Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

Riley glanced toward the big Irishman, said, “It’s only been a few days, Sean. The colonel’s putting us where we need to be. There’s enemy enough to go around.”

Killian grunted again. “Hah. So you say. I ain’t seen a single Nook since we came off the boats. The fight’s way the hell up front, across that river.” He moved close to the civilians, two old men, four older women, the Koreans backing away with the kind of exhausted fear Riley had seen on Okinawa. Killian shouted out, “All right! Where’s your sons at? Looking to crack the skull of some Yankee-san? They in here maybe?”

Killian lunged forward, used the muzzle of his M-1 to toss aside a piece of wreckage, the heap of debris still leaking smoke. Riley moved away, toward the larger structures, thought, If there’s anybody in that junk, they’ve suffocated. Killian knows that. Likes being the big man .

Killian shoved past the civilians, stepped heavily into a heap of straw and lumber, brought the rifle up to his shoulder, aimed. Riley drew up, waited for the shot, thought, No, dammit. No need for this kind of show.

One of the Koreans spoke, an old man, dressed in filthy white.

“Sank you. Sank you. Yankee. You Yankee. Sank you.”

Killian seemed to back down, even the rough Irishman affected by the pathetic look of the old man.

Riley said, “That’s all the English they know. Count on that. They’re scared to death. There’s no enemy here.”

Killian seemed resigned, said, “Yeah, maybe. Look up there, those other huts. Nooks could be anywhere.”

Riley laughed to himself. Nooks. North Koreans. There’s always a name.

“Where’d you hear that one?”

Killian’s mood seemed to lighten, and he shrugged, all four of the Marines slipping through more of the debris. “Hell, I don’t know. I first heard about this mess, I sure thought they wouldn’t stand up to fight us. We show up with a few tanks, blow a handful of Corsairs past their huts, they’d skedaddle out of here. I heard that’s what MacArthur’s saying even now. I just hope we ain’t missed out on the show. Damn it all.”

Out on the road, Welch said, “Hey! Let’s go! We’re moving out!”

They followed Riley back to the road, Welch waving them into line, the men keeping several feet between them, good training. Riley saw a strange sick look on the sergeant’s face, realized the lieutenant had tears on his cheeks.

“What happened, Sarge?”

Welch pointed to the other side of the road. “Nasty stuff. North Koreans left behind a message for us. For somebody, anyway.”

Riley saw two navy corpsmen move into a small hut, the men backing out quickly, curses and shouts, an officer there, a man he didn’t know. Riley knew better than to be curious, but it had been so long since he had seen all the varieties of death.

“What they do? Leave their dead behind?”

Welch said to the lieutenant, “Sir, you ought to take your place up front of the platoon. I’ll handle things here. Lieutenant McCarthy probably needs you on the radio or something. The men are ready to move out.”

The young lieutenant was white-faced, nodded without speaking, stepped away.

Welch turned to Riley, said, “He found ’em himself. Had to be a hero, stick his face into someplace it didn’t need to be. I told him there could be trouble. But he’s a college boy. Won’t listen to some dumb son of a bitch like me.”

“Hamp, what’s in the hut?”

“Dead civilians. A pile of ’em. Hands wired behind their backs, slit open from crotch to neck. There’s a child, maybe six, a couple young girls. One man in a suit. Local bigwig maybe. The colonel will look into it, find out if it’s worth reporting.”

“Jesus, Sarge.”

“Like I said. Nasty. These people are primitives, pure and simple. Taking out this war on their own kind, on civilians. I told the lieutenant, this oughta teach him not to get captured. I think he got that.”

Killian was there now, said, “He’ll not last long. Hell, what’s his name? I forget.”

Welch said, “Goolsby. You pay attention to him. He’s young, but they sent him out here for a reason. He’s got the bar on his shoulder, so you do what he says. If he was a screwup, you can bet McCarthy would have tossed him out, sent him back to the colonel with a note pinned to his ass.”

Killian shook his head, stared that way. “Those kind never make it, Sarge. He’s already shaking in his boots. Smart-ass college boys. Damn ninety-day-wonders.” Across the river, the echoing rumble of big guns was drawing everyone’s attention, and Killian said, “There’s a pile of artillery letting loose out that way. Sure wish we had Craven out front.”

Welch sniffed. “Lieutenant Craven’s back home with his million-dollar wound, his feet up in his wife’s lap, drinking six beers. You got a wife, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you want to grab her soft rump again, you better pay attention right here. Be smart. You know how to keep your head down, and before we’re done with this, you’ll have reason. Count on it. Now, we’re moving up closer to the river. We can jabber about it later.” Killian obeyed, and Welch motioned to Riley. “Go on, you, too. Keep an eye on Kane and his BAR. He’s got two teenagers carrying his ammo, and I’m not sure any of them know what they’re doing. According to our young Lieutenant Goolsby, Captain Zorn got a call from the colonel. When the word comes, we’ll cross the river in front of us, help out the First.”

Riley said, “You mean, in Seoul?”

Welch tilted his head. “You been taking geography lessons? Trying to take my job?”

“Sarge, a monkey with VD could take your job. I heard the captain talking back at the boats. We’re to head out around Seoul, help secure the city.”

“I heard the captain, too. Seoul is supposed to be secure already. Big brass has said so.”

Riley looked out ahead, focused on the artillery. “That sound secure to you?”

Up ahead, the men were moving to the edge of the road, dust rising from a line of trucks. Riley stood to one side, Welch beside him, the red crosses now in view. They moved quickly past, four ambulances, and from inside Riley could hear the soft moans, then a sharp cry as the trucks jolted over the rough road. The last truck was there now, and he saw a corpsman hanging off the rear, blood soaked through the man’s sleeves. The corpsman glanced at the Marines along the road, who stared back at him, all of them blinking through dust. The man’s eyes met Riley’s, a grim nod, the cold stare of a veteran.

Welch said, “I don’t give a crap what kind of gift wrapping MacArthur or anyone else is trying to hand us. This fun’s just starting.”

“DID THE GENERAL make his departure as scheduled, sir?”

Smith tossed his hat to one side, said, “He left. The schedule belongs to him. So, anytime he leaves, it’s on schedule.”

He regretted the sarcasm, saw Sexton looking down at the desk. The others turned to their work, a small crowd of officers filling the space in the command post, the silence awkward. Smith couldn’t escape a foul mood, thought, I have no time for this. Just don’t ask me anything.

From outside, Bowser came in, a bright smile, said, “Did you tell them, sir?”

Smith glared at him but couldn’t be angry with Bowser at all.

“Tell them what?”

“If you’ll allow me, sir.”

Smith wasn’t sure what Bowser meant, but he trusted the man with any kind of information, as much as he trusted Eddie Craig or any of the others. Unlike Craig, Bowser had been with Smith for years, serving him now as the division’s G-3, the planning and operations officer, and less formally as Smith’s assistant chief of staff. It was Bowser who had first briefed Smith on MacArthur’s plans for the Inchon invasion, both men surprised that Smith, who would command the actual invasion force, had never been fully included in the planning.