Crusader 66
1345 Local
1 mile north of Osan
“You have got to be kidding me,” Lieutenant Colonel Kraven shouted.
“Sir, I wish I was,” Major Klein said, looking anxiously south back towards Osan. The rain was pouring down on both men, making it hard to see the city edge behind them. “But that bridge is fucked, and Apache 33 is at the bottom of the damn river.”
It never fails, Kraven thought. Just when you need something to go right, the world is going to punch you in the head.
“How many got out?” he asked.
“Just the tank commander” Klein replied, clearly shaken. “Major Donahue is trying to scare up a pontoon boat as we speak, and that ROK lieutenant thinks he can make repairs over a couple of hours. We can try that rail bridge or to find a ford site, but that won’t be quick.”
Two companies north of the bridge, Kraven thought. If we want to stop the North Koreans for a couple of hours, we’re going to have to give them a good, hard punch in the head to make them think about things.
Kraven looked north, the pounding rain dampening any sounds of combat that might have drifted backwards. It was hard to tell if the rolling, deep sounds he heard were thunder or artillery. Kraven sincerely hoped the former, as if it were the latter, then the North Koreans were pounding the shit out of TF McPeak and Demon Company.
“Still no freakin’ radio contact?” he asked Klein. “What in the hell happened to Demon 6?”
“We lost contact with them just after they reported the North Koreans attacked again,” Klein answered. “I don’t know if they’re being jammed or there’s something wrong with their radios.”
Six in one hand, half dozen in the other, Kraven thought.
“I’m headed north, Andy,” Kraven said. “We’ll try to buy some time with Baker and Charlie Companies.”
“Roger sir,” Klein replied. “I’ll try to get that bridge fixed. What do you…”
There was the sound of a truck engine and honking horn between them and Osan. Turning to look beyond Klein, Kraven watched as a jeep followed by two 5-ton trucks proceeded up the road towards Crusader 66. He recognized a mud-spattered Brigadier General Watson in the jeep seat.
“Wonder what in the hell he wants?” Klein muttered, drawing a hard look from Kraven.
“Sorry sir,” Klein stated. The jeep stopped rolling a couple minutes later, and Kraven noticed that the third man in the jeep was a ROK lieutenant colonel who was covered from head to toe in mud and what looked like straw. The man’s arm was in a sling and as he got closer Kraven realized some of the dark spatters were not mud, but that didn’t seem to detract from the South Korean’s intensity.
“Lieutenant Colonel Kraven, I present to you Lieutenant Colonel Sung, Republic of Korea Army,” Brigadier General Watson said. “His men are what’s left of 3rd battalion, 1st ROK Infantry Regiment.”
There’s barely two platoons in those trucks, Kraven thought.
“My men and I are here to help you, Lieutenant Colonel Kraven,” Sung said, his accent indicating he’d been taught the King’s English rather than American. “We have limited equipment, but I have one hundred anti-tank mines and men who know how to emplace them.”
This time the rumbling from the north was clearly man made. Kraven looked at the Scout Platoon heading north at their best speed, the little M24 Chaffees throwing up mud as they accelerated.
“Hold that thought, Lieutenant Colonel Sung,” Kraven said grimly. “It appears Round 2 of this match has just begun. If TF McPeak gets knocked out, we might be making a stand here.”
Dotty III
1355 Local
“Over, reengage!” Jeremiah shouted, angry as the 76mm round passed just above the T-34/85s turret. The North Korean tank’s last minute zig had closed the range just enough. The vehicle’s commander whipped around and saw Dotty III just as Jeremiah depressed his butterfly trigger. The burst ricocheted off the turret all around the North Korean commander, but miraculously none of the slugs struck home before Jeremiah’s target dropped into his open hatch.
Lucky bastard! Jeremiah thought, fighting the urge to order Schiller to back up in order not to ruin SGT Mullock’s shot. It was no matter, his gunner putting the next round just in front of the T-34/85 as their target braked hard, then began to slew its turret around.
We’re dead, Jeremiah thought, even as Washington desperately grabbed another HVAP out of the ready rack. At less than 300 yards, the tank was unlikely to miss.
