From Dawn to Setting Sun

(Under development)

Chapter One:

If it wasn't for the “favorable” temperature that hadn't topped zero for ten straight days, the odors emanating from the tattered group huddled together in the bombed out building would have been unbearable. As it was, the smell of sweat, rotted food, urine, human waste and blood still induced a few to cover their noses with gloved hands or dirty scarves.

The lieutenant, big, imposing and muscular, cast about the battered building looking at his newly formed leadership group, a motley collection of dirty, grubby NCOs' and weary battle-stained officers.

He was pleased.

He wouldn't have picked a different bunch, even if he'd had the opportunity.

“My name is Hunter, Joe Hunter, “Buffalo Joe” to the troops. They call me ‘Buffalo Joe' because of the big shoulders and the way I lean forward when I walk.” He hunched over and scowled to accent his point. Then he smiled. “I think most of you know that. I'm also the guy that gets to take you up into those hills on our left.” He waived his hand in the approximate direction. “…And on the roght.” In the distance, through shell shattered openings in the burned rafters of the formerly thatched roof, ominous, craggy snow covered hills, looking much like upturned molars, stood out against a pewter sky. “Maybe we can find out why those fucking Chinese are still getting through our screening forces and attacking the main body.”

He walked around on the dirt floor in the packed room, as much to keep warm as for any other reason. “They picked me to do this job, because I'm the biggest and toughest officer we got around here.” He looked around again, this time challenge in his eyes. “Yes, I can lick anyone here … with one hand behind my back I might add.” His lips curled into a sly smile. The group of veterans, battle tested and somewhat jaded, looked at him curiously. No one seemed to fear him.

He moved forward toward one tall, broad-shouldered Marine, blue eyes and white-blonde eyebrows stark against his dirty face, and studied him for a moment. The man had stains on his parka, food, blood and god knows what else. The Marine smiled back at Hunter, the look, one of quiet confidence. The big lieutenant turned again, the sly grin still playing across his dirty face. He looked at another big Marine, this time an ugly red headed man, with a bent nose, scar tissue around his eyes and a multitude of battle marks on his face and hands, some so recently inflicted, they had not yet scabbed over. The ruddy Marine just stared at him, reflecting neither fear nor acceptance.

Hunter's eye caught still another big man, an olive complexioned Marine, this time, a man almost as tall and broad-shouldered as he was. A week or more of dark stubble shaded his chin. The Marine picked his teeth with a grubby fingernail. He too didn't look impressed with the officer's speech.

“Well, I might have to work up a sweat with a few of you.” Joe smiled, looking again at the three he had singled out.

The group laughed, quietly, and relaxed. The message…? The lieutenant was just “funning” them.

The big Lietenant became serious again. “Let's get down to business.” The laughter trickled away. “We've got a job to do. It's a bitch of a job. But you guys are the best.” A pained expression crossed his face. “Sadly,” his eyes flickered with empathy, “you're also the result of a winnowing down process, the survival of the fittest if you will. You and the men you bring with you have seen it all and you are the ones still standing.

“The weak…” he lowered his voice in respect, “and yes, in a many, many cases, the not so weak, are gone.” There seemed to be a little catch in his throat. Obviously he was remembering thing …things not so pleasant.

“We've lost friends dear to us. A few have lost brothers.” His voice broke and he sniffed, possibly from the cold but also possibly from emotion.

Regaining his control, he resumed his normal tone “You made it to this point. You've done the job that had to be done and…” He looked around again, “to repeat myself, you've made it to this point. That's good” He stopped speaking, organizing his thoughts. He went back to the big Marine with the blond eyebrows.

“What's your name?” He looked at the man's parka sleeve. There were two stripes stenciled onto the cloth. “… Corporal?” The situation for the last few weeks had been so hectic and fluid, seeing a rank on a sleeve did not necessarily mean that it was in fact, the man's' rank. He could have been promoted. He could have lost his coat and had to don another man's, possibly that of dead man, or the coat of someone wounded and sent back, or any of a myriad number of other reasons.

“Corporal Lescoulie, Jacques Lescoulie, Mon ami … er … Mon Lieutenant.” The Corporal smiled. He had an engaging smile, even through the dirty face and the bristly white-blond whiskers.

