Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 33 Search

The sound of the truck was comforting. They were moving south, and Anne could feel the distance between the war and her increasing, stretching thinner and lighter. She could also feel the pull of Kunsan. For everyone else it was just an intermediate stop on their way to Japan, but they didn’t have friends there.

Anne tried to eat her spaghetti and meatballs as they drove. Hutchins had handed her an “MRE” and told her it was dinner.

MRE stood for “meals, ready to eat” and was the U.S. Army’s replacement for the legendary “C” ration. It was a green plastic bag the size of a large book. Her first problem was tearing open the thick plastic. In the end she had to borrow Private Bell’s razor-sharp bayonet.

Inside were other pouches. One held the dinner, labeled “Spaghetti and Meatballs.” Another held dried fruit. There were other packages with cheese and crackers, utensils, and so on.

Hutchins had commented on her luck. The dinners were designed to be mixed with hot water, which was of course unavailable in a moving truck. The spaghetti dinner did not need water. There were other problems, though.

Whoever had designed the spoons had neglected the fact that she was digging into the large dinner pouch. Almost immediately her hand had become covered with sauce. It didn’t taste bad, but it was messy. She ate it slowly, to help pass the time.

She had looked at the map when they passed through Paran. From there to Kunsan was about 160 kilometers, a hundred miles. They were crawling, but even at ten miles an hour they would pull into Kunsan well before dawn.

She looked at the map, willing a straight and smooth path, and a warm one while they were at it. In the cold moonlight she could see the snow-covered rice paddies stretching off on either side of the road. It was a peaceful, quiet scene, but she could see no comfort in it.

The ground near the coast was flat, which Yi hated. Not a valley or a ridge to hide behind; the best they could get was a small gully that ran in the direction they were going. Much of the march had to be made in short rushes, with one team covering the other. It was slow and tiring work.

Each man was dressed in a South Korean Army winter uniform, but instead of the standard white camouflage smock, they wore black. They would put on the white ones later, when they were in position. Concealment was more important now.

They also carried M16 rifles with plenty of ammunition, and standard South Korean field packs. In addition, each man, Yi included, carried another thirty kilos of “special equipment.”

This was evidently a popular area, Yi thought. He had seen many signs for bathing beaches, hotels, cafes. Even covered with snow it was picturesque.

His musings were interrupted by the sergeant’s signal. All clear. Yi and his three men ran forward at a crouch, the light snow muffling their footsteps.

He fell flat next to Yong, the sergeant. Yong pointed silently out ahead, toward a gravel track stretching across their path. Frozen rice paddies lined the road on either side. They waited, watching the road for about ten minutes, seeing no movement. Yi held up one open hand, then clenched his fist and pumped it up and down. Four commandos ran across the road while Yi and his team covered them.

No sign of movement. He gave the signal and sprinted across the road, sure that Yong and his group were watching and covering him.

The coast road was his landmark. Once across it, they would turn south and head for the Chosan river. They would then follow the river inland to their target.

Anne was awakened by Bell, who was cursing again as they drove downhill. “Captain, the transmission’s getting worse. It’s even money whether I can get it out of first gear at the bottom of this hill.”

Hutchins had been asleep, too. He straightened up in his seat, stretching as much as the cramped cab allowed. He looked at the map while Anne held a hooded flashlight. They had made good progress, covering sixty-five kilometers from Anyang in about three hours.

The captain looked at his watch and made a decision. “We’ll pull into Onyang and stop for repairs. We have to gas up anyway, and we can fix the cooling system on that other five-ton truck, too.”

Bell smiled. Onyang was only a small town, but it would have decent food, maybe a few beers, a nap…

“Quit dreaming, Private. We’re going to fix these vehicles and get back on the road ASAP.” Hutchins’s tone was stern. Bell was one of the two men that had come from the stockade. He was a good soldier but would goof off any chance he could get. That’s why the captain had taken him as his own driver, so he wouldn’t get many chances.

Anne asked, “Captain, where will we get the vehicles fixed in Onyang?”

“We’ll have to find a civilian garage and hope he has the right parts. These trucks use a lot of parts from civilian vehicles, so — ”

“I know about the parts, Captain. What I need to know is if they will have a phone I can use.”

