Fallen Sniper, page 4
part #8 of Caje Cole Series
The fact that the helicopter had appeared might signal that the Americans knew something was happening. Why else would a high-ranking officer visit this remote outpost?
“Do you see it yet?” Deng asked. He was busy searching the sky with the telescopic sight, but the field of view was quite limited. The surrounding hills made the sound echo so that it was hard to tell where it was coming from.
“I will tell you when I do,” Wu replied, using the binoculars, which had a much greater field of view. Binoculars remained rare in the Chinese military, and Wu guarded them closely as one of his most prized possessions.
He scanned the horizon, but there was still no sign of the helicopter, despite the fact that they heard it plainly. The rhythm of the rotors thumping in the mountain air vibrated throughout his body.
The problem here was that the hills were so low that they obscured much of the view across the more open territory that lay to the South. They could hear the helicopter, but they could not see it. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the flying machine, but it was moving quickly.
“It is off to your left, just above that middle hill,” he said to Deng. “Do you see it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Moments later, Deng squeezed the trigger. It was impossible to say whether or not he hit the flying target. He didn't have a chance for a second shot because the helicopter slipped behind a hill and disappeared.
“Did you hit him?”
“I don't know, sir. He was still in the air.”
“You are too slow. You should have fired a second shot.”
A long second went by before Deng replied, “Yes, sir.”
This was Deng’s way of showing that he thought the major was being unreasonable. Wu realized that he had hoped against hope that a single bullet from Deng would cause the helicopter to erupt into a massive fireball. He had seen that happening in his mind’s eye. Could he get away with stating in his report that Deng had actually shot down the helicopter? Probably not.
“Never mind,” Wu said. “It will take more than a bullet to bring down one of those helicopters.”
“Yes, but maybe I shot the pilot.”
“If you had shot the pilot, it is likely that the helicopter would have crashed.”
“Yes, sir,” said Deng sounding duly chastened.
“We have many other targets today.”
Wu believed that snipers such as Deng were especially effective. Snipers could pick off the enemy unseen, thus demoralizing and terrorizing the American troops. Fighting against a hidden enemy served to frustrate and anger their adversary.
He had come to understand the power of snipers thanks to Li Chen. Wu had put Chen’s talent to use at the Chosin Reservoir and then at the Battle of Triangle Hill. Ultimately, Chen had fallen to an American marksman, which was disappointing for Wu. At the time, Wu had believed that the Americans relied on their superior weaponry and he had been surprised to encounter the sniper with the Confederate flag painted on his helmet. That sniper was indeed a dangerous adversary, but if Wu encountered him again, he vowed that there would be a different outcome. Wu would eliminate the man, even if he needed to do it himself.
Although Chen had died, Wu had discovered that there was a kind of immortality to the fear of the Chinese snipers. As far as Wu was concerned, there would be a long line of snipers to replace Chen, like a line of dominoes. Hopefully, he would not need that many to chase the enemy from the Korean hills for good.
Deng was his latest sniper, with Wu having lost a less capable man in between Chen and Deng. Deng had the same small frame as Chen, but he was possessed of a wiry strength. Wu had witnessed Deng put much larger men in their place. When it came to a fight, Deng had the speed and killing instinct of a mongoose attacking a viper, qualities of which Wu approved.
“Major, what is that sound?” Deng asked.
Wu perked up his ears. Above the slow beat of the helicopter, he heard the roar of more aircraft. He looked up and spotted the contrails of seven airplanes streaking across the sky.
“Those are the new jet fighters,” Wu said in surprise. It was unusual to see one of these jets because the American propeller planes known as Corsairs were more common. It was these planes that the Chinese troops feared more than anything because they could swoop in and wreak devastation with their bombs and napalm and machine guns in a way that the Chinese simply could not defend against because they lacked the antiaircraft weapons as well as an adequate air force of their own.
“I see them now, sir. I hope that they are not headed this way.”
Wu pressed the binoculars to his eyes again and turned them skyward to study the planes. If this was a squadron of enemy planes, the Chinese would have just moments to seek shelter before the storm of bombs.
The aircraft had a stubby look about them, so different from the American Corsairs. As the planes approached, he picked out the red stars on the wings.
“Look, Deng, look! Those are our planes! These belong to us!”
With a sudden thrill of joy, he realized that these were not American planes coming to bomb and strafe them, but were instead the new MiG fighters that were being sent to bolster the Chinese defenses. Another present from their friends, the Soviets.
Wu was excited to see them because it was such an unusual sight. He scanned the sky with the binoculars, wondering where the aircraft were going in such a hurry. With a gasp, he saw that the Soviet planes were not alone. Just beneath them and off to the west, he picked out two more planes flying wingtip to wingtip. These other aircraft clearly had the appearance of American planes. As they grew closer, he could pick out the United States insignia on their wings.
“Look at that,” Deng said. He had the eyesight of a marksman, much better than Wu’s in any case, so that he didn't even need the binoculars to distinguish the planes against the clear blue sky. “Those are imperialist planes. I wonder if there's going to be an air battle, sir.”
