“Comrades, soon we attack the barbarians that have invaded our land and have sought to enforce their democracy over the will of the People,” Sergeant Liu began to address the company. Over the last three days he had advanced from platoon sergeant to platoon leader, and many said he should be company commander.
“Many of our brothers have given their lives for the People, as many more will before this war is won. As individuals we are nothing, we are worthless. As the People we are immortal, we cannot die. As long as we have the State, we are eternal! Today whether you live or die, the People’s Republic of China will survive, and you will be our nation’s greatest heroes in our collective memory.”
“Fucking hell,” Private Lin mumbled next to Chen.
“Shut up!” Chen was not in the mood for blasphemy. He looked up at the stars. Sergeant Liu said their service would make them heroes; the State would make them eternal. “Like the stars,” Chen finished his own thought out loud.
“Everyone is crazy,” Lin mumbled more to himself, “but what difference does it make? Tomorrow we’ll all be dead.”
Green flares shot up into the sky, their signal to begin the assault. Sergeant Liu ordered the fire teams to advance.
“Green flares now?” Scott asked, confused.
“Got to be theirs. They’re—” Harris was interrupted by Scott’s machine-gun bursts. Through night vision, Harris could see Pricks popping up all over the hillside. They were leapfrogging their way up in fire team rushes. Harris heard the nearby buzz of an observation drone and blasted it with the twelve gauge. He slid another shell into the magazine. He wanted it fully loaded for what was about to come.
Between bursts, he could hear shouts from within the camp. He thought there had to be confusion over the green flares. Should he and Scott fall back? Pricks were as close as two hundred meters, a lot of them.
“Fuck it!” Harris shouted out loud to himself, his voice lost in the machine-gun fire. He picked up Scott’s M5 and began shooting at individual targets. He’d rather die killing than running.
Lieutenant Xi began up the hill after he’d seen to it that all his platoons had begun to advance. As a consequence of survival, he was now the company commander. This would be a great career move for him. Xi could be promoted to captain if he could stay alive. He never did believe in taking risks, and he wasn’t going to start now, by leading his company up the hill. He would command from behind the best he could. The trick was making it look like he led from the front.
The Marine fire was bad, but seemed less intense than it had been two days before when they had tried. Perhaps they really could take this hill, in which case he would want to make himself seen on the top. He dashed several steps and dropped down for cover with his radioman right behind him. They tripped over a prone soldier with an eighty-millimeter rocket launcher. Kneeling, he leaned over the man to see if he was injured or dead.
“Comrade, are you all right?” Xi asked, feeling for wounds.
The soldier whimpered.
“Courage!” Xi yelled at the man as he slapped him and began to pull him up. “Help your comrades! Fight like a man!”
“Sorry, sir.” The soldier weakly pulled himself together.
“There.” Xi pointed up the hill towards the flashing barrel of a Marine machine gun. “Shoot there!” Lieutenant Xi ordered. The small soldier struggled to control his trembling hands and prepared to shoot the rocket launcher.
Lance Corporal Scott was in excellent form behind the fifty-caliber machine gun. He was fast and accurate. Harris felt inspired. They could hold another day. Both were caught a bit by surprise when the weapon ran out of ammunition. With speed and precision, they loaded the last ammo belt into the gun, and Scott went back to killing. Harris turned around to reach for the M5.
The impact caught him by surprise. In an instant Harris thought of everything: his family, his home, the war, his death. His body slammed into the earth. His ears rang. His mind spun. His body was pounded by dirt and sandbags. He could move. He could breathe. He was still alive.
“Excellent!” Lieutenant Xi commended the small soldier, who looked surprised to have hit his target. “Now on to victory!” Xi slapped the soldier on the back.
“Yes, sir!” The soldier ran off. Lieutenant Xi sincerely hoped the soldier did not get killed. Xi wanted the man to live so he could tell others of how he was inspired to heroics by the “Great” Lieutenant Xi of the People’s Liberation Army.
Harris thrust himself out of the mud and debris. He scrambled to find his weapon. He looked around, trying to figure out from which direction the enemy was coming. He saw a dark figure not twenty meters away, firing a weapon. It looked like a Prick, so he shot him. Without seeing another immediate threat, Harris began digging for Scott. He found him. Scott was dead.
