Red Phoenix (31 page)

Senior Lieutenant Park Sung-Hi of the North Korean People’s Army couldn’t see the body of his company commander from where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t see much of anything at all.

Park and the remains of his platoon had been driven back from the American outpost to a place where a small fold in the ground offered cover from the imperialists’ murderous fire. One of his men hadn’t made it all the way to safety, and his body lay sprawled half in and half out of the shallow ditch. Park gripped his AKM assault rifle tighter and tried to burrow deeper into the frozen snow.

Technically his captain’s death had given him command of the company, but there wasn’t much left to command. Just the four, no, five men huddled on either side of him. There were undoubtedly others left alive and unwounded, but they’d either sought cover elsewhere or kept running. For their sake Park hoped that the men who’d run stopped before they got back to the company’s Start Line. The commissars of the Main Political Administration had made it clear that would-be deserters would be dealt with harshly.

The North Korean lieutenant lay in the snow and considered his options—none of which seemed particularly palatable. He could try again to take the hill with what he had left. And that was suicidal madness, of course. The Americans were too well dug-in. Or he could wriggle back to the company’s communications gear, report the failure of this attack, and ask for support
from a higher headquarters. That was the militarily sensible thing to do, but it might be viewed as cowardice by an unsympathetic political officer.

He bit his lip while trying to decide what to do and spat the blood out onto the snow. Oddly enough, the pain helped clear his mind. Better to be shot for trying to do the right thing than to be killed while doing something utterly foolish and wasteful. He would call for help.

3RD MOTORIZED RIFLE DIVISION HQ, NEAR THE DMZ

The North Korean division commander smiled all the way through his staff’s situation report. The attack was going well, much better than he’d dared hope possible. His first echelon tank and infantry battalions had already broken into the first enemy defensive line in three separate places. Casualties in some units had been heavier than expected, but others had suffered only minimal losses. And according to the reports, whole enemy units had collapsed under the weight of the unexpected attack. The Special Forces and the artillery had done their work well.

He leaned over the map table to get a better look. The grease-penciled wedges showing his spearheads were being erased and redrawn as new information came in. They were now well on their way to their first day objectives. Excellent. But then his smile faded. One of the American hilltop outposts had not yet been seized.

He tapped the map. “What is the problem here, Comrade Colonel?”

His deputy moved closer, his eyes magnified behind thick glasses. “We’ve just had a report from a platoon leader outside that position, sir. It was supposed to be taken by a company strength surprise attack before our barrage began, but there was some sort of delay as they moved through our forward lines. Consequently, the attack failed. The platoon leader is now requesting artillery support and reinforcements.”

“Casualties?”

“Extremely heavy, sir.”

“Hmmm.” The general rubbed his chin absentmindedly. He hated the idea of diverting resources from the main attack to reinforce failure. Doctrine spoke against that. But on the other hand, the American outpost sat squarely on his flank. From there its defenders could call down artillery onto his resupply units and lines of communication—and that might cause delays he couldn’t risk. He made up his mind.

“Very well.” He studied the map. “Order the Twentieth Rifles forward to attack this hill. The Americans there have defeated a company. Now let’s see how they fare against a full battalion. And tell the artillery that I want a hurricane preparatory barrage on the imperialist position. I want their fortifications pulverized. Understand?”

His deputy nodded sharply and hurried away to issue orders for the second attack on Malibu West.

OUTPOST MALIBU WEST, NEAR THE DMZ

Kevin Little was beginning to wish that he hadn’t been so quick to pull his men back inside their bunkers. He could still hear the artillery landing to the south, but everything around Malibu West was quiet. What if the NKs were sneaking back up the hill while they just sat here? Kevin knew that Pierce had put an OP—an observation post—out on the forward slope to give the platoon advance warning. But what if the two men in it had been surprised? Or what if they were looking the wrong direction? It had been over an hour since the last attack. What the hell was going on?

He could hear Jones muttering into the radio. “You got anything, Corporal?”

The radioman twisted round with his earphones still on. “Not a damned thing, sir. Every time I find a clear frequency and start talking, the frigging gooks come in and mess it up.”