Hutchins shrugged. “I guess so.”

Anne smiled.

Captain Yi looked over the situation. They had followed the river east to Highway 21. The two-lane asphalt road was the major north-south artery on the west coast, and his job was to make traveling on that road a dangerous business.

A concrete bridge crossed the river, which was about twenty meters wide at that point and about three meters deep. The water was moving fast enough to keep it from freezing.

There was a low rise that overlooked the highway and the bridge. Yi’s squad waited about one hundred yards back, at the base of the rise, shivering. The bridge was guarded, of course, but this wasn’t a major bridge or a major river.

The area was lighted, so his binoculars were more useful than his night-vision scope. There was a small building near the bridge, big enough for a few men. A small sentry box at one end had two men near it.

From their uniforms they looked like Provincial Police, responsible for security in the Korean interior. The Army only guarded the coast. These police, though, were much more than “traffic cops.” For one thing, they carried M16 automatic rifles.

There was another man pacing back and forth between the building and the bridge. He was wearing a camouflage uniform, probably Territorial Army. It made sense, Yi thought. Back up the police with reserve units.

The soldier, probably a noncom, ducked under the gate and started across the bridge. Yi moved his glasses ahead of him and saw what he expected: two sentries at the other end as well.

The commando crept backward down the slope, quietly, carefully, until he was about twenty-five yards back from the crest. He then spun around and sprinted down to where his men were hidden.

“It’s as we expected. Two at each end, one more in charge. The guard shack probably has two men in it, but no more than four. They are Provincial Police, so we have to change uniforms. Let’s go.”

The plan had been practiced a dozen times. Without instructions the party moved down to the water’s edge, well away from the bridge. They took out Provincial Police uniforms and changed clothes. One private removed a small bundle from his knapsack. Another removed a rope from his pack and tied one end securely around a tree.

There was a hissing sound, which seemed as loud as a steam leak in the quiet night. As the inflatable raft took shape, two men assembled paddles and tied the other end of the rope to the boat. They placed it in the water and climbed in.

Wordlessly they pushed off with their paddles and let the current carry them downstream. The other commandos slowed their progress by slowly letting out the rope, while the two men steered their way across.

In five minutes the boat was grounded on the opposite bank. Yi and the remaining men did not wait to watch them pull the craft into the bushes. They knew their job.

The captain brought his men back to the rise and pointed out their targets, then the approach route. The brush had been cleared around the road, but it almost reached to the guard shack. And nobody was watching the rear of the building.

There was nothing complicated about the approach to the building, but it was tiring. The dark made them slow down to a crawl, to reduce the chance of stumbling, and the biting cold made it hard to hold still. Yi was in front, not because of any desire to lead by example, but because there he could set the pace and react quickly to any changes.

It was hard work, even with the training. Pick each spot carefully, nothing that can make noise or cause you to stumble. Remember that five other men behind have to step where you step, careful that…

If he hadn’t been moving so slowly he would never have been able to stop. Moving in a low crouch, he had already raised his left foot to bring it forward when he saw a line across the snow. He froze. Any regularity had to be man-made, and anything made by man around here was a threat, until proved otherwise.

He leaned forward carefully, with his followers holding their uncomfortable positions behind him. As he changed his position, starlight caught the line and it glinted. It was a wire.

Following it back to its ends, he found one anchored to a rock, and the other to a trip flare. Not a mine, but almost as deadly to their mission. If he had touched the wire, it would have sent a magnesium flare fifty meters into the air. Without surprise they would fail without having started.

It was a simple device, and he quickly disarmed it. Pointing it out to the man behind him, he moved forward again.

Reaching the back wall of the building was a relief, a chance to stand up straight and pull off the black camouflage smocks. They put on white smocks, the same as those worn by the South Koreans.

From this point on everything depended on speed and luck. Yi watched the noncom walk back from the far side of the bridge. He had to wait until the bulk of the building was between the man and him.

His men had moved into position, flattened near the corners of the building. He took one last look and followed the movement of the South Korean noncom. The man passed out of sight and Yi raised a small flashlight. Shining it across the river, he flashed a coded signal, hoping his men were in position to see it. He started counting.

