“We’ve got movement orders — short-notice ones.” Kevin tried not to let his dislike for Captain Matuchek show. “We’re being sent up to some place called Malibu West for a week.”
“Ah, yes, Malibu West. I have been there before. I’m afraid that it is not nearly so glamorous as the real Malibu in California must be.” Rhee smiled slightly.
Kevin let that pass. He’d never been to Malibu anyway. “Yeah. Well, we’re moving out early tomorrow morning, so I thought I’d better let you know. You’ll need to be packed and ready to go by oh two hundred.”
The Korean pointed to a duffel bag standing in the corner. “Thank you, but there is no need. I am quite ready. But I can make use of the time to coordinate with the units holding the other outposts on our flanks.”
“How the hell … did Matuchek already tell you we were moving up to the Z?” Kevin asked, irritated that the captain might be trying to make him look like an ill-informed idiot.
Rhee looked apologetic. “Oh, no. The captain didn’t tell me anything. It’s just that the communists caught my country sleeping once before. We shall never be caught that way again. We’re trained to be ready for any eventuality.”
“Well, you’re way ahead of me on this one,” Kevin admitted. He paused, realizing it was probably time to swallow a little more pride. “Look, if you’ve been up to this place before, maybe you can give me some advice on what to take up there. I mean, besides the usual, my combat gear, rifle, stuff like that.”
Rhee nodded. “Of course, I’d be honored to assist you in any way I can.” He thought for a moment. “First, I should take a set of extra blankets if I were you. The nights are growing colder and we won’t have any heat up at the outpost.”
Kevin was surprised. “What? Well, hell, why don’t we take a couple of camp stoves with us then?” Christ, you’d have thought some bright Army officer before him would have figured that one out.
Rhee didn’t look impressed. “Unfortunately,” he said, “camp stoves produce smoke. And the communists have the unpleasant habit of using smoke as an aiming point for the occasional mortar shell.”
Mortars? Oh, brother, this was getting worse and worse. A posting to West Germany would have been so much better. The Russians and their East German puppets might be a dour lot, but at least they didn’t lob mortar shells over the inter-German border on a whim.
Kevin shook his head. “Okay, no camp stoves. Blankets instead. Anything else unusual I should bring?”
Rhee flexed his fingers. “Well, you might bring along a deck of cards.” He twisted his Korean Military Academy class ring back and forth. “A good game of your American five-card stud always helps to pass the time.”
So, Mr. Perfect enjoyed a game of poker, did he? Kevin concealed his surprise. He’d been in the country long enough to learn that the South Koreans were a proud people. It wouldn’t do to offend or shame Rhee by making a big deal out of the fact that he liked to play cards. After all, it wasn’t as if he had a surplus of friends over here. He grinned. “Okay, you’re on. I’ll see you on the parade ground at oh one thirty tomorrow.”
Rhee smiled back. “As you American say, it’s a date.”
“And Lieutenant,” he said as Kevin moved to the door, “I thought your point about the machine guns in today’s exercise was very interesting.”
“Yeah, well, thanks. But I’m afraid the captain didn’t exactly think so.”
Rhee didn’t exactly smile either, but Kevin could swear he saw an eyebrow twitch upward. “The captain is, of course, a good soldier. Is there anything so perfect, however, that it cannot be improved?”
Kevin sketched a rough salute and stepped out of Rhee’s quarters in a happier mood. Things might finally be looking up, and even his hangover seemed to be fading.
So his Korean counterpart liked to play cards. Well, if he was going to be stuck in some godforsaken hole for a week, he might as well make the best of it. Colonels, captains, and majors always seemed to be able to read the least bit of indecision on his face in military matters, but card games were something else altogether. He could hold his own there. Rhee couldn’t possibly know that playing poker had supplied him with spending money all the way through college.
He headed back to the platoon barracks. Sergeant Pierce might be perfectly able to handle all the arrangements for the move on his own, but he’d better get some idea of just what was involved. It would beat sitting on his behind in his quarters, moping around. He stopped in his tracks for a second. My God, maybe he was actually getting used to this place.
Kevin remembered that optimistic thought sourly as he watched his platoon assemble on the floodlit parade ground early the next morning. The sun wouldn’t be up for several more hours yet, and a cold north wind made the darkness outside Camp Howze seem even blacker. He pulled his fatigue jacket tighter around him, trying to stay warm, and did his best to look alert as Sergeant Pierce called the roll.
The platoon had already loaded their gear on the row of canvas-sided Army trucks parked behind him. Now the men were lined up, shivering at ease, as Pierce took a last check — making sure that nobody got left behind, snug in a warm bunk.
“Walton?” Pierce wasn’t shouting, but his voice carried across the parade ground.
“Here.”
“Wright?” Silence.
Pierce waited a couple of seconds and tried again, “Wright? Look you dumb bastard, I saw you loading a truck not more than two minutes ago. So answer up.”
“Yeah, Ah’m here, Sarge. Guess Ah must’ve fallen asleep. It’s just so cozy here in Ko-rea.” The other men chuckled softly. PFC Wright’s deep Arkansas twang and deadpan delivery made him the platoon comic.
Kevin waited for the platoon sergeant to come down loud and hard on Wright, but he didn’t. Instead, Pierce just chuckled himself and said, “Okay, Funnyman. You think it’s so warm? Then I guess I won’t hear any complaints from you when you pull sentry duty tomorrow night.”
That brought a laugh from the rest of the platoon. “Way to go, Johnny,” called someone from the ranks to Wright. “Thanks for volunteering. We’ll be thinking of you while we’re freezing in our sleeping bags.”
“Aww, Sarge,” Wright tried again. “You know Ah got me a delicate type of chest condition. Walking a beat could send mah poor little soul right up to heaven.”
But Pierce was waiting for that one. “Well, PFC, be sure to give my regards to St. Peter then. I’ll let him know you’re on the way.” Even Wright broke up laughing. Kevin felt himself smiling in the darkness and tried to stop. He had to maintain his dignity, didn’t he? But he could hear Rhee, standing beside him, laughing as hard as all the rest.
“Okay, troops. Settle down,” Pierce said. “The sooner we get this roll call finished, the sooner we can get in out of this damned wind.” That shut them up.
“Yates?”
“Here.”
“Zelinsky?”
“Here, Sergeant.”
Pierce shoved his clipboard back under his arm. “Tenshun!”
The platoon snapped to attention.
Pierce turned to Kevin. “Platoon present and accounted for, sir!” He saluted.
Kevin stepped out of the shadows and returned the salute. He took a line out of the movies. “Very good, Sergeant. Load ’em up.”
The sergeant wheeled back to face the platoon. “You heard the lieutenant.
Let’s go. Everybody on the trucks!” The men broke ranks and started clambering into the canvas-sided trucks, one eleven-man squad per vehicle.
Kevin pulled himself into the passenger seat of the lead truck. Rhee clambered into the one just behind him, and Pierce took the last truck in the convoy.
The five trucks wheeled off the parade ground and roared out through the main gate. Once on the highway running past the camp, they turned north and lumbered toward the DMZ.
Camp Howze was only about fifteen kilometers behind the DMZ but the trip to the assembly point took nearly two hours. Every kilometer or so they were stopped at fully manned checkpoints, complete with barricades, barbed wire, and machine guns. And at every checkpoint their papers were scrutinized by submachine gun-toting South Korean security troops. Kevin didn’t know what made him more nervous, the intense security or the possibility that it was necessary.
