Cole had gotten friendly enough with the kid from boot camp, who had a bunk not far away. Tommy Wilson had kept his head down during basic, doing what he was told the best that he could and keeping his mouth shut. At the same time, the kid kept his eyes open, watching and learning. Cole found these to be admirable qualities.
One day, when most of the others were on deck and it was just him and the kid in their bunks, he handed Tommy that letter and asked him to read it.
"Why don't you read it yourself?" Tommy asked. There wasn't any complaint in his tone, but only curiosity that Cole had passed off the letter to him. He seemed more than a little surprised that Cole had even spoken to him. Most of the others left Cole alone. He couldn't seem to shoot worth a damn, judging by his performance on the rifle range at boot camp, but the kid had noticed that Cole had empty gray eyes that promised violence. "You haven't even opened it?"
"I'm seasick," Cole explained. "I can't see straight."
Tommy eyed him doubtfully. "You don't look so sick to me."
"Just do me a favor and read it."
The kid adjusted his glasses and then began to read, mostly because he was a little scared of Cole. The first line of the letter didn't help put him at ease.
Dear Caje,
Them two you killed had it coming so don't worry yourself none about it. I never did tell the sheriff, but I reckon he figured it out, anyhow. I am sorry that you got sent away to the army. Everyone says the war won't last long, so you should be home soon. The mountains will be pretty in the spring. I do want to thank you for what you done. Not every man would have stepped up like that. When you do get back, I hope that you will come around and say hello so that I can thank you proper. Who knows, I might even steal your clothes again.
Your friend,
Norma Jean Elwood
Tommy handed back the letter like it was burning his fingers. He stared wide-eyed at Cole, but seemed to know better than to ask questions.
"Thank you kindly for reading that," Cole said.
"No problem," Tommy stammered, then got the hell out of there rather than returning to his bunk. Cole had told him in boot camp that his choice was between the Army and jail, but he hadn’t said it was because he had killed two people.
Cole tucked the letter back into his pocket.
He smiled, thinking about the reference to stealing his clothes — Norma Jean had done just that when they were barely more than kids, swiping them one day when he had gone for a dip in Gashey's Creek. Norma Jean promised to be quite a handful. He mused on that for a while. Since returning from Europe, he had not spent a lot of time worrying about women. He had been busy learning his trade, building his modest cabin on the hill, or just hunting in the woods. Well, he would indeed look her up when he got home.
Whenever the hell that was going to be.
Chapter Five
Cole had tried to imagine what Korea would be like, and he wasn't that far off the mark. He had pictured something more tropical, this being Asia, but Korea was a dry, brown, wintry place. Mountains raised jagged peaks on the horizon. No jungles that he could see. The whole country was a war zone, and Cole had seen war before — the burned buildings, the frightened civilians turned into refugees in their own country, and most of all, the mud.
What he had not counted on was the smell.
"Ugh, it smells like shit," said somebody next to Cole. He was exactly right.
As a country boy, Cole was no stranger to the smell of manure used to fertilize farm fields in the spring. Each kind of manure had its own peculiar smell — pig, cow, horse, even chicken. A farmer could tell those smells apart like a connoisseur could sniff a wine cork and tell you the vintage.
But the smell here was nothing like back home. No, it was much, much worse, for the manure that Koreans used to fertilize their fields was human. Something about using human waste seemed unnatural and unclean to the Americans and other western troops. In Korea, decades or even centuries of its use, all year round and on all crops, meant that the smell of human excrement pervaded the air and ground. The muddy fields exuded it.
All in all, Korea smelled like one big outhouse.
The man next to Cole made a face. "You know what? The Chinese and the Communists can have it. I doubt this place is worth fighting for."
"You might be right," Cole said. "But it ain't up to us."
They unloaded off the trucks that had carried them from the port, glad for a chance to finally stretch their legs. They found themselves in a sprawling camp filled with battered canvas tents. Ominously, several of those tents were marked with large red crosses to shelter the wounded. Even more ominously, artillery thudded in the distance, loud enough to vibrate up through the mud and twang their nerves. The sound of small arms fire rattled at the edges of their hearing.
Battle-hardened veterans marched by, their uniforms muddy, reeking of Korea, in some cases stained with blood. Some glared at the new arrivals in their fresh uniforms. Others laughed and bombarded the green troops with catcalls.
"Them Commies are gonna love you boys!" somebody shouted. "Fresh meat! They like to eat the ones fresh off the boat!"
Cole wasn't so sure that the soldier was kidding. None of the American soldiers thought of the Korean enemy as fellow human beings, but as occupying a lower rank on the evolutionary ladder.
Another soldier shouted, "Somebody take a picture! That's the cleanest looking squad I've seen in months."
Indeed, just about every soldier had a camera of some sort thanks to the Kodak company and also the cheap, but high-quality Japanese cameras picked up by troops on leave in Tokyo. Already, the Japanese economy was rising from the ashes and ruins. As a result, Korea had become a war documented with snapshots.
Some of the other men hunched their shoulders against the verbal insults, but Cole didn't mind. He had seen the same disdain for green troops in the last war. He knew it wouldn't be long before they were the ones doing the catcalling.
Silently, they marched toward the assembly area and formed up. Cole found himself in the front row, which didn't thrill him. He'd have been happier in the back. Next to Cole, Tommy Wilson had turned pale as a sheet and fell out of formation long enough to throw up. He ran to rejoin the squad.
"Take it easy, kid," Cole said. "This ain't an execution. The worst that could happen is that they'll march us straight to the battlefield. But hell, that's why you signed up, ain't it?"
"It's not what I thought it would be," Tommy admitted.
"It never is, kid. It never is. Just you wait, because it don’t get no better."
They fell silent as a captain appeared at the front of the ranks. His uniform looked worn and well-used, but at least it was clean. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, with a sharp-featured, almost hatchet-like face and dark eyes showing under the brim of his helmet. Those eyes surveyed his new troops. From his sour expression, it was evident that he didn't like what he saw.
"Welcome to the Republic of Korea," the officer said. "I'm Lieutenant Ballard. In the days ahead, you will be placed in line of battle or other duties. You heard those boys giving you the business as you marched in — well, they've had a much worse time, believe me."
The lieutenant paused to wave vaguely at the mountains behind him. "You all know that you are in Korea, but more specifically, you are at the edges of the Taebaek mountain range. Here's the situation. We are going to occupy all of Korea and push the enemy back to the Chinese border at the Yalu River. If they love Communism so much, they can damn high-tail it into China."
A sergeant trailed the lieutenant. He wasn’t as tall as the officer, but he had a heavy build and the look about him of a combat veteran. His eyes went from man to man, sizing them up.