One. He put away the flashlight and pulled his pistol. Two. Yi checked the silencer as he moved to the corner of the building near the sentry box.

Three. Yi and two of his men fired at the two sentries, each man shooting two or three times, until they started to fall. He heard small whup sounds behind him, the rest of his team firing at the noncom. He looked across the bridge but could not see the two sentries there. Had they been killed, or just taken cover?

No shots, from this side or the other. Assume success. They stepped quickly out from behind the building, still hugging the walls. Yi relaxed a little when he saw three forms crumpled on the ground. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the guard shack.

The sergeant and another commando flattened themselves on either side of the door. Yong gave a signal, and they opened the door quietly and slid through. Yi did not follow, instead concentrating on the far end of the bridge.

There. A light shone briefly at the far end. Two short, one long. They’d done it!

Yong came running up just in time to see Yi smiling. He stopped and reported. “Three men. No problems.”

Yi didn’t waste any more time celebrating. “Get the bodies out of sight. Look for any papers or documents. Clean up any bloodstains. I’m going to see what’s in the guard shack.”

He looked around at the mayhem his men had caused, then allowed himself one more smile. “And Sergeant, get those sentry boxes manned. We’ve got a bridge to guard.”

For their side.

Hutchins cursed out loud. Bell cursed at the truck, Anne cursed to herself. Onyang was a town of about two thousand people. It had one garage, operated by a Mr. Moon, who absolutely refused to get up on a cold night and open his establishment. In the end Hutchins had to threaten him with arrest at bayonet point before Moon would cooperate.

Reluctantly the proprietor unlocked the door, but he absolutely refused to help in any way with the vehicles. Evans took over then. “All right, this is now a U.S. Army motor pool.”

While the sergeant organized the repairs, Anne’s staff took shelter in a small hotel, filling the small building. Anne found the night clerk, who spoke excellent English, far more helpful than Mr. Moon. He directed her to a phone, and she tried calling Tony. It was exciting, then frustrating, as she called his BOQ, then squadron offices, trying to reach him.

There was no answer at his BOQ. He was “not available, ma’am,” when she called the squadron. She knew that meant he was flying. All Anne could do was leave a detailed message saying where she was and that she should arrive in Kunsan a few hours after dawn, and that she was scheduled to be flown out to Japan that evening. The airman said Major Christopher would get the message as soon as he returned. She hung up.

The two broken-down vehicles barely fitted inside the garage. Anne stayed there, pacing and fuming inside as the time passed. She knew she should be fatalistic, but they’d lost half an hour just getting into the garage. They had been working for an hour since then.

The truck with the cooling problem had been easy to fix, but the other! Bell hadn’t imagined his problems with the transmission. Metal from worn gears had worn and chewed the works until the question was why it had worked at all. Bell, still cursing under the truck, wanted a new transmission.

They didn’t have one. Mr. Moon gleefully informed them of that, and that he had no parts for that kind of truck, and they could leave now, thank you.

Two hours later the convoy rumbled back onto the highway. Some of Anne’s frustration ebbed as the convoy left Onyang and started moving through the countryside.

Sitting in the dark cab, with Hutchins asleep on one side and the dark rice paddies on the other side, there was time to think. The airman had called him “Major” Christopher. She was pleased and proud for Tony, and for herself as well. She seemed to have picked someone with real ability and…

Wait a minute. What were her feelings for Tony? Why was she so worried about getting to Kunsan on time, if not to see him? What was she going to say to Tony in Kunsan when she did see him? What would he say to her?

Too many questions. She sat in the cab, musing and rehearsing and analyzing and discarding until she drifted off to sleep.

A sharp jolt woke her, bumping her head against the window hard enough to see stars. Rubbing the sore spot, she opened her eyes as Hutchins started chewing out his driver’s lack of skill.

She looked at her watch. Almost two hours had passed. “Where are we?”

Hutchins paused long enough in his tirade for Bell to answer. “We should reach Kwangch’on any minute, ma’am.”

She found it on the map and showed it to Hutchins. It was far enough down the coast to lift her spirits. She might get to see Tony yet, not that she knew what to say to him.

Hutchins took the map, trying to determine their exact position, and Anne started to look for landmarks. It was something to do.

