Huang stared at the battle map on the wall as he drank his tea and smoked a cigarette. He thought it logical that even a minor military victory would cause the political defeat of President Harmon. That was his primary objective, after all. Huang was convinced that a President Tang would be thoroughly detrimental to the American war effort. A less spectacular victory might make him less of a political threat.
If he committed the last of his reserves in the west to destroy the American left, he could, with Zhang’s blessing, roll the American left flank. Thus still score a huge military victory, but not be as intimidating to Zhang, who could take credit for the success.
All the contingencies made his head hurt. He rubbed his eyes and scratched the top of his head. He needed to sleep. He couldn’t worry too far ahead about things he could not control. He made up his mind. He would concentrate the last of his reserves on the American left, focusing on one battalion, to guarantee at least minimal success. Once victory was achieved, these forces could continue to move east if Zhang so desired. It was settled; General Huang’s, and the PLA’s, top priority was the destruction of First Battalion, First Marines.
Lieutenant Xi had been stuck on the hillside all afternoon. It would be dark within the hour. The momentum of the morning assault was lost. While the Marines had fallen back, they were condensed into a smaller perimeter and seemed twice as tough as they were before. He thought surely they had to be weakening. The Marines were surrounded; unless supplied by air drop, the PLA would throw more red soldiers at them than they had bullets. Being thrown at the Marines again was what worried Xi the most.
For as alone and isolated as Edgar Ragnarsson felt at that moment, he knew it was nothing compared to what the Marines under his command were going through. He’d barely eaten and hadn’t slept in days. Seventh Marines, his reserve regiment, had been taken from First MarDiv and given to Fifth Marine Division in the east. First and Fifth Marines had been getting hammered for four days. Whatever other resources the PLA was lacking at this point in the war, population was not one of them. All reports were basically the same. Wave after wave of ChiCom soldiers. Assault after assault on his bases. Half of First Marines were surrounded, and it had been difficult at best, and impossible at worst, to get supplies to them.
It now appeared that his line was stabilizing. He could now look at getting reinforcements and supplies to First Marines. The question that hounded him was if he could do it in time to do them any good?
For the last ninety-six hours Colonel Liddell prayed he could live up to his nickname, Lucky. He’d always worked under the philosophy that a man created his own luck. However, it was the micromanaging of the Harmon administration that had created this bad luck that he now was trying to fix. Every single one of his battalions was engaged in combat. He was having to look at the real possibility that First Battalion could be lost. He knew Billy McGregor would fight to the death if it came to that. Liddell had to see that it didn’t come to that.
“About fucking time!” Lieutenant Colonel William “Bulldog” McGregor exclaimed into the radio mic.
“Is that how you talk to a superior officer?” his cousin Colonel “Lucky” Liddell responded in the first lighthearted moment he’d had in four days.
“Sir, you can fire my ass if I’m still alive when this is all done,” McGregor countered. “Arty, you know we’ll hold out or die trying. But don’t take too long. Charlie Company is cut off from us. Those boys may not even have twenty-four hours if they don’t get help.”
Harris was down to his last pack of cigarettes. He laughed when he realized that bothered him more than being surrounded and running out of ammo. He had all his magazines loaded up with .458 rounds. He’d always thought the large-caliber rifles were badass. He’d joked with Hastings that he could die a happy man now that he had one.
“I could take a nap.” Hastings worked to shake off his drowsiness.
“Go ahead. I’ll wake you up if anything exciting happens,” Harris said with a grin.
“Yeah, go for it,” Newton chimed in, not aware of the humor the other two saw in all this.
The three of them were manning the last .50-caliber machine gun left. The Pricks had backed off for the time being. Combat had dwindled down to a few odd shots here and there and an occasional grenade or artillery barrage.
“I miss autumn. I miss being back in Nebraska this time of year.”
“Yeah. Spring and fall were always my favorite times of year.” Harris joined in the nostalgia.
“Me too. Hell, I even miss all the freaks that come out at Halloween,” Newton joined in.
