The Frozen Hours by Jeff Shaara

Author:Jeff Shaara
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2017-05-23T04:00:00+00:00

“FOX HILL”—NOVEMBER 27, 1950

It was nearly nine o’clock, the griping still flowing through the position in a steady chorus of swearing, made even worse by McCarthy prowling through the position, testing their alertness. There had been passwords given, which McCarthy expected to be acknowledged, a common precaution at night. But the men were struggling with their labor, or, if the holes seemed adequate, they had collapsed into sleep almost immediately. McCarthy’s efforts at testing their response to the password most often resulted in a cascade of swearing from the lieutenant, and several helmets thumped by the butt of his carbine.

Riley had caught his own share of McCarthy’s wrath, his brain struggling to stay focused on chiseling the rock-hard ground. Gradually the hole began to take shape, the shovel clanking hard, chiseling splinters of dirt and rock, Killian working just as hard beside him. Riley stopped, a brief second’s rest, said, “This is stupid as hell. We’re down a whole foot. It’s gonna take us all night, and then you can bet tomorrow they’ll haul us off somewhere else.”

Killian kept working, said, “Hey, it’s getting easier. We get down below the frozen stuff, it’s not bad. Come on, keep digging.”

Riley wrapped stiff fingers around the short handle of the shovel, chopped down, solid impact on a hidden rock. The shovel bounced up, a sharp stinging pain in his hands. Killian paused, said, “Try not to hit the rocks. It’s better in the dirt. Moron.”

Riley saw a smile, the Irishman’s face red, streaked with filthy sweat. “If you’re gonna give me grief, at least pass along some of that Irish whiskey.”

“Forget it. Ran out the first hour I had it. No help from the rest of you.”

Riley jabbed the shovel down, a scoop of dirt, poured it in front of the hole. “We get out of this alive, and I bet we’ll laugh like hell about it. One day, over drinks in some posh club in God knows where. Nobody’ll believe us.”

Killian tossed up more dirt, the deeper ground softening, said, “Yeah, we’ll be telling war stories to our grandkids. They won’t believe a damn word. Where’s that jackass reporter? Ought to have him up here. Maybe take pictures.”

Riley jabbed his shovel down, more of the dirt coming up, the hole deepening more quickly. “Pile it up to the front side. Give us cover, if we need it.”

Killian dropped down into the hole, dug again, said, “There you go, acting like an officer again. That’s what I’ve been doing all along, genius. Okay, it’s about two feet deep. That oughta be enough.”

Welch was there now, a quick exam, said, “Good. Captain can’t gripe about this one. We found some old holes dug down the face of the hill a ways. This place must have been a Chink position and they left ’em behind for us. That either means they hauled their rice bags out of here or they left those holes on purpose, so they’d know where to find us.” Welch looked at Killian.

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