The Frozen Hours

  Smith had rarely been this animated, fought to control his breathing, the hard pounding in his chest. To one side, Sexton was there, alongside a pair of Litzenberg’s aides. They stood silently, frozen in place, no one daring to break the spell Smith had suddenly cast. Litzenberg had stopped moving, said, “Sir, we’re doing all we can to prepare for whatever comes next.”

  “I wish I knew just what that was, Colonel. Maybe when I see Almond tomorrow morning, he’ll enlighten us all.”

  NOVEMBER 25, 1950

  As a result of MacArthur’s sudden announcement of his pincer strategy, Ned Almond found himself having to mount an aggressive assault in tandem with the attack already under way in the west, the massive push northward begun by Walker’s Eighth Army. If Walker required any kind of push, he got it directly from MacArthur, who had visited Eighth Army’s forward positions himself, doing what he always did, inspiring the men to the attack. Eighth Army had responded accordingly, three corps advancing northward on a front nearly fifty miles across. At Tenth Corps, Almond’s orders were for his left flank, the Marines, to cut across the Taebaek Mountain Range and rendezvous with Walker’s thrust as it drove its way to the Yalu River. Even Almond understood that a single Marine regiment was not strong enough to drive through the most difficult terrain in Korea, likely confronting an enemy in unknown strength, in unknown positioning. Though Smith had no confidence in Almond’s strategic abilities, the orders now from Tenth Corps at least made sense. Murray’s Fifth, pushing slowly up the east side of the Chosin Reservoir, would be recalled, pulled back into Hagaru-ri, and sent out in the tracks of the Seventh. The Seventh would hold up at Yudam-ni, while the Fifth would press forward, right through the town. That decision had been Smith’s, who recognized that the Seventh had been engaged in most of the skirmishing and had taken nearly all of the casualties since leaving Wonsan. Once Murray reached Yudam-ni, the Fifth would continue the drive westward, directly across the spine of the mountains.

  In the territory Murray would vacate, Almond ordered units of the army’s Seventh Division to advance with all speed, occupying the ground east of the reservoir that Murray had taken without a fight.

  As Smith continued to shift his forces in accordance with Tenth Corps’ instructions, he succeeded in bringing north a single battalion from Puller’s First, which was now positioned at Koto-ri. Marching up through the dangerous Funchilin Pass, those men settled into Hagaru-ri as the only combat unit Smith had available for the defense of that crucial junction.

  To the east of the reservoir, the army’s Thirty-first Regimental Combat Team drove northward, passing through Murray’s rapidly marching Marines as they drew back into Hagaru-ri. There was no delay from Murray, whose men immediately pushed up the west side of the reservoir, driving hard for Yudam-ni.

  As the troop movements continued, Smith began to breathe easier, if only slightly. Once again the Chinese had offered little in the way of resistance to the shifting positions on either side of the Chosin Reservoir. And more important to Smith, with the Fifth now adding to the strength of the Seventh at Yudam-ni, the Marine division was no longer spread out like a vulnerable snake.

  To the west, in Walker’s sector, November 24 marked the first full day of MacArthur’s grand plan, the left half of the mighty pincer shoving its way across frozen ground, drawing closer to the Yalu. That march had consumed one full day when the Chinese finally showed their hand. Near the center of Walker’s advance, the American Second and Twenty-fifth Divisions found their movement checked by a sudden assault, waves of Chinese infantry, fortified by heavy machine gun fire. As both American divisions struggled to pull together against the onslaught, the situation on Walker’s right grew much more serious. There, the ROK Second Corps, three full divisions, were smashed by an even stronger punch from the Chinese forces. Within a few hours, the entire ROK position collapsed, those troops fleeing the field, abandoning most of their weaponry and equipment. Despite Walker’s frantic efforts to shore up the position, including the advance of a Turkish unit, the Chinese had quickly achieved complete domination. The collapse of the ROK’s forces left Walker’s position untenable. With no other alternative, Walker ordered a retreat, pulling his troops southward.

  East of the mountains, the Fifth Marines had moved into position at Yudam-ni, preparing to advance through the brutal terrain of the mountain range. Smith’s orders had not changed, the Marines intending still to make their rendezvous with Walker’s troops as they closed in on the triumphant victory at the Yalu River. With disaster spreading out beyond the mountains, no one at Tenth Corps thought to inform Smith that the army he was supposed to support, to link with for the last triumphant blow against the enemy, was no longer there.

  PART THREE

  “In campaigns and battles…we should not only employ large forces against small, but…we should concentrate a big force under, over, beforehand, and alongside the route which the enemy is sure to take, and while he is on the move, advance suddenly to encircle and attack him before he knows what is happening.”

