Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

“Engaging the enemy? Why?”

Barr looked down. “No idea. But Faith has control, as much as anyone can.” Barr paused, looked at Smith. “The concern is the quality of the men in that command.”

Hodes reacted with a sharp turn. “What concern is that? These are good men, sir.”

Barr held up a hand. “At ease, General. The fact is, a good percentage of the men in those battalions are undertrained. Most have never been under fire before. Faith is very well aware that his primary mission, McLean’s primary mission, was to hustle along as quick as possible, so they could piss in the Yalu River. No one was told to expect the Chinese to swarm around them like a cloud of hornets.”

Smith held his words, thought, Did they not observe the hills? Surely the Chinese were watching every move they made.

Barr shook his head, kept his stare toward the floor. “Colonel Faith has every confidence that he can fight his way south. It’s barely five miles, as I understand it. They can certainly make the effort to improve their situation. Faith understands that nothing can come up from this way. He also appreciates your sending him air support.” Barr paused. “It’s not all roses. Faith didn’t temper his opinion of the Katusas. There’s fifty or so attached to each rifle company. They’ve never made a fight yet. They see the Chinese and disappear into the mist. Now, there’s no place for them to go, but that doesn’t stop them from throwing down their arms and curling up in a damn ball.”

It was one disadvantage Smith had been able to avoid. The Korean Augmentation Troops to the U.S. Army were mostly South Korean civilians, many of them grabbed forcefully off the streets of Seoul or any other place where the Korean government could find them. Now they were to fight alongside their American allies, presumably relying on a fiery passion for defending their country. But there had been very little fire in those men at all. The poor fighting quality of the fully trained South Korean divisions had already been experienced by Walton Walker, those divisions the first to flee from the Chinese assault north of Pyongyang. But the Katusas had no training at all, and their presence did nothing for the morale of the American army troops, whose own confidence was shaky at best. Smith knew what Barr was suggesting, and what Faith was clearly expressing, that if a sizable percentage of your rifle companies simply melted away, it would be difficult at best to keep the rest of your men from catching the same disease.

Smith said nothing, had been fortunate to experience only the added presence of the Korean marines. Those men had been a pleasant surprise, extremely well trained, with the kind of esprit de corps that rivaled the Americans’. Now those marines were farther south, holding fort alongside the American Third Division, spread over the countryside near the North Korean ports.

Smith looked at Hodes, still pacing slowly, knew he was in a delicate place. The rivalry between the branches was always there, regardless of the personalities of the men involved. Barr would never allow that to intrude, not when the situation was as grave as this one. But Smith could see the pride in Hodes’s expression, combined with the man’s frustration that he had failed to rescue his men not once, but twice.

Smith waited for Barr, who seemed lost in thought for a long minute. He looked up at Smith now, said, “I’ve never been in this situation before. O.P., I’m not a combat leader. I’ve served as chief of staff for some good people, and when they named me to command the Seventh, I was chief of personnel for the army ground forces. But I never led those men into a fight. I never had to tell one of my officers, Yes, I know you’re surrounded by the enemy, and there’s nothing I can do to help you. You’re on your own. Best of luck! Do you know what it felt like to board that helicopter, and just fly off? I couldn’t look at them, all those faces staring up at me.”

Barr put his face in his hands, Hodes staring again at the wall. Smith wanted to give them something, any kind of words, but there was nothing there. It’s combat, he thought. Men will die. My men, yours. Theirs.

He stood slowly, ignored his own rules, picked up the can of pipe tobacco, pulled the pipe from his pocket, filled it. He thought of apologizing, that treating himself to something he enjoyed was somehow inappropriate. The pipe was full, ready for the lighter, and he waited, the room silent.

And now, a sharp knock on the door.

He jumped at the sound, stuffed the pipe back into the pocket, said, “What is it?”

The door opened slightly, the face of Sexton.

“Sir, General Almond’s observation craft has just landed. They radioed he was coming in a few minutes ago.”

Smith stared at Sexton, had nothing to say, thought, It just gets worse.

“I want them brought down here with all haste! All haste! The battalion, that fellow up there, Faith? I want them pulled out as well! We have to remove ourselves from this problem, and I want that accomplished yesterday!”

The tent was bulging with men, Smith’s staff still at work, no one accomplishing anything beyond their discreet listening to Almond’s bluster. Beside Smith, the two army generals sat in front of Smith’s own senior officers, all of them summoned to hear what Almond had to say.

Almond seemed to work at catching his breath. “This morning, I was cornered by those damn newspapermen. I told them we had whipped the North Koreans completely, but that the action now ongoing is an entirely new Chinese development. But I will not allow those pen pushers to paint anything we’re doing in a negative light. So, the rest is up to you! Smith, bring your people out of Yudam-ni. I want a plan put on paper for the evacuation of the army forces on the east side of the reservoir. I want to know when that blasted airstrip will be complete so that we may begin moving your wounded, and your most vital equipment, out of here. We must evacuate your entire force down to Hamhung. Supply will make large-scale drops, delivering to you everything you would require along the way. This means you may leave behind, and destroy, the greater part of the equipment you have now. Travel light, gentlemen. Make speed!”

Smith had gone back to his quarters, Almond and Bowser following at Smith’s request. Almond had seemed to calm slightly after his energetic orders, and Smith rolled the man’s speech through his brain, sorting out what might actually be realistic.

“General, perhaps we should move into the back room. Alpha, gather up the chairs.”

Bowser moved quickly, the three chairs placed opposite each other, Bowser keeping his own a bit farther from the other two. Smith pointed, and Almond sat, slapping his hands on his knees, a show of nervousness.

“I hope I was clear, Smith.”

Smith sat, thought of the pipe, scolded himself, No. “General, you have insisted all throughout this campaign that we move in haste. Had we done so two weeks ago, it is likely my division would have been destroyed. As it stands now, that is still a possibility, but I believe we are moving in the right direction. The speed with which we move will be governed by my ability to evacuate my wounded, including those that will be brought down from Yudam-ni. Once that is completed, we will fight our way out of here, and I will require the equipment we now have on hand, including trucks, jeeps, tanks, and anything else that will aid our operation. I will do my job the best way I know how. It will be dark very soon. You should get to your plane. Do you have any other instructions for me?”

Almond’s mouth was slightly open, and he shook his head slowly.

“No, I think you have it under control.” He seemed to blink at a new thought. “Oh, yes, the plane. Good idea, yes. I should be off. Godspeed, Smith.”