From the positions that had been overrun, Chinese machine guns began a crossfire over the remaining company area. Now Munoz's men were pinned down.
Munoz realized the battle could not go on much longer. George was being overwhelmed. The friendly mortars had ceased fire. The tank platoon, down by the river, could not support in the darkness.
One of the tankers called to him; there was a radio message from his Battalion S-3, Major Woodward: 'What's happening?'
Munoz filled him in. He told him the company was almost shot, and the position ready to give way.
'Okay, Frank, bring your men back across the river—tell Fox to do the same. The 23rd Infantry's on line behind you, somewhere—be careful!'
Munoz passed the word to Kavanaugh at once.
'I'm with you!' the Fox Company commander said.
But Munoz never gave the order to pull out; he had no need to. The platoons on the hill had thrown their last grenade; most of the small-arms ammunition was gone. Sergeants Long shouted for his men to try to roll off the hill back into the protecting saddle, and under heavy fire the survivors scrabbled down.
Only some twenty minutes had elapsed since the first shot, but George had lost more than seventy men.
Several men did not get off the hill one private named Smalley and two ROK KATUSA's were swarmed upon by Chinese, who put rifles in their backs and forced them to surrender.
In bits and pieces, Fox and George companies straggled to their vehicles waiting behind the hill. The supporting tanks and Quad .50's threw up a hail of fire now, to keep the Chinese off their backs. But the enemy did not immediately pursue. They paused to reorganize on their newly won ground.
Behind Fox and George the river was fordable by vehicles only. Ice-rimed and swift, it was four feet deep, with enough current to sweep a wading man from his feet. Munoz ordered all the wounded who had been salvaged, some thirty to forty, to be put on the tank decks. Then, the tiny column started to move back to the Ch'ongch'on. As they moved out, mortar shells began to whistle down on them.
One tank, sighting the enemy tubes up on the hill, fired a 76mm shell into them and put them out of action.
In the darkness, all was confusion and terror. Trying to round up his men, Munoz heard sobbing sounds coming from a wood shack—there were a number of shabby Korean dwellings scattered along the river by the crossing site. Munoz went into the hut, saw an American soldier sitting on the floor, tears streaming down his stubbled face.
'What're you doing in here?' Munoz shouted.
'I don't know—I don't know!' the soldier sobbed.
'Come with me.'
'Captain, I don't want to go out there—'
Munoz grabbed the man, dragged him to his feet. He was rough and impatient. 'Get your ass on one of those tanks!'
Outside, another enlisted man, shot through the foot, was whimpering with pain. 'Hang on, you'll be all right,' Munoz told him. The soldier shut up.
Munoz still had ten to fifteen POW's they had captured earlier. Not knowing what to do with them, he had forced them into one of the Korean huts. Now, pulling out, an H Company officer shouted to Munoz that they'd better kill these prisoners right away.
On this, Frank Munoz put his foot down. When the company pulled back, the POW's were left unmolested in the hut.
Under scattered fire, seeing Chinese crawling over the small ridges like ants in the gun flashes, the column ground slowly toward the river. Suddenly, a rocket launcher flared in the night, and the lead tank stopped, started to smoke. The men riding it leaped off; the crew bailed out, and both groups dashed wildly toward another vehicle.
The stopped tank caught fire, its engine flaming up with a loud whoosh. In this light, and behind the cover the steel hull afforded, Munoz gathered five or six of his men. 'Stay here! Fire on the Chinks! We'll cover the others; then they'll cover us—'
There were two more tanks, and most of Fox company, still behind. Now, under the covering fire Munoz's small party threw against the hills, the others streamed through. But they did not stop to cover Munoz's withdrawal—they kept on going.
Bullets whined off the damaged tank as the Chinese in the ridges kept up a steady fire, and the gasoline in the tank engine blazed up so high Munoz began to worry that the tank might explode.
'Let's get out of here,' he said to the men around him. 'Stay close to me—there's safety in numbers!'
But one of the men, First Sergeant Lester Heath, had been shot in the foot, and crippled. He could barely walk; he could only hobble along, leaning on Munoz's shoulder.
The little party could not run for the river; hampered by Heath, it moved along at a snail's pace.
The Chinese rushed. Firing coolly with his .45, Munoz knocked five of them down, while the other men used carbines and M-1's. There was no hope of bringing out the dead, Munoz knew—but he was not leaving any wounded behind. They brought Heath out.
For this action Frank Munoz would be decorated.
By the time Munoz and his party reached the river, the Quad .50's had burned up all their ammunition, and could be used only to ferry men across. The tanks, also, took the wounded across the icy river, then returned to carry more.
From the other side of the river, an artillery battalion was firing now in support, but the fighting was so confused in the dark, and so close-in that the howitzers could not be effective.
Having made the east bank, both the tank officer, Lieutenant Haywood, and Kavanaugh of Fox Company returned to scour the hostile side for wounded and stragglers. The tanks made several trips, and gradually the remnants of the 2nd Battalion formed west of the river. Munoz and his men were brought across—but many men, despairing of crossing on a tank, waded into the Ch'ongch'on and splashed to safety. In the ten-degree weather, most of these men immediately became weather casualties.
On the east bank, trying to reorganize his company, Frank Munoz could at first find only twenty men. And it was here he first discovered that his own trousers had been cut by bullets in two places. He had neither heard nor felt the bullets' passage.
At daylight, after losing two more tanks to enemy action, Lieutenants Kavanaugh and Haywood finally came back across the Ch'ongch'on. They were the last men to cross, except one.
Captured up on the hill, Private Smalley had been ordered into his sleeping bag. There, exhausted, he had fallen asleep under Chinese guard while the battle raged. At dawn, a slender Chinese officer shook him awake. Speaking perfect English, the officer began to question Smalley and the two ROK soldiers who had been taken with him.
Smalley refused to open his mouth. Seeing his example, the two KATUSA's were silent, also. At last the Chinese officer snapped his fingers. While Smalley watched, horrified, the Koreans were marched a few paces away and shot down.
Then the officer said to Smalley, 'We know all about you.' And he did—down to Smalley's unit, and who commanded it. 'Now go back and tell your commander not to use fire bombs—napalm—against us. Your outfit is over there'—he pointed to the river—'take off!'
Fully expecting a bullet in the back, Smalley ran for the river. Though he was forced to hide twice to avoid Chinese patrols, he reached the Ch'ongch'on and splashed across.
During this time the Chinese released many such prisoners as Smalley, undoubtedly for propaganda reasons. In Private Smalley's case the propaganda backfired. Finding Captain Munoz, he said bitterly: 'I saw what they did to those ROK's. Gimme a machine gun!'
During the day, George and the other units received dry clothing and hot food. But the 9th Infantry was rapidly becoming disorganized. The night before, 2nd Battalion had been its strongest remaining force. Now 2nd battalion could account for only nine officers and slightly more than two hundred men.
During the day the Chinese lurked in the valleys, burying their dead, cooking their rice. Frank Munoz and Company could use the respite, but there were limits to what it could do, even with a few hours.
