Frozen Sniper

Chapter Four

Cole might have spent the next few weeks on extra KP duty, but he got a reprieve. Just days later, Cole's unit shipped out for Korea. Never mind the fact that they weren't fully trained or prepared. Nobody much cared about that. There was a war on. Korea was being overrun, and the U.S. Army needed boots on the ground as soon as possible.

He found himself on a troop train to the West Coast, and then on a ship. Cole had never seen the Pacific Ocean, but a glimpse of the rolling swells was enough for him before he went below. Aside from the occasional visit to a swimming hole as a boy, he never had much liked the water in any way, shape or form. He much preferred two feet on dry ground.

A troop ship was hardly what you might call luxury travel. Too many men were crammed into too little space. The air below decks smelled of diesel fumes and damp metal, armpits and dirty laundry. The sooner that they got where they were going, the better.

Cole knew little of Korea's proud history, let alone any of the politics involved, but understood that the soldiers could probably expect a fight once they got there.

According to legend, Korea was founded by the god-king Dangun more than two millennia ago, in roughly the epoch in which Christ was born on a distant continent. Wise and resourceful, Dangun ruled for more than a thousand years as the people of Korea flourished, largely in peace.

By the twentieth century, however, Korea's fortunes had fallen. Koreans suffered under Imperial Japan, whose wealthy hunters and landowners saw Korea as little more than a backwards rural fiefdom to be exploited. The arrival of the Second World War meant yet more suffering for the Koreans under Japanese occupation. To the north lay China, a nation that could have been a more powerful ally but that had paid a steep price for not keeping pace with the development of the modern world. China had become embroiled in its own Civil War with the Communists eventually ascending.

In hopes of preventing Korea from falling under the sway of the Communists, the United States had propped up a puppet democracy under a political strongman named Syngman Rhee. Those who had opposed the corruption and brutality under Rhee had sometimes welcomed the Communists at first, as a liberating force. They had soon learned the hard way that the cruelty of the Communists made Rhee’s government look like a bunch of petulant Boy Scouts by comparison. The Communists imposed death squads, imprisoned anyone who was somewhat educated, and starved the rest of the population into submission.

For the average Korean, especially those in rural areas, it probably mattered very little who ruled, so long as there was peace in the land. Alas, it was the everyday Korean people who would largely suffer as war swept the peninsula.

Before their ship left port, the troops aboard had received one last mail call. Cole was surprised to hear his name. Who the hell was writing to him? Nobody in his family was the letter-writing type. He tucked the envelope away in a pocket, barely even glancing at the handwriting.

Meanwhile, the voyage was long and dull. Soldiers played cards or read battered paperback Westerns and detective stories. Mostly, Cole kept apart from the others. He stayed below and slept, not being particularly eager to gaze out at endless miles of rolling waves.

One distraction came when he found an amateur artist in the ranks who had managed to bring along a little paint and some brushes. Cole paid him a few dollars to paint a Confederate flag on his helmet, similar to the one that had decorated his helmet as he had fought his way across Europe.

"I hate to tell you this, buddy," the artist had said, smiling with satisfaction as he inspected his own work. "But you do know that the South lost the war, right? You sure you want that Johnny Reb flag on your helmet?"

"It's for good luck," Cole explained.

The artist raised his eyebrows. "Geez, I'd had to see your idea of bad luck."

From time to time, Cole took out the letter that he had received and considered opening it. But why embarrass himself? He couldn't read it. Hell, he couldn't even puzzle out the return address to see who had sent it. Clearly, it was someone who didn't know him all that well, or they wouldn't have bothered to write him a letter. Growing up a poor mountain boy, Cole never had gotten around to learning his letters. Poor but proud, Cole’s only real source of embarrassment in this world was that even a child could read better than him.

But finally, even Cole couldn't stand the curiosity. Maybe the boredom of the voyage was getting to him. He wanted to know what was in that letter.

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.

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.