The effects of the grenade seemed to catch the Chicoms off-guard, and they moved away from us.

“Go! Go!” Stanislaw shouted. He brought his M2 carbine up and shot off several rounds as we popped out of our foxholes, firing at our attackers as we began the trek southwest. They fired back, their woefully inaccurate weapons missing us, although we did have a few close calls; at one point, a tree branch exploded directly above Thorvald’s head. We saw that they had recovered and were advancing toward us again, and this prompted us to run harder.

We kept pressing on, firing behind us at intervals, but we couldn’t shake those Chinese. Worse, they were getting closer and closer to us all the time. I remember thinking that this was it, that all I wanted was some more of Mother’s apple pie.

Soon, we saw the camp at the 1100-meter line. The Chicoms did too, and they suddenly lost interest in us. They stopped their pursuit; I looked back long enough to see them start to loot the camp.

We ventured on into the night.