One of the first things she saw was a highway marker, illuminated by the truck’s headlights, with “29” on it. “Captain, where does that put us?”

Hutchins glanced at the sign, then studied the map. His studious expression was suddenly replaced by anger. “It puts us on the wrong highway! We’re supposed to be on Highway Twenty-one, not Twenty-nine!

Bell tried to look at the map as well, but Hutchins pulled it away. “Just drive, Private.”

He studied the situation for a few minutes. “Which way did you turn in Hongsong when the road forked?”

Looking like a student unprepared for a pop quiz, Bell answered, “Right?”

It took another ten minutes to stop the convoy, turn the trucks around on the narrow two-lane road, and head back in the other direction. Hutchins drove while Anne navigated, and Bell curled up next to the door in not-so-distant exile.

Hutchins was irritated but hopeful. “We should still get you into Kunsan before noon.”

Anne was not comforted. Half her day with Tony would be gone.

Tony Christopher held the message Airman Rice had handed him and studied it for the third time. The airman carefully edged away toward a side door. “Luther, how did she sound? Was she sure she’d be here?”

“Sir, I wrote it all down just like she said it. ‘I am enroute by convoy to Kunsan from Onyang for air evacuation to Japan tonight. Expect to arrive by dawn. Will call when I get there. Hope to see you. Anne.’ ” It had been easy to memorize the message. Rice had repeated it to the major four times.

She was alive. She was all right. She hadn’t been shot down or bombed at Kimpo. Intellectually he had known that she was probably okay, but there had been a chance, a possibility he didn’t like thinking about. And she would be coming to Kunsan, then leaving that night.

“Before dawn.” Well, he needed to sleep, but he needed to get some work down as well. His duties as ops officer had cut into his flying. He was only flying one or two missions a day now, and he did paperwork in the morning. He would be free to see Anne, but only if he got his desk clear first. There were some things he wanted to tell her.

He got busy. Flying was more important than paperwork, but it still had to be done. The adrenaline started to wear off from his mission, and his excitement about the message, and he started yawning. He kept at it, though, knowing that he would not sleep.

“Major. Major!” Somebody was shaking his shoulder. He looked up and saw Airman Rice standing over him. He looked apologetic.

“Sorry, sir, but they’ll stop serving breakfast soon, and I wondered if you wanted to get anything to eat.”

Groggily, Tony said, “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” He started to put his head back down, then suddenly sat bolt upright. Breakfast ended at eight o’clock.

Rice was already heading for the door when Tony called to him. “Have there been any other messages?”

“No sir, not a thing.”

Tony sat at his desk and calculated. The sun had been already been up for an hour, and he had his first mission brief at fourteen thirty. And all he could do was wait.

“Hey, Saint, why so worried? We got a big mission on?” Hooter’s entry into a room was never quiet.

“Anne’s coming to Kunsan.”

“She’s safe? That’s great news! When will she get here?”

“She was supposed to be here an hour ago. She’s being evacuated out to Japan through the airbase here, and her convoy was supposed to arrive before dawn.”

“When does she leave?”

“Tonight.” He showed John the message, his frustration apparent.

“I see your problem. What have we got, six hours before the brief?” Suddenly John brightened. “I’ve got it! Victory through air power!”

Tony was baffled. “What in hell are you talking about?”

“Relax, Saint, I’ve got it all figured. I know an Army aviator, ‘Chips’ Nicholson. He’s a helicopter pilot, and he’ll do anything for two bottles of Scotch.”

Tony was still confused. “So?”

“So, since she can’t get here in time, let’s go find her. Chips can fly north, find the convoy, and set you down.”

Hooter pulled out a map lying on Tony’s desk. “Look, there’s only one way to get from Onyang down here. And Onyang’s only seventy miles away. That’s an hour in the chopper, and she’s probably well south of there by now. We can take off, fly there, and be back by lunch.”

Tony sat, considering. He usually made decisions quickly, but this was not his style. There wasn’t anything to worry about. The risk of enemy activity was slight.

He looked up at Hooter as his wingman paced the room. “What will Shadow think?”

Hooter shook his head. “My fearless leader, uncertain? Shadow won’t know.”

Tony thought about the risks, and the risk of not seeing Anne. “Okay. Let’s do it. By the way, why ‘Chips’?”

