Battlefield Pacific

by James Rosone

  Master Sergeant Long’s radio crackled to life in his ear, and he immediately recognized the voice of Captain Chet Culley. “Falcon Three, Falcon Six. When we approach the Army’s lines, I’m going to need you to get your platoon filtered into their prepared positions. Remember, these guys have been fighting nearly nonstop with the Chinese for two days. They’re going to be exhausted. Take charge of the situation, and I’ll check in on you later. How copy?”

  “Copy that. Out,” Long responded.

  When their vehicle got closer to the Army’s positions, bullets started to hit the hull of their armored vehicle. The vehicle gunner in the front of the track returned fire at an unseen enemy.

  “Get ready to dismount! Enemy troops to our front, 500 meters!” the vehicle commander shouted over the roar of their chattering gun. Shell casings fell to the floor of the vehicle. They came to a halt and the back hatch dropped, allowing the twenty-one Marines to exit the vehicle and rush out into the cold air.

  The chattering of machine-gun fire from the heavy and light machine guns on the amtracks continued as the Marines fanned out to take up positions in front of their armored chariots.

  “Shift fire to that gun position on the right!” one of the sergeants yelled.

  Snap, zip, snap, snap!

  Master Sergeant Long heard the distinctive chattering of the nearby gun and immediately agreed with the other sergeant’s assessment. It looked like a small cluster of Chinese soldiers were setting up a heavy-caliber weapon a few hundred meters below them.

  “Jeez, where did all of these enemy soldiers come from?” he thought in bewilderment.

  As his Marines set up their lines, small clusters of Army soldiers fell back to his position, gladly accepting the reinforcements.

  An Army lieutenant walked up to Long. “Man, am I glad to see you guys,” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Nick Davis. Where’s the rest of your company, Master Sergeant?”

  Looking around as his platoon started to secure some defensive positions, Long realized his men were heavily outnumbered, even with the Army soldiers falling back into his lines. “This is it for now, Sir. The rest of the company is scattered along the line,” he explained as he waved to the rest of the ridge.

  Lieutenant Davis sighed. He was exhausted but determined to hold this position. “OK, Master Sergeant. We’ll make do, then…. Here’s what I need from your Marines. I’ve got maybe 42 soldiers left from my company, and they’re steadily falling back into the lines here. I need you to get your heavy weapons set up facing this section of the line. The PLA pushed us off that ridge over there, and now this ridgeline we’re on is our last line. We have to hold them here no matter what. I’ll get my remaining soldiers organized into the line here, but I need to know that your Marines can help us hold this spot.”

  Long nodded as he took in the information. Their amtracks had followed a trail up to the top of this ridge, so they could still provide fire support, but they were also bullet magnets. “Copy that, Sir. I’ll get our tracks moved back to that location over there, so they can still provide us fire support while hopefully not attracting artillery fire. We’ve got plenty of ammunition in the tracks, and the rest of the 1st Marine Division is coming up behind us. We’ve got this, Sir!” he said with enthusiasm, trying to reassure the young Army lieutenant.

  Turning to his men, Master Sergeant Long shouted, “NCOs, get your positions ready!”

  Several of his machine gunners were exchanging shots with PLA soldiers a few hundred meters away. The sergeants in Long’s platoon yelled at their men. “Get digging!”

  Every third soldier or Marine kept his rifle and continued to engage the Chinese soldiers when an opportunity presented itself, while the other two soldiers or Marines pulled their e-tool entrenching shovels out and started to reinforce their positions. The light and heavy machine gunners set up their guns, and extra ammunition was brought over from the tracks.

  Pulling a small set of binoculars out of one of his pouches on his vest, Master Sergeant Long surveyed the ridge across from them and the valley that separated them. The swirling snow had stopped, and the sun was starting to break through the cloud cover in beautiful shafts of glowing light.

  “As long as the snowfall doesn’t pick back up in intensity, we’ll be able to get some air support soon,” Long realized.

  Lieutenant Davis interrupted his contemplation. “What are your thoughts, Master Sergeant?” he asked.