“Clear!” Washington shouted as the 85mm gun lay onto them. From Jeremiah’s perspective, the main gun looked as big as a drainage pipe. Jeremiah closed his eyes…only to open them as a Super Bazooka rocket exploded against the turret’s right side.
Thank you, Jesus! The 85mm gun remained stopped, the infantry rocket’s HEAT warhead having obviously halted whatever intentions the North Korean crew had with regards to Dotty III. Sergeant Mullock’s next round turned hesitation into detonation less than a second later, hitting just below the turret ring before going into the ready ammo with spectacular effects.
These things burn worse than the Japanese tanks, Jeremiah thought crazily as the North Korean commander started to clamber out of his now-blazing track. The effect of the heavy rain dousing the man’s garments in a wreath of smoke and steam was strangely hypnotizing…
“Sir, look out!” Washington screamed, clawing for his pistol. The ping and whine of a bullet glancing off Dotty III’s left side armor told Jeremiah that Dotty III had enemy infantry close at hand. An object sailed past him trailing a streamer from left to right, slamming into the ground and exploding. Gazing in the direction it came from even while ducking below the lip of the turret, Jeremiah saw the offending North Korean reaching for another anti-tank grenade.
How in the Hell did they get on top of us? he thought, reaching desperately for his Thompson. Even as his hand grasped the SMG, the snarling grin on the North Korean’s face and those of his comrades raising their own submachine guns let him know that it was going to be far too late. In seeming slow motion, the man pulled the pin on his next anti-tank grenade even as the other two men’s fire drove Jeremiah to the turret floor. Specialist Washington grunted and slumped to the turret floor himself, curling up around his abdomen.
Instead of the roar of the anti-tank grenade penetrating Dotty III’s hull, Jeremiah heard the dull thump! of a 75mm cannon. This was followed almost immediately by the hail-on-steel-roof sound of canister balls bouncing off of Dotty III’s flank and the detonation of the North Korean anti-tank team’s ordnance. Popping up, Jeremiah saw all three men converted into red smears, the charging silhouette of a 72nd Battalion M24 Chaffee with its 75mm gun roughly 150 yards beyond them.
That was entirely too close, he thought while trying to assess what was around him in the smoke, rain, and chaos. Jeremiah’s hand shook as he gripped the Thompson, not seeing any more North Korean infantry sneaking up towards him. The M24 pivot steered to the left and its machine guns began to chatter. The fire cut down several other men in mustard brown uniforms as they approached the two vehicles from Dotty III’s west.
Jeremiah popped up into his turret and swung the M2 around towards what appeared to be at least thirty charging North Koreans. Depressing the trigger, he fired short bursts, bowling over at least ten men even as the screaming soldiers’ return fire pinged off of his turret.
They’re all over us, inside the perimeter, Jeremiah thought angrily as the machine gun ran through its box.
“Schiller back up!” Sergeant Mullock shouted, grabbing the hand mike from Jeremiah’s station. “Straight back, down the ridge!”
The M18 surged backwards from where it had been in the center of 1/24’s positions. Something very, very bad had obviously happened to C/1/24 out on the TF McPeak’s left, and Jeremiah could see three of his M18s engulfed in flames in that direction. The radio was dead, and the rain made it difficult to know what was truly happening over there. However, what Jeremiah saw after he switched his
box of ammunition looked to be a confusing mix of olive green and mustard brown uniforms at two hundred yards’ distance.
“Bandits! Bandits on me!” one of the infantry company commanders was yelling. Rallying one of his platoons towards him, the man screamed for bayonets then set off towards C/1/24’s position.
“Sir, Washington’s dead,” Sergeant Mullock said grimly. Jeremiah turned around in shock, then looked down towards where his loader lay impossibly still.
“Goddammit,” Jeremiah said, fighting back a surge of rage and helplessness. The distant sound of bugles jerked him out of his state just as quickly as he’d gone into it, and he belatedly realized the North Koreans were retreating. In moments, most of the enemy had melted back into the pelting rain from which they’d come, chased by machine gun fire and mortar fire.
Okay, if the mortars are that accurate, the radio problem is in this vehicle.