“He got his helo too close to a tree once. Luckily he was close to the ground. You go find the hooch, I’ll make a phone call.”

Tony felt at home on the flight line, but looking at the helicopter, he felt a little uneasy. Like most aviators, he regarded rotary wing aircraft as a momentary aberration of aerodynamics. Any minute now everyone would realize that they really couldn’t fly.

Lieutenant Nicholson was a savvy-looking pilot who greeted Hooter warmly, exchanging punches to the shoulder and friendly insults. Tony was introduced, with Chips saluting smartly. When Chips heard Hooter say “fourteen kills,” he was ready to do the favor for free.

“But since you went to all that trouble, I wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful. Hop in.” He collected the bottles and stowed them in a safe place.

John took the copilot’s seat and Tony the crew chief’s jump seat in the main cabin. The lieutenant started the turbines and they quickly spun up to full power. The UH-1 “Huey” usually transported twelve troops, in addition to the crew, so with only three men aboard, it leapt into the air.

Tony could see Hooter pointing out the route to the pilot, and he put on the intercom headset. “Hooter, there must be more than one convoy between here and Onyang. How will we spot hers from the air?”

“How many will have trucks full of American civilians?” John answered. “Don’t sweat it, Saint.”

The weather was clear, and with the doors closed the temperature was comfortable inside the chopper. The engine noise was another story, though, and Tony kept the headset on to block out some of it. They quickly passed over the airbase, the city itself, and then the Kum river just to the north.

The traffic into the city was heavy, but a convoy of military vehicles would be easily spotted among the civilian passenger cars and trucks. They flew north.

Anne hated the sunlight. They were late, and their progress now was so slow they would be lucky to reach Kunsan at all. Bell was driving again, and cursing every time he had to shift gears.

They were driving through a narrow cut, with the road narrowing from two lanes to one. The road was a downgrade, which kept Bell very busy trying to manage the balky transmission.

As they listened to the driver’s profane monotone, loud honking started coming from the back of the column. Hutchins quickly halted the convoy, sure that some disaster had struck.

They piled out of the cab and ran toward the back. The honking continued for a few moments, then stopped as they reached the end.

Surrounded by a small crowd of soldiers and passengers was a jeep, occupied by one man. A lieutenant colonel climbed out from behind the wheel and he did not look happy. “Who’s in charge of this mob?”

Hutchins saluted. “Captain J. F. Hutchins, sir, Provisional Transport Detail.”

The colonel’s laundered, sharply creased battle dress and cold-weather gear contrasted with Hutchins’s rumpled uniform. His combat boots were the old-style leather kind and were finely polished. The name AYERS was stenciled over the breast pocket. While Hutchins’s captain’s bars were embroidered in black thread on his collar tabs, Ayers’s rank insignia were polished silver metal, oversize, and shone from not only his collar tabs but from his helmet as well.

“Captain, your lack of intelligence is only matched by your lack of military bearing and your obvious inability to maintain discipline. I am enroute to a vitally important conference, and your slow-moving circus has slowed from a crawl to a stop.”

Hutchins started to open his mouth to answer, but the colonel was just drawing a breath. “Since you decided to stop and delay me even further, all I can do is report your performance to your superiors and hope that they aren’t as incompetent as you are.”

He took Hutchins’s name, rank, serial number, and parent unit, then climbed back in his jeep. “Captain, I want you to get these junk heaps moving at top speed. If I miss that meeting, it may adversely affect the course of the war, and it will be your fault. Now move!”

They started the convoy up and pulled out of the cut as fast as the transmission would allow. Occasionally a honk or two from the back would exhort them on. They reached the end about five minutes later, and they heard a roar as the jeep’s motor passed the convoy.

Colonel Ayers was sitting straight upright, at attention in the seat. He ignored the column and roared off to the south.

Hutchins had returned wordlessly to the cab, and Anne and Bell had followed suit, unsure of what to say as the officer sat expressionless. Finally, just after the colonel drove out of sight, Hutchins said, “You know, it’s hard to think of that man as the end result of millions of years of evolution.”

