Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

Hodes stood, angry energy, paced to one side of the room, then stopped, looked at Barr.

“Sir, it seems clear from word we received through the tank radios that Colonel McLean is a casualty. Colonel Don Faith now commands the force. I have not yet spoken to him, and even if I could, I’m not sure what we could tell him. Just how are we supposed to extricate anybody? Not even an armored column can get through! Does General Almond offer us some plan, does he have a notion of just how we are to shove aside a Chinese division, so we may open up our route of escape?”

Barr glanced at Smith, said, “Henry, please sit down.”

Smith let out a breath, had an ache for his pipe tobacco, thought better of it now. He liked David Barr, knew that the Seventh Division’s commander was already suffering under the yoke slung around him by Almond’s style of command. Throughout the entire campaign, Barr had seemed a capable commander, and more, a reasonable man. But always there was the weight on his shoulders, obedience to Almond, measured against Barr’s own competence, the experience to know just what kind of strategy was called for.

Hodes sat, looked at Smith, said, “My apologies, sir. These are stressful times.”

“Neither of you owes me any apologies. Neither of you has made the kinds of mistakes that have put us where we are. I am as obedient to Tenth Corps as you are.”

Barr showed a hint of a smile. “Come, now. Had I carried out my orders with the same… precision that you did, I’d be a mess sergeant now. You wear a different hat, O.P. Almond’s not quite sure how to handle you or your Marines. But if you think this latest gambit is wisdom on his part, think again.”

“You mean, putting me in charge up here? What would you call it?”

“Expedience. No matter what happens going forward, Almond’s off MacArthur’s hook. If the headlines back home are bad, it’s your name they’ll read.”

“I know all of that. I’m more concerned with getting my men, and yours, out of this situation. Almond called me this morning, told me you were coming, of course. He also ordered me to extricate my men from Yudam-ni, as though he had just thought of it. I gave that order to Colonel Litzenberg yesterday, and believe me, I am well aware that if those men were here now, we would have the strength to push out toward your battalions.”

Barr rubbed a hand on his forehead, as though probing a headache. “I appreciate that, O.P. But I’ve heard that the road up to Yudam-ni is blocked, as impassable as every other road around here.”

“It is. Completely.”

“So, did General Almond tell you how to accomplish the withdrawal?”

“Of course not. But he is optimistic that his orders can be carried out. The only avenue open to us is to fight our way through.”

Barr nodded slowly. “Best of luck.”

Smith shook his head. “It’s not luck. It’s Litzenberg and Murray, and two regiments of Marines. The Chinese will need the luck.”

Barr looked at Hodes, a faint smile. “Never met a Marine yet who thought he was at a disadvantage, no matter who the hell he was up against.” He looked at Smith. “I hope your pride is warranted.”

“It’s not pride, David. It’s just how it has to be. There is no alternative. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like a recruiting poster.”

Barr smiled. “Every Marine does, General. I’m used to it.”

Smith focused now on Hodes, could see the gloom in the man’s expression. “No matter what Almond’s motives were, he’s put Colonel Faith’s men under my command. That doesn’t mean I can do anything about it right now. But I have notified the air wing to give you their full cooperation. I assure you, that will help. It’s likely the bombers can open up some gaps, eliminate the enemy roadblocks, and give your men some openings they can use. If your men can fight their way down the reservoir during daylight hours, the air can continuously support them and keep the Chinese mostly at bay.”

Smith knew what was coming. Barr said, “And at night?”

Smith hesitated. “For now, they’re on their own. I’m sorry, David. There’s nothing else we can do.”

Hodes stood again, walked to the covered window, faced the wall, hands on his hips. “I was so very close. It’s only a few miles. They might as well be trapped on the moon. Don Faith is a good man. If there’s any way for him to blast through, he’ll find it.” He turned, looked at Barr. “But how do we tell Faith that he’s on his own, that no reinforcements are coming? He won’t know to drive back this way.”

Barr rubbed a hand on his chin, said, “I’ll tell him. He should also be told he’s now attached to the Marine command. He’ll have to know to make use of the air support. O.P., might I make use of one of your helicopters?”

Smith was surprised, said, “Of course. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go see Colonel Faith. He has to be made aware that we are working on this end to do all we can to get his people back down here. And he’s my officer. He’s not responsible for the mess he’s in. Someone should make sure he knows that.”

Smith stood outside the command tent, endured the blasting wind, watched Barr’s helicopter rise slowly, easing into a slow turn to the northeast. He fought the blinding frost in his eyes, watched the chopper for as long as he could, the craft moving out directly over the frozen reservoir, the pilot keeping as far as possible from the Chinese in the hills.

He still marveled at the helicopters, the odd tool now so terribly useful. What would we have done with those things, he thought, if we’d had them in the Pacific? Just moving the wounded, how many lives might we have saved? Now a division commander is able to fly out to a trapped battalion, to give them instructions face-to-face. He looked toward the construction site, the heavy equipment still working on the runway, no matter the nightly attacks by the Chinese. We need nearly eight thousand feet, he thought. So far, we’ve got three. Maybe. The Chinese are watching, and surely they know what we’re doing, and what a workable airstrip will mean. If I was their commander, I would assume reinforcements would be the first priority. Maybe he thinks about our wounded, my priority. Or maybe not.

He looked toward the east hill, the chatter of machine gun fire coming in short bursts, hints of smoke rising from the many hidden places where the Chinese were still battling to shove Ridge’s fire teams completely off the hill.

Bowser was there now, bundled in his coat, said, “He get off okay?”

“Yep. Hope he gets back in one piece.”

“You’d have to explain that to General Almond, if he didn’t.”

Smith ignored the comment, said, “We need that hill. Ridge doesn’t have the manpower to do what’s necessary. That vantage point puts this whole place within the enemy’s mortar range. If they had artillery, this position would be useless.”

Bowser moved his legs, slowly marching in place. “Anything you need out here, sir?”

Smith turned, saw Bowser’s bright red nose, the frost accumulating around his nostrils. “Yep. Springtime. Let’s go inside.”

HAGARU-RI—NOVEMBER 29, 4:00 P.M.

Barr had returned, the man in a more dismal mood now than before he left. “They’re in trouble, O.P. They’ve already taken a hell of a pounding, and expect more. The enemy has them boxed in pretty tightly. Faith says the last order he got from Tenth Corps was that he was to continue his attack. That was yesterday. He’s pretty certain Colonel McLean is dead. McLean disappeared in an advanced position, engaging the enemy.”

Smith saw Hodes rise, pacing again.