Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

He moved farther up toward the brush, a glance skyward, soft blue and silence, the sunlight reflecting off snow-covered peaks on the hills in every direction. He waited, and finally Gao responded.

“General, at your request, I am here to report on the losses to my regiments. I regret that my division absorbed heavier losses than I had anticipated. For such a cost, I would have hoped to drive the enemy away.”

Sung knew that his troops far outnumbered the Marines, though American firepower would always be superior to anything he could offer. Casualties were part of the process, the routine, his officers knowing that, in every fight, sacrifice could mean victory. Sung waited for more, eyed Gao for some signs that this was a show, a performance with some greater meaning. But Gao seemed genuinely moved, stood with his hands behind his back, as though awaiting execution.

Sung said, “You were not ordered to drive the enemy away. You were ordered to strike him with as much energy as your troops could provide. You were ordered to demonstrate to the Americans that we are not to be ignored. You were to provide a message to them that if they continue their outrageous invasion, they shall be destroyed.”

Gao absorbed Sung’s words, lowered his head again. “I did not expect to pay such a price.”

“How much of a price?”

Gao hesitated, and Sung had no patience for another show.

“How much of a price, General?”

Gao kept his head down, retrieved a paper from his coat pocket, handed it to Sung. “I was delayed this morning, as we did not have final accounting. I knew you would want to know in detail.”

Sung took the paper, saw columns of numbers, Gao’s three regiments listed in order. He scanned the figures, his eyes on one column, his eyes widening.

“You are correct, General Gao. I do wish to know these details. You claim that the Three Hundred Seventy-first Regiment lost eight hundred men? Eight hundred? ”

“Yes, sir. I wish to suggest that the regiment is no longer fit for active service. It was not so bad in the others. But the enemy was well prepared, and though we did create holes in his defenses and drive a sword into their rear encampments, we could not maintain the breakthroughs. The enemy did not retreat from their positions. He instead was quick to counterattack. His tactics were most effective, and his weaponry is not to be underestimated.”

“General Gao, I have never underestimated the weaponry of the Americans. It is why we march at night. It is why we use stealth in every operation we can. It is why we attack him with overwhelming superiority in numbers.”

Gao nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand. I did not expect to lose such a large number of men. They are good men, sir. Perhaps we should employ a different tactic. They made an excellent charge.”

Sung stuffed the paper in his pocket, was more annoyed now. “Of course they made an excellent charge! That is what we must do, in every fight! I am not disappointed in the effort of your men, General. Only in the resolve of their commander. There is no different tactic available to us.” Sung paused, studied the emotion on Gao’s face. “Who is the commanding officer of Three Hundred Seventy-first Regiment?”

Gao looked at him now. “Colonel Feng Bo.”

Sung weighed the name. “I know him. He was wounded sometime ago, a fight I recall well. He is a hero to Chairman Mao.”

“Yes, sir. He was fortunate to survive.”

“He is more than fortunate, General Gao. He is chosen by fate. And now fate will choose him again. Colonel Feng is a man who understands what we must do to defeat this enemy. I believe he should be promoted to command the division. You will hand me your sword.”

Gao’s eyes widened. “Sir?”

“Now.” Gao’s hands were shaking, the tears returning. He struggled with the belt, and Sung said, “Just the sword. I do not require you to relinquish the scabbard.”

Gao said nothing, handed the sword to Sung, a steady flow of tears on the man’s face.

“Your weakness is a disease that cannot be allowed to spread. You can be cured of this if you apply yourself to the counsel of Chairman Mao. You have already shown the first step toward redemption. I am pleased that you did not disgrace yourself further by begging me for your command. You will report to Colonel Liu of my staff. He is down below in that deep ravine. He shall find another position for you, as one becomes available. I regret losing your experience. But experience is not enough. You must be willing to do what is required.”

Gao seemed to accept his punishment, and Sung was relieved, had no need to humiliate the man. The loss of command would be humiliating enough. Gao saluted him, and Sung acknowledged it.

“If you will permit, sir, I shall find Colonel Liu.”

“Go.”

Gao stepped away, straightening himself, a show of dignity that Sung was pleased to see. He shall return, he thought. Not a division, perhaps, but some command.

Sung stretched his back, felt the sunlight on his face, absorbed the pleasing warmth.

“Well, that was difficult, certainly.”

Sung turned abruptly, saw Orlov standing just above him on the slope, pushing his way through the brush. Sung felt a burst of fury, said, “Major, you will not conduct yourself like some kind of spy. You are a guest of this command, and I expect you to behave with appropriate decorum. What transpires between me and my officers is not for your entertainment.”

“I assure you, General, I am not entertained. Forgive me for saying so, but that seemed especially harsh. His troops are, shall I say, massacred? And you would punish him? Just what did he do wrong?”

Sung studied Orlov, who stood close to him now, scanning the sunlit hillside. “Are you so arrogant, Major, that you would ignore my instructions? You are not to listen in on my private meetings with my officers.”

“What can happen? I am not in league with the enemy. We are many miles from anyplace you could abandon me. You would have questions to answer about that. I am here only to offer support, General. But I am not a part of your command. As you say, I am a guest. I am independent, and if you allow me to do the job I was assigned to do, we could all benefit.”

Sung tried to hold his anger. “What is that job ?”

Orlov shrugged, the smile again. “Observe. And, if you allow it…advise. We are not adversaries, you and I.” He pulled a small flask from his pocket, sniffed it, took a small drink. Orlov’s face curled, and he shook his head. “Got this from a Korean farmer. Well, no, I will be honest. I got it from one of your soldiers. Not everyone in this army shares your lust for sobriety.” He held the flask out toward Sung. “Are you certain you won’t have some?”

Sung shook his head, felt defeated, knew that everything Orlov had said was accurate, that the Russians might be far more important to this fight than anyone in Peking desired. And Sung couldn’t fight the feeling that in some remote place inside himself, he actually liked the man.

“General Gao did not do anything wrong in the field. Nor did his men. They attacked the enemy and many men died. It is what happens in war. I do not have to explain that to you. General Gao’s failure was his sorrow. His regret. He mourns the loss of his casualties. That is a dangerous mistake. It might produce hesitation, uncertainty. His will to make the next attack might be weakened. That is unacceptable.”

Orlov slid the flask into his pocket, the smile fading. “It is not wrong for a leader to care for the lives of his men.”

“Perhaps not in your army. Perhaps not for the Americans. You are accustomed to grand and powerful weapons. You strike your enemy with massive artillery rounds, with bombs from high above. Since your government has not offered us such assistance, I am forced to use the only weapon I have. My soldiers understand this; my officers must understand this. We must rely on stealth and darkness. And most important, we must rely on the power of our numbers. There are eight thousand men in each division, and when we attack, we must engage every man. Every man must carry the fight, from the bugler to the commanding general, and every man must understand the sacrifice and the cost in lives that we must expend in every fight. And we must be willing to give every piece of ourselves to the cause. Such dedication…it is the only advantage this army has, perhaps the only advantage China has.” He stopped, reached into a pocket. “You are aware of this, of course?”