Kevin swore under his breath. What a clusterfuck. Here he was sitting blind in this little hole on a hill, and he couldn’t get through to anyone to get some help or to find out what was going on. None of his ROTC lecturers had ever warned him that it would be so hard to communicate on the battlefield.

He jumped up. Enough of this waiting shit. “Tell Pierce I’m going to check the OP personally.” He’d just make sure his observers were on the job and come right back.

“But sir!” Jones started to yell something as Kevin pulled the bunker door open. Then he heard it.

An enormous howling arcing down out of the sky. Falling right on him. Kevin froze, one hand on the door, the other holding his M16.

Jones knocked him flat onto the CP floor just as the 152-millimeter shell exploded outside.

The shock wave tore the air out of Kevin’s lungs and throat and buried him in a tidal wave of dirt and smoke. He blacked out.

He came to seconds later, aware first of the dirt caking his face and then of a heavy weight holding him down. The ground bucked up and down as other shells landed around the hill, but he couldn’t hear the explosions. He’d been deafened by the first burst.

He shifted uncomfortably beneath the corporal’s weight. Why didn’t Jones get off him? Then he felt something warm and sticky pouring onto his neck. And there was a hot, coppery smell mixed in with the sharp, acetone odor left by the shell burst.

Kevin wriggled frantically out from under his signalman and rolled him over. Jones was dead.

A fragment thrown by the North Korean shell had spiraled out at several hundred meters a second, catching the corporal just below the eye and tearing through into his brain. Kevin stared for a moment at the ragged mess left of the man who’d saved his life, then he spun away on his knees, retching. In all his worst dreams he’d never imagined it would be this bad. Jones was dead because he’d done something stupid.

After a moment Kevin crawled over and pushed the door shut with shaking hands. He leaded against it for a second, feeling the bone-rattling vibrations thrown by the artillery pounding his hill. Then he scuttled over to the radio, carefully keeping his eyes off Jones’s body. The bunker rocked under a near miss, spilling dirt through cracks in the reinforced log roof. He had to get help. The platoon needed support.

His hearing was coming back. Kevin could make out muffled explosions now as North Korean salvos landed on Malibu West. He fumbled with the radio, setting it back to the main tactical frequency.

“Charlie Victor Two Seven, Charlie Victor Two Seven, This is Alfa Echo Five Two. Repeat, this is Alfa Echo Five Two. Over.” Kevin was ashamed of the high-pitched quaver he could hear in his voice.

Nothing. He switched to an alternate frequency and tried again, praying for an answer.

“Alfa Echo Five Two, this is Charlie Victor Two Seven. Over.” The American artillery officer’s voice crackled through the headphones.

Thank God. “Victor Two Seven. I have an immediate fire mission. Pattern Hotel. Repeat, Pattern Hotel.” Pattern Hotel would create a horseshoe-shaped curtain of American high-explosives around the base. That should keep the NKs from crawling up under the cover of their own barrage.

Victor Two Seven’s answer was quick and horrifying. “Negative, Echo Five Two. Half my guns are gone. The rest of us are pulling out. We’ve got NKs coming down around our…” The artilleryman’s voice faded in a spray of hissing static as North Korean jammers swept across the frequency.

Kevin stared at the radio for a moment. Then he heard a whistle from one of the sound-powered phones that linked his outlying positions to the outpost. He grabbed it.

“Little.”

“This is Donnelly, Lieutenant!” It was one of the men he’d assigned to the OP “We’re in deep, sir. Me and Smith can see two NK companies assembling down in front of us. And we seen another one moving around the flank a minute ago. What should we do, Lieutenant?”

Kevin could hear the fear in Donnelly’s voice and it matched his own. Three North Korean companies. God, that was at least three hundred men coming against his forty or so troops. This was not the way it was supposed
to work. Where was the artillery and air support those rear-area bastards had all promised Malibu West would get?

“Lieutenant?”

He started. He hadn’t answered Donnelly’s plaintive question yet.

“Lieutenant? It looks like the arty’s starting to lift. What should we do?”

Kevin could hear the noise from outside diminishing. Not much time left now. “Okay. Get back inside the perimeter. Get back to the trench!”

