Sambako tried to say more, but the words would not come. Silent tears flowed freely instead, giving true voice to his sorrow.
Sergeant Choi sat immobile against the ropes that bound him tightly to a straight-backed wooden chair. Eighteen inches away, Marcus’s woodstove glowed red. Choi still wore his parka. Sweat rolled down his face as he baked in the visible heat waves that emanated from the black iron stove.
Forester sat on a wood bench in front of Choi. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and said in Korean, “So, tell me my friend, what is in the vial?”
“What is in the vial? It is death to you and your countrymen.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Choi said nothing.
“Look, your friends are all dead — there’s no use in holding out.”
“They are not all dead. Some got away, and you will pay for what you have done.”
“So you say,” Forester replied, “but where did they go? What is your rendezvous point?”
No response.
Sergeant Choi was a fairly young man in his early twenties. He was physically fit, but the SEALs agreed that he did not impress them as a commando type. The high-tech gadgets they had found on him led them to the conclusion that he was probably brought on the mission for his technical knowledge rather than his military prowess.
Forester continued the interrogation. “You seem like a smart man. How old are you? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? You probably have a family back home, a mother and father, maybe even a wife or girlfriend, eh?”
Choi showed no reaction.
“You probably have little siblings at home. How can you live with yourself if this chemical you have stolen is used to kill little children? Innocent little children may die because of what you have done.”
Beads of sweat ran down Choi’s face and soaked through his clothing. His skin was red from the heat. “I am too hot,” he mumbled. “Please let me take off my coat.”
“Too hot?” Forester turned toward the others and said in Korean, “He says he is too hot!” Then switching to English, “He says he is too hot.”
Stingle, Andersen, and Forth came forward. Andersen slid a large knife from a leather sheath on his thigh. The razor-sharp blade came into view with an evil sound. The SEALs moved in close to Choi. “Let’s help the little man out of that coat, then,” Andersen said.
Choi’s eyes widened in horror as the giant American approached him with the knife. Stingle and Forth grabbed his shoulders and held him. Anderson extended the knife to the North Korean’s neck. Choi squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the pain of the knife slicing into his flesh. A desperate, muffled cry whimpered from his throat.
Anderson slashed the knife across the shoulder of Choi’s parka and proceeded to shred the sleeves and the main part of the coat and the shirt underneath, except for the areas in contact with the ropes. Once he was done, strips of cloth and parka stuffing hung raggedly between the strands of rope that still held Choi tight against the chair, his naked flesh bared.
Stingle and Forth lifted the chair and carried the terrified and confused North Korean outside into the frozen night air. Anderson followed, the knife blade gleaming in the moonlight.
They set Choi down hard on the snow-covered parking area and turned to leave. As the trio walked back to the cabin, Forth looked at the thermometer next to the front door. The temperature had dropped considerably in the past hour. It was nearly thirty below zero.
“Ooh!” Forth called out. “That’ll shrink your manhood!”
When they came back in, Wasner asked, “Did you see the temperature out there?”
“Yep, thirty below. Talk about a nutcracker.”
Marcus spoke. “Frostbite won’t start for fifteen minutes on his bare skin, so leave him for about ten. After that, bring him back in and set him back down next to the fire.”
Ten minutes later they went out to Choi. The chair rattled on the icy gravel beneath his shivering body. The young soldier’s teeth chattered so loud, it sounded as if they would shatter from the impact.
The men brought him back in and sat the chair next to the stove. No one questioned Choi. They left him alone until the sweat was again rolling over his skin. Five minutes passed, then they took him back outside. The sequence was repeated three times.
At fifteen minutes till midnight, Choi was brought in and placed in front of and facing the stove. It had been stoked with several more pieces of wood. The iron door was left open, and its sides glowed cherry red. Yellow tongues of dancing flame licked upward. Shimmering red coals wavered hypnotically in the bottom of the stove. The room had grown so hot that the SEALs had opened several windows to vent the space. Most of the men went outside to stay cool. Next to the stove, even with the windows open, it was still like a furnace.
Choi’s gaze was fixed on the flames that burned brightly inside the black iron box. The glow illuminated everything around him with an eerie, quivering light. His skin stung from the intense heat. The fabric of his clothing was drawing near its flashpoint. It could erupt into flames at any moment
Marcus took a long, hooked metal poker from its rack against the wall and jammed it into the coals. No one talked or moved.
Choi squirmed in the chair. “What are you doing?” he cried out in Korean. “This is against the law! Against the Geneva Convention!”
“So is terrorism,” Forester replied flatly.
Marcus left the room for a moment and returned with a large white oven mitt on his right hand. He took the poker out of the flames and turned to Choi. The end of the poker glowed bright red. Heat waves wiggled into the air as the Marine slowly moved the long iron rod to within two inches of Choi’s thigh.
Choi’s breath came in short gasps. His eyes widened into a wild stare as he anticipated the searing agony of the poker being jabbed into his legs.
“Tell us where your comrades will meet with the rest of the team,” Forester said calmly.
“ No! I will not tell you!”
Marcus jabbed at his inner thigh with the red-hot iron.
Choi screamed.
The hot metal instantly singed the fabric of his pants. Heat coursed through the thick layers of snow pants and thermal underwear. The smell of burned cloth stung his nose. Choi panted uncontrollably. His nose crinkled and his lips curled on the verge of weeping. Marcus shoved the iron back in the fire. Sparks exploded from the glowing coals.
“Look!” Forester shouted. “You had better tell us where your friends are. I cannot control these men much longer. They are very upset and may kill you, but only after hurting you for a long time.”
Choi’s body shook with sobs. The exposed skin on his chest was red from the heat of the stove. Marcus took the iron back out and shouted in Korean. “Chigum, no gochu!” “Now your penis!”
Forester made a show of pleading with Marcus for mercy. “Please, no!” he said.“Give him another chance. I know he will talk. Don’t hurt him yet.”
“He must talk now, or I will emasculate him,” Marcus said. Hatred and cruelty flashed in his eyes as he glared at the panic-stricken Choi.
Forester turned back to Choi, a desperate look in his face. “If you don’t tell us now, this man is going to burn your balls off, maybe even more!”