“What the fuck’s your deal?! Kids trick-or-treatin’ are freaks?” Harris acted indignant about the issue.
“No, the fucking witches where I come from.” Newton defended himself.
“You got witches at home?” Hastings took a turn at acting incredulous.
“Hey, I don’t believe in that shit, but they do. They flock around town all dressed up in their bullshit. But you know they buy shit, so it was good for my dad’s business.”
“Where the fuck you from?” Hastings asked with his usual tactfulness.
“Salem, Massachusetts, you fucking pogue bastard.”
“Hey, man,” Harris chimed in on the good-natured hazing, “I thought you were from the United States.”
“Blow it out your mouth, fucking cocksucker.” Newton gave back as good as he got.
“Sun’s going down, Devil Dogs.” Harris became more serious. “They’ll come for us by morning. Be stupid not to.”
“You’re a goddamn cheerleader.” Newton was irritated the fun had ended.
“It’ll be what it’s going to be,” Harris said, trying to detach from his emotions about what they faced. If he thought too much about Kansas, his brother and sister, too much about his mother, it would break his heart. He’d be a sobbing mess, with no chance, however slim, of survival.
“Well, hell, then I’m going to have another smoke before it gets too dark.” Hastings pulled out his pack and lit up. The other two Marines joined him.
“You act tough now, Bulldog, but don’t come running to me when you get lung cancer.”
“Fucking blow me, Harris.”
Lieutenant Xi was perplexed. He’d been ordered to place the reinforcements as fast as possible. The faster he fulfilled his orders, the sooner they’d renew the attack. High command wanted this company taken out as soon as possible. But if they accomplished the mission, they would only move southeast to join the forces attacking the rest of the battalion. Xi saw no point in winning one fight just to be killed in another. The flip side was, if he had to attack, he’d rather do it in the dark. It was easier to hide, but if he could put off the attack, perhaps luck would intervene and conditions would change to something more favorable. Xi hunkered down even more under his field jacket and smoked his cigarette. He thought it was ironic to be fighting the Americans. He’d always admired their freedom-based culture. He closed his eyes and thought of how fortunate to be born where people control the government. He thought the Americans must be the happiest people on earth. No wonder the Marines were such fierce warriors; they had so much to fight for, so much to lose if they lost. How could the People’s Republic of China ever defeat such a people? What did they have to fight for when they really had nothing to live for?
Xi regretted not deserting and surrendering to the Americans earlier in the war. He would do so now, except the Marines were surrounded. PLA reinforcements were arriving. The Marines would be dead within the next twenty-four hours. He knew there was no way they would surrender. He’d learned enough to know they’d never surrender.
Xi lit another cigarette. He hated his life. He hated what he was doing. He hated stressing out over how he could stay alive and continue such a miserable life, but then what else was there?
Sergeant Liu looked at the stars. He couldn’t sleep. It was too dangerous, for one thing. He was too hungry, for another. He never could sleep when he was hungry. He
’d spent all day in this foxhole. Judging by the sounds of shots throughout the afternoon, he figured the PLA had not fallen back too far. Nor were they advancing. Liu didn’t want to think he could die; he was the master of death, after all. However, he didn’t want to be stuck in a foxhole to be captured by Marines if his army retreated. He feared that they’d know who he was and what he had done. What if they did to him what he had done to others? He didn’t want that. No, he had to make his way back to his army. Whether they retreated or attacked again, he wanted to be with them. He wanted to stay alive.
Sergeant Liu slowly crawled out of the hole he’d been in for the last several hours and began to crawl his way back to the People’s Liberation Army.
Hastings was asleep. Harris was wide awake. He was envious of Hastings’s ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. Newton was starting to nod off despite his best efforts not to. They were all exhausted.
“Newt, catch some sleep. I’ll work the gun,” Harris volunteered.
“Thanks, man.” Newton was happy to take him up on the offer.
Harris got behind the gun. He scanned the horizon through the night-vision optics, as he’d done for the last few years. He was feeling melancholic. He was feeling homesick. He missed his family. He missed the home of his childhood.