“You hit?” Edwards asked as he ran up. “Harris.” It wasn’t a question, but an acknowledgement of fact. Edwards did not know who he was talking to until that moment. Harris stared back with a stunned look. Edwards grabbed him by the shoulder harness and shook him hard. “Are you hit?”
Harris went from stunned to angry. Without a word he knocked Edwards’s hand away. Harris reached for his rifle and began to shoot at the barrel flashes in the dark. Edwards took cover and returned fire upon the advancing Chinese.
Reese and Sheridan manned the last TOW gun that had any missiles left. Sheridan covered Reese with the SAW. Reese sighted in through his night sight on a two-and-a-half-ton truck hauling an artillery gun.
“Good enough,” Reese said to himself. “Fire in the hole!” Reese shouted for Sheridan’s benefit. Sheridan didn’t take time to respond. Pricks were charging up the hill and were way too close. Killing them had his complete attention. Reese hadn’t noticed the advancing Pricks; he was too focused on the truck.
“I got you! You son of a bitch!” Reese rejoiced at the impact of his missile, only to be knocked down by a Prick bullet. His chest ached, and he could barely breathe, but his body armor had kept him alive. Reese forced himself back up and found the shotgun. He fired at Pricks not thirty yards away.
“Out of rounds!” Sheridan yelled after the SAW went silent. He began firing a ten-millimeter pistol he’d acquired the day before.
In the noise of the battle Reese could not hear, but he felt the click from the empty shotgun. He wanted to joke that there was never a good time to run out of rounds, but decided to save it for another time. He knelt down next to Sheridan to reload with speed and precision.
Both Marines fought with fury and grace. Neither of them noticed the Prick grenade that landed in their gun pit and took them out.
In the early light of dawn Captain Shelby cursed at another denied request for an airstrike. No sooner had he cursed than he quickly gave thanks for Marine artillery striking at the base of the hill. He started to think again that they might have a chance. Risking stray bullets and snipers, he stood on top of the command bunker to get a quick 360 of what was happening. Shelby would have cursed again had there been time. He ordered the green flares to go up while they could still be seen. The commander was nagged by the notion that he should call “Alamo.” From the enemy numbers he saw, he doubted falling back would be enough.
Sergeant Liu was confused at first by the green flares. They had fired theirs off. He thought that they must be an American signal. Then he was struck with inspiration.
“Reinforcements! Reinforcements have arrived! Push harder! Push harder! See our green flares! Victory is ours!” Liu screamed at the top of his lungs. He turned and fired at a flash he’d seen in the left corner of his eye. He hit his target and ran to the foxhole, hoping he had only wounded the Marine.
When he jumped into the foxhole, he saw a Marine struggling to breathe. Liu’s 5.8-millimeter round had hit the neck and pierced the young Marine’s windpipe. Liu took cover so he could savor the gurgling death throes of the young Marine. Liu’s only regret was that the Marine was already so close to death. He missed administering and extending th
e pain to his victims, but this was war. Sacrifices had to be made.
Edwards noticed the green flares. Harris had not. Harris was in a zone. Edwards had seen him like this before. After six years in combat, Edwards had seen no one better at killing than Harris when he was like this. It baffled him a bit. When bullets weren’t flying, the kid spent his time reading his Bible and writing letters to his mother. In combat he was a demon.
“Perhaps an angel of death,” Edwards mumbled. They had to fall back. Edwards hadn’t had to fall back since Luzon. He knew Harris had never had to fall back; the man had only known victory. Edwards had to wonder, if Harris refused to fall back, would he leave him or fight to the death with him?
“Harris! Green flares! We got to go!” Edwards yelled.
Harris ignored him.
“Harris! Fucking fall back!”
Harris paid him no mind. His M5 ran out of bullets; he reached for another magazine, but was out of those too. Edwards grabbed him by the shoulder harness and ran. “Fucking move, Harris! Move!”
