The Frozen Hours

  Bowser looked at Craig, the same expression of surprise. “An entire company? From the Fifth?”

  “Is there some difficulty with that?”

  Bowser’s eyes stayed wide and he said, “No, sir. I believe Charlie Company is camped just down the road, preparing to march. Captain Jones, I believe. I’ll send word for them to stand down, and send word to Colonel Murray.”

  “Do it.”

  Smith saw Almond’s expression change, surprise, and then a beaming smile.

  “You see, Smith? We’re in this thing together. There is no need for argument on every point.”

  Smith looked at Craig, who stared back at him with disbelief.

  “Certainly not.”

  Almond seemed energized now, said, “General MacArthur is most confident that this entire operation shall conclude without major complications. To that end, he has instructed me to make the best use of the assets I have available. There is concern in Tokyo that Eighth Army requires some assistance, that we should spread out closer to their right flank. I will obey, of course, and your men will bear that burden. But no one has told me that we cannot continue on our course toward the Yalu River. I know of no reason that Tenth Corps should not enjoy a share of our ultimate success.” He paused, his eyes now on Smith. “I admit to being distressed at the lack of progress your men are making. The Yalu River is there for the taking, Smith. Tokyo has ordered an intense bombing campaign to continue all along the river. Naturally, General MacArthur is aware of the political necessity of avoiding any direct impact on Communist China. But on this side of the border, we are targeting every bridge, every village, every roadway, every avenue of escape the North Koreans can use. Our primary goal is, and has always been, to eliminate the North Korean armed forces in their entirety. And we are continuing to do so. Once your men reach the southern tip of that reservoir, I expect them to advance northward with far greater speed. I want them barreling down that road to Yudam-ni!”

  “No.”

  The word came out in a short burst and Smith saw Craig’s eyes grow wider still.

  Almond seemed to stumble, leaned toward Smith. “Did you say…”

  “I said no. I’m not barreling my men anywhere while they’re so scattered. Hagaru-ri is a natural rendezvous point, a position we can defend against any sudden assault by the enemy. It is unacceptable to scatter this division in a way that severely hampers our effectiveness. General Almond, I have expressed the view to you previously that the First Marine Division is a formidable weapon, the most powerful weapon at your disposal. But only if you allow that to be. You continue to insist that General Puller’s men engage in a mop-up operation, chasing down fugitive bands of North Koreans. That is the waste of a valuable resource. There are army units assembled to our south who can easily accomplish that mission.” He paused, a thought breaking through. “Is it not a good idea to allow the army the opportunity to reap the rewards of such a task? The Third Division has thus far served as a reserve, and they have not been allowed to share the attention that we have received. I would have thought that Tenth Corps would want to spread the glory, so to speak. Allow Third Division to earn their own headlines.”

  He saw Craig hiding a smile, kept his eyes now on Almond. Almond rubbed his chin, staring away, absorbing what Smith had said.

  “I shall consider this. Regardless, you will receive confirmation of your orders to advance to Yudam-ni. Tokyo’s concerns about Eighth Army must be addressed.” Almond seemed to focus again. “By damn, Smith, you have to push your people harder! If we bomb those bridges, eliminate those villages, make life wholly miserable for the North Koreans, we must take full advantage! General MacArthur is doing his part, and it is possible that Eighth Army is doing theirs. I will not have us falling behind!”

  —

  “Sir, do you play chess?”

  Smith nursed the pipe, soaking up the wonderful aroma. “Once or twice. Not good at it.”

  Craig chuckled. “I’ll bet. Remind me never to play you. You checkmated Almond pretty effectively.”

  Smith shrugged, pulled at the pipe again. “Not really. I’m not too sure that what Tokyo has in mind will contradict what Almond’s been ordering us to do, what he still expects us to do. It sounds like MacArthur has finally noticed that eighty-mile gap between us and Eighth Army.”

  “But what’s the threat? G-2 keeps telling us that all those Chinese we ran into are a figment of our imagination. Almond still seems to believe that.”