“That is a good question,” Wu said, captivated by the sight of the two sets of combat aircraft. “If you put two hornets in a jar, they will fight. I would think that pilots in the same sky are much the same.”
The question was soon answered. As Wu watched through the binoculars, the American planes suddenly shifted direction and swept upward toward the formation of MiGS. From the wings of the planes, he saw the flash of guns and cannon fire. As the Americans charged at the formation, it seemed foolhardy because they were so outnumbered. But when had the Americans ever had any sense? In their own minds, they thought of themselves as being invincible.
In response to the attack, the Soviet planes broke into two groups, four of the aircraft peeling off in another direction, and three sweeping down to meet the threat.
“Those others are running away,” Deng said incredulously.
“Perhaps,” Wu said. “Let us see what happens. Perhaps our comrades have a trick up their sleeve.”
Flashes came from the MiGs as they attacked the American planes. Wu found himself mesmerized by the sight. He found it thrilling because he had never witnessed a dogfight before. It was almost like seeing the gods of old battle in the sky. He could hear the roar of the jet engines straining in the distance. However, the sound of the planes’ guns did not reach them, although they could see the flashes of the guns.
Those distant flashes were more than a fireworks show. To their horror, one of the MiGs erupted into a fireball. Bits and pieces of the burning plane showered down from the sky.
“They have shot down one of ours!”
“I can see that,” Wu snapped. “Perhaps the pilots are inexperienced.”
Truly, the attack did not seem to be going well for the Soviet planes. Another MiG began to stream smoke and peeled away from the formation, headed back toward its base—most likely in Vladivostok. The remaining Soviet jet was now outnumbered, two against one.
But the four other jets had not simply disappeared. Instead, they suddenly reappeared out of the sun, diving toward the two American planes. One of these disappeared in a halo of fire, which left the lone plane badly outnumbered.
In an instant, the tables had turned.
The American wasn't about to give up the fight. He should have run away. Instead, he banked sharply and flew directly toward the oncoming planes.
Rapid fire flashed between the aircraft.
Madness, Wu thought, following the action through the binoculars as the single plane took on the entire squadron.
One of the MiGs exploded. The American jet plunged through the cloud of debris, but the pilot still had three enemy planes on his tail. And perhaps another waiting to pounce. By Wu’s count, that still made it four against one. There was no way that the enemy pilot could survive this bout today.
Wu watched the enemy fighter plane dodge and dip, but he was unable to shake so many adversaries. Seconds later, another burst of cannon fire from the MiGs brought smoke pouring from the American fighter.
“He's done for,” Deng said.
“Our forces have triumphed,” Wu said, slipping into his political officer’s role. “We should expect nothing less.”
Wu was surprised that the American plane had done so well against such overwhelming odds. Their pilots must be well trained. Not for the first time, he realized that these Americans were not to be underestimated. Time and again, they had proven themselves to be highly motivated adversaries. Wu thought with a satisfied smile to himself that the Chinese had shown themselves to be capable as well.
Wu stared through the binoculars as a white parachute blossomed in the sky and began to drift downward, carried northwest by the wind.
“He is bailing out,” Deng said.
“Why don’t they shoot him down?” Wu demanded. “He destroyed three of our aircraft. “Shoot him down! What are they waiting for?”
Wu shouted as if the pilots high above could hear him. However, the MiGs did not open fire on the enemy pilot. There seemed to be some element of honor among pilots, even enemy pilots, because the Soviet fighters did not machine-gun the drifting parachute.
They were letting the enemy pilot go.
Wu had no such qualms. If he had been at the controls, he would had riddled the parachute with bullets and let the pilot plunge to his death.
“Can you hit him from here?” Wu demanded.
“It is very far, sir,” Deng said.
“You must try!”
Deng raised the rifle, took aim, and fired.
Wu had hoped to see the body slump lifelessly, but there was no change in the tiny figure dangling from the parachute harness.
“You missed. Shoot him! Shoot him!”
The sniper worked the bolt action and fired again, but the distance was vast and the parachute seemed to pick up speed as it drifted farther away on the breeze.
“Here, give me that rifle!”
Wu grabbed the weapon away from the sniper. It was hard to pick the target out of the sky, and when he finally did, the parachute was even farther away. The crosshairs danced hopelessly as he tried to get them lined up on the speck that was the enemy pilot.
Cursing, Wu handed the rifle back.
“Come, get your things,” Wu said. “We are going after him. We are going to capture that pilot.”
“Yes, sir,” said Deng. If he had any doubts, he knew better than to voice them with Wu so angry. Deng had grown up hunting and was a good tracker. With any luck, he would have a chance to redeem himself in Wu’s eyes.
With Wu leading the way, they rushed back toward the Chinese encampment to gather a squad.
Chapter Five
As a political officer, Major Wu occupied a unique position in that despite his middling rank, in many ways he outranked even a Chinese general. It was true that a general could issue orders, but all that Wu had to do was whisper in the right ear, mention that the general was not patriotic, and the general would be spirited away. It might be Wu himself who would be doing the removing.