Colonel Ayers roared ahead, mentally ticking off a list of charges to bring against that dim-witted officer. Obvious lack of discipline. Ever since the war started, everyone had been getting sloppy. Uniforms, procedures, and especially courtesy toward senior officers such as himself had been given short shrift.

Well, he wasn’t going to let things go to pot. If he had to remind every man he saw about military courtesy, and take down every name between here and Chonju…

His musings, combined with a high speed, managed to carry him through Taech’on and the smaller village of Taech’ang. He was rehearsing the presentation to the morale board when he came to a checkpoint at one end of a bridge.

He beeped his horn and waved for them to open the gate, but the barrier stayed down and a Korean soldier came up and saluted.

Ayers didn’t bother returning the gesture. “Let me pass, man. I have to attend an important conference in Chonju!”

The soldier was unimpressed. “Certainly, sir, but I must see your orders and identification card, please.”

“My ID card?” He fumbled for the papers and identification. “Isn’t it obvious that I’m an American senior officer?”

The man reached for his papers. “Sir, you might be a North Korean saboteur. They are extremely clever and often disguise themselves as our soldiers.”

He examined the papers. “You are Colonel Ayers? We have a message for you, sir. Could you please follow me? It’s in the guard shack.”

“Of course, Private. Lead on.” He followed the Korean into a small building set off the road.

Inside, an officer was sitting behind a desk. The name on his uniform was YI.

The soldier looked at Yi and spoke in English. “Sir, this is Colonel Ayers. I believe there is a message for him?”

Yi stood and saluted. Ayers, glad to see the formalities being observed, returned the salute, but he was baffled by a sudden sharp pain in his right side. He turned his head and looked down, just in time to see a knife sink into his ribs up to the hilt.

His last thought was an amazed protest: “But they had been so polite!”

Yi looked down at the body and smiled. A lieutenant colonel. “Sergeant, get him out of here.”

Sergeant Yong knew what to do. He called to the “off-duty” commandos in the building and started giving orders. The corpse was carried out by a back door and the small bloodstain wiped up. Yi himself started the jeep and drove it off the road to a small stand of trees.

A small vehicle park was growing there, out of sight of the road. He pulled up alongside a row of trucks. Some were empty, but most had carried cargoes of food, spare parts, or ammunition. One bloodstained vehicle had been filled with men, but Yi’s commandos had gunned them down as they sat in the back. Fifteen replacements would never arrive at the front.

The North Korean was pleased with his work. It had been a productive night and morning. They would continue to ambush military vehicles for as long as they could.

They had not molested civilian traffic. It was not their job to create terror, and it would also speed their discovery. They had even let a few trucks go through because civilian cars had been lined up behind them waiting.

Eventually a convoy too big or too well armed would survive their attack, but until then this road was no help to the South, or their imperialist backers. He especially hated Americans, because without their help they could have liberated the southern half of the peninsula years ago.

That reminded him to look at the dead American colonel. Grabbing a small bag that had belonged to the officer, he hiked over to a spot under the trees. They had dumped all the bodies there, covering successive layers with snow. As he approached his bloody handiwork, Yi was glad that this was not a summer offensive.

Yong had just finished searching the dead officer. “Nothing, sir. He was a minor staff officer for American Second Infantry Division. All he had were these travel orders, and an agenda for a ‘Morale Conference’ tomorrow at Chonju.”

Yi tossed him the bag. “Search this, too.” But he didn’t expect to find anything. His disappointment showed in his tone. Their first lieutenant colonel, and he had been a nobody.

They had been aloft for about twenty minutes, flying north at sixty miles an hour, two hundred feet off the ground. Tony was torn between professional interest and personal frustration. He normally didn’t fly this low or this slow, except when he was landing. It was easy to search at this speed.

This hadn’t let him find Anne, though. They had seen almost no military vehicles, and the few they had seen were clearly not the group of trucks they were looking for.

Both John and Tony were looking while Chips piloted, following the two-lane road. Up ahead in the distance they could see the highway narrow to one lane as it crossed a bridge. Tony half-expected to see the convoy pulled up, waiting for its turn to cross. It wasn’t. He was looking farther up the road when Hooter called him.

“Hey, Saint, there’s a bunch of trucks pulled up off the road to the right. Looks like we found them.”