  Smith held the pipe in his hands, shook his head. “I don’t have the first idea what General Almond believes. But he wants to keep this show for himself, wants us to claim as much glory as anyone else in winning the war. If MacArthur tells him to reinforce Eighth Army, he will. But unless they tell him just how to do that, he’ll spread us out even further. Count on it.”

  Craig slumped, his elbows on the small desk. “Where do you suppose the Chinese have gone?”

  Smith poked at the dying embers in the pipe. “Nowhere. Litzenberg feels them in his bones, knows he’s being watched every step he takes.”

  “I know. He told me that. We took a ride out near his vanguard, met a recon patrol just coming back in. They saw enemy on every hilltop but couldn’t get close enough to get any more details. I tell you, sir, Litz is a nervous wreck. Every night, they get ready for another attack. If he’s that nervous, I’m guessing his men feel it, too. The quicker we can move Murray up in support, the better. And Puller…”

  “We’ll get Puller. Even MacArthur knows that if they keep Puller for nothing but mop-up duty, Lewie’s gonna blow up in somebody’s face. It won’t be mine.”

  Craig laughed again. “And Almond will avoid Puller’s wrath, and make sure Third Division gets their share of the headlines. Two birds with one stone, and he wins both ways. You and your chess game.”

  “If you say so. Have we heard from General Barr?”

  “Seventh Division? Not lately. The army doesn’t go out of its way to talk to us.”

  Smith tapped the spent pipe on the edge of the desk. “He will. Barr’s a part of this, too, and he’s no happier with Almond than I am. They have to include the ROK in any drive to the Yalu, and I don’t think Tokyo trusts them to push hard without the army’s help. Seventh Division is on our right flank, and they won’t just sit still while we get the glory.” He paused. “I have to tell you, Eddie. I hate politics. But this war is too complicated to be left to generals.”

  Craig laughed again. “Tell that to MacArthur.”

  Smith didn’t laugh. “He’s bombing civilians, you know. Taking out villages all over North Korea, in the name of squashing the North Korean army. Almond said as much right here. Bridges, sure, they’re a tactical target. But villages? He calls them hiding places for the enemy. What do those civilians call them? Home. I can’t believe that any North Korean is happy there are Chinese soldiers in their front yard. The civilians we’ve seen so far seem happy as the dickens that we’re here. We start wiping out villages, bombing targets indiscriminately, those same civilians will turn against us. All those guerrillas we’re supposed to be dealing with are leftovers from the North Korean army. But if their civilians join in the fight, or worse, if they decide the Chinese are the better option, things get a whole lot tougher.”

  Craig looked at him, seemed puzzled. “How? If there are as many Chinese out there as Litzenberg believes, that’s trouble enough. How much harm can angry civilians do?”

  Smith slipped the pipe into his pocket. “Poisoned water wells. Snipers on every hillside. Scorched earth waiting for us everywhere we try to march. On Okinawa, the Japanese made great use of Okinawan civilians to do their dirty work, freeing up the soldiers for the fight. Same thing could happen here. The Chinese would welcome North Koreans willingly carrying their lunch for them.”

  Craig had lost the smile now. “Hadn’t really thought of it that way.”

  “Neither has Tokyo. But I bet General Lowe has made a point of this to the president. It’s our job
to kill the enemy’s soldiers. After that, it’s the government’s job to make the enemy’s civilians happy. We don’t help that process if we’ve massacred the helpless.”

  HUNGNAM, NORTH KOREA—NOVEMBER 15, 1950

  As Almond promised, the orders came once again, exactly as Smith expected. To the east, closer to the coastline, ROK units were to advance as rapidly as possible to the Yalu, thus granting them the full propaganda value of liberating their fellow Koreans from the grip of the oppressive communist government. The American army would move in support of the ROKs, primarily units of Barr’s Seventh Division. Once the ROKs had wet their toes, it opened the way for the rest of the UN forces, primarily the Americans, to finish their drive to the river as well, sweeping away any enemy troops they encountered along the way. As Smith predicted, Tokyo insisted that the Marines begin to shift their march more to the west, closing the gap between Tenth Corps’ left flank and the right of Eighth Army, who would be making their own drive northward. That task would fall to Litzenberg’s Seventh. But Almond had held tightly to his own ambitions to have Tenth Corps shove their way north. At the base of the Chosin Reservoir, the town of Hagaru-ri spread out around a fork in the main road, which provided a route up both sides of the reservoir. With Litzenberg moving up the left side, Murray’s Fifth Regiment would slide up to the east. While Litzenberg would satisfy MacArthur’s apparent nervousness about closing the gap to their west, Murray’s Fifth would continue the push as rapidly as possible toward the Yalu, which just might allow Ned Almond to claim bragging rights as to which troops had reached that goal first.

