Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

“You’re breathing on me now. Back off.”

Bowser obeyed, the chair sliding back. He had a map of his own, Almond’s aide completing the task. Bowser grunted, and Smith knew why. Smith said, “General Almond, these maps are in Japanese. Have we none of our own?”

Almond shrugged. “The maps would be the same. Only the names would be different. I give credit to our Japanese allies for providing us with such helpful tools. Their loyalty to General MacArthur is most extraordinary. Are the routes of march, the troops deployments, not clear to you, Smith?”

Smith scanned the map, the red lines showing the Marine units extending northward, concluding at a town called Hagaru-ri. Beyond the town to the north was a three-pronged lake, a reservoir the map named Chosin, created by what seemed to be a dam. Smith felt a familiar twist, a punch of uncertainty. He looked up at Almond.

“This is all too clear. You are intending us to advance some, what? Sixty miles? Seventy? You have indicated that the First Regiment is to maintain position close to here, while the Fifth and the Seventh move up toward this body of water.”

Almond’s annoyance seemed to bloom all over again. “More than that, Smith. Your Colonel Puller shall advance southward, protecting the rear of your division down as far as the village of…oh, damn…what’s it called?”

To one side, an aide whispered loudly, “Kojo, sir.”

“Yes. Kojo. At least one battalion shall move westward, to the area around Majon-ni. One would think these people could name their towns something more convenient.”

Smith scanned the map, his hands with a hard grip on the stiff paper. “Kojo is…forty miles to the south. Majon-ni is no closer.” He looked at Almond now, who seemed to ignore him, speaking in a low voice to his aide. “General, I am not comfortable extending our lines such a distance.”

Almond seemed surprised. “Tell me, Smith, do you not have confidence in your man Puller?”

Smith stifled a low growl, closed his eyes for a brief moment. “I have complete faith in Colonel Puller. But even Puller will object to his regiment being scattered to the four winds. You would have the Fifth and Seventh begin their march to the north, while Lewie is moving in the opposite direction. Support will be difficult at best. Once Litzenberg reaches this reservoir, he will be tied to our supply bases along the coast by one primary road. Do we know the quality of that road? Its vulnerabilities?”

Almond glanced toward his aide. “I told you there would be argument.” He looked again at Smith. “Dammit, we have considered this plan in every detail. We have already allowed the enemy to escape our clutches by delaying our advance. That shall not happen again. Your Marines pride themselves on their speed, yes? Their ability to fight off any force with a handful of their own? I’ve heard all of that bravado. Well, show me why I should believe it. Puller’s men will work alongside ROK units to secure your rear, your left flank, and the port of Wonsan. Your other two regiments will drive northward with as much haste as you can muster. Our goal is the Yalu River, and with that, we shall end this war, Smith. Simple as that. I’ve already passed along the information that, once the enemy has surrendered, or been annihilated, two of your regiments are scheduled to return home. That should put a fire under their backsides, don’t you agree?”

Smith looked down. “I will not tell them that. I am much more comfortable having them in fighting spirit, rather than spending their hours each day contemplating home.”

Almond looked at Barr. “What about you? Is the Seventh Division not anxious to end this thing? Perhaps show their Marine brothers just how well the army can manage things? I have known very few soldiers who do not carry memories of loved ones with them into combat. Homesickness is a powerful motivator. Don’t you agree?”

Barr glanced at Smith. “I prefer to keep such orders within my headquarters, until it is an appropriate time to communicate them.”

Almond clamped his hands on his hips. “Is this defeatism I’m hearing? Do you not understand what the job is? The enemy is in chaos, he is retreating willy-nilly. This has become a mopping-up operation, and the sooner we can complete this, the sooner we may all return to our homes and loved ones. Good God, why the doubts? Shall I report to General MacArthur that the Tenth Corps cannot keep pace with the Eighth Army because we fear the enemy is still dangerous? Even Walton Walker understands the prize that awaits him, and I promise you, he will seek any means to embarrass this command. They have already captured and occupied Pyongyang and are certain to reach the Yalu before us if we do not put our people into motion. All right, I have heard enough gloom from you. You have your orders, and I will see them carried out. You will advance with all speed toward the Yalu River, and should you engage the enemy along the way, you shall destroy him. Now go. Dismissed.”

Almond left the room, clearly disgusted, his aides in tow. The remaining staff officers gathered behind their commanders, Bowser sneezing again. Barr moved closer to Smith, said to Bowser, “Take care of that cold, Colonel. I imagine we are all to be on our toes for the next few weeks.” He looked at Smith now, shook his head. “He does not believe the enemy is dangerous. That could be a mistake.”

Smith held up the map. “I am being told to spread my division over dozens of miles, in places we are not familiar with, supplied by a single road. There are a number of towns along the route, and to my knowledge, none of them are secured. I’m not sure just how dangerous the enemy needs to be. There is danger enough in our own arrogance.”

FIRST MARINE DIVISION COMMAND POST—WONSAN—NOVEMBER 2, 1950

Puller was pacing, the smoke from his cigar swirling up around his head. “This is idiocy, O.P. I’ve got men holding off enemy troops in every direction. What kind of support am I getting?”

Smith kept his eyes on the map, glanced up, saw Sexton on the far side of the room. “Captain, go someplace else.”

Sexton obeyed, was out of the room, the door closing.

“I would prefer if you not address me like that in front of staff.”

Puller yanked the cigar from his mouth. “My apologies, General . But, Christ Almighty. You’ve got me spread all over creation out there. My battalions are too scattered to support each other. I was told there was no enemy anywhere in the area, and my men are taking fire as we speak. We’ve run slam into whole flocks of North Korean troops, popping up like so many bands of guerrillas. We wondered what the hell happened to all those enemy who escaped us at Inchon? Well, here they are. We’re on their ground now, and they don’t seem to like it one bit. But Christ, O.P., I was told to expect a nuisance, flocks of Korean jackrabbits that might try to raid our supply posts. It’s a whole lot more than that. Right now I’m taking casualties. We didn’t expect to have to dig in just to hold a bunch of nameless hills.” He paused, a hard glare at Smith. “I know damn well that wasn’t your doing. What the hell’s happening?”

“I need them to hold on. How much heat are they taking?”

“Enough. But they’ll hold. I’m heading down to Kojo right now, kick some colonel in the ass. I heard panic on the radio last night. Won’t have that.”

Smith studied Puller’s expression, tried to see past the man’s obvious anger. He wouldn’t ask for details, knew that Puller would tell him if the problems were serious.

“Take care of things, Lewie. I need all of you to do the job.”

Puller pointed toward him with the cigar. “What job? Just what the hell are we doing here? I’m to protect Wonsan from an enemy that isn’t supposed to be there. What am I protecting? The supply dumps here are cleared out, if not by us, then by the damn civilians. The navy’s not taking any heat in the harbors. Nobody’s shelling their damn boats. They can come and go like they want. My whole damn regiment is doing lunchroom duty, while Litz and Murray go racing off to see who’s first to piss in the Yalu River!”