  Long lowered his binos. “Well, if they try to bum-rush our positions, they’re going to take some horrible losses. The intense snow has finally stopped, and if it truly is done snowing, then we’ll have air and artillery support, which will decimate them. I’d place our chances of stopping them at better than 50%, Sir,” he responded.

  Davis nodded in approval. “I think you’re right, Master Sergeant. When we fell back yesterday, they let us take up residence on that ridge, and that gave us a bit of time to organize ourselves. Then they hit us relentlessly. It’s like they stacked all their units up and then threw them at us one after the other. At first, we were slaughtering them. Though the first two assaults were brutal, we decimated them. But then the third, fourth and fifth waves came, and they just kept coming. We started running out of ammunition, the barrels on our rifles and machine guns were overheating, and eventually we had to fall back again. We nearly didn’t make it out of the valley below, but then you guys showed up, and they turned their attention to you. That allowed us to get away,” he said.

  Master Sergeant Long placed his hand on the young officer’s shoulder. “It sounds like you guys did your best, Sir. That’s all any of us can do. You held them long enough to let us Marines come rescue you guys. Now we’re here, and we’ll save the Army,” he said with a slight laugh, trying to add a bit of humor to an otherwise horrible circumstance.

  Lieutenant Davis snorted. “Yeah, I’m never going to hear the end of this from my West Point classmates—the Marines coming to rescue me,” he said with a smirk.

  *******

  The next hour was spent trading pop shots with the PLA soldiers and getting their positions set up. The Army soldiers took the opportunity to reload their empty rifle magazines, grab additional hand grenades and chow down on some MREs. Once those essential tasks had been completed, many of them simply fell asleep, desperately trying to catch up on some rest while the Marines remained on watch.

  The radio crackled. “Falcon Three, this is Falcon Six,” Captain Culley said.

  Master Sergeant Long depressed the talk button, responding, “Falcon Six, this is Falcon Three. Send.”

  “Falcon Three, we just received word that we have an artillery battalion assigned for use by all Falcon units. The unit’s call sign is Thunder Five. How copy?”

  Long smiled and suddenly felt a lot more confident in their ability to hold their position. “That’s a good copy. We are in intermittent contact with the enemy to our front. We’ll make use of the artillery support. What is the likelihood of getting some air support? Over,” asked Long.

  There was a short pause in the dialogue before Captain Culley responded, “Air support is focused in other areas right now. Will be limited, if available at all. Try to make do with the artillery. How copy?”

  “That’s a good copy. How about additional reinforcements to my position?” he asked, hoping there might be additional Marines headed his way.

  “The rest of Falcon elements should be consolidating on your position within the next couple of hours. Please ensure additional fighting positions are ready. Out.”

  Long nodded in approval and saw that Lieutenant Davis had moved next to him, apparently trying to listen in on the conversation. “We have an artillery battalion assigned to support us. Our CO said the rest of the company should be arriving at our position within the next couple of hours,” he explained.

  “That’s good news, Master Sergeant, because it looks like the PLA is gearing up for another attack,” Davis said, pointing across the ridge.

  As his
eyes followed the direction of the lieutenant’s finger, Sergeant Long’s skin began to crawl. The top of the ridge was packed with enemy soldiers who were now filtering into the densely forested area that lined the ridges and valleys below them. They were moving down the valley to get in position to attack them.

  Master Sergeant Long signaled for his radioman, or RTO, to head over to him. The radioman had a rucksack that contained their SINCGAR radio, which would allow them to make contact with the artillery unit and their battalion and brigade, if they needed to call in for air support.

  As the RTO made his way over, Lieutenant Davis yelled to his soldiers, “Wake up and get ready for another attack!”

  Lance Corporal Teddy Tipson finished trotting over. “You need me, Sir?”

  “I sure do, Lance Corporal. Get on the horn to Thunder Five. Tell them I have a fire mission for them,” he directed as he kneeled down and pulled out his map. One of the other sergeants came over to him and pulled out his compass. The two of them identified where they wanted the artillery to land and wrote down the different coordinates according to the map. The RTO then handed the handset to Sergeant Long.

