Excerpt

A full moon and light fog offset the darkness of Hill 227, a bump in the road compared to the rugged terrain surrounding it. The hill had changed hands several times over the preceding months until both sides finally abandoned it. But S-2 thought that the Chinese might have reoccupied it, and if so, they were too close for comfort. Mortars could reach the camps scattered across the near countryside. Even though recon flights showed nothing during daylight hours, they bombed it anyway. Most of the trees and greenery had been obliterated—not unlike the rest of this miserable country—and craters, mangled barbed wire, and discarded equipment littered the embankment. All that remained on top was a shoulder-high trench that weaved along the crest and a ramshackle command bunker made out of sandbags and rotting wood.

At night, however, the hill was a beehive of activity. A small contingent of Chinese regulars would hide in the foothills by day, and then make the trek up the northern slope after dusk. They sweated heavily in their mustard-colored flannel uniforms as they carried three light machineguns they would disburse evenly along the trench line with enough ammunition to fight their way out of there if necessary. No one would ever know why they bothered to occupy that bump every night.

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Halfway down the forward side of the hill, Thomas and his two-man patrol inched slowly toward the top. He gestured for them to spread out. You had to be extra careful. You never know what might be right in front of you.

Corporal Sampson crawled along his left side and Michaels was on his right. Thomas wasn’t worried about Sampson because he had been through some of the deepest shit of the war and knew exactly what he was doing. He was so good at his job, he could have led the patrol himself.

Michaels, on the other hand, didn’t know shit from shinola and Thomas was obliged to keep a close eye on him—even on a routine patrol like this one. He would have a good idea how it worked after tonight.

Then Thomas heard a laugh—and it came from above and in front of him. It told him that there were people in the trench, and logically they were not friendlies.

He hunkered down and looked back at Michaels. He could see the whites of his eyes. He put a finger to his lips, and then gestured for the two men to slowly back away.

Michaels didn’t understand the hand signals.

“What do you want me to do, Sergeant?” Michaels said in a normal speaking voice. He didn’t realize that sound carries farther and louder at night.

Instantly the enemy machineguns opened fire, spraying the hillside with deadly lead. Tracer rounds gave away the exact locations of the nests. Thomas unhooked the satchel charge from his belt, rolled over on his back, pulled the fuse cord, and slung it hard over his head toward the center nest. On his stomach again, he covered his ears as the deafening explosion turned darkness into daylight. Dirt, rocks, and body parts rained down on all three men.

Following suit, Sampson unhooked his satchel, pulled the fuse, and let it fly in the direction of the nest on the left flank. It hit the edge of the trench and bounced backward. The smoking bag cart wheeled toward him in what seemed like slow motion and stopped right in front of his face. He reached out for it, but it was too late. The force of the blast lifted his body completely off the ground and flung it down the hill like a rag doll.

Thomas stared in disbelief at the spot where Sampson used to be, but there was no time to worry about that now. The enemy was scrambling all along the trench and throwing everything they had down the hill. He could see the terror on Michaels’s face in the light of tracer rounds and grenade blasts.

He had to make a decision without hesitation. They would surely be cut down if they tried to run, but to attack would be suicide. There was no telling how many of those bastards were up there.

“Michaels! Throw your satchel!” Thomas screamed.