“God almighty,” he said.
Chapter Seven
Hell had paid a visit to this mountain village, Cole thought. One of the huts was in flames, threatening to spread to the other dwellings. Above the harsh crackling of the fire, Cole could hear the sound of crying and weeping.
Cole moved closer, rifle at the ready. He stepped over a dead dog, then passed a dead goat. Who the hell shot a goat?
He supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised. He had seen just as much — and worse — in almost every Korean village touched by war. For that matter, he had seen similar scenes in the last war in Europe.
As if the dead animals weren’t bad enough, he saw several bodies strewn on the ground, the dead surrounded by sobbing relatives. One of the dead was an old man, his wrinkled face and staring eyes serene in death. Nearby lay the body of a teenage boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen. He’d been shot in the chest. The way that his hands clutched his chest showed that he had not gone so peacefully. Cole shook his head at the thought. A woman and several girls who might have been the boy’s mother and sisters knelt beside the body, sobbing. What a waste of life.
None of the dead held any weapons. What possible threat had an old man and an unarmed boy been to the Chinese soldiers? This was a massacre, pure and simple.
“What happened here?” the kid wondered. “This is awful.”
“The Chinese happened, that’s what.”
“If we’d gotten here sooner, maybe we could have stopped them.”
“Maybe, maybe not. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s just two of us, kid. We ain’t the cavalry.”
He supposed that he was trying to make the kid feel better. But deep down, Cole felt a rage begin to burn, every bit as hot as the fire that consumed one of the villagers’ huts.
Not so long ago, this appeared to be a peaceful place. Even as remote and out of the way that the village was, it hadn’t managed to escape the war.
He suspected that this was no random act of violence, however. More than likely, the villagers had brought the wrath of the Chinese soldiers down on their heads by helping the downed American pilot. They had known something or seen something.
The simple fact was that not all North Koreans were communists. The way they saw it, the Chinese were just more invaders, just as the Japanese had been during the last war — and in prior centuries. The North Koreans were just stuck in the middle, on the wrong side of the boundary being drawn up at the negotiating table in Kaesong.
He moved through this scene of brutality, keeping one wary eye out in case the Chinese returned.
Cole didn’t need to ask any questions, not that there was anyone in the village who could have given him answers. He had heard the shooting and put two and two together. The villagers had helped the American pilot and the Chinese had found him — or had they?
The villagers had noticed their arrival and watched them warily, although there seemed to be some relief that he and the kid were not Chinese soldiers. Then again, what would it matter to these people which side he was on? He was another soldier with a gun and they were caught in the middle.
“American,” Cole said. “Which way?”
All that he got was blank stares.
“Eodi?” the kid asked.
Some of the villagers pointed nervously toward the trees on the other side of the field beyond the village. Cole had turned his attention on the kid in surprise.
“Since when do you speak Korean?”
“I picked up a little here and there from the KSC,” he said, using the abbreviation for the Korean Service Corps. These unarmed South Koreans provided the labor to support the military by doing everything from hauling supplies to building roads.
Cole could see the tracks where several men had passed. If the Chinese soldiers had captured the pilot, why had they rushed off into the thicket?
“We might still have a chance,” Cole said. “I don’t think they caught him. Not yet, anyhow. Come on.”
The kid turned back to the villagers and said, “Gamsa.”
An irate old lady shouted something back and pointed again at the trees.
“What?” Cole asked.
“I have no idea. That’s more Korean than I know.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea that she just said, ‘What the hell are you waiting for? Go kick their ass.’ ”
“If you say so,” the kid said. “Ready when you are.”
Cole grunted, then headed across the field, following the tracks. The Chinese footprints were easy enough to pick out. He had seen enough of those in Korea. He also recognized a pair of U.S.-issue boots leaving their impression. He also saw two sets of tracks that appeared to have been made by the sandals that the locals wore. One set of these prints was quite small, as if made by a boy.
“I count six Chinese,” Cole said. “They are definitely after our pilot friend. Looks like he has a couple of villagers helping him. They might be helping the Chinese, for that matter, but I doubt they would volunteer after that scene back at the village.”
“Six against two,” the kid muttered.
“With any luck, we’ll catch them by surprise,” Cole said, then plunged ahead into the thicket.
Deng led the way into the thicket, hard on the trail of the pilot and villagers. His back was bent and scanned the ground as he ran, looking for any clue. Wu was impressed.
They soon came to a path, which Deng ran down.
“They went this way,” Deng said, coming to a halt at a fork in the path through the thicket. “I can see tracks, and look, here’s a broken branch.”
“You had better be right,” Wu said. He had no option but to trust Deng’s judgment. “We must not let them escape!”
As they ran, the brush of the thicket seemed to press in on them from all sides. At least they were going downhill, which made the going easier. Instead of moving higher into the hills, their quarry seemed to be headed for the river. After another minute, he could hear the sound of the Imjin rushing over rocks below. He smiled. Where did the pilot think he was going? Unless they had a boat hidden somewhere, the Imjin was much too wide and swift to swim across. Then again, their quarry might be desperate enough to try. In that case, the pilot might be drowned in the currents, which was the last thing that Wu wanted.
“Faster!” he urged. It was all that he had breath to shout.
For Wu, the pilot would be an incredibly valuable prize, but the man must be taken alive. Dead, the American was of no use to Wu and this whole chase would have been pointless. The capture of the pilot would win Wu accolades, and also much valuable intelligence about the operations of the enemy aircraft.
The thicket ended at a rocky beach that marked the edge of the Imjin. Roughly one hundred meters ahead, he could see their quarry running along the shore.
Wu watched as the fleeing group splashed into the water. They did not attempt to cross the river, but ran parallel to the shore in the shallows.
“They are hoping to hide their tracks,” Deng said. “But we have caught them.”
“Get closer,” Wu ordered. “Then shoot the others, but not the pilot. No harm must come to him!”
“Yes, sir.”
The soldiers ran out onto the rocky beach and opened fire.
“Do not shoot the pilot!” Wu had ordered. “Kill the traitors!”
With the exception of Deng, the men in his patrol were not careful shots. Bullets sprayed the surface of the river and he feared that his prize would be lost.