Ping-Pong Heart

– 33-

Ernie downshifted the jeep over a patch of black ice. The temperature had dropped by ten degrees Fahrenheit. According to the Armed Forces Korea Network, a cold front was moving out of Manchuria down the Korean Peninsula, and the full force of the storm traveling with it was expected to hit at midnight.

Nam wasn’t with us. After Captain Blood hung up, I called Inspector Kill and explained the situation. He refused to turn Nam over to us for a rogue mission without KNP involvement. What he did promise to do was meet us in Tuam-dong, the old village that once served Camp Arrow. He, Nam, and a troop of armed KNPs would be waiting there.

“We’ll stay out of sight,” he told me. “We’ll turn Nam over to you up in Tuam-dong, and then two of our officers will conceal themselves in your vehicle as you bring Nam into the camp.”

Miss Kim’s scream replayed in my head. Her life was at stake. I had no choice but to agree to Inspector Kill’s plan. Once we made our way to Camp Arrow, I’d play it by ear.

Ernie wound around another curve and said, “Where in the hell is this place?”

I aimed the beam of my flashlight onto my map. It wasn’t late, only mid-afternoon, but the sky was so overcast that visibility was poor. “Not too far now. Before we hit Liberty Bridge, we’ll head on up into the hills.”

Freedom Bridge was the largest and most famous bridge across the Imjin River. Once you crossed the Imjin there, the next stop, a few miles farther on, was the

heavily fortified Demilitarized Zone, the only buffer between us and the 700,000-man-strong Communist army of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, also known as North Korea. Normally, the farthest north civilians could get was along the southern banks of the Imjin River. A park and national shrine had been set up by the Korean government just south of Freedom Bridge to commemorate the heroic multi-national effort that had kept South Korea a free country during the Korean War. Tour buses drove up there, people took photos by the fast-flowing Imjin, and happy couples even stood for formal wedding pictures, the military bridge lined with explosives serving as the backdrop. The waters of the Imjin sometimes held floating mines launched south by the citizens of the Communist North.

Liberty Bridge, by contrast, didn’t have tourists.

It was in an area that was restricted to civilians unless you lived in one of the farm villages dotting the nearby hills. And Liberty Bridge wasn’t nearly as scenic as Freedom Bridge. Instead of being suspended elegantly twenty yards or so above the flowing water, Liberty Bridge was a cement platform on concrete stanchions that was elevated just a few feet above the normal flow level of one of the tributaries of the Imjin. Why this was so, I wasn’t sure, but it was probably because this originally made it a more difficult target for North Korean air and artillery assault.

The men who guarded the bridge wore rubber overshoes because on any windy day, of which there were many in the narrow valley, the choppy surf from the river washed across the roadway and soaked their combat boots.

Ernie must have made good time, because when we reached the village of Tuam-dong, Inspector Kill and his officers hadn’t arrived yet. We parked near a large wooden building just a few yards from Liberty Bridge. The side wall had been whitewashed with just a single coat. Beneath the thin layer of paint, the old sign could still be made out: pink dragon club. And on the other side of the street, the smile bar and number one chop house. All closed and shuttered since the American base had been mothballed.

The bridge itself was guarded by ROK Army soldiers. In the distance, we watched them pace the length of the low-slung cement. On the embankment closest to us, two of their vehicles were parked-one a two-and-a-half-ton truck, probably for transporting the guards, and the other a jeep with a long radio antenna for the officer in charge. We stepped away from the jeep and studied the hills that ran parallel to the river. Though a heavy mist rolled slowly in, there was still enough sunlight to see most of the terrain features.

“There,” I said, pointing.

Ernie shielded his eyes with his hand like a Sioux warrior searching for the 7th Cavalry. “A Quonset hut,” he said, “a few more buildings, and a guard tower.”

“If it’s an anti-aircraft camp,” I said, “a lot of the construction will be below ground as protection from incoming rounds.”

Ernie pointed to the right. “There’s the access road.”

A crumbling two-lane dirt path wound up the hill like a snake climbing toward his lair.

“They’ll see us coming,” I said.

“If we drive.”

“You’ve got a better idea?”

“I don’t know if it’s better, but it’s different.”

“Hike up there?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

“Hard enough for us,” I said. “I doubt Nam could make it.” Mr. Nam was a thin, elegant-looking guy, but he didn’t appear too strong physically.

Ernie turned to me. “Who said anything about Nam?”

“They want to make an exchange. Kim for Nam.”

“I don’t particularly give a shit what they want.”

“So what are you saying?” I asked.

“I say we drive around to the other side of these hills, hike up to the compound, and take her.”

That wouldn’t be easy, but I liked the sound of it. I was tired of the arrogance of Captain Blood and the 501st. Who the hell did they think they were, taking money from freaking North Korean spies, then harassing and kidnapping an innocent woman?

“We should’ve brought a rifle,” I said.

Ernie glanced toward the bridge. “Maybe those guys will loan us one.”

The drive around to the other side of the ridge was the hard part. There were no roads. Where there were flatlands, they were mostly filled with rice paddies, and even though they’d already been harvested and were fallow now, the winter had yet to hit in full force, so they weren’t frozen and it was impossible to drive across them. The wheels would wallow in axle-deep mud. So we had to keep searching until we found a turnip patch. The farmer, mad as hell because his plants hadn’t yet matured, cursed us and waved his hoe in our direction as Ernie sped across what amounted to a couple of acres of budding vegetables. Finally we reached a solid path, and another farmer riding a wooden cart pulled by an ox nearly had a heart attack when he saw us. His first thought was probably that the Korean War had started again. When Ernie honked, the guy was so panicked that he pulled his cart off the entire path to let us pass. By way of amends, we smiled and waved as we passed, but I figured it would take him and his ox a lot of effort to pull that cart out of the ditch. Using dead reckoning, we finally figured we were on the opposite side of the compound. We parked the jeep beneath a pear tree and climbed out.

“It’s up there,” I said.

“I can’t see anything.”

“It’s there, though.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Come on, we only have about an hour of daylight left.”

Ernie grabbed the M-16 rifle and the two clips of ammunition that the ROK Army Lieutenant at Liberty Bridge had so graciously loaned us. Well, not so graciously. He’d said no, absolutely. After all, the first thing an infantry soldier learns is that his weapon is like his life: never to be given away under any circumstances. But this circumstance was that Ernie had pulled his .45 on him. When the Lieutenant still hesitated, Ernie fired a round that zinged past the Lieutenant’s head and landed in the cold waters of the rushing river. Using my best Korean, I apologized as I quickly grabbed the rifle and ammo.

If we’d been anybody else, the guards on the bridge probably would’ve opened fire and killed Ernie and me. But we were Americans, and everyone in the ROK military knew that you left Americans alone, unless you wanted to bring the wrath of the Pak Chung-hee government upon yourself. It was a hell of a chance we’d taken, but it worked.

And it was guaranteed that as soon as we left, the Lieutenant fired up the radio and reported it.

“So the KNPs are on the way, and the ROK Army is pissed,” Ernie said.

“Yeah,” I replied. “All we have to do is make sure Miss Kim is safe before anybody arrives.”

“With guns blazing,” he said.

We started climbing.