The sole of my left shoe was flapping now as I walked, like the lolling tongue of an exhausted dog. I flipped it open and stared at the raw toes beneath.
“Go wash in the stream,” he told me. “It’s cold but you’ll feel better. When you finish, I’ll have a razor and some soap ready for you.”
Although I was exhausted, I did as Moon Chaser said. I stripped at the edge of the stream, splashed freezing water all over my body, and then vigorously washed my face. Moon Chaser tossed a knotted hand towel to me. After drying off, I put my clothes on and squatted by the edge of the stream, shaving with the straight razor and soap he provided.
When I returned to the grave mound, he had set up his wooden A-frame. A canvas pack was tied securely to its crossbeam. The two long legs of the A-frame had been propped upright by his walking staff, forming a man-high tripod. From out of the pack, Moon Chaser pulled some food. More ddok, because it was so portable, and one tube of kimpap, seaweed-wrapped rice enveloping a string of pickled turnip. I devoured it all, ravenously.
When I was finished, Moon Chaser rose to his feet. “Come on,” he said. “We have to make more distance before sunrise.”
Wearily, I stood up. Moon Chaser grabbed his staff and slipped his arms through the harness of the A-frame. Bending at the knees, he hoisted the heavy load, balancing it expertly on his back. Two hours later, the sun was starting to rise and I was about to pass out on my feet. Moon Chaser let me rest. He rested also, standing with the long legs of his A-frame touching the ground. After what seemed like only a few minutes, he roused me and made me follow him up into shrub-covered hills.
“Isn’t it dangerous to travel during the day?” I asked, hoping for a chance to ease my pain-wracked body.
“The army won’t come up here,” he told me. “They’re there.” He pointed. “Waiting for us.”
In the distance, a mountain range rose higher than any I’d seen. “Those are the Kwangju Mountains?” I asked.
“Yes. The peak on the far right, that is Mount O-song.”
I was about to ask him how he knew my specific destination but thought better of it. He’d tell me if I needed to know. Moon Chaser kept me moving all day. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. I flopped down and told him I had to rest.
“Every minute we delay,” he told me, “the First Corps puts more soldiers between us and the Manchurian Battalion.”
That was the first time he’d mentioned those words.
“And,” he continued, “they move more of their armored units into attack position.”
My body was screaming for rest, my toes bleeding, my calves and thighs quivering with exhaustion. Still, I got to my feet and plodded on, following Moon Chaser blindly, concentrating all my attention on the wooden A-frame on his back, the one that held his canvas pack and apparently all his worldly possessions. I’m not sure how long we walked.
The next thing I remember is being shaken awake. It was nighttime now. I must’ve collapsed without even being aware of it.
“They’re here,” Moon Chaser hissed.
“Who’s here?” I asked.
He covered my lips with his forefinger. “Quiet. They’re nearby.”
I sat up. Earlier on this long, grueling march, I’d sworn that I didn’t care if I were captured. At least I’d be able to rest. Now that arrest was imminent, suddenly I was terrified. And ready to run.
11
Moon Chaser grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet, motioning for me to follow. I stayed close to him as he moved through underbrush, keeping low. Finally, we stopped and knelt. He pointed. Below, three snub-nosed trucks were parked in a row. Beside them stood a woman. A tall woman dressed in a long, black leather coat and long, black leather boots, her straight hair hanging down beyond her shoulders.
Senior Captain Rhee Mi-sook-fully recovered now, hair glistening, looking like what the Paris fashion world would imagine a female Communist officer should look like. She stared up in the hills, right at us.
“Do they know we’re here?” I whispered.
“No, it’s not possible. No one’s ever caught me in these hills. This way,” he said, pulling my wrist again. “Keep low.”
Soon we reached a ravine. Moon Chaser guided me through it. A half hour later, we’d left the soldiers far behind.
Before dawn, we caught a few hours of sleep. Just before the sun came up, we crawled to the edge of a precipice and looked down.
“There it is,” Moon Chaser said. “Imjingang.” The Imjin River.
The narrow valley stretched south, as far as the eye could see.
“It reaches the DMZ,” Moon Chaser said, “and beyond.”
I knew the Imjin River well. It flows southeast where it crosses the DMZ, not far from the truce village of Pan-munjom, the place where the North Koreans meet the South Koreans and the United Nations Command Military Armistice Commission does its work. Eventually, the Imjin empties into the Yellow Sea.
“To the south,” Moon Chaser said, “the river is heavily fortified. So if we’re going to reach Mount O-song, we have to cross here.”
The banks of the river were flat and strewn with gravel. Water rushed rapidly through a central channel.
“The river is higher than normal,” Moon Chaser said. “Normally we could ford here, but it would be dangerous with such a deep flow. Look.”
I followed where he pointed, to a clump of bushes I’d barely noticed. I looked more closely. Shapes emerged: sandbags, camouflaged headgear.
“Machine guns,” I said.
“Yes,” Moon Chaser replied. “They’re planning to stop us here.”
We spent the morning searching up and down the length of the Imjin and spotted gun emplacements every two hundred meters or so, depending on the terrain.
“There must be roving patrols also,” I said, “on our side of the river.”
Moon Chaser agreed. We decided to hide until evening. He led me up the side of a rocky cliff to a cave that overlooked a bend in the river. From there we waited and watched. We chewed on the last few dirty chunks of ddok. I asked Moon Chaser how we were going to cross the river.
He shook his head. “They’re really after you now.” After thinking a while, Moon Chaser said, “There’s only one place to cross.”
“Where?”
“Eat your ddok. I’ll show you”
Two hours later, after night had fallen, we crawled to the edge of a cliff and stared down at the Imjin far below.
“There,” Moon Chaser said, pointing. “That’s where we’ll cross.”
It was an earthen dam. Crude, not fortified with cement, but Moon Chaser assured me that the Great Leader had plans to construct an enormous modern dam and a hydroelectric power plant at this site. A huge volume of water was stored behind the earthen berm, forming a man-made lake. Through sluices lined with lumber, water rushed into the Imjin River. As part of my briefings, I’d learned about this planned network of dams north of the DMZ. The purpose, according to my Eighth Army briefers, was not only to control the flow of water reaching South Korea, but also to use the dams, if necessary, as a weapon. It was thought that once all the dams were constructed, the North Koreans would be able to open a half dozen or so and allow water to gush into South Korea, damaging crop production by allowing the Imjin and Han Rivers to overflow their banks. Eventually, if the Great Leader’s plans were fully realized, the volume of water rushing down across the Demilitarized Zone into South Korea would be of biblical proportions. Water as a weapon of war.
