Chapter Two.

Monday, September 25, 1950. 14.50 Hrs,

Highway One,

Toksan.

North Korea.

Jo Mi Ryung had spent the morning planting rice seedlings in the east paddy with Ku-da Chingu…"tall friend;" as the villagers now called the Russian she had rescued from Highway One. The Russian had still not regained his memory after three months in her care, and the village physician, Zhang Jae-Sun was now resigned to the fact that he probably never would. Jo Mi Ryung still hoped that her Russian would eventually become interested in her and develop something more intimate that the brother-sister relationship they had shared up until now, but there were no promising signs so far.

The Russian had settled down quite happily to the rural existence in the tiny settlement of Kwan-ni. He was showing great promise as a farmer, and the village elders were pleased to have an extra, strong pair of hands. Jo Mi Ryung had left him in the village and was walking back along Highway One from the little town of Toksan, some two kilometres north, where she had been to collect a fresh supply of rice seedlings for the south paddy of the village. She suddenly became aware of a distant, deep droning coming from the south-east. Gazing up, she could just see the stream of silver bombers glittering like so many minnows in the little brook that ran through her village. They were heading for Pyongyang . More tiny silver shapes were dashing around them and the faint thudding of gunfire drifted down. As she gazed, wide-eyed at the spectacle high above; suddenly, one of the big silver bombers began to trail smoke and drift away from its companions.

As it began to spiral down, white puffs came from it. They looked like dandelion seeds drifting in the bright blue sky. Some of the crew had parachuted out! She watched in fascination as they drifted away and down. Then a sound came from behind her… a rising scream. She turned, and saw a little silver jet plane with steeply swept-back wings skidding around the sky and heading towards her. It was followed by another one; slightly bigger, with bright yellow stripes on its wings and body. The first jet plane, now very low, suddenly veered to the right… towards her village as yellowy-orange flames erupted from the nose of the following jet. The burst of gunfire missed the first little silver plane and tore up the asphalt of Highway One towards her. She dropped her basket of rice seedlings and turned to run… as the concentrated fire of the American F86 Sabre jet's six, fifty-caliber machine-guns which had missed the jinking North Korean MiG-15 struck her squarely in the back and tore her to pieces.

Major Leroy "Cookie" Cipriano... so-called because his family ran a popular Italian restaurant in Brooklyn, New York, was concentrating too hard to see where his last burst of gunfire had gone. You just didn't goof around at an altitude of fifty-feet when you were doing over five-hundred-knots on the tail of a twisting, jinking bogey. The MiG was two-hundred-yards ahead and being flown by a real hotshot. Cipriano was convinced that this guy was one of the Russian Honchos who were rumoured to be fighting in Korea; he was just too good to be a Dink or a Chink.

He pulled another tight turn and felt his G-suit inflating. Glancing at the accelerometer at top left of the instrument panel he saw the pointer teetering on the red mark indicating maximum safe at eight-point-five G's positive. Any more of this and he'd pull the goddamned wings off! As he hauled the Sabre out of the vicious port bank, the range limiter on his radar gun sight activated. The "Pipper" centred in his screen and Cipriano punched the firing button on his control column. The three second burst from his six, fifty-caliber machine-guns tore into the fleeing MiG; pieces flew off, and it spun in... straight into the middle of a small rural ville where it exploded in a huge chrysanthemum of flaring jet fuel. Cipriano hauled back on the control column and shoved the throttle wide open, soaring up and away from the fiery devastation that had once been the tiny community of Kwan-ni.

Kwan-ni's old physician, Zhang Jae-Sun was walking through the east side of the village when the MiG hit the ground. All he remembered was an enormous shock wave picking him up bodily and hurling him into the border of the north paddy. He lay there in the muddy water, stunned by the explosion; with the stink of burning jet fuel in his nostrils and throat. He gazed groggily out over the berm of the paddy that had protected him from the burgeoning wall of fire which had incinerated the centre of the village and every living soul contained within it; then everything began to turn black. He vaguely felt the muddy water surge up his nostrils. He tried to lift his head, but couldn't find the strength to do so. Suddenly, he felt strong hands pulling him out of the water. He looked up into the face of Ku-da Chingu…the tall Russian. Confused and disoriented, Zhang Jae-Sun tried to pull away. The Russian waved his arm in the direction of the inferno that had once been the MiG. Its ammunition was starting to explode sending cannon shells whining haphazardly around what remained of the village. He yelled at Zhang Jae-Sun in terrible Korean…

'Di jillae?... U ri neun ji geum tteo nap ni da!'… 'You want to die?... We leave now!' 'Ttara oseyo!'... 'Come with me!'

He picked up the old physician and carried him bodily away towards the far berm-line of the north paddy.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Thursday, December 21, 1950.

Chosin Valley;

South Hamgyong Province.

North Korea.

The malignant Garnet gemstone that Charlotte had been pursuing for the last thirteen years… from the frozen wastes of Siberia, through War-torn Europe, and on out to the Far East, was about to be re-discovered and unleashed upon Mankind once more.