Through his father he had learned early that death is a part of war. He was a Christian; naturally he thought of Heaven. He looked forward to Heaven, but still he didn’t want to die yet. It did not matter what he wanted, for now he was surrounded by death.
“Son, life is the leading cause of death.” He heard his father’s joke in his head, and it made him smile. He wrestled with the idea that he’d never see his family again in this life.
He decided those instant moments of fear and not knowing if you’d live or die were preferable to spending all night contemplating your own death. He wished they’d just get on with it and let it be what it was going to be.
“Fucking commie bastards! Come and take this fucking hill if you got the balls!” Harris shouted.
A few cheers sounded throughout the Marine Camp.
“What?!” Hastings sat up, sleepy eyed. “It’s going down?” Newton was so worn out he didn’t stir.
“Nothing,” Harris answered. Two minutes later Edwards was there asking what was going on. Two minutes after that, Bohanan was there asking the same question.
“Goddamn, Harris, you trying to get them to drop a mortar round on your ass?” Bohanan complained. “Listen, the shit’s going to go down soon enough. You just keep your head clear and mouth shut until then.”
Colonel Fu Chen loved the power and privilege that his rank and authority had over so many of his comrades. Unfortunately, there were still many in the People’s Liberation Army of the People’s Republic of China that had more rank and authority than he. Throughout his career he’d always found those people were quick to give him objectives, realistic or not, that he was to accomplish. They were always quick to take credit for his success and to blame him for his failures. Colonel Fu had rarely failed.
Now he was looking at a potential failure that could end his career or his life. He was ordered to assault and take the hill before sunrise. He was ordered to assault once all his reinforcements arrived. Little more than half the reinforcements had shown up. Sunrise was within the hour. If he attacked now and failed, he would be blamed for going before all the reinforcements arrived. If he waited and the attack failed, he be blamed for waiting too long.
Taking the hill was his best chance to save his life and his career. He decided to attack now. The sooner the better. He issued the order to his junior officers.
Lieutenant Xi wasn’t happy about the orders, but he wasn’t surprised either.
“Sergeant Liu, prepare the men to attack,” the lieutenant ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant.”
“Sir?”
“Tell the men our orders are no retreat, no surrender. Give no quarter. We take this hill today, or we die.”
“Yes, sir!” Sergeant Liu smiled. The idea of massive death excited him.
Captain Shelby stood on top of the command bunker, scanning the surrounding territory through his thermal night scope. He could see two-and-a-half-ton trucks still driving into the woods. Lieutenant Colonel McGregor had told him to hold tight; there might be relief by the end of the day. If they could last that long.
“Gunny, what I would give for a few more TOW missiles right now.”
“Sir, right now I’d be happy with just a few more rounds of 10 mm.” Neither spoke of how they’d never had trouble getting air support, or anything else, when Clark was president.
“It won’t be long. We ain’t got much dark left. If I was them, I’d want to hit while it was dark. Maybe they’ll wait. I don’t know how many more men they’re going to truck in, but they got absolutely no advantage to waiting at this point.
“Gunny, make sure everyone’s awake. Have platoon sergeants remind everyone about the Alamo.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Harris, wake up Newton,” Edwards ordered. Hastings was already awake. “Stay sharp, Marines. Pricks are loaded up. It’ll probably go down soon. Remember the Alamo: you see red flares, popped red smoke, whatever, you haul your ass back to the command bunker.”
“If the CO can call in an air strike, why not just do it now?”
“Who knows, Hastings. Who cares at this point? It is what it is.” Edwards looked them all individually in the eye. “Look, you all know the deal. This is where we earn the title US Marines, boys. It’s our last stand, make it our best.”
“Semper Fi, Corporal Edwards,” Hastings said without a trace of his usual sarcasm.
“Semper Fi, Devil Dogs.” Harris pulled out his smokes and handed one to Edwards. He took it and nodded his thanks. “Ain’t like we were gonna live forever.”
