Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

Smith stood slowly, working the stiffness out of his knee. He knew Sexton had crossed a line, that Sexton would know that, too. He grabbed his coat, slid it on, looked at Sexton, who still stood firmly, his chest poked out just for emphasis. “Don’t try this with Puller, Captain. He’ll take your bars.”

The tent was a hive of activity, the cold blowing in with each man who passed through the heavy flap. The officers were mostly familiar, short greetings from men with better things to do than chat with their commanding officer. Smith stayed mostly out of the way, absorbing every scrap of information, most of it vague and useless, frustrating for everyone there.

He had stopped examining each man’s arrival, knew if anyone could offer something substantial, he’d know as quickly as Ridge. But now a new face appeared, a short round man pouring into the tent, wrapped up like yet another mummy. It was Colonel Lockwood. The men stood aside, and Smith ignored their expressions, focused on Lockwood, red-faced, flustered, and certainly surprised to see Smith.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, sir. It has been a rather extreme day. Might I have some coffee?”

“Extreme how?”

Lockwood tugged at removing his coat, sat heavily, a coffee cup placed in his hands, the man obviously trying to gather himself. “I had planned to move my battalion CP up to Yudam-ni this morning. I tried to contact Colonel Litzenberg for any additional orders, without success. So we moved out in convoy on the main road, anticipating no difficulty. We had not gone more than a mile when we were confronted by a large number of Chinese, occupying the heights to our front, on both sides of the road. I attempted to remove them, deploying my weapons company to one flank, my headquarters personnel to the other. We had a rather brisk firefight, but it became clear that the enemy far outnumbered us and was attempting to take us on both flanks. I felt I had no choice but to withdraw, and return here.”

Smith glanced around the large tent, all faces on Lockwood. “You were fortunate, Colonel. Were your casualties as extreme as your situation?”

“Several wounded. They have been sent to the aid stations. It could have been much worse, I am certain of that.”

Smith could see Lockwood’s hands shaking as he attempted to drink his coffee.

“Colonel, until we know more of what seems to be happening at Yudam-ni, you will deploy your men here at the discretion of Colonel Ridge.”

Lockwood looked at Smith. “Sir, what is happening at Yudam-ni?”

Smith thought, Of course, he has no idea. “The enemy has engaged us in strength. Very likely you ran into a roadblock, meant to keep any of us here from going to their aid. Or, perhaps, to prevent any of them from returning here. Either way we are isolated, as is Colonel Litzenberg.”

Lockwood seemed to sink into a deep gloom, and after a brief moment a new thought seemed to burst through him. “What of Fox Company? I placed them at Toktong Pass. I tried to contact them by radio but I assumed the equipment was down.”

Smith folded his arms across his chest, shook his head. “I would hazard that the enemy has cut your wire. From all we can tell, your men there are engaged as well. Beyond that, I’m afraid we know very little. Our main concern, the one thing we can attack directly, is the defense of Hagaru-ri. I do not know what the enemy’s intentions are, except that they seem to prefer a nighttime assault. We must expect that if they have done so at other points, they will do so here. See to your men. Colonel Ridge will know what to do with them.”

“Sirs! A chopper has landed!”

Smith looked toward the voice, the man in a heavy coat backing out of the tent, the flap closing quickly. Smith said, “Bowser, I suppose. A little sooner than I expected.”

The flap was pulled back again, a gust of wind inflating the walls of the tent. Smith waited, the flap still open, no one yet there, the nagging memory of another time, the man making his arrival with an entrance reminiscent of his boss. Smith stared silently at the foggy opening, the hard cold wiping away the warmth from the tent’s stove. Around him, others were holding down papers, trying to keep their griping out of his earshot. Bowser, he thought, if you’re out there shaking hands, I’m going to court-martial you. Two men filled the opening now, the obvious look of aides or, he thought, bodyguards. What’s going on now? Another figure appeared, moving slowly, deliberate steps, too familiar.

“Well, this is excellent! I hoped to see my officers at work. I’ll just take a look at that map, yes?”

Smith felt his shoulder sag, opened a path to the table. “Welcome, General Almond. This is an unexpected surprise.”

Bowser had arrived, but any detailed briefings for Smith would have to wait, all attention focused on Ned Almond. They had moved into the small house, away from the turmoil of the tent, Smith already dreading the thought that Almond would try to take charge of Ridge’s defenses.

“Not bad, Smith, I must say. You always seem to find a solid roof over your head.”

Sexton had brewed a fresh pot of coffee, three cups on the table, Almond choosing his after examining all three, a habitual check for cleanliness. Smith glanced at Sexton, knew he had observed the annoying tic, Sexton not hiding his annoyance.

“Thank you, Captain. You are excused.”

Sexton faked a smile. “I’ll be right outside, sir, standing in the cold, if you need me.”

Almond unrolled a map, ignored Sexton, who moved out through the door, a last glance at Smith. He’s going to say something stupid one day, Smith thought. Well, me, too.

“General Almond, I said we were surprised by your visit. Do you have specific orders?”

Almond looked at Smith as though for the first time today. “No, not really. I’m on my way to see the army command posts. Colonel Faith’s people are up front, I believe, leading the way. The Thirty-first. I’m told he’s a good man. I don’t want to see any further delays, and I suspect Colonel Faith will get the job done.”

Smith looked at Bowser, saw his own confusion in Bowser’s expression.

“Delays for what?”

“The advance, of course. No excuses, just because of the cold weather.” Almond looked hard at him. “He’s army. Unlike you, he accepts that he has to obey everything I tell him to do.”

Smith sat back, stared at Almond, who scanned the map in his hands. After a silent moment, Smith said, “I have sent reports to Corps headquarters all morning. Have you seen them?”

Almond kept his stare on the map.

“I saw reports. You and General Barr. A few others.” Almond stopped, seemed to weigh his words, a glance toward Bowser. “Let me tell you something, Smith. I served my country in World War Two without ever receiving the command I deserved. I intend to prove to whoever made that decision that they were flat-out wrong. General MacArthur has granted me an opportunity here, and not you nor anyone else in Korea will destroy General MacArthur’s confidence in this command. The entire world is watching us here, Smith. And I will not tolerate defeatism. If the army must carry our banner to the Yalu River, so be it. You had your opportunity for headlines, and instead of obeying my orders, you spout out pessimism. Well, now it’s the army’s turn.”

Smith felt a boiling heat in the back of his neck, fought to keep it hidden. “General Almond, the army position has been under attack. General Hodes has determined they have taken several hundred casualties, and they are in a dangerous situation. The same is true for my Fifth and Seventh Regiments at Yudam-ni. The enemy has struck us hard at every advanced position, and he has mostly surrounded us right here.” His voice was rising, and he paused, tried to hold it inside. He looked at Bowser, who shook his head, no help at all. “Sir, we must modify our mission here.”