  —MAO TSE-TUNG

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sung

  NORTH OF YUDAM-NI, NORTH KOREA—NOVEMBER 27, 1950

  HE HAD GATHERED several of his senior commanders, allowing them to speak, to reveal their preparations, the positioning of their troops. It was his way of testing their resolve, just who among them was as prepared for what lay ahead as he was. He had few reasons to doubt them, knew that they had all absorbed what had happened to Gao, that any show of weakness could bring the same demotion to them. Already, Gao had been moved to a position far to the rear, supervising a camp of walking wounded, along with ailing troops who had fallen out, too weak to make the treacherous marches through so many of the mountain passes. Sung knew he did not have to mention Gao by name, no need to lecture them on what might happen to them if they showed that kind of weakness or hesitation. The humiliation of losing a top command, of surrendering your sword to your commanding officer, was the kind of shame these men had avoided since they were boys. Now the stakes were so much more important, all of them understanding that bringing shame on your command might mean a firing squad. But Sung had little use for that kind of theatrics. Unlike so many of the leaders he had served in the past, he did not want his camps dominated by fear. That kind of authority had been effective occasionally, when Mao had been in the field. It was Mao’s way, prodding his men with both philosophy and punishment. There could be a kind of viciousness to that, a once-loyal officer suddenly eliminated, the victim of his own indiscretion or perhaps a lapse in judgment. Against the Japanese, and then Chiang’s Nationalists, Mao had the advantage of his disadvantages, being outnumbered, always regrouping, where poor tactics might be catastrophic, where defeat might mean the collapse of his entire nation. Now, firmly atop China’s hierarchy, it was very different, a more benevolent Mao who had granted enormous responsibilities to his generals. The lines of communication remained, radio contact with General Peng, who would certainly relay every important piece of information to Mao himself. But Sung, like Lin Biao to the west, knew that the leash was loose. With the luxury of discretion came pressure to succeed, no one above you to shoulder the blame for failures of your command. Sung had welcomed that kind of pressure, had never doubted his own abilities, even if he suspected weakness in those beneath him. So far, they seemed to have learned the lesson handed to Gao.

  As the armies continued their drive southward, Sung had received instruction and counsel, mostly from General Peng, and all of it supportive. From their first day’s crossing of the Yalu River, Sung had assumed there would be spying eyes, others in his command who made their own reports to Peking. But so far Sung felt completely comfortable with his decisions, and had no reason to believe that was any different in Peking. The officers who served him seemed to know that as well, a soaring morale that spread down through the ranks of the foot soldiers, even the servants and coolies going about their work with a spirit that smelled of victory. He welcomed tha
t, as much as he encouraged it. Very soon there would be loss of life, the necessary sacrifice coming from men who would accept that as their lasting gift to Chairman Mao.

  Many of the men in front of him now had made their journey to his camp on the backs of ponies, a useful tool, and one more piece of living camouflage to confuse the American aircraft. The planes had come every day the weather allowed, teams of two or four or six, swooping low to target anything that could be his army. Occasionally they were right. Many more times they dropped their bombs and threw their rockets into harmless hamlets, abandoned buildings and farmhouses. It made for spectacular display, great fireballs, villages blasted into oblivion, while often the soldiers of Sung’s army huddled in brushy fields nearby, close enough to feel the warmth of the explosions. And so both sides waited happily for the darkness, pilots returning to their bases, met with backslapping congratulations, while in the mountains the Chinese rose up from their cover, following his instructions, moving one day closer to the great confrontation.

  They were mostly seated, some on cushions, protection from the frozen ground beneath them. Sung tried to ignore the brutality of the cold, a glance skyward, a light snowfall just beginning. He had gone over the maps, each division commander offering details of his position, the fitness of his troops, their eagerness to launch their full-out assault. Sung had held them back from any major assault far longer than even he had expected, their impatience showing through in their discussions. He listened to each man, would give them nothing yet, allowed the commanders more room than usual to express their frustration. Through all the details, so much information, he focused as much on their mood as on their troop positions. In the cold morning, with teacups quickly frozen, he eyed them carefully, searching for hints of anxiety, signs of personal suffering. Surely they know, he thought, that this enemy is something very new, a self-described army of “United Nations,” as though by their grandiose label, the entire world was aligned against China. The question rolled into his brain, and he held up a hand, interrupting General Su, one of his division commanders.

  “I am wondering if you fear the enemy because you believe his propaganda. Do any of you believe that, because we are said to be isolated from all the world, China will crumble against the might of Western guns?”

  The question seemed to surprise them all, the dozen men glancing at one another, searching his words for the trick. Su laughed now, pointed a finger at Sung.

  “You are asking if we shall abandon the battlefield, just because the Americans have larger artillery pieces. My division would not do any such thing. If I believed that they would, I would offer you my head right here.”

  Another of the senior men spoke, General Bahn, an older man, a veteran of more campaigns than Sung. “Is this a challenge, General? Must you still test the strength of our will? I would suggest that you allow our commands to answer your question for you, to engage the enemy right now. We have maneuvered and delayed, we have strengthened our positions as much as is possible. What more must we wait for? Are you holding our fists in your pocket because you lack confidence? Or is it Peking that lacks confidence?”