“What the hell happened?” 1LT Reese, the Scout Platoon leader asked as he brought his M24 aside Dotty III. Jeremiah took a moment to process the man’s question.
“Sorry, sir,” Reese said, misunderstanding the reason for Jeremiah’s silence.
“They waited until the damn rain got really bad, then tried to bumrush right up the road,” Jeremiah said, waving off the correction. “Twenty tanks, looks like two battalions of—”
The sound of incoming artillery fire caused both men to drop into their respective turrets. Thankfully, the initial North Korean salvo was long, landing roughly half a mile behind the 1/24 ridge. The next was similarly off, at least if the target was 1/24’s defensive positions. After one more salvo, wildly inaccurate in azimuth, thundered down the North Korean barrage ceased.
Dammit, Jeremiah thought, feeling momentarily helpless. Fighting the emotion away, he forced himself to stand up in the turret.
“Is your radio down, sir?!” 1LT Reese called over. “Crusader 6 has been trying to reach you for the last thirty minutes.”
Jeremiah looked over at the radio set.
“Get SPC Washington out of the turret,” Jeremiah said. “I’m going to go talk to LTC Kraven on 1LT Reese’s radio.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Jeremiah felt as if his time could have been better spent on consolidation than talking to LTC Kraven. As Crusader 66 pulled up beside Dotty III, Jeremiah was still getting a tally of just how badly the Demons had suffered. The news was not good, as there were only eight serviceable Hellcats left. The crews of D13 and D25 were working feverishly to repair their vehicles, but Jeremiah had the feeling the North Koreans weren’t going to give them much more of a respite.
Certainly not enough time to replace a busted sprocket and service a holed engine, Jeremiah thought.
“…then you’ll split your men and hold that damn position!” LTC Kraven was shouting at a hapless infantry company commander as Jeremiah walked up. “Do you understand?”
The junior officer mumbled something, unable to meet LTC Kraven’s eyes.
“Well I could swear that dead son-of-a-bitch who was your commander was going on and on about how he had the finest troops in the Army and didn’t want to be supported by some ‘colored’ troops.”
Kraven jabbed towards where Jeremiah was standing. “Well I don’t see Captain Gibson whining like some whipped child about how bad his losses are,” Kraven said. “So you need to get with your fellow captains and cross attach infantrymen, as we’re going to hold the bastards at least one more time.”
Jeremiah saw the captain glance over at him and met the man’s gaze.
Sure I’m a glorified platoon leader right now, but if it helps LTC Kraven rally the damn infantry then I’ll do what I can, he thought.
The infantry captain gulped, turned back to the 72nd battalion commander, then nodded.
“I’ll get the men together, sir,” he drawled. To Jeremiah’s surprise, the officer turned and nodded in his direction before speaking.
“I’d serve with you any time, Captain Gibson,” the man continued, his voice raw. “You saved our lives today. I hate to think what would have happened without your Hellcats being here.”
Well, I guess Jesus is coming soon, Jeremiah thought.
“Thank you, Captain Larson,” he replied.
With that, the man moved off, shouting to a nearby group of soldiers from HHC, 1/24. Jeremiah turned back to LTC Kraven.
“We can’t stay here, Captain Gibson,” Kraven said, shocking Jeremiah, then nodded towards Suwon. “Eventually someone up there is going to realize our flanks are just hanging out in the air and try to bypass us. Probably after the next attack.”
Jeremiah nodded, glancing as a platoon of Pershings moved by them. He noticed all the M26s were staying below the ridgeline, but were also having to carefully pick their paths across the paddy trails.
“So far, I don’t think any of the North Koreans have seen our tanks,” Kraven said. “Besides the Scout Platoon, that is. So we’re going to try something a little different this next time.”
“Sir?” Jeremiah asked.
“I need your Hellcats to move from place to place,” Kraven said. “I want the North Koreans to commit fully to the attack and try to rush down this road, where those ROKs are about to put down some anti-tank mines.”
Jeremiah looked at where the South Koreans were placing the mines on the surface.
“Sir, are those…” he started to ask.
“Yes, they’re old Japanese mines,” Kraven replied. “Should still be good enough for blowing off a track.”
