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.
At last they turned off the main highway onto a tree-lined dirt road winding up a narrow valley. The corporal driving the lead truck slowed down to a crawl, and the ear-splitting engine noise fell away to a low, dull roar. A helmeted soldier appeared in the headlight’s beams, waving a flashlight fitted with a red lens. The driver said, “There’s our ground guide.”
Reaching forward, he doused the truck’s headlights, turning on the dim red blackout lights.
Startled, Kevin turned to ask him just what he thought he was doing.
The man drove and kept his eyes on his guide. “Regulations, sir. We’re within five klicks of the Z here and we’re not supposed to make it any easier for the North Koreans to know what we’re up to.”
Kevin had to admit that made some sense. He sat back and tried to act nonchalant as they drove slowly up the valley.
The assembly point was a small clearing just behind the trenches and bunkers of the main line of resistance, the MLR. They were ten minutes behind schedule. Kevin clambered out of the truck cab and walked toward the lone figure who had guided them. Urged on by Sergeant Pierce’s low, hoarse voice, his men clambered out of the trucks and formed up in a column of twos. It was still pitch-dark outside. The moon had set and low clouds covered most of the night sky.
The red beam came up and centered on his face.
“Second Platoon from Alpha?”
Kevin nodded, then realized the man probably couldn’t see him all that clearly. “Yeah. You the guide to Malibu West?”
“Sergeant Hourigan, sir. Third Platoon, Bravo Company. Lieutenant Miller’s waiting back up at the outpost. If you’re ready, sir, we should hit the trail. Sunup’s in a little over an hour and a half, and we’ve got some hard walking to do by then.”
“Okay.” Kevin half-turned toward the column behind him. “Sergeant Pierce?”
“Here, sir. Platoon’s assembled and ready to move.”
Kevin turned back to their guide. “Okay, Hourigan. Let’s do it.”
Hourigan lead them out through an opening in the rolls of barbed wire strung along the MLR. The ground was rough and uneven, but even in the dark Kevin could see that every tree or tall patch of brush had been cut down or uprooted to provide clear fields of fire for the troops stationed behind them.
Hourigan stopped suddenly, then moved over to the left a few yards. Kevin followed him. The sergeant reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. “See them white stakes up ahead, Lieutenant?”
Kevin nodded.
“Well, there’s a pair every few yards. Stay between ’em unless you want to get blown to bits. We’re going through the main minefield now.”
The column pushed on, moving slower now that they were in the minefield. Kevin kept going, trying to keep pace with Hourigan. He brushed away sweat that was beginning to trickle into his eyes. Jesus, he hadn’t carried a fifty-pound pack since basic. He could feel his heart pounding. In the still night air every scuffed rock, patch of dried grass, or broken twig made a noise he could swear would carry for miles.
At last they came out of the minefield and started up a winding trail that got steeper and steeper. They began passing through piles of boulders lying half-buried on the slope. Kevin could feel the straps of his pack starting to cut into his shoulders as they climbed. God, this was a damned high hill. It hadn’t looked this bad on the map.