Finally, he saw that these soldiers were mostly boys — not a one of them had a bit of facial hair — the exceptions being the young woman and an older man with a wispy, gray beard and a savage expression.
“We have to hurry,” the young woman said. “The Chinese will be looking for you.”
“Hold on. Who are you people?”
“There is no time to discuss this now. We must go!”
He saw that the young woman did, in fact, appear quite agitated as she scanned the trees surrounding the clearing. His eyes went to the top of the stone wall, as if there might be enemy marksman gathering there even now.
“What is this place?”
“An old fort. Now hurry, we must go.”
The young woman and the other soldiers turned their backs on him and started toward the thicket. Miller had no choice but to follow.
After all, he didn’t know where he was, and he had nothing more to guide him than a small compass that was just this side of something you might get from a bubblegum machine. Going down in the parachute had been a disorienting experience, but some part of his mind had remembered to look around and get his bearings. He knew that he had seen some sort of friendly defenses, but those could now be several miles distant, off to the south.
Right now, lost in the Korean hills with a guerilla patrol, the UN line seemed about as close as downtown New York City.
His only equipment consisted of a tube of water purification tablets, a .45 caliber pistol with one clip, and a military-issue survival knife. He was grateful to have at least that much, but it was hardly enough to take on the Chinese army.
He soon found that he was struggling to keep up. Although none of them looked as if they could lift 50-pounds, they moved as if their legs were springs. Miller wrestled with the brush, forcing his way through, branches whipping at his face. Ahead of him, the others found their way without nearly as much trouble. If there was a path, however, Miller’s eyes couldn’t pick it out.
Soon, they came out on an old road — really just a cart track through the hills. Although weeds grew down the middle of the road, the ruts showed that the road had been used recently.
The road became more worn and less weedy. Off to the right, a tiny hamlet came into sight so suddenly that Miller was surprised by it.
Their arrival prompted a flurry of activity. Food and water containers were produced. Meanwhile, a knot of villagers gathered to look him over, like he was a monkey in a zoo.
“What’s the matter, haven’t you seen an American before?” he growled. “We’re the ones over here fighting for you people.”
Suddenly exhausted, Miller felt the need to sit down. The knot of villagers parted almost magically before him when he walked over to a section of log used as seating near a cooking fire and nearly collapsed onto it. The adrenalin from the dogfight, the grief at losing his pal and wingman Guzzle Walsh, the uncertainty of his situation, were all too much. He felt overwhelmed. Black dots swarmed in front of his vision and he felt shaky.
“We cannot stay,” the young woman said.
Miller tried to focus on her without much success. Her voice seemed to be coming through a fog. “I need to rest.”
“We are putting the entire village in danger.”
“Don’t you have something to drink?”
The young woman appeared exasperated, but her expression changed to concern when she looked at Miller’s face. He supposed that he looked pale — he certainly felt like a ghost and that this whole experience wasn’t real.
In rapid fire, she gave a string of commands in Korean. A cup of water was produced, and Miller drank it down greedily. A warm bowl was pressed into his hands. He looked down and saw that it was some kind of soup with some greenish leaves floating on top, like herbs. It smelled both sweet and pungent. There wasn’t any spoon, but no matter. He gulped it down.
Immediately, he began to feel better. The black dots in his vision faded. His heart rate returned to normal. He also felt more confident.
“Thank you,” he said and nodded, the tone of his voice conveying genuine gratitude, even if the villagers couldn’t understand a word. He turned to the young woman, who was watching the road anxiously. “Have you got a name?”
“My name does not matter.”
“You know mine. Lieutenant Commander Jake Miller.”
She took her eyes off the road long enough to respond. “I am Jang-mi.”
“Thank you for helping me, Jang-mi. Where are we?”
“This village is known as Kojang-ni.” For the first time, a smile crossed her face. “However, you will not find it on many maps. It is much too small to be noticed.”
“I’ll bet. Look, how far do I need to go to hoof it back to my own lines?”
“It is only a few miles,” she said.
“Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be on my way.”
She shook her head. “There is a problem.”
“Yeah?”
“The Chinese are much closer.”
“This is North Korea, sweetheart. There are always some Chinese around.”
“These are not just patrols. There is an entire army moving in this direction.”
That was news to Miller. He hadn’t heard anything about that. He thought about those tiny UN outposts that he had seen from the air. It didn’t seem like they knew anything about an entire army approaching, either.
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“No. That is why we must go now.”
Wu and his makeshift patrol raced in the direction where he had last seen the enemy pilot’s parachute.
“Hurry, hurry!” he urged them, wishing that he’d had time to assemble a better team. He had simply grabbed any available man with a weapon in his hands. There had not been time for anything else.
Of course, Wu was no tracker, but he knew the general vicinity where the parachute had gone down. Deng was much better at such work, seeming to make his way almost effortlessly through the bushes that grabbed and clawed at Wu’s legs and elbows. He recalled that Deng had grown up as a peasant, trapping rabbits and other game in the countryside. He was more than familiar with the outdoors.
Wu pushed Deng forward, indicating that he should lead the patrol. “Go!” he said.
Deng did not hesitate, but plunged ahead, leading the way. He found some sort of game trail, trotting down it, and the others fell into line behind him.
Wu was just behind Deng, but did not trust that the others would keep up. He waved his pistol at them in a threatening gesture, repeating, “Hurry!”
The game trail led to a larger path, and then to an old road with grass growing down the middle and deep cart ruts at the edges. Free of the brush, they continued to move at a trot.
Up ahead, Deng pointed. Wu spotted a trace of smoke in the sky. No Chinese soldier would have been foolish enough for that. Smoke brought the enemy planes with their bombs and Napalm down upon them, so any sort of campfires were expressly forbidden by the PLA officers. Could there be a village ahead? The hills were dotted with them.
Wu was too out of breath to question Deng about where he thought they were headed. They ran on.
Minutes later, the mountain road emerged into a clearing that revealed the small village that had been the source of the smoke. Deng pointed again, this time at group of figures scurrying through the fields beyond the village. The four figures disappeared into the wooded thicket, but not before Wu got a glimpse of a man who was clearly Caucasian and much larger than the slightly built villagers running beside him.
“This way,” Wu urged, and ran toward the village.
From the road, Miller heard a distant shout.
“What was that?”