  Sung debated his response. “I have delayed attacking the enemy because every day that the enemy marches forward, he draws closer to our strongest points. He marches blindly toward his own destruction. I admit to being baffled by their foolishness, and I wonder about the power of their propaganda, that they consider it a wise strategy to convince their fighting men that merely by their presence in Korea, they inspire such terror in their enemies that we shall flee before them.”

  Another man spoke. “We shall not flee at all. Like General Su, I await the order to attack. My men are eager for the fight.”

  Sung nodded, put his hands out, as though calming them. This is very good, he thought, exactly what I was hoping for. “I am satisfied with your reports. Word of your efficiency shall be passed back to Peking.”

  To one side, a man stood, Chao Lin, an older man, who commanded the Sixtieth Division.

  “Permit me, sir.”

  “Yes. You wish to add something?”

  “I regret that one of my regiments was careless and suffered the loss of several prisoners to the Americans.”

  “When?”

  “Within the past four days. I have taken appropriate steps to punish the officer in charge. I assure you it will not happen again.”

  Sung waited for the man to seat himself, said, “Of course it will happen again. We shall capture a good many of their side, as they will capture ours. No one in this army has been ordered to die to the last man. The American soldiers do not understand that, not at all. They have been told that we are a fanatical race, that we are little more than a form of animal life. It is a part of being Western, that astonishing arrogance, their belief in their own superiority. I have seen it in their literature, and more important, I see it every day in their strategy. Even now they continue to advance farther into our strongest positions and farther away from their base of supply. I marvel at the willingness of the American Marines to do our work for us. And now they have created vast supply depots within our very position, which we will use to great advantage.”

  In front of him, General Su rose. “Sir, I mean no disrespect. But you have not told us anything of when we may begin our primary assault. Every day we observe them it increases our eagerness. The weather is becoming difficult. There are reports every day of men who are too stricken with frostbite to be effective. Can you tell us when we are to join the attack?”

  Sung stood with his hands inside his coat, pulled them out now, held a piece of paper. “First, General Bahn, commanding the Twenty-seventh Army, confirms that American Marines have vacated their forward positions on the east side of the reservoir and have been replaced by American army troops from the American Seventh Division. General Bahn is as anxious as any of you to begin his assault. Like you, he has been ordered to wait, and observe. That has proven to be of benefit. I do not believe the American army units are capable of resisting us. That, however, is not the most important information.”

  He made a show of pushing the paper into his coat, then nodded toward his aide. “Colonel Liu, you may have the honor of reading the dispatch received this morning.”

  Liu stood, had been prepared for this, produced another piece of paper, read slowly, “To General Sung Shi-lun, Commanding, Ninth Field Army Group. On November 25, the Thirteenth Field Army Group launched a significant assault against the greatest concentration of American and Korean troops west of the Taebaek Mountains. This assault was executed with precision and expertise, and was entirely successful. All sections of the American Eighth Army and associated Korean units are in a full retreat. The Thirteenth Army Group is following this victory with an aggressive pursuit, which shall succeed in destroying the enemy invaders. Chairman Mao Tse-tung offers the people’s gratitude to our heroic soldiers who have accomplished this victory. Chairman Mao believes that this success should serve as high example to the soldiers of the Ninth Army Group, as you begin your valiant assault. Your goal, as communicated to your commander, is to destroy the American Marine First Division, the American Seventh Army Division, the American Third Army Division, and all associated Korean army units of the puppet government. The people salute your efforts.”

  Liu kept at attention, looked at Sung with a short nod. In front of Sung, the commanders received the news with wide-eyed surprise, stunned expressions. In front of Sung, General Su said, “Are we certain of this?”

  Sung expected that response, said, “This dispatch was received through highest channels and is marked with the sign of Chairman Mao’s own hand.” He paused. “I am certain.”

  He allowed them a moment longer, smiles now breaking out, the men turning again to him, the silent question on their faces. He held up his hand, quieting them, said, “Chairman Mao has imparted this lesson to me, and I shall impart it to you. ‘Enemy advancing, we retreat; enemy entrenched, we harass; enemy exhausted, we attack; enemy retreati
ng, we pursue.’ We have accomplished the first task with perfection. You have all expressed your eagerness to begin the attack. It is now time. By midnight tonight, you will advance your troops into direct confrontation with the enemy forces in your front. You will hold nothing back. If the enemy holds his position, you will attack again until he breaks. When he breaks, you will pursue with the single purpose of destroying him. We shall demonstrate to Chairman Mao just how completely you have learned his teachings. It is time for us to destroy our enemies.”

  —

  “I must say, very exciting. I had wondered myself just how long you could merely watch the Americans pass by your guns.”

  Sung scooped a single stick of cold rice into his mouth, warmed it for a long moment, made a difficult swallow. “Major Orlov, if you have questions, you may ask them directly. You may not approve of the answer. But I hide nothing from you.”