  Long quickly picked it up. “Thunder Five, Falcon Three. Fire mission, fire mission, we have an imminent attack. How copy?”

  The radio crackled with a bit of static, but a soft voice broke through. “Falcon Three, this is Thunder Five. Good copy, send fire mission.”

  “I could barely hear them,” Lance Corporal Tipson said after he listened in on the conversation.

  Master Sergeant Long nodded. “The PLA is trying to jam the spectrum right now. You got those coordinates?” he asked, holding his hand out to the sergeant who had been helping him identify the target grids. The sergeant quickly handed over the sheet of paper. “Thunder Five. Fire mission. Tango One, NK 7423 8724. One round HE. How copy?”

  “Falcon Three, this is Thunder Five. That’s a good copy. One round HE…shot out!”

  “Shot out,” replied Long as they waited for the round to impact.

  “Splash,” the artilleryman said over the radio.

  “Splash out.”

  A few seconds later, they heard the scream of the round flying over their heads and watched as it impacted just shy of where they wanted it to hit.

  Depressing the talk button on the mic, Long directed, “Thunder Five, adjust fire. Three hundred meters left, drop one hundred meters. Fire for effect, five rounds HE. Second fire mission, Tango Two, NK 7214 8435. One round HE. How copy?” The second set of coordinates would send additional rounds to the enemy soldiers who were gathered on the ridge across from them.

  “Falcon Three. Good copy on Tango Two. Standby for a fire mission,” the artillery battalion responded as they prepared to fire the first mission. A minute later, they called back, “Shot out on Tango One. Shot out on Tango Two.”

  As the Marines and Army soldiers on the ridge prepared for the coming onslaught, the outgoing artillery fire assaulted their ears with high-pitched screams overhead. As the rounds hit their targets below, they felt the reverberations in the ground. Twenty rounds bracketed the valley below, destroying trees and decimating the enemy soldiers moving underneath the pine trees. Then a lone round landed squarely on top of the ridge. A handful of enemy soldiers were thrown into the air from the blast, their bodies ripped to shreds.

  “Thunder Five, good BDA on Tango One. Tango Two, right on the mark. Fire for effect, three rounds HE. How copy?” he called over the radio.

  While Master Sergeant Long was relaying the next fire mission, they heard the sound of rockets flying over their heads, heading in the direction of the artillery battalion that was supporting them. Thunderous explosions roared from the rear area, where presumably their artillery support had been operating.

  After not receiving a response from the Thunder unit for a few minutes and not hearing or seeing the second fire mission hitting the target they had just called in, Tim tried to raise them again. “Thunder Five. This is Falcon Three. What’s the status of that second fire mission? Over.”

  The only thing they heard was hissing, popping, and static over the radio. “They may have just been taken out,” Lance Corporal Tipson offered. The others slowly nodded.

  “Ugh—I was really hoping we’d be able to get a few more fire missions,” Sergeant Long thought.

  Lieutenant Davis chimed in. “It was good while we had it. Looks like we’re back on our own,” he said, stating the obvious.

  A few minutes later, they heard the distinctive sound of artillery rounds heading toward their own positions. The soldiers and Marines on the ridge ducked down in their hastily built fighting positions as the first artillery rounds arrived. The ground shook. Dirt, snow, and parts of the pine trees that surrounded their positions landed all around them.

  The smell of smoke, cordite, burnt flesh and split-open bowels filled the air. Screams from the wounded rang out. “Medic! Corpsman!” they yelled.

  The barrage lasted for maybe two or three minutes, but the damage had been done. All around them, their fighting positions had been torn asunder. Several of the amtracks had also been hit and were adding their own thick, oily black smoke to the surreal scene.

  Master Sergeant Long poked his head above the foxhole he had jumped into. As he did, he heard the loud shrilling sound of a whistle being blown in the distance. Then the roar of hundreds, maybe even thousands of voices shouting sent a shiver of fear down his spine. The first wave of enemy soldiers that had survived the Americans’ first artillery barrage was charging their position.