Shang Shi... Senior NCO Huang Zheheng of the 89th Division, IX Army Group, Peoples Liberation Army cautiously made his way across the nightmare, frozen landscape of the destroyed U.S. Marine positions on Hill 1403 northwest of Yudam-ni, and west of the Chosin Reservoir. The slaughter around here had been unimaginable. Frozen corpses lay thick upon the ground. Determined to break through the Marine lines at any cost, the Chinese attackers had advanced in waves, with unarmed soldiers in the rear ranks picking up weapons from their dead comrades who had fallen in front of them; and the fighting had descended into hand-to-hand savagery.

Casualties on both sides had been crippling. The slopes of the hill were covered with the human wreckage; both American and Chinese. It was estimated that the Chinese forces alone, had lost in excess of twenty-five-thousand men. As for the Americans, at least nine-hundred had perished. Few American bodies remained on the hill and surrounding area. The Americans evacuated their dead and dying, whereas the Chinese forces had left their dead where they had fallen. The Chinese had not been able to prevent the Americans' withdrawal, as ordered, and the main body of the Marine forces at Yudam-ni had fought their way south and east to Hagaru-ri.

Huang Zheheng was out foraging for American maps and documents... anything that would be of use to Chinese Intelligence who had set up a command post in the evacuated village of Yudam-ni. Moving up the slope of hill 1403, he came across a defensive position where the American Marines had dug in, and built machine-gun posts out of blocks of snow. A few bodies and parts of bodies remained, frozen solid. Depleted first-aid packs and broken weapons lay scattered about. These Marines had obviously fought hard, judging by the number of Chinese corpses strewn around the ramparts. He checked the scattered American bodies and equipment. There was nothing of any interest remaining in this lower defensive position. A little farther up the slope was what appeared to be a dug-out; perhaps it could be the Command post.

Picking his way carefully amongst the debris, he reached the entrance and cautiously peered inside. He reached up, and lit a blood-spattered hurricane lamp hanging precariously from the roof. By its flickering red-tinged light, he saw that the interior of the bunker resembled a slaughterhouse in which the resident butchers had run amok.

The rough floor was a sticky mass of crushed bone, blood, and shredded flesh. Great patches of blood were splattered across the corrugated iron ceiling, and torn-off limbs, bloody chunks of human flesh, and shattered bodies were scattered everywhere. Huang Zheheng forced back a retch. He had seen this sort of thing before. The last time he had seen anything approaching this had been the result of a suicide attack by a PLA soldier who had rushed into a similar command post and detonated a satchel charge slung across his chest.

Huang Zheheng glanced around There were no map cases or documents. The place had been thoroughly stripped of all strategic material before it had been abandoned. His eyes fell upon the shattered body of a Marine propped up against the far wall in a large pool of congealed blood. Most of the man was still intact, except, that where his legs had once been, there were no more than a few shards of bone and some long strings of flesh and sinew. Propped against the wall by his side was a Thompson submachine gun. Huang Zheheng smiled. He had always wanted one of those. A few of the higher-echelon ranking officers possessed one that had been captured from the Nationalist Chinese Military; but most line troops… if they had an automatic weapon at all… used the Soviet PPSh-41 submachine gun. The Thompson was favoured over this weapon because of its capability to deliver large quantities of short-range automatic assault fire which had proved very useful in both defence and assault.

Huang Zheheng reached down and checked the dead Marine's pockets and equipment for spare ammunition, although the slopes outside were strewn with discarded ordnance. It was easier to check out the weapon's previous owner than go foraging out on the frozen ground. The corpse had a blood-spattered three-pouch rig for thirty-round magazines attached to its webbing, as well as two smaller ammo pouches. Huang Zheheng popped the "Lift-the-Dot" fasteners of the three-pouch rig and withdrew the magazines. All three were fully loaded. He smiled with satisfaction and removed the pouch rig from the Marine's equipment belt suspenders. Then, he turned his attention to the smaller pouches. The first one contained loose, point forty-five rounds. The second contained personal effects… a Zippo lighter, a neat little metal can opener; a small crumpled pack of four "Camel" cigarettes, and two small bars of "Hershey's" sweet chocolate. His fingers touched something smooth at the bottom of the pouch. He pulled it out and his eyes widened in surprise. Resting in his palm was a deep red, pigeon-egg-sized Garnet gemstone.

As he stared, a tiny pinprick of light flickering briefly in the depths of its blood-red heart as it nestled in his hand. It was probably just a reflection from the hurricane lamp, but suddenly, and, for no logical reason; Huang Zheheng shivered. Quickly, he pocketed the contents of the small pouch, gathered up the spare magazines and weapon, and almost ran out of the dug-out.

Outside in the cold air, he stopped, and looked at the gemstone again. It was a beautiful thing, and would most probably be much sought-after back home… if he ever managed to get back home. It would probably fetch enough to provide his family with a new plough... or maybe, even a tractor.

In China, they called this gem a "Blood Stone." It was much prized for its magical properties. As well as being used for jewellery, it was used to cure severe melancholy and depression. Little pieces of Garnet were traditionally given to Chinese pregnant women to help them with their pregnancy. An ancient Chinese legend told that if you tied a piece of Garnet in your front door it would protect your house against thieves.

Huang Zheheng looked around. There was nothing else of any strategic value on this forlorn hill that had cost so many lives over the past few days. Shouldering the Thompson, he began the arduous walk back down to Yudam-ni.