The general and every officer ranking below him were well aware of the situation.
Consequently, when Wu returned to camp and quickly gathered a dozen soldiers picked at random, there was no complaint from any of the officers or from the men. They knew that Wu was simply to be obeyed.
Wu’s process was simple. If they saw a man holding a rifle and he looked competent, Wu tapped him for his makeshift patrol. Deng suggested one or two of the men and Wu accepted them readily. If they shared Deng’s passion for petty cruelty while strictly following any order without question, then all the better.
Once Wu had assembled a handful of men, he left them in Deng’s hands. “Tell them to bring enough food for a day or two, and tell them to bring some rope.”
“Some of them want to know our purpose, sir.”
Wu nodded and smiled, his face a picture of good cheer. “Tell them we are going after the American pilot who was shot down and when we catch him, we are going to truss him up like the imperialist pig that he is.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Deng dealt with organizing the patrol, the major turned to a man who stood nearby, patiently waiting to report to him. The man was dressed in civilian clothes, but he was actually a Chinese soldier who spoke Korean. Several days ago, the man had slipped into the Allied lines to work among the local Koreans who were carrying supplies and doing manual labor for the Americans, like coolies of old. His orders were simply to keep his ears and eyes open, observing anything of interest.
Wu motioned for the man to follow him until they were out of earshot of the others.
Once they were alone, Wu asked, “What did you find out?”
“The Americans will be rotating commands in two days,” the spy said. “Several new units will be in the defenses. They will be unfamiliar with the terrain. Many of them are green troops as well, so there is some concern about that.”
“Very well done,” Wu said, smiling. “This is most useful. Go get yourself some real food, not that Gǒu liáng garbage they serve their Korean slaves. See me before you go back into the Allied lines because I may have something for you to watch for.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wu considered what to do with the information. He knew that the general was planning to attack one of the American outposts soon. In war, timing was everything. If the Chinese attacked when the Americans were confused and disorganized, they would have a higher chance of success. The waste of soldiers’ lives was not a factor in his consideration. The question was, did Wu wish for the general to be successful in his attack? Perhaps. And if the general owed Wu a favor, so much the better.
With that thought in mind, he sought out the general. Several other officers were waiting to confer with their commander. Wu ignored the staff officer who informed him that he was third in line and walked into the general’s tent. Wu’s information had all but guaranteed that the attack on Outpost Kelly would come during the Americans’ vulnerable transition period.
A few minutes later, he walked back out and smiled at the fuming staff officer.
“You did not follow protocol!” the officer said, clearly angry about the breach of his authority. The other officers who had been waiting occupied themselves by studying the clouds or distant hills. They knew better than to get on Wu’s bad side.
“Do not worry,” Wu said. “I made it clear to the general that you tried to stop me from bringing him this information. He was so impressed by your sense of duty that he said you will lead the first wave of the attack he is planning.”
That stopped the officer in his tracks and left him silent. As everyone knew, Chinese doctrine accepted a great loss of life in trying to overwhelm the enemy with the first wave of an attack. Leading such an attack was akin to a suicide mission.
“I am to lead the attack?” the staff officer managed to stammer in disbelief.
“It will be a great honor to die in such a way,” Wu said, smiling happily.
Leaving headquarters and the stunned staff officer in his wake, the major returned to where he had left Deng to organize things. The new squad looked squared away, if not entirely happy. Apparently, the prospect of chasing off into the hills did not appeal to them all.
Wu explained how it was going to be a great adventure, and then led the way into the hills with Deng at his side. No more than an hour had elapsed since they had seen the plane shot down.
“Sir, this is going to be like counting grains of rice,” Deng ventured to say.
“It will be challenging,” Wu agreed. “However, we will find him because that is what we must do. There is no alternative.”
They were moving in the general direction of where they had last seen the parachute, using the hills themselves as landmarks.
“Did you bring a compass, sir?”
Wu shook his head and laughed. Deng should have known better. Even simple equipment such as a compass was hard to come by in Mao’s ill-equipped army. “The hills have many eyes,” he responded. Wu was thinking of the many North Korean villages that dotted the landscape. “Someone will have seen something.”
“These mountain people do not like us. They may not want to tell us anything,” Deng said.
“Then we will make them tell us,” Wu said. “That is what you are here for.”
Now, it was Deng’s turn to smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let us hurry. We spent too much time getting organized.”
Deng turned and barked at the soldiers to get moving.
One of the men made the mistake of lagging behind. When Deng shouted at him, the soldier said, “I have been marching for four days already. I didn't even get anything to eat.”
Deng stepped back from the path and halted as the others went by. When the last soldier was even with him, Deng raised his rifle and swatted the man in the face with the butt of the weapon, knocking him down. Once the man had fallen to the ground, Deng kicked him several times.
“Are you still hungry?” Deng demanded. “Are you still tired?”
The soldier shook his head emphatically, spitting blood from his mouth.