  “Here they come! Everyone up and ready!” Master Sergeant Long yelled to his Marines. His sergeants echoed his orders, as did Lieutenant Davis and some of his own sergeants as they, too, prepared themselves for the onslaught that was charging toward them.

  Long moved out of the foxhole and ran toward a shallow slit trench that a couple of his men had dug. They were manning one of the platoon’s heavy machine guns, an M240 Golf mounted on a tripod with the spare barrel sitting next to it, ready to go.

  “How many extra belts of ammo do you guys have here?” Master Sergeant Long asked the assistant gunner, a private who had been newly assigned to the platoon.

  “Five, Sir,” he replied. The young private’s eyes were filled with fear and there was a tremble in his voice as the crescendo of the charging enemy grew louder as they continued to claw their way up the side of the ridge.

  “Private, run back to the track and grab another five belts. We’re going to need a lot more ammo than that. You should have grabbed at least ten belts when you guys set up this gun position,” Master Sergeant Long said, directing his comments more to the corporal who was looking down the barrel at the charging enemy.

  “The corporal should have known better,” he thought. “Once the shooting starts, they won’t have a lot of time to keep running back and forth for more ammo.”

  The young Marine grabbed his M4 and ran back to the track to grab more ammo. Looking down the ridge, Sergeant Long could see the enemy soldiers were probably 500 meters away now. The corporal looked at him for permission to start firing. Master Sergeant Long nodded, and the corporal immediately looked down his barrel and squeezed off several controlled three- and five-round bursts. While the M240 could chew through hundreds of rounds a minute, the corporal knew not to burn through ammo too quickly, especially since doing so could overheat the barrel in the first couple minutes of the fight.

  With the enemy now less than 300 meters away, the rest of the Marines and Army soldiers opened fire with their M4s and their newly issued M27 infantry automatic rifles. The barrage of hot lead being thrown at the enemy tore into their ranks, decimating the advancing hordes. Thousands of bullets crisscrossed back and forth between the American and Chinese lines, intermixed with red and green tracers. The thunderous noise of war was deafening as the two sides tried their best to kill each other.

  “Incoming!” yelled one of the Americans. Suddenly, the whistling noise of mortars screamed out from th
e enemy lines, moments before half a dozen explosions rocked their positions. More American soldiers cried out for help as the Chinese soldiers continued to mortar their positions. Meanwhile, their ground troops continued to close the gap between their two forces.

  Long brought his rifle to his shoulder, placing his cheek firmly against the stock of his M4 with the tip of his nose centimeters away from the charging handle as he gently squeezed off one round after another at the advancing enemy soldiers. He saw, two, three, then four enemy soldiers drop to the ground after each trigger squeeze.

  “Stay calm, just keep pulling the trigger,” he thought. “Focus on one target at a time. Kill the guy in front of you and then move to the next one,” he told himself.

  As the Army soldiers and Marines continued to decimate the advancing Chinese, they heard another set of whistles, softer and further away.

  ‘‘Dear God—that must be the next wave of enemy soldiers. If we don’t get more help soon, they’re going to overrun us,” Master Sergeant Long realized in horror.

  He turned and looked for his RTO. “Tipson! See if you can raise Falcon Six! We need fire support now!” he yelled to his radioman. Tipson stopped shooting and tried to get their CO back on the radio.

  Long took aim and fired another four more rounds before he heard some static and pops in his ear and the response he was hoping for. “This is Falcon Six. Go ahead, Falcon Three,” replied Captain Culley.

  “Sir, we’re under heavy attack. We’ve beaten back the first wave, but the second wave is hitting us now. How soon until we get additional reinforcements to our position?” He yelled to be heard over the continuous gunfire happening all around him.

  “We’re halfway up the ridge behind you. We should be to your location within the next thirty minutes. Continue to hold the line. Reinforcements are nearly to you guys,” Culley said reassuringly.

  Master Sergeant Long handed the handset back to Lance Corporal Tipson and picked his rifle back up, ready to resume fire on the oncoming horde. “Keep trying to reach the artillery group, OK? Maybe we get lucky and their signal was just jammed.”