A voice broke through the darkness. “Halt.” It was accompanied by the sound of a machine gun’s being cocked. Shit.
The sentry called, “Advance and be recognized.” The party walked forward in the pitch-blackness. After a dozen steps they heard, “That’s far enough. Marbles-Galore.”
The sergeant stopped. “It’s Hourigan, you dumb son of a bitch.”
“I don’t give a shit. Give the countersign or you’re a deader.”
“Zebra-Cardinal.”
“Okay, Come ahead.” They could hear the safety being snapped back on. Kevin ran a hand across his face and wiped it across the front of his jacket. Damn, what a bunch of paranoid assholes.
The platoon stumbled over the crest of Hill 640 and into the middle of Malibu West. Another column was there, waiting to go down.
A figure wearing black plastic bars stepped out from the head of the other column. “Little? I’m Miller. Glad to see you’re here. Look, let’s go into the command post and I’ll get you settled in before I head down after my troops. Hourigan and your platoon sergeant can get your men squared away.”
Kevin still couldn’t quite make out the man’s face in the darkness, but he could tell that it was getting lighter.
He followed Miller down a couple of steps into a low, lamp-lit bunker. The command post, or CP, was scarcely five feet high, made of green sandbags with a beamed ceiling. Inside, it was barely big enough for the two cots, a table, telephone, and backup radio. And it stank. A mixture of unwashed bodies, damp mustiness, and old food hung in the air. Kevin tried not to breathe in too deeply.
Miller laughed. “I know. It’s pretty bad, isn’t it? Our laundry and bathing facilities aren’t exactly first class up here. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” The other lieutenant had dark shadows under his eyes.
He motioned Kevin over to a low table crowded with a map and a communications setup. “Okay, here are your fire concentrations.” Kevin could see a sheaf of plastic overlays with colored-pencil markings showing preregistered artillery firing points and code numbers.
Miller continued on down the table. “Your radio, field phones, sound-powered phones to your squad leaders and the other outposts nearby, one to your company CP back on the MLR, and the artillery direct line.” Kevin nodded his understanding.
“Any questions?”
Kevin shook his head, then thought better of it. “Just one. Has it been hectic up here lately?”
“Nah. Pretty damned quiet — for once. Only one alert, the usual ‘hold your ass and pray until the all-clear comes.’ ” Miller stood up, stooped low to avoid the roof. “Okay. That’s it then. Good luck and I’ll see you back at the camp.” He held out his hand.
Kevin shook it, suddenly realizing that Miller couldn’t wait to get out of Malibu West. Well, he couldn’t blame him for that.
Miller nodded and ducked back out the door up into the cleaner air outside.
Kevin sat down heavily onto one of the bunks. Great, he had a whole week in this combination rattrap and outhouse to look forward to. He dropped his pack off onto the ground by his feet. At least that felt better. Then he remembered that he’d better report the platoon in to Captain Matuchek back in position along the main line. He stepped over to pick up the phone to the company CP.
Now, just where the hell was that list of code names he was supposed to use? Kevin fished around in the pockets of his fatigue jacket before coming up with a small pad of radio codes.
He lifted the field phone’s receiver. “Alfa Echo Five Six. Alfa Echo Five Six. This is Alfa Echo Five Two.”
“Go ahead, Echo Five Two. This is Echo Five Six.” The line was clear of static. Good, he could call for help without much trouble if he needed it. That was reassuring.
“Echo Five Six, Echo Five Two is in position. Say again, Echo Five Two is in position.”
“Roger, Two. You’re in position. Out.”
Kevin put the phone back down on the table and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, and he knew he’d have to stay awake at least until past dawn to make a daylight inspection of the position.
He looked at his watch: 0535. The sun should be up in twenty minutes or so. He could see the sky outside growing grayer.
Pierce stuck his head in the door a few minutes later. “I think it’s light enough to take a quick walk around now, Lieutenant.”
Kevin sat up sharply. It was growing orange outside now. The sun must be coming up over the horizon. Oh, crap. He’d fallen asleep, just nodded right off on his first tour of duty up at the DMZ. He blinked and staggered to his feet, barely stopping himself from trying to stand full upright under the CP’s low roof.
He followed Pierce out into a connecting trench dug from the CP out to the edge of the hill. It tied into the main trench running completely around the outpost. Rhee joined them there for the inspection of their home for the next week.
Malibu West was laid out in a rough oval with a six-foot-deep trench connecting twelve reinforced log bunkers large enough to shelter four men during an enemy air or artillery attack. Each bunker was separated by about fifteen yards of trench. Firing steps along the trench made it possible for troops to use their weapons against a ground assault. Two belts of barbed wire and a minefield completed the defenses.
As an outpost, Malibu West and its defenders were expected to fight pretty much on their own, though with liberal artillery support. Malibu and the other strongpoints like it scattered along the DMZ were intended to make an enemy assault force deploy for an attack before it reached the main allied line. It was hoped they would delay an assault long enough to allow the UN command to bring American and South Korean air and artillery power into play and to move reserves to the right places. In essence, the men holding the outposts were expected to buy time with their lives.
“I’ve put our two MG’s in the far left and far right bunkers on the forward slope. That should give us good coverage to the front. And we’ve inherited another MG with the position. Lieutenant Miller had it set up to cover the rear slope, and I figured that was a pretty good place for it so I left it there.” Pierce paused.
“Sounds good to me.” Kevin yawned. Damn, he’d have to start waking up. “Any comments, Lieutenant Rhee?”
The South Korean looked wide-awake. Naturally. “No. It sounds like a reasonable deployment to me. But what about our Dragon teams?” That was a good question. The Dragon teams with their wire-guided missiles were the 2nd Platoon’s best defense against enemy tanks and APCs.
“I’ve got ’em spread out along the forward slope. If the balloon goes up and NK tanks start getting around behind us, we may have to move ’em. But they’ve got good fields of fire where they are right now.”
Kevin nodded. “All right, Sergeant. Good work.” He worked his tongue around inside his mouth, trying to clear out the gritty taste he’d acquired during his short, unintentional nap. He looked at Rhee. “I understand there’s a South Korean platoon holding the next outpost over from us. Why don’t you go over to the CP and make contact with them. Let them know we’re here. Okay?”
Rhee smiled and sketched a salute. “No problem, Lieutenant.”
“Great. Oh, and then get some sleep. I thought we’d pull three watches until we get settled in. I’ll take the first, Sergeant Pierce here can take the second, and you’ll take the third. Sound all right to you?”
Rhee smiled even more broadly. “Certainly, Lieutenant. I’m always glad to hear that I’ll get some uninterrupted sleep.” He saluted again and moved back down the trench toward the CP.
Kevin yawned again and stretched. He’d have to get Zelinsky to make some coffee. In the meantime he could get a look at the terrain around Malibu. He’d studied the map, but you couldn’t always trust maps. There was that time he’d gotten lost on a night training march near Fort Lewis … it had just been damn lucky that he’d found a gas station where he could ask for directions.