froze. There wasn’t supposed to be a guard post on this path. Other raids and infiltrations were supposed to have distracted the imperialists’ attention away from this landing site.
‘Advance and be recognized.” This time the voice was accompanied by the sharp click of an M16’s safety being snapped off.
The captain kept his hands well away from the pistol holstered on his waist and stepped forward slowly. “Beach patrol. Captain Yi.”
A flashlight came on and centered on his face — blindingly bright. He blinked. “Get that light out of my face, you fools. And stop acting so surprised to see us.”
The flashlight went out. That was better. The captain could just make out a sandbagged foxhole a couple of meters ahead. He edged closer. There were two South Korean army privates in the foxhole, but only one had his rifle up and trained in the right direction. The other was nervously shifting a flashlight back and forth from one hand to the other. The captain smiled. They must be reservists hastily recalled to arms without adequate training.
“Sorry, sir. But we weren’t expecting a patrol for another hour.” Was the rifle barrel aimed at them starting to drop?
The captain took another step forward. “They’ve changed things around. Weren’t you notified?”
One hand reached slowly into his tunic and pulled out a short, broad-bladed commando knife.
The young South Korean soldier with the flashlight didn’t see it. The flashlight beam had ruined his night vision. “No, sir. I’m sorry about the light. I’m afraid you startled us.” The captain saw him turn and bend down to pick up an object. A field telephone? He tensed.
“I’ll just report you in to HQ, sir. That way the other outposts won’t be so jumpy.” The private lifted the receiver.
As he did, the captain lunged forward and down into the foxhole, shoving his knife into the man’s throat up to the hilt. Blood spurted out over his hand and uniform sleeve and the private gagged, frantically pawing at him before falling back limply against the sandbagged walls. The captain jerked his knife back out and wheeled to face the other sentry. But the man was already dying, his larynx crushed by a steel-tipped kick. The commando who’d delivered the kick grinned, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. The captain grinned back.
He unfolded his map again, looking for their objective. He traced a line toward it, looking for potential obstacles. One road, a low rise, the village of Taech’ang proper. Nothing more than that. The Chosan River bridge lay just an eight-kilometer jaunt away. He smiled. He and his men would be in position in a matter of hours.
The captain put his map away and took his rifle back from another commando. He looked down at the dead South Korean sentries. The unexpected encounter had been an inconvenience, but it wasn’t necessarily a fatal one. They’d police the area to remove all signs of a struggle and carry the bodies away with them. With any luck the South Koreans would assume their men had simply deserted.
They wouldn’t think that for long, but the captain and his men didn’t need long. Besides, he doubted that the fascists would be able to find them anyway. After all, they’d be hiding in plain sight. He held the thought and started issuing the necessary orders. His commando force had a bridge to visit before the night was through.
CHAPTER 33
Search
The sound of the truck was comforting. They were moving south, and Anne could feel the distance between the war and her increasing, stretching thinner and lighter. She could also feel the pull of Kunsan. For everyone else it was just an intermediate stop on their way to Japan, but they didn’t have friends there.
Anne tried to eat her spaghetti and meatballs as they drove. Hutchins had handed her an “MRE” and told her it was dinner.
MRE stood for “meals, ready to eat” and was the U.S. Army’s replacement for the legendary “C” ration. It was a green plastic bag the size of a large book. Her first problem was tearing open the thick plastic. In the end she had to borrow Private Bell’s razor-sharp bayonet.
Inside were other pouches. One held the dinner, labeled “Spaghetti and Meatballs.” Another held dried fruit. There were other packages with cheese and crackers, utensils, and so on.
Hutchins had commented on her luck. The dinners were designed to be mixed with hot water, which was of course unavailable in a moving truck. The spaghetti dinner did not need water. There were other problems, though.
Whoever had designed the spoons had neglected the fact that she was digging into the large dinner pouch. Almost immediately her hand had become covered with sauce. It didn’t taste bad, but it was messy. She ate it slowly, to help pass the time.
She had looked at the map when they passed through Paran. From there to Kunsan was about 160 kilometers, a hundred miles. They were crawling, but even at ten miles an hour they would pull into Kunsan well before dawn.
She looked at the map, willing a straight and smooth path, and a warm one while they were at it. In the cold moonlight she could see the snow-covered rice paddies stretching off on either side of the road. It was a peaceful, quiet scene, but she could see no comfort in it.
The ground near the coast was flat, which Yi hated. Not a valley or a ridge to hide behind; the best they could get was a small gully that ran in the direction they were going. Much of the march had to be made in short rushes, with one team covering the other. It was slow and tiring work.
Each man was dressed in a South Korean Army winter uniform, but instead of the standard white camouflage smock, they wore black. They would put on the white ones later, when they were in position. Concealment was more important now.
They also carried M16 rifles with plenty of ammunition, and standard South Korean field packs. In addition, each man, Yi included, carried another thirty kilos of “special equipment.”
This was evidently a popular area, Yi thought. He had seen many signs for bathing beaches, hotels, cafes. Even covered with snow it was picturesque.
His musings were interrupted by the sergeant’s signal. All clear. Yi and his three men ran forward at a crouch, the light snow muffling their footsteps.
He fell flat next to Yong, the sergeant. Yong pointed silently out ahead, toward a gravel track stretching across their path. Frozen rice paddies lined the road on either side. They waited, watching the road for about ten minutes, seeing no movement. Yi held up one open hand, then clenched his fist and pumped it up and down. Four commandos ran across the road while Yi and his team covered them.
No sign of movement. He gave the signal and sprinted across the road, sure that Yong and his group were watching and covering him.
The coast road was his landmark. Once across it, they would turn south and head for the Chosan river. They would then follow the river inland to their target.
Anne was awakened by Bell, who was cursing again as they drove downhill. “Captain, the transmission’s getting worse. It’s even money whether I can get it out of first gear at the bottom of this hill.”
Hutchins had been asleep, too. He straightened up in his seat, stretching as much as the cramped cab allowed. He looked at the map while Anne held a hooded flashlight. They had made good progress, covering sixty- five kilometers from Anyang in about three hours.
The captain looked at his watch and made a decision. “We’ll pull into Onyang and stop for repairs. We have to gas up anyway, and we can fix the cooling system on that other five-ton truck, too.”
Bell smiled. Onyang was only a small town, but it would have decent food, maybe a few beers, a nap…
“Quit dreaming, Private. We’re going to fix these vehicles and get back on the road ASAP.” Hutchins’s tone was stern. Bell was one of the two men that had come from the stockade. He was a good soldier but would goof off any chance he could get. That’s why the captain had taken him as his own driver, so he wouldn’t get many chances.