Harris reached for his knife. In his fury he was tempted to slice Edwards’s belly open. Just as quickly he composed his thoughts. It was Edwards, his friend, his mentor. It was surreal for Harris. He’d never fallen back in his life. They’d always charged ahead and won. He was angry over what was happening here. After all the victories, how could this happen? He followed Edwards.
They made it back behind the line of piled earth and sandbags. Edwards had no sooner landed over the wall than he was back up, firing his twelve gauge. He saw Sergeant Bohanan firing his grenade launcher. Harris realized he was weaponless. He felt like he was naked in public. This had never happened to him before. He spun around and saw piles of weapons behind him. He grabbed an .458 SOCOM, spare magazines, and dashed back to the line.
Private Lin could not believe his luck making it up the hill. US Marines were falling back. He’d never seen that before and hadn’t thought it was possible. Could the PLA have told the truth for once? This didn’t seem possible. He ran up on a foxhole and jumped in. He landed on a dead Marine. He looked up and saw Sergeant Liu. Lin did not like the man. Something about Liu gave him the creeps. The guy was always preaching about the supremacy of the People.
Lin had never cared much for the People. His mother and father had been factory workers. They were never paid enough. The People’s Republic of China claimed they existed for the benefit of the people, but his family had never had enough. Ever. Never enough medicine. Never quite enough food. Never enough money for these things. His father paid extra taxes because Lin had been born; he was the only son with two older sisters. His father had always told him he was worth the cost. Lin had always wondered why a government that had nothing to do with the birth of a child could dictate the number of children in a family. Growing up never having enough to be comfortable, he went to school where teachers had watched over his sex life. He’d been expelled from school for showing too much attention to a girl. Lin’s entire life, anything he needed, anything he wanted was not of importance to the People’s Republic of China. Then the war came to their homeland. Suddenly Lin Lei was important to the State.
Sergeant Liu had his back to him, firing at the enemy line. Lin thought of shooting Liu in the back of the head. He wanted to just hide in the foxhole and ignore the whole battle. Instead he fell in beside Liu and shot at the Americans, since hiding was out of the question.
“Keep moving forward! We must keep moving forward,” Sergeant Liu proclaimed. Lin instantly regretted not shooting Liu in the back of the head. Lin stared at the sergeant, afraid to move forward and afraid not to. Three more Red soldiers jumped into the foxhole.
“Forward, Comrades! We must keep moving forward!” Liu ordered. One of the soldiers let out a cry and sprang up; the other two followed. Lin found himself right behind them. He saw all three go down in front of him. Lin felt himself falling before he felt the pain in his left thigh.
The gun wound to his leg hurt more than anything he’d ever felt. He dug his fingers into the dirt. Lin wanted to scream, but he wanted to go unnoticed more. He lay facedown. Then he felt himself being pulled back into the foxhole. It was Liu. Suddenly Lin was glad he had not shot him.
“How are you?” Liu asked.
“My leg. I’ve been shot. My leg, it’s broken.” Lin’s voice quivered from his pain.
“It’s all right. Remember, you’re a hero of the People. Your memory will live on forever.” Lin took little comfort from Sergeant Liu’s words, and even that disappeared when he noticed Liu’s knife. He reached to block it, but it had already reached his throat by the time he’d grabbed Liu’s hand. Lin struggled for a bit, but his strength was fleeting. Lin’s last thought was why he did not shoot Liu in the back of the head when he’d had the chance.
Liu stayed in the foxhole. He looked around; the advance seemed to have stalled. American artillery was dropping in. He had as good a place as any to wait. Killing Lin had not restored his confidence as the master of death. It had not given him the sense of control he craved. Liu struggled to find empowerment in this chaos. He decided to hide and wait.
Private Chen was falling back when he came across two red soldiers trying to reassemble a Type 88, 12.7-millimeter machine gun. He assisted, and it relieved his guilt from having retreated from the Marine fire. American artillery was falling nearby, but not on them. It seemed as safe as any place on this battlefield to hole up a while.
Lieutenant Xi saw artillery coming down fifty meters in front of him. He decided to hole up and looked for his radioman, but didn’t see him. He was irritated that the fool could not keep up. Then it occurred to him that he might be dead. Xi decided to work his way back down the hill until he could find his radio. After all, he had to be able to communicate with headquarters.