“Roger, sir,” Jeremiah said, glad he wasn’t the one messing with the old explosives.
“I don’t need you to be heroes,” Kraven said, jerking his attention back to the present. “Don’t stay above the ridge line, and if you lose another track I want you to very obviously turn and run for it.”
“Sir?” Jeremiah questioned. Kraven raised an eyebrow.
“Sir, it’s just the infantry…” he started, then made sure no one was in earshot. “The infantry are probably just about ready to run for it. They lost LTC McPeak and their XO to artillery, and I’m not sure if we run if that won’t start a general panic.”
“Let the infantry company commanders worry about a panic,” Kraven said. “If I have to, we’ll fire over their heads to stop it.”
Jeremiah’s eyes widened at his commander’s ruthlessness.
“I didn’t cross the Sea of Japan to die on some damn ridgeline because the infantry can’t keep it together,” Kraven said. “You familiar with Joshua Chamberlain, Captain Gibson?”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremiah responded.
“Well, this ain’t Pennsylvania, but it’s the same principle,” Kraven said. “When they get within five hundred yards, I’m going to have Charlie pop up and hit them hard. Then we’re going to counterattack.”
“Sir?” Jeremiah asked, shocked.
“I’m going to roll those bastards back to Suwon,” Kraven stated, looking determinedly past the ridge. “We’re going to shoot up the first things we come to, convince them I’m coming off this hill with murder on my mind. I imagine that’s going to cause some consternation with the enemy’s higher headquarters, and they may dig in.”
Jeremiah remained silent as Kraven looked around at the infantry redigging their positions.
“After that happens, then we’re going to fall back off this ridge.”
I’m not sure that’s the best idea anyone’s ever had, Jeremiah thought. But I guess it beats sitting here waiting to get kicked in the head again.
“Sir, how are you going to get back through that minefield?” Jeremiah asked.
“I suspect the North Koreans are going to set off most of the mines,” Kraven replied. “The big point of them is to make them stop on the ridge just before we kick them in the head.”
Jeremiah looked back to where the first T-34/85 the Demons had killed still sat smoldering.
“Well, we’ve given them plenty of reason to be cautious,” he stated, then looked in surprise as a ROK
officer came up behind Kraven.
“We are dug in to the north end of your line and have coordinated with your infantry company,” Sung said. “We will guard your flank as best we can.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Sung,” Kraven said. “Gentlemen, let’s go make history.”
* * *
Chapter 3: Kraven’s Right Hook
Dotty III
1555 Local
TF McPeak Defensive Positions
“How many rounds of HVAP do we have, PFC Caine?”
Jeremiah shook his head sadly as he stood relieving himself behind Dotty III. It was the NCO’s polite, but firm, way of telling the private to wake up and pay attention. That the man had had to ask it six times in the last hour or so reflected the brutal post-combat fatigue that was seemingly sweeping over the entire position.
“The same number as there were last time, Sergeant,” Caine replied.
Well shit, Jeremiah thought, quickly tucking himself back in and turning towards the track.
“What the fuck did you say, Private?!”
“You heard me, dammit,” Caine said, his voice rising. “I don’t need you…”
Jeremiah was halfway up Dotty III’s back deck when he heard the sound of a helmet thudding off the turret side, then another blow being struck and a cry of pain.
So help me, if you make me have to go get another loader, I’ll have a stripe, Jeremiah thought angrily.
“Is there a problem?!” he asked, poking his head over the turret ring. SGT Mullock had the scared private pinned against the turret wall with his hand around Cain’s throat, the enlisted man clearly stunned from the first two blows. Seeing the look on his lieutenant’s face, SGT Mullock quickly let Caine go. The young private took a shuddering breath, coughing and retching as he slumped.
“Caine, maybe you need to get some fresh…”
Jeremiah never got a chance to finish, the all too familiar sound of incoming indirect fire sending him diving into the turret. He reached the bottom at the same time the shells reached the American defensive positions. For the second time that day, Jeremiah felt himself barely hanging onto his sanity as the M18 pitched and shook like a cork in a storm-tossed sea. The barrage was a short, savage thing, moving over the position like a hurricane once, then back again.
Trouble in the Wind Page 35