  Through all the machinations, Oliver Smith recognized with increasing discomfort that his troops had been spread out like soft butter on an enormous slice of bread. To his relief, Tenth Corps had indeed ordered the army’s Third Division to take control of the area patrolled by Chesty Puller’s Marines. Immediately Puller was ordered to advance his First Regiment northward, first to secure the ground around the towns of Sudong and Chinhung-ni, and eventually to continue toward Koto-ri, filling in the gap left open by the advance of the rest of Smith’s division.

  The great supply dump at Koto-ri was only one of several all along the lengthy route from the seaports to the south. Though Ned Almond seemed completely oblivious to the hazards of supplying his troops along such a narrow and vulnerable route, Smith took the precaution of creating more of these supply depots in every place that could be fortified and protected. With the cooperation of the navy’s supply teams, enormous convoys were pushed northward, Smith intending that they extend all the way to the base of the reservoir. If more were required farther north, he would create those as well.

  The maps showed clearly that Hagaru-ri was a crucial intersection, where the Marines would divide their forces in two directions. It was obvious to Smith that the town be fortified as strongly as any along the way, and once Puller’s Marines had reached Koto-ri, some fourteen miles to the south of Hagaru-ri, Smith could then position several of his own units, along with army and other UN forces made available to him, to reinforce and support the advances northward Almond had ordered.

  Throughout all the planning, Smith was becoming increasingly concerned that Tokyo and Tenth Corps seemed unwilling to accept that there was an enemy in front of them still, whether or not the reconnaissance efforts had discovered just where they were. The euphoria that spread through the entire theater after the success at Inchon seemed to return, Ned Almond’s optimism reinforced by the same spirit coming from Tokyo. The bloodying of the First Cavalry and the Marines’ confrontation with the Chinese at Sudong had seemed to fade from the memory of the strategic planners in Tokyo. Even more alarming to Smith, MacArthur’s intelligence officers, under General Charles Willoughby, had once again trumpeted their claim that whatever Chinese forces the army and Marines had confronted were minimal in strength and unlikely to pose any additional threats.

  The contagious despair that flowed through Smith’s headquarters came from his own nagging doubts that no one in Tokyo or at Tenth Corps had any real idea just how dangerous this campaign could still become. Smith embraced protocol as much as any officer in the war, but despite the chain of command that passed down from Tokyo, Smith also answered to what was in his mind a higher authority: General Clifton B. Cates, the commandant of the Marine Corps. On November 15, Smith penned a lengthy letter aimed directly at Cates, bypassing Almond, MacArthur, and his own immediate superior in the Corps, General Lemuel Shepherd, who commanded the Fleet Marine Force, covering the entire Pacific Theater. If there were to be repercussions for his doubts and objections, if Smith’s impertinence would possibly end his career, he at least wanted the facts known to the highest-ranking Marine general.

  Although the Chinese have withdrawn to the north, I have not pressed Litzenberg to make any rapid advance. Our orders still require us to advance to the Manchurian border. However, we are the left flank division of the Tenth Corps, and our left flank is wide open. There is no unit of the Eighth Army nearer than eighty miles….I have little confidence in the tactical judgment of the Tenth Corps, or in the realism of their planning….I believe a winter campaign in the mountains of North Korea is too much to ask of the American soldier or Marine….We have reached a point now at the south end of the Chosin Reservoir where we will now have to review the situation….

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Riley

  HAGARU-RI, NORTH KOREA—NOVEMBER 16, 1950

  “NOT MUCH OF A TOWN. Shacks and stuff.”

