The Frozen Hours

by Jeff Shaara

  “What do you mean?”

  “They are hungry for a victory. So give them the best chance they might have. The army battalion is not as well trained as the Marines. Their artillery is not as strong. If you crush the Americans east of the reservoir, you will have an open door to strike at Hagaru-ri from three directions. You have two full divisions facing those army troops, yes?”

  “The Seventy-ninth and Eightieth, yes. Another in reserve.”

  “I doubt you will require your reserves.”

  “Do I simply ignore the Marines at Yudam-ni, at Toktong Pass?”

  Orlov shrugged. “Why not? You have them boxed in, so it is unlikely they are going anywhere. And this weather is your ally. Every day they sit in their foxholes, they die just a bit more.”

  “As do we, Major. My men are from a part of China that does not feel this kind of cold.”

  “And yet, you would make them walk home?”

  Sung felt a wave of frustration again. “What am I to do? I need every man to be capable. I have limited food, limited supplies of every kind, including ammunition. If they march toward China, there is hope for them. Patrols from the border will be sent south, assisting them. I have ordered it.”

  Orlov looked down, seemed to absorb the horror of what Sung was explaining to him. “I do not envy you that responsibility, General. I would only advise that you complete your primary mission. That you destroy the enemy with all haste.”

  Sung turned away, moved again to the window, saw a thicket of small trees buffeted by the wind. His eye was caught by a photograph on the wall, unusual, a Korean family, dressed in city clothes. “Look how they smile. A family outing, an adventure, perhaps to Pyongyang. A happier time. They did not bring this war, and we are here to liberate them. Yet they only fear us.”

  “Yes, I saw the photograph. Charming. General, you are using that man’s home as your quarters. Your soldiers are spread out in whatever tiny kingdom that man’s family holds dear. If he had any food or livestock, you have taken it. If he protests to you, very likely your officers would harm him, or his family. He has fled because he has no choice. It is no different here than it was in Russia. If you care so much, then do what you must to end this. Perhaps then your pleasant reports to Peking will be accurate, a victory that will provide you a triumphant return, bathing you in the glory of the revolution.”

  Sung looked at him. “You are mocking me, Major.”

  “I am mocking us all. If you do not succeed here, your career will end in disgrace, a deadly outcome, yes? If you do succeed, they will find one more command for you, another war, another foe, until you fail. Or die. I have always wondered which is better, dying for your revolution or dying as an old man in some hospital.”

  “The revolution, of course.”

  “That’s what they expect us both to believe, certainly. Either way, you’re just as dead.”

  He saw a crack in the major’s arrogance, a surprise.

  “We have no alternative, Major. It is the path we have chosen. It is the path assigned to us.”

  “Then choose your next move wisely, General. I can promise you, your enemies are making their choices as well. And regardless of what you tell Peking, it is their stubbornness that is winning this fight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Smith

  HAGARU-RI, NORTH KOREA—NOVEMBER 30, 1950, 11:00 A.M.

  HE ABSORBED THEIR DESPERATION, understood their urgency, could feel the sadness infecting both men now, the inevitability of what could become a disaster. Their anxiety was contagious, the kind of helplessness no commanding officer hoped to feel.

  “I am truly sorry, gentlemen. But I anticipate another assault tonight, and as you have seen, we are only secured here by a thin line. The fight for the east hill has been ongoing and costly, though I am pleased to say that we have taken a hard toll on the enemy.”

  He regretted the words, thought, It’s not the time for boasting, not even about that.

  The two men sat glumly, a glance between them. It was Barr who spoke first, the senior man offering Smith a painful smile.

  “General, we appreciate all you are doing here, all you have done throughout this campaign. General Hodes and I both were pleased when General Almond appointed you to overall command here. It certainly made sense. I had thought…forgive me. I had hoped that events would play out differently. I was not aware that the Chinese had so thoroughly enveloped my battalion, cutting their communication with your people here.”

  Hodes nodded now, the same grim expression, said to Barr, “As you know, sir, we made every effort to drive a rescue force through to Colonel McLean’s command. Even with the power of the armor, it just wasn’t possible to make a breakthrough.”

  Smith watched them both, curious how they felt about the string of orders given them by Ned Almond. He tried to keep his own feelings to himself, but he knew that Barr had suffered through so many of the same meetings, had reacted with discreet exasperation to Almond’s utter lack of comprehension, and more, his amazing optimism that all was as he willed it to be.

  After a silent moment, Smith said, “I appreciate the gravity of this situation. Had General Almond made the effort to understand just what was happening here…” No, he thought. Don’t do that. They’re army men. Somewhere, in some part of both men, they respect Almond as their commander. They have to.

  Barr looked at him, a hard stare, said, “I believe you and I have always understood our combined situation, more so than Tenth Corps. There will be time for recrimination later. Right now I have most of two battalions of my command in a serious state. I saw General Almond this morning, before I flew up here.” Barr paused, weighed his words carefully. “I was ordered to extricate Colonel McLean’s command with all haste.”

  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 s
trength 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.

  “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 Nor
th 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.