“Ah yes, the former French Foreign Legionnaire.” Hunter was delighted. He had wanted to meet this man. He had heard so many good things about him. The “Legionnaire” fought for weeks in the hills above Yudam-ni with the 5 th Marines. He had been there when his two buddies had won Medals of Honor, at the pass coming down from Yudam-ni. One of them was a Zulu as he remembered the story.

“Welcome Corporal … but I should say Sergeant. Your new First sergeant…” Hunter gestured to a burly man behind him, “has your papers. They just came through.”

Lescoulie smiled broadly. “Thank you, Mon Lieutenant. I did not know.”

Another man had risen from the frozen dirt floor of the hut and stood next to Lescoulie. He was shorter than the big Frenchman, but sturdily built. Like the rest, he too was filthy. A surly cast crowded the boyish look on his face. Lescoulie placed his hand on the new man's arm, “Pardon, Mon Lieutenant, was there not a promotion for my comrade too, Corporal John Flaherty?”

Hunter thought for a moment. “No nothing at this time anyway … he was also with you at that pass wasn't he … he lost a brother…? One of the Medal of Honor winners?” he was looking at John with compassion.

“Yes Mon Ami, Sergeant Matt Farrell. He was my best friend.” He turned toward John Flaherty. “Corporal Flaherty lost another brother too. Back in the hills, when we first got to Yudam-ni.”

Tears rimmed Hunter's eyes. He understood lost friends, only too well. Lost brothers were worse. They shouldn't have been there together, too many brothers in one place, but then he remembered the stories about the name changes. Matt Farrell was really Matt Flaherty. John was his younger brother … and Luke, the other one who died…. John was double hit. He had also distinguished himself too. Hunter moved to the young Marine and placed his hands on his shoulders, looking into his sunken face. The tears, which had been forming in the big lieutenant's eyes, now spilled forward. He made no move to stop them. “I grieve for you my friend … mightily.” Then he clasped the young Marine to him.”

Flaherty's young face had been hard. He had seen nothing but hurt for weeks. Now it softened. “Thank you, sir.”

Hunter stepped back and wiped his face, leaving a dirty streak. The tears were beginning to freeze. Then he moved toward the second big man. “And you my ruddy friend.” He looked toward the man's sleeve. There seemed to be faded Corporal's stripes beneath the dirt and filth on his parka too. “What is your name?”

A hard Boston accent crackled through swollen and cut lips. “Mike Murphy, sir. Corporal Mike Murphy.”

“Ah yes, the last of ‘The Mad Dogs'.” Hunter was delighted. He looked past the burly Corporal to address the others. “They were the men who held hill Hill1240. Dog Company, Second battalion, Seventh Marines, two hundred Marines against thousands of Chinese. Seventeen survived. The Mad Dogs among them. And then they attacked across the mountains as part of a composite battalion to rescue Fox Company at Toktong pass. Colonel Litzenburg called them ‘The Toktong Raiders'. Corporal Murphy here is the last man standing from that heroic group.”

The others looked around; it began to dawn on them who they all were. They understood that they had been selected for a mission, but now they began to understand why they were the ones selected. There were a lot of heroes here.

“The lieutenant was there too, sir.” The rugged Corporal was looking past Hunter. Hunter turned and found himself looking at a gaunt officer, tall like he was, but sixty or seventy pounds lighter. That would be BAM, short for Brian Aloysius Manning. He too sported a week's worth of stubble and dirt and he looked as if a sharp wind would push him off his feet. He was standing next to Lieutenant Herrera, another tall lanky officer. Like the others, Herrera, or “Bean Bandit” as Lieutenant Hunter called him, was covered with the ambient mixture of dirt, blood and other “better left not described” stains.

“Yes, Lieutenant Manning. I haven't had the chance to talk to him yet. He will be in charge of your platoon and he will be the second in command, for our patrol.”

Manning nodded, but was silent.

Murphy smiled. At least for him it was a smile.

Hunter moved toward the big Sergeant, the dark skinned one. He was standing next to another tall Marine, with a round face. “You must be ‘The Italian Stallion' Sergeant Calcaterra.”