The exchange of gunfire was starting to die down. Harris kept looking for any Prick he could kill. It didn’t matter to him if they were running forward or away.
“If they’re dead, they ain’t a problem!” he shouted to Edwards.
After several seconds, Harris could find no one else to shoot. He slid down behind the sandbags. They had survived the recent onslaught. He reached for a cigarette to find his hands shaking beyond his control. He laughed from exhaustion and the momentary relief.
“We ain’t dead yet, so we ain’t lost yet.” Edwards smiled. He too found his hands unsteady as he reached for his smokes. “Fuck!” he cursed and handed Harris a lit cigarette before lighting one for himself.
“Second Section, Second Section.” Sergeant Bohanan was trying to get a head count.
“Sergeant Bohanan,” Edwards called out.
“Edwards, Harris, good to see you! Either of you wounded?”
“No,” both Marines answered in unison.
“Good. Scott?” Bohanan looked at Edwards.
“Dead,” Harris answered. Bohanan felt a chill from the tone in Harris’s voice. It unnerved him a bit. He’d thought himself beyond that sort of thing.
“So’s Reese and Sheridan. We’ve lost Washington, Caprese, Jefferson, Renoir, Jacobs, Caldwell, and Riccardi.” Bohanan looked directly at Edwards. “Other than me, you’re the last NCO in the section. Gordon’s got First, with Rameriz, Martin, and Delany. You got Hastings, Jonker and Sokolov. I’ll send them down here.”
“What do you got Hart doing?” Edwards asked.
“He’s dead.” Bohanan paused. “Listen up. Stay hydrated, understand? If you’re a heat casualty, you’re as good as dead. Canteens, weapons, and ammo are stockpiled in our center. You see red flares, you hear ‘Alamo,’ you fucking get your ass back to that command bunker. Understand? You think it’s hell now, hold on. It will get worse, Marines. Questions?”
“No,” Edwards answered. Harris just shook his head.
Bohanan smiled. “Look alive, Devil Dogs! We’ll earn our fucking pay this month!” The sergeant laughed with bravado and went back down the line.
“Edwards?”
“Yeah?” Edwards tur
ned back to Harris.
“Why didn’t we join the fucking Air Force?”
“Fuck if I know, brother. Fuck if I know.” They both laughed at their situation.
By the time Harris had finished his smoke, he saw Hastings making his way over. Harris laughed again; it felt good. Even with all the mud and blood, Hastings’s cheeks still looked ruddy like a little kid’s.
“What are you laughing at?” Hastings squinted his dark brown eyes, but smiled in return.
“How’d your stupid ass stay alive in all this bullshit?” Harris regretted the question as soon as he’d asked it. It was meant to be funny, but it didn’t sound that way to his ears.
“Hell, man! I heard you’re buying drinks after work. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, my friend!” Hastings slapped his best friend on the back and offered him a cigarette.
General Huang Jianguo looked over his intelligence reports with mixed emotions. He had hoped for better, but had not really expected it. The surprise of the eastern offensive had initially given them great momentum. That was now lost, and in fact, PLA forces were now being pushed back. The only good news was the American counterattack had left Marine battalions in the west isolated from reserves. The Marines’ extreme left, 1/1 and 1/4, were the most vulnerable. Especially 1/1 that had been split between two camps. Huang debated with himself as to whether he wanted to go for the destruction of two battalions or concentrate his resources into the destruction of one.
Huang had been raised to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. In the People’s Republic of China, it could be dangerous to share what you thought and what you felt. Along with discipline, his parents had taught him caution and discretion. As a military and political officer, he’d had to learn to calculate and weigh risks and rewards. He did so now.
If he failed to achieve the political victory he had promised, Zhang would most likely have him shot. On the other hand, if he scored a huge military victory, he could very well gain enough political capital to overthrow Zhang. However, Zhang was very cautious and protective of his political power to the point of paranoia. If Huang scored a huge military victory, would Zhang see him as a threat and thus have him shot?
The Last Marine Page 27
