This time, there was a veteran from the 4038th Signal Battalion (Mobile). His name was “Covert,” as the man with the iron sickle had told me. He might not have been from Echo Company, but it didn’t matter. He was close enough. I’d asked what he planned to do to this man and he told me he and Madame Hoh would decide when the time came.
Exactly when all this would happen, I didn’t know. In fact I’d lost all sense of time. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in this Godforsaken cave. It was all agony to me. All I knew for sure was that if I didn’t get myself out of here, I’d die.
My feet didn’t look good. They were swollen and black and blue, and suddenly they started to hurt. It was a frisson of electricity at first, like sticking my toe into a live socket, but then it became gradually worse, growing like a symphonic crescendo. I wanted to massage my lower legs, maybe work some blood toward the ankles, but my hands were still securely bound behind my back. I tried to stand. It wasn’t possible. Not only were my feet screaming with pain when I placed any weight on them, my toes and my instep and the entire foot had no feeling whatsoever; they were just part of the generalized agony. Even if I could’ve withstood the pain, I probably wouldn’t have been able to balance myself upright on such lifeless stumps. Instead, I scooted through the dust on my butt.
At the end of the signal truck was a short metal fold-down stairwell. I studied the edge of the steps. On the interior the metal hadn’t been beveled to a machined smoothness. It was bumpy and appeared sharp on some edges. I twisted myself face down, lay beneath the stairs, and shoved my bound hands up to the interior edge of the steps. Pressing as hard as I could, I started to rub the hemp rope against the rough edge. I rubbed and rubbed, and the rope, I sensed, was growing warmer, but it wasn’t giving. I crawled out from beneath the stairwell and slid around the cavern, searching for something else, anything, that I could use to cut the ropes that bound my hands. Against the cavern wall, some of the rocks jutted out. It looked to me like this cavern, natural to begin with, had been widened with explosives. Probably the men of Echo Company realized they had to find a place to hide their signal truck and their other equipment from the prying eyes of scouts that ranged ahead of the main units of the Chinese “volunteer” army. They’d blown this opening, rolled everything in here, and hunkered down for the remainder of the winter. I tried not to think of their food supply.
I found a particularly jagged rock, but the sharp edge was a few feet off the cavern floor. Somehow, I had to stand to reach in. I sat with my back against the wall, pulled my feet up as close as I could, and tried to sidle myself upright into a standing position. I couldn’t control my lifeless feet, but that didn’t stop them from hurting whenever I placed any weight on them. Still, it had to be done. I kept pushing myself upright until I propped the rope binding my hands against the rock. Slowly, I slid my arms up and down, leaning into it, feeling the sharp granite begin to bite. Even though the temperature in the cavern was at or below freezing, I was in so much pain that sweat poured off my body as I worked. I sawed and sawed and finally the knotted strands of hemp rope popped loose. I brought my hands in front of my chest and tossed the last of the offending fibers into the dust.
I rubbed my raw forearms. My triceps were cramping up on me. Quickly, I plopped down in the dirt, stretching my arms and fingers as I untied my feet. Now I could stand, barely, and I had the full use of my hands. What I needed was something to support my weight so I could begin to perform something that would resemble walking. I fell back to my knees and crawled toward the fire pit. Warm embers glowed. I stuck my nose toward the warmth and blew gently, and it flared red in response. Fuel. I had to find fuel. I scrabbled in the dim light until I found a few loose branches that had probably been dropped when the fire was built. I broke them into shreds and gingerly fed them to the fire, blowing air on the embers as I did so. Gradually, the strips of wood started to smoke and then one of them leapt into flame. Carefully, I added wood until I had a fairly good bonfire going.
I began to range around the cavern.
The Army survival manual tells you that when you’re in a tight spot, even when time is running short, it pays to plan. I knew I needed food, water, and warmth-not necessarily in that order. I found my clothes wadded up and left in the dirt near the signal truck in a soggy lump. I started with the underwear, holding the briefs and the T-shirt up as close as I could get them to the fire, letting them dry. When they were a little less damp, I slipped them on, hoping my body heat would continue the drying process. I stood up, tested my aching ankles, and managed to hobble my way toward the light. Beneath a rock shelf, I stared out into a grey, overcast morning. Everything sloped downhill, into snow-covered trees and then into impenetrable fog. No sign of Madame Hoh or the man with the iron sickle, only frost-crusted footprints leading away from the cave and downhill. Moving quickly, I managed to gather twigs and dried branches near the rocks surrounding the cave entrance. By the time I returned to the little fire, I was shaking so badly, I could barely control my hands. Still, I fed the fire until it blazed brighter than ever. I warmed myself.
I spent the next hours tending the fire and drying my clothes. But I had another chore here in this rock-hewn mausoleum. One I’d been putting off.
I had to inspect the interior of the signal truck of the company known as the Lost Echo.
I wandered down Daeam Mountain for two days. I was completely lost and only followed the contours of the mountain as they led me downhill. On the second night, I collapsed. I had replaced my first walking stick with a better one that gave me more support. Even though my feet hurt like hell, they were functioning now, and I had high hopes the pain was a sign they were healing. Still, I was hungry and thirsty and desperately cold, and the inner linings of my sinuses bothered me, still raw from the Little Demon.
I needed shelter. Before I’d left the cave, I’d commandeered an old canvas tent flap and, using a rock, sawed a hole in the middle. I slipped it over my head and used it as a poncho. Even though it was heavy, it helped keep me warm and as dry as possible in this wintry world I was trudging through. I’d also found a box of flares. It figured the men of the Lost Echo wouldn’t have used them because they were busy hiding from the Chinese, not trying to draw attention to themselves. There were also some old dried up candles. Most of them crumbled beneath my touch but a few were still serviceable.
I found a fir tree with a branch broken from the weight of the snow. Using my walking stick, I pelted it until most of the snow was gone. Then I gathered some more twigs and made a thick bedding beneath the overhanging branch. I crawled in. Shoveling together a pile of earth, I stuck one of the candles atop it. Then, striking one of the three flares I’d brought with me, I lit the wick. Now I had a shelter. One that wasn’t too cozy but at least it would keep me from freezing to death. I dropped a handful of snow into a canteen cup I’d salvaged from the signal truck and held it over the flare. When the snow melted, I drank it all down and then melted some more. Finally, I lay on my side, curled around the flickering candle.