It is the bitter cold winter of 1950, during the Korean War. I'm serving with the 1st Marine Division. Our job is to push to the Yalu River at the China-Korea border. The temperature was 20 below zero. Our lieutenant ordered us to dig in atop a small hill. He said it was a suitable defensive position. Jim, who we called the old man, because he was 24 years old and I chopped the icy ground, but our trenching tools did little to penetrate. Despite the cold, sweat oozed over our bodies, my tee-shirt and pants froze to my skin. We scratch out what we thought was an adequate depression. Exhausted, we dropped our spades. The two of us crawled into our sleeping bags, thankful for a bit of warmth.

Our officers were unaware that Chinese soldiers had crossed the border, concealed by the cover of the moonless night. Without warning, we were under attack. Attacking soldiers scurried up the hill, throwing grenades toward our shallow foxholes. Bugles sounded and rifles fired, machine gun tracer bullets screamed over our heads. Jim and I kicked out of our sleeping bags, peeked over the edge of our foxhole, and fired our M1 carbines into the dark night. Screaming Chinese troops dropped in front of our foxhole. Other Marines were not so lucky. The attacking Chinese were jumping into foxholes and shooting and bayonetting our buddies.

Suddenly, a yellow-faced soldier loomed above our foxhole. He fired. Blood blossomed from Jim's chest. "Damn you," I shouted and shot the grinning bastard. He fell on top of me, knocking the air from my chest, his blood soaking into my clothing. Shrieking enemies were running past our foxhole. I lie quiet under the Chinese body until the charging soldiers moved past. It was a long time before there was quiet. I slipped from under the body. Checked Jim's neck. It was ice blue, no pulse. I shut his eyes and covered him with his sleeping bag and climbed from our hole.
Crawling slowly, I hid in snow covered underbrush, easing myself cautiously behind two large rocks. It was freezing. My teeth wouldn't stop chattering. Unexpectedly, a bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock. My heart thumped against my rib cage, pressed myself as close to the ground as possible. Sank my teeth into my carbine's sling to stop the chattering. I fell asleep.

A rising winter sun woke me. I thought my breath would freeze in my throat; my feet felt like they were encased in blocks of ice. Anguish ran rampant through my body, but a rhythmic chant rang in my mind, Keep going, keep going, you don't give up. I slithered on my stomach for what seemed like hours. Snow began to fall. It had become strangely quiet. I got up and ran; the snow blinded my vision. I tumbled down an embankment, and all went black. A corpsman shook me and said, "I got you, Marine, come this way."