  Riley ignored Killian’s appraisal, heard Welch spit the words, “It’s Korea, you Irish jackass. You expecting New York City?”

  Riley moved farther from the gathering men, could feel too much anger, the kind that brings fistfights. It had been like this for the past couple of days, the increasing tension of the march, each day closer to what every man believed was a certain confrontation with the Chinese. Their edginess was made worse by the brutal misery of the weather, the harsh bite of the bitter winds, brief storms of icy snow. The nights were only slightly better, colder temperatures made bearable by the luxury of the sleeping bags, the men curling up into their foxholes sheltered from the worst of the wind. For those keeping watch, there was no respite at all, two hours of frozen fingers, frozen ears, frozen tears against red cheeks, eyes blinking desperately to see any movement in the darkness. If they had a free hand, the men would breathe into their hands, through their gloves, the only way to keep the worst of the cold out of their lungs.

  With their arrival into Hagaru-ri, the weather had tempered, sunshine pushing the daytime temperatures just above freezing. For men who had endured the long nights in cold that was well below zero, forty degrees was positively balmy. Their coats came open now, their boots pulled off, wet socks allowed to dry.

  Riley moved away from the rest of the platoon, gazing toward the sunshine, escaping the foul mood of Welch and the others. A gust of wind rolled past him, swirling dust in his face, and he turned away, too late, spit the grit from his mouth. The pain was sudden and searing, his lips split to bloody cracks. He put a gloved hand on his lips, thought, Damn it all! This won’t be healing anytime soon. He reached for the canteen, shook it, the slosh of water evidence of a partial thaw. He drank, felt a bath of cold water washing away the grit, thought of spitting it out, No, drink. Can’t hurt you. You’ve eaten plenty of dirt before. He thought of Barber, the new captain backing off from his threats to harden them up by dawn hikes. Says he ate gravel on Iwo Jima. Maybe so. I bet it didn’t taste any better than what I ate on Okinawa. Jesus, I hope like hell he isn’t some damn martinet, all talk about blood and guts, while he sits in the rear and plays cards.

  He walked farther, others milling around, nowhere to go for the moment. The officers seemed content with organizing their command posts, some of the other companies put into position closer to the reservoir, strengthening their new defensive perimeter. He looked that way, could see a glimpse of the wide lake, oddly smooth in the blowing wind. Ice, he thought. Wond
er how thick? Back home it would be January before you could walk out on a pond. But it wasn’t hardly ever twenty below. He flexed his toes, painfully stiff, thought of the socks. You’re wearing all three pairs, you moron. Take ’em off, dry ’em out. Or toss ’em in a fire drum and get some more. There’s gotta be supplies around here.

  He heard the rumble of a tank, four machines clanking closer. He stepped aside, stared at each one as it passed him, moving out on the road that stretched east of the reservoir. I bet they got heat inside those things. Maybe too much heat. No place to hide, either. He could never watch the tanks without thinking of coffins, the old joke that burying a tanker was cheaper, since they carried their own tombs with them. Not me, he thought. I’ll settle for the rifle and two feet. I need to duck, I’ll duck. The dust rose up around him, and he covered his face, stepped off the road. Damn. Got me good. He blew at the crud in his nostrils, turned toward his platoon, the men doing mostly what he was, seeing the sights. His eyes settled on the road to the south, more trucks moving up, pulling off to one side, contributing to another supply depot. I guess we’re pretty secure, for all that to be brought in here. I’d like to see those boys from the Fifth come rolling in here. The more the merrier.

  —

  Litzenberg’s Seventh spread out in camps closer to the reservoir, shifting out to the west, making space for Murray’s Fifth coming through the valley right behind them. In every open place, tents were going up, some alongside whatever existing structure they could use. The artillery had begun to move in as well, the 105s and 155s rolling past, their officers parking them into formations, preparing them to move once more when the inevitable order came. Other guns were down below the town, ranged on the nearby hills, protection against any sudden appearance by the enemy. But so far the Chinese had kept away, allowing the Marines to move up unmolested to the southern tip of the vast reservoir, building a massive supply depot as formidable as what Smith had moved into Koto-ri.