Chips heard Hooter’s comments and immediately swung over to take a closer look at the vehicles. Tony had swung his binoculars over at once to look for Anne, but he could see no movement near them. He saw two covered cargo trucks, but also an open flat-bed, a tanker truck of some sort, a jeep …

“Hooter, this isn’t Anne’s convoy. They aren’t the right vehicles, and there aren’t any people around.”

“Picky, picky. I don’t know, Saint, this is the closest thing to a convoy we’ve seen. Do you want to set down and check it out?”

Tony wanted to be sure this wasn’t their convoy. “Chips, can you take us down for a closer look?”

The craft slowed and circled, approaching the vehicle park at a slow walk. Tony scanned the collection. Maybe it was Anne’s convoy and some other trucks mixed together. Some sort of rest stop?

One vehicle caught his attention. Its top was ragged and looked as if it had been camouflaged.

Hooter was scanning the rest of the area, already convinced that this was a waste of time. He was about to tell Tony that when he spotted a dark patch, growing as the snow covering it was blown off.

“Saint, look over to the right.” His tone was confused, and concerned. Tony moved across the cabin and focused on the area. The patch quickly resolved into shapes, but he kept on looking at them, hoping he was wrong.

Yi and his men watched from the road as the helicopter circled, then descended out of sight. It was obviously the enemy. Running ahead, he waved his men into the trees. They heard the craft and saw it again, lower, almost stationary over the abandoned vehicles.

Quickly he dashed from tree to tree, keeping the trunks between himself and the aircraft. His men followed his movements, stalking the helicopter as if it were a living thing. The snow it blew around helped hide them, but that was also his downfall.

They saw the aircraft hover, then pivot to face the spot where they had dumped the bodies. There could be no doubt.

He called out “Fire!” and raised his own rifle, aiming for the cabin.

Chips, Tony and Hooter all stared at the bodies. They were piled on top of one another, rather neatly, Tony thought absentmindedly. The longer they hovered there, the more snow was blown away and the more corpses became visible.

Hooter had been counting out loud, punctuating the litany with exclamations: “… thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, Jesus, sixteen…”

There was a zing! sound, and reflexively Tony turned toward it. It was followed by a few more, and a zingzingzingCrack as the window crazed on the port side door.

Chips didn’t wait for an analysis. He pulled hard on the collective and pushed the nose over, not waiting to climb. As soon as the Huey was moving forward, he started to slew the tail left and right, steering as evasive a course as his speed and height allowed.

Tony was not buckled in and found himself hanging on to a bracket. Reaching for one of the seat belts, he was knocked loose from his hold by a sudden shock. The helicopter shuddered, and there was a screeching sound. The floor under him was canted to the left, and he finally had to pull himself hand over hand to his seat.

His headset had ripped off when he fell across the cabin. As he strapped in, he looked forward to see John motioning for him to put it on.

As soon as he complied, he heard Chips’s voice. “The left engine is out!”

Hooter broke in, “We’re clear. No more firing.”

Chips was a busy man. The helicopter was lightly loaded, so the remaining engine could provide enough power to keep them airborne. Barely. The question was, what else had been shot off?

Tony was in the unusual position of being in a broken aircraft but not at the controls. All he could do was trust Chips and hang on. The Army pilot quickly scanned the controls and tried to listen to the remaining engine. “We’re airworthy, but I’ve got to set it down soon. Temperature on number two is a little high.”

Tony was more worried about what they had seen. “Those have to be North Koreans back at the bridge. Call on the guard frequency and put out a warning.”

They continued north while Hooter used the radio.

It was just a small village on a two-lane road. Since the principal industry was farming, it looked asleep in winter, even during the day. Surrounded by now-frozen rice paddies, they were through it in a few minutes.

Anne welcomed it, seeing it as another milestone. Each landmark passed meant that they were that much closer to Kunsan. It was ten-thirty. If there were no more interruptions, they would be in Kunsan by lunchtime.

Yi tried to be fatalistic, but he couldn’t. Curse whatever luck had let the helicopter see the bodies. They had emptied their rifles at it, but M16 rifles just didn’t have the range or hitting power to bring down an aircraft. Still, they had crippled it, which wouldn’t prevent it from sending out a warning.

