Ricks stood back and kept his eyes open. They were vulnerable here and he didn’t want to be caught by the North Koreans, or DPRs for Democratic People’s Republic. He was having a tough time. She was a pretty girl and everything in his body was screaming to go help her out. He watched as Lee got a pail of water and splashed it on her to get the blood off. After she had calmed down Hufham had her clean up and gather some things so she could go with them. While she was doing that, the three men dragged the DPR soldiers deep into the brush where they would not be found. They took their weapons and more importantly, a map of the area. When the girl reappeared she was wearing loose working clothes and had a bundle under her arm. As she left her home, she didn’t look back, and she hadn’t uttered a word since that time.
For the next few days Ricks took charge of the girl. When they ate, he made her a meal. He offered water and even his sleeping bag at night. She continued to eat in silence, and refused the sleeping bag, preferring to sleep in the open under a coat she brought.
Now after Rick’s outburst at seeing the latest bridge gone, he was sitting in the front seat with his head in his hands when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He lifted his head to see the girl looking at him and rubbing his shoulder gently. Hufham looked over and grinned, then grabbed the map again. He gestured to Lee. “I don’t see any other places to go,” he said.
Lee looked over his shoulder. Actually, I do know of one more place. It’s on the river here,” he said pointing to a point between the towns of Nut’i and Danjang. “There is a small bridge there made out of wood. You couldn’t get a tank across it, but this Jeep should.”
Hufham sighed. “Well unless someone has another option, we’re on our way.” He started the Jeep and they made their way slowly along the path.
Three hours later the four of them drove over the top of a wooded hill and saw their objective. The wooden bridge had rotted and fallen into the river. Beside it, however, the North Koreans were putting up a temporary bridge on boats, using wooden trestle-like supports on the sides. Troops, tanks, and artillery sat on the side of the road waiting for the chance to cross. Farther down the road was a small area where some of the men were eating. Some additional covered trucks with supplies appeared to be near the eating area as well. The road itself was clear of traffic so people and equipment could get through. The engineers were struggling with one of the sections three quarters of the way across. What surprised Hufham was the quiet. Usually there was a lot of yelling and noise from the hammers and the equipment. Except for an occasional thump of wood, very little sound could be heard. It was obvious they did not want to draw attention to their activity.
“Nice bridge,” Lee whispered behind him. “Now how do we get across?”
Hufham sat for a minute before a smile began to stretch across his face. “First, we wait until they get it finished. Then we go across,” he said.
Ricks looked over at him. “Mind giving us a clue?”
Hufham looked over still smiling. “You ever watch a movie called Kelly’s Heroes?” he asked. By the time he was finished, they were all smiling. After making a couple of assignments, the men left separately to perform their tasks.
It was getting dark. Through his binoculars, Hufham could see the engineers putting the final touches on the bridge. Then in Korean, he told the girl (they still didn’t know her name) to get down in the back and hold on. He pulled out the flashlight, aimed it toward the rear area and flashed it twice.
Within seconds a spark of flame appeared to fly through the air and strike one of the trucks. A second one came a few seconds later. The flame grew as the bottle of the Molotov cocktail smashed against the side, spilling and igniting the gasoline. Both trucks burst into flame, startling the DPR soldiers nearby and causing an uproar all along the line.
Hufham quickly started the Jeep and gunned it down the small road toward the conflagration. In a moment both Ricks and Lee jumped in and Hufham jerked the wheel to the left sending the Jeep down another small road toward the bridge. Just as they burst through the bushes onto the main road a terrible explosion erupted behind them. One of the vehicles had been an ammunition truck. Tons of munitions showered the road and woods with flaming materials as the fireball jumped skyward. Men fell all around from the concussion, but Hufham kept his foot on the accelerator swerving the jeep through groups of men and machines. Seeing his opening, he swerved the Jeep right, losing his traction and skidding sideways almost right into a man who suddenly recognized them and began to shout. Hufham used his left hand to grab the man and jerk him into the back of the Jeep while downshifting and powering the Jeep over the edge and onto the bridge. More explosions rocked the small camp, illuminating the Jeep as it made its way across the river.
That was when Hufham played his last card. Lighting two more cocktails, Ricks and Lee sent the last two sailing behind them, striking the bridge and setting it aflame. By now the North Koreans had seen what was happening and started firing at them. A couple of shots pinged off the side and back of the Jeep as it finally left the bridge and sailed up the far bank and into the woods.
“Open Fire!” came the shout from around the Jeep as a hundred rifles opened up around them along with small artillery. The North Koreans came under withering fire as they scrambled to get to their equipment. The explosion of the trucks had blocked their escape and the now fiercely burning bridge prevented them from coming forward. Artillery rounds ate through the packed equipment and incendiaries started fires on the rest of the trucks. The rest of the troops were mowed down unmercifully.
Hufham dodged the men and machines that suddenly appeared in front of him and stopped beside an old M-60 tank rapidly making its way to the front. All of them looked around in amazement as the Americans and South Koreans did their grizzly work. A bird colonel walked up to Hufham and looked down at him. “Just where the hell did you guys come from? And better yet, where did you get this Jeep?” he asked.
“Get this guy off me first,” Lee said, not knowing who was talking. A flashlight was turned on as Lee shoved the unconscious man off the Jeep and in the dirt. The light revealed the uniform of a North Korean general.
“Sonofabitch!” said the colonel. “Major, get some MPs over here pronto and take this guy back for interrogation,” he yelled. As some men dragged the general away the colonel said, “Okay, sergeant, mind telling me what’s going on?”
“Master Sergeant Paul Hufham, sir, assigned to the 325th on duty at the DMZ when all hell broke loose, sir. This is Private Ricks and Sergeant Lee, formerly of the South Korean Army. We have spent the last few weeks working our way back home, sir,” he began his report.
“You were at the Z?”
Hufham nodded. “Yes sir. We were there when it got hit, and boy do we have some things to tell you sir.”
In Norfolk, an old fire control technician fretted over a ship’s main fire control system. In the 1980s and 1990s the ship had been cannibalized to keep the old Ford Rangefinders operational on the Iowas. He looked at the mess inside an old cast steel container housing the computer. What he saw was a mass of gears, spindles, weights, and counterbalances, along with what looked like small electric motors. Back in 1938, this was state-of-the-art computing, he thought to himself. He could plainly see the gaps in the system. After making a number of telephone calls, he knew it was a lost cause. There was no way to repair this equipment. The men with him were still scratching their heads.