if he did something worth mentioning. Now, who let him down?”

Stamford glanced past Smith, no other ears close enough to hear. “They left us out in the cold, sir. Whoever made the decision to pull the tanks away. We made it down to where the armor had been based. I saw a busted-up tank myself at Hudong-ni. If those boys had been there, had they come up to help us out, it might have been different. Who gave that order, sir?”

Smith shook his head. “I can’t say, Captain. I won’t say, right now. Someone else will ask that question, somebody with more stars on his shoulder than I have.”

“Sir, we were cut off completely. I did as much as I could with the air boys, and we took out a hell of a lot of Chinese. But there was no chance for us. The troops just sorta fell apart. They were green, sir, way too green to be sent out there like that. I don’t fault the officers. I saw most of ’em go down. Good men, doing all they could to get their men to safety. There were too many Chinese. Everywhere you looked, every bend in the road, the enemy had occupied a ridgeline, a hill. They poured fire on us every yard we moved. I’ll not say any more about the army, sir. I’ve already heard that kind of jabbering, that Marines would have walked out of there with enemy heads stuck on our bayonets. There’s too much of that bull already flying around this tent.” He paused, glanced around. “There was plenty of bull up there, too. General Almond flew up to see Colonel Faith.”

“I know. He flew out of here.”

“Well, sir, the general had a pocketful of medals with him, Silver Stars. He gave one to Faith, wanted to pass ’em out like party favors, give one to anybody who stepped up. When he left, Colonel Faith ripped it off his coat, dropped it in the snow. General Almond acted like he was doing us a favor just by showing up. Don Faith knew better. The general might as well have told those men they were being sacrificed, left to the four winds. Is that what the plan was, sir? ‘ You boys stepped in it, now figure out how to fix things yourself ’? It wasn’t right, sir.” He paused. “I ought not be saying this to you. When the morphine wears off, I’ll wish like hell I’d have kept my mouth shut. Generals look out for each other, isn’t that how it works?”

“Captain, nobody’s looking out for me. I can’t speak for General Almond, and I won’t speak against him. But nobody’s covering this up, and nobody is going to ignore what happened to Colonel Faith or his men.”

Stamford turned his head, looked away. “If you say so, sir.”

He could see the pain in Stamford’s face, could tell the man was more angry than his wounds could tolerate. There was a pair of corpsmen watching him from across the tent, concern on their faces, and Smith stood slowly, fought the pains in his joints, knew he had taxed Stamford’s energy. Stamford looked at him again, blinked wearily, unable to hide the pain, said, “Are you a religious man, sir?”

It was an odd question, but Smith had no reason to keep anything from this man.

“I follow the Christian Scientists, Captain. Yes, I am.”

“I just want it known, and I’ll put this on the record. I swear to you, sir, Colonel Faith did all he could to save his men. They didn’t have the equipment, the weaponry, and most of the soldiers didn’t have the experience or the training to do the job. And worse…it was like God was looking the other way. That’s what it felt like. We were marching through the worst part of hell, and no one, not even God, paid any attention.”

HAGARU-RI—DECEMBER 3, 1950, 2:00 P.M.

For the better part of the day, the radios had come alive in the command tent, word finally coming down from the main road northward, progress being made by Murray and Litzenberg. The fights were continuous, the Chinese anchored all along the route, but the reports continued to come, the latest that most of the column had pushed through Toktong Pass. Smith had stayed close, heard for himself the struggle of his men who pursued the enemy. By midafternoon the sounds of the fighting could be heard in Hagaru-ri, occasional thunder from artillery, or tank fire, the column halting long enough for the bigger guns to add their power to push away yet another Chinese roadblock. The Corsairs were there as well, formations roaring past, Smith welcoming the power they added to the fight.

He had gathered up most of his staff, no great challenge to that task, his headquarters still undermanned. He studied the faces, Bowser cheerful, as usual, Williams, the others waiting for whatever he would tell them to do.

“Have we heard anything more from the enemy north of here?”

Bowser shook his head, said, “No more than usual. Colonel Ridge hasn’t indicated any signs that the Chinese are intending to hit us here. Their focus seems to be on the men coming down the main road.”