The big man nodded and smiled. His countenance was indeed dark complexioned, his parka also a mass of dark red streaks. Hunter looked at his coat, recognizing the stains for what they were, blood. As they told the story, during wave after wave of massed infantry assault by the Chinese Communists, Calcaterra had chased hordes of the Chinese off Fox Hill with nothing more than an entrenching tool. He was recommended for a Medal of Honor for that. “That's me Mr. Hunter, the pride of Brooklyn .” The harsh New York accent came through.

The big Lieutenant had to laugh. He also remembered another Marine from Brooklyn, back centuries ago it seemed, and in another cesspool of the world, Guadalcanal . He too had been a hero, although he had died doing his job. Hunter turned to his First Sergeant, “Don't we have a promotion for Calacterra too?”

“Yes sir. He's now a Staff Sergeant. I think the man next to him gets one too. Your name is Eichelberger?”

“Yes it is, Top. Herman P. Eichelberger.” Calcaterra Laughed. “Too many letters in that name. Just call him Dutch.”

The group laughed quietly. “Well you're now a Corporal … Dutch.” exclaimed the First Sergeant.

The round faced Marine, was thrilled. It wasn't that long ago his father, a United States Congressman, thinking he was overweight and a wimp, used his bullying powers to get him out of the Marines. Dutch had fought to get back into the Corps and had in fact gone through boot camp twice. He had fought well in the siege of Fox Hill by the Chinese, and now he had further proof of his manhood. He had been promoted.

“Thank you Sir.”

“Manning, ‘The Italian Stallion' here is going to be senior NCO in your platoon…”

“Gotcha Buff.” Manning interrupted the big lieutenant, a twinkle in his eye. He turned to Calcaterra. “Vinnie, as of right now, you're the Platoon Sergeant. You better get these guys shaped up.” Calcaterra was confused for a second, and then smiled. “I'll get right on it, Sir.” The group laughed once more. This assignment might have its fun moments after all.

When the group quieted again, Hunter became more serious. “We'll get the rest of you straight in a minute, but let me tell you what's going on.” Artillery rounds rumbled in the distance. As the wind ebbed and flowed, carrying drifting snow flakes, over, around and through the bombed out hut, the wavering rattle of distant machine guns could also be heard. The way to the coast was not yet open … not by a long shot.

“As you know, we're working our way out of the mess we got dealt when the rest of the UN forces collapsed over the other side of the mountains in the west. Some of you fought your way out of the worst part of the trap that that collapse caused up in Yudam-ni up north.” His gaze flicked across Calcaterra, Dutch, Murphy, Lescoulie and Flaherty. He turned and nodded to Lieutenant Manning too. “Some of us fought to hold the base we had built up at Hagaru. He looked at Herrera and a squat Sergeant standing next to him, Hairy Magarian, leader of “The Animals”. We fought pretty hard too”. They all nodded. “We also saved a bunch of Doggies that had gotten trapped on the other side of the Chosin reservoir and brought them into our lines. Well, we got all our shit together, got rested a little, re-supplied and so forth and now we are working our way back to the coast.

You guys that fought at Yudam-ni probably knocked off two or three of those Chi-com divisions. I salute you.” He touched the front of his helmet, deferentially. “We probably eliminated one or two at Hagaru. But we all got hurt, didn't we?” There were nods and wistful looks. “We lost buddies, many buddies. A bunch of us got wounded. And the fucking cold! It hasn't been above zero for weeks.

Hunter paused. The hut was quiet. Machine guns still rattled on a distant battlefield. Snowflakes fluttered by the big man's face. There was a muted boom, boom as Marine planes dived on targets. “But there is still five or six Chinese divisions left out there AND we got 50 miles of road right down the mountain trail we walked up two weeks ago. The division is going to have to march right through those five or six Chinese divisions I been talking about. Right down the middle of them to get to the Hungnam on the coast.”

“Are we gonna be the flank guards?” asked Lieutenant Manning”

“You got right to the heart of it BAM. That's what we're gonna do.”

Now the others understood too. They understood that they would have to climb those hills they were looking at through the holes in the roof, and then keep the attacking enemy from getting through to the main body of the division as it snaked its way along the mountain road.

“We've got two platoons to provide the protection on this side and two on the other.”

Are you leading this group Lieutenant?” Asked Lescoulie.