“Semper Fi, Harris, you optimistic son of a bitch,” Newton chimed in as he took a cigarette.
PLA artillery had been resupplied and reloaded, with orders to hold nothing back. All units had gotten the word that Colonel Fu wanted the hill taken. This time there would be no retreat, no surrender, no prisoners. To drive the colonel’s point home, machine-gun units were placed well behind the infantry units. No retreat.
The artillery barrage started later than anyone thought it would. It didn’t last long enough for the Red Army. It lasted too long for the Marines.
Sergeant Liu’s men thought he was a demon. He seemed to bring truth to the rumors that he couldn’t die. He ran into enemy fire and came out alive when many others fell dead. Unlike Lieutenant Xi, he was an inspiration to his men. Many hoped his luck would rub off on them—had to be better than falling back into their own machine guns.
Liu got his platoon up to within one hundred meters of the Marines’ defenses. Mortars were hammering the dug-in Marines. Liu ordered his men to advance in fire team rushes. There was no going back. This was where they would slaughter the Marines.
“That’s it for the fifty,” Harris shouted as Newton fired the last rounds of the M2. Edwards didn’t say a word, but his look showed frustration. “We got a thousand rounds for the SAW.” Harris handed out bandoliers of 5.56 mm for the rifles.
“Set it up,” Edwards ordered, although Hastings had already started.
Newton had switched to a rifle. Pricks were advancing faster than they could kill them. Hastings was on the SAW.
“Fucking bastards are making their move.” Bohanan seemed to have shown up from nowhere, but then everyone was focused on the Pricks. “I saw from the command bunker some hard-ass mother fucker leading them up here. I want to flank that cocksucker.”
“Let’s go.” Edwards grabbed his M5.
“Edwards, you and Newton cover us. Harris, Hastings, we’ll haul ass to the right then charge the sons of bitches.”
“Sergeant, how are we going to remember that much detail? Keep it simple, will you?” Hastings hadn’t lost his sense of humor or his smile. Boh
anan took time to smile back and he was off. Hastings and Harris scrambled to keep up. They ran down about twenty-five yards.
“Remember, mortars kill you sitting still as much as running forward.” Sergeant Bohanan jumped and ran into the exploding earth and flying bullets. Three seconds later he was on the ground, shooting. Harris jumped up and sprinted at an angle to the right of Bohanan. “I’m up. He’s sees me, I’m down,” from boot camp went through his mind in a flash. He noticed the sharp pain of scraping his knuckles from landing on his right fist, but he didn’t take time to deal with that. At fifty yards he felt close enough to spit on them; he’d never fought this close to the enemy.
A Prick popped up and went down from Harris’s .458. Body armor or not, the big round took Pricks down. He’d shot three Pricks by the time he saw Hastings go down to his right and roll over shooting. Bohanan was up in a flash and landed about ten yards forward and left of Harris. No sooner had he gone down than Harris was up. He made a point to land on his right forearm and let the armor take the brunt of the impact. That was when he realized there were more Pricks on their right. Harris was concerned for Hastings on the right. Did he see them? Harris jumped up and went to the right, dove and shot. He hit two Pricks. Hastings opened up the SAW. Bohanan fired into the Pricks directly in his front. Their charge seemed to come to a halt. Hastings covered their right. Harris looked to their front and saw Newton and Edwards make devastating use of their rifles.
Harris gave a quick prayer for a gunship, but figured it just wasn’t God’s will today. Only thirty yards now separated them from the Pricks. Harris wished he had a hand grenade, then wondered if the Pricks had any. Bohanan jumped up and ran at the Pricks to their front. Harris was caught a bit off guard, but quickly compensated and laid covering fire. He saw Bohanan return fire and wondered how he was still alive. Harris jumped up, sprinted ten yards, and dove. Hastings covered their right. Harris saw a hand grenade fly into Bohanan’s position. No sooner had it landed than he saw it fly back towards the Pricks.
The Last Marine Page 28