He switched connections, trying to get Pierce’s bunker. Had to let the sergeant know what was going on. Had to find out what he should do. Nothing. Christ, didn’t anything work around here?

Kevin put the phone down slowly. He was going to die. And it just wasn’t fair. Not at all.

Everything went quiet. The shelling had stopped. Then he heard the whistles blowing from all around his hill. This was it. Kevin grabbed his M16 and headed out through the bunker door.

Malibu West looked like a moonscape now, full of smoking craters, partially collapsed trenches, and smashed bunkers. Kevin could hear moans from all around him: “Medic! Medic!”

Rifles fired from the forward slope of the hill, rising quickly from a few isolated shots to a continuous, crackling roar. The North Korean attack was coming in. He ran down what was left of the communications trench and stumbled into the firing line.

His troops were up on the edge of the trench firing as fast as they could down the hill. But this time, they were being answered by the harsh rattle of North Korean automatic rifles and heavy weapons. And Kevin could see Americans lying dead or wounded along the trench floor.

“Lieutenant!” Pierce grabbed his shoulder. “You all right?”

Kevin suddenly realized he was covered in Jones’s blood. He must look like a walking corpse. He leaned forward to yell in the sergeant’s ear. “I’m not hit. Jones…”

Pierce nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Well, we got a whole shitload of troubles, Lieutenant.” He half-ducked involuntarily as a grenade went off just outside the trench, spraying them with dirt and ice-cold snow.

“We’re holding ’em for now. But Kostowitz and Ramos are down. Along with a bunch of others. The Dragon teams took a direct hit on their bunker. And we’re shooting up our rifle ammo too damned fast.”

A GI next to him suddenly screamed and fell back away from the firing step. Most of the man’s right arm had been shot away. Kevin stared at the corpse in shock.

“Lieutenant! Snap out of it! There’s others still alive who need you.” Pierce pulled him away from the body. “Look, we gotta have some support.”

Kevin shook his head. There wasn’t going to be any support. He pushed
Pierce away and jumped upon the dead man’s firing step to get a better look at what they were facing.

The first wave of the North Korean assault had gotten to within twenty meters of the trench line before being stopped. But instead of retreating back down where they’d come from, the survivors had taken shelter in new shell craters on the slope, and they were laying down covering fire for a second wave now forming up inside the outpost’s barbed wire.

An NK light machine gun burst tore into the ground in front of him, and Kevin ducked back below the lip of the trench. A 1st Squad trooper groaned and toppled back to the bottom, cursing and clutching at his stomach. Kevin couldn’t remember the man’s name. He looked away as the firing rose to a new crescendo.

BELOW MALIBU WEST

The North Korean major winced as the medic pulled the bandage tighter around his lacerated upper arm. It was ironic that his first wound of the campaign had come from his own country’s artillery. But it had been worth it, the major thought. He’d pushed his men right up to the edge of their own barrage—accepting casualties from friendly fire to close with the Americans before they’d had a chance to shake off the effects of the bombardment.

The medic finished tying off the wound, and the major pushed him away, half-rising to a crouch to look over the edge of the gully his command group occupied. He could see the rocky hillside carpeted with bodies, but enough men had survived the first rush to pin the Americans down inside their trenches. Good.

He glanced around for the commander of his second company, “Captain Han!”

The man scuttled over to him, eyes wide under the lip of his Russian-style steel helmet.

“You will take your company forward on my signal. We’ll wait for Koh’s attack to go in first. That should draw off enough of the fascists for you to close with their trenches. Clear?”

Han nodded. “Yes, Comrade Major.” He scurried back along the gully to pass the word to his platoon leaders.

The major watched him go and then slid back down to check his watch. Captain Koh’s 3rd Company should be in position behind the American-held hill any minute now. Soon they would find out how the imperialists held up under a two-pronged attack.

OUTPOST MALIBU WEST

Kevin was starting to regain his confidence when the sound of firing mixed with grenade explosions surged from behind them. That goddamned third North Korean company! Now they were under attack from all sides at once. He couldn’t hear a lot of American return fire from Lieutenant Rhee’s position either.