December 1950.

Time had no meaning.

We labored through infinite darkness in ghostly clouds of snow over an icy path that

rose and fell but seemed to lead nowhere.

We saw only the back of the man ahead, a hunched figure in a long shapeless parka whose

every tortured step was an act of will.

We carried on with the only strength that was left to us, Marine Corps Discipline.

Over the noise the wind we heard Chinese soldiers speaking.

They were no more than 25 yards away but we could not see them.

Undoubtedly they heard us too but in the blinding snow they mistook our column for one

of their own.

The nearby Chinese voices had an adrenaline effect.

Realizing that we were within grenade range, we were charged with energy and our minds cleared.

Dawn was our weiried stumbling.

The men became sure-footed alert.

The nightmare passage we had endured through the dark, frigid storm was ended.

We had reached the enemy.

The men held their fire and watched for signaled orders.

No unlikely noise gave away our presence.

We signaled his squads and discirmatures, extending to both sides.

Quietly he led them forward on hands and knees.

The enemy's first shots came as our riflemen top the rise, a torrent of oats and fire erupted

...