On Hardened Ground

Prologue

Blood and snow--that’s what I remember most about Korea--stark red pools and splashes that decorated a never-ending whiteness, and the dying men who burdened me with their last words.

Those things and the incessant, bitter cold--a cold that never left you, that ate at your insides and forced you from what little sleep you were allowed.

Medic! Doc! Corpsman! It didn’t matter what version it came in, it always meant the same thing--someone was hit, and dead tired as I was, I went on stumbling my way toward the voices.

We were part of a badly mauled marine battalion that had been chosen to buy time while the remainder of our troops withdrew from a Godforsaken handful of hills that nobody wanted but everyone was fighting for. War--it never makes any god**mned sense to the guy who’s in the middle of it.

By the end of the day, my platoon, which was already under strength, was now down to eighteen men. The company had taken the brunt of the attack. It was holding, but just barely. I was down at one of the machine gun emplacements that had taken a mortar hit. Two of the Marines looked like sieves, but were still alive.