The helicopter would radio a warning, and enemy troops would show up. They would attack his position, and he would kill as many fascists as he could, and then he and all his men would be killed. There had never been any question of how the mission would end, just how long it would take. And they weren’t the only special forces unit in the North Korean Army.

Their mission had already succeeded. Because they had interdicted this bridge for a while, the guards on all the bridges would have to be increased, and also on tunnels, junctions, any choke point. Any South Korean soldier would be suspected of being a North Korean saboteur, and no truck driver would be certain of reaching his destination.

“Sergeant!” Yong came running up. “Are the charges to the bridge wired?”

“Yes, sir. And the vehicles and bodies are both booby-trapped.”

“How about the rest of the explosives?”

“Being wired now, sir. Another five minutes at the most.”

Yi looked grim. “We are ready. Tell Corporal Soo to watch the bridge and to blow it if he sees anything approach from the south. Who were you going to put in the outpost?”

“Private Suh, sir. He’s very reliable.”

“I know. Get him up there. Everybody not on ‘sentry duty’ should be watching for the enemy. Otherwise, let’s continue as before. We’ll kill as many of the enemy as we can.”

Chips stomped around on the frozen ground. “How long before those troops get here?”

Hooter answered. “Half an hour, tops. They have to come from Taech’on. Counting time to saddle up, that’s pretty quick.

“Yeah, well, it’s damn cold, there’s enemy commandos in the area, and I’ve got a busted helo to explain.”

Hooter was unconcerned. “When they hear how you detected that North Korean outpost while flying an emergency medical mission, you’ll probably get a medal.”

Tony had to ask, “ ‘Medical mission?’ ”

“Sure, Saint. If you had missed your girl, you would have had a broken heart.” He turned to Chips. “They’ll believe anything. Don’t worry.”

All they could do was wait. They passed the time checking the damage to the helicopter, trying to stay warm, and waiting to see who came down the road first.

Tony heard them first. “Listen, engines.” They were coming from the north.

Anne was trying to tear the envelope of an MRE open. She had planned on skipping breakfast, but hunger and Hutchins’s lecture about “eating when you can” had won her over. Her teeth proved inadequate to the task, and finally she borrowed Bell’s bayonet again.

The convoy, with her truck still in the lead, came around a bend in the road. There was a clearing on the right with a helicopter in it. Hutchins told Bell to slow down, and she spotted three men by the nose of the craft, waving at them.

The captain ordered Bell to pull over and stop, and they all climbed out. Anne stepped out and saw — TONY? — and two other men coming over.

Hutchins couldn’t understand. Miss Larson had seemed like a reserved woman, certainly not the type to display affection for complete strangers.

Hooter and Chips explained the situation to Captain Hutchins and his men while Tony and Anne strolled off to talk. After an initial explanation, Anne’s head was whirling. She didn’t know what to talk about first. His trip to see her, the attack by the commandos, or her trip from Seoul. So she didn’t talk about any of these things. She just listened and looked at Tony.

Their wanderings had taken them back behind the Huey, out of plain sight of the convoy. He was pointing out the damage to the aircraft when he stopped and changed the subject.

“Anne, I was really worried when I heard about the attack on Seoul airport. I… it’s hard to explain.”

She smiled. “Don’t try. I think I understand.”

“No, Anne, I have to tell you how scared I was when I learned about the attack on Kimpo.”

He paused and looked into her eyes. “I thought I’d lost you.” She looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze, but he continued, “I don’t want to ever lose you, Anne. I love you.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “You sure proved that. A helicopter?”

“Anne, I had to see you.” He explained about the timing.

“Tony, I’m glad you came, but I don’t know how I feel yet. I haven’t got my feelings sorted out.”

“Mine are definitely sorted, but I understand. I just had to tell you where I stood.”

“Well, I kind of like where you’re standing. But a helicopter?” She peered at the machine. “It looks damaged.”

“I’m hoping I can hitch a ride with your convoy after the bridge is cleared. I don’t have any way to get back to Kunsan.”

“I’m glad. We’ll have time to talk.”

“Hey, guys!” Hooter’s call invaded their world. “The Army’s here.”

They walked back to the road. Pulled up next to Anne’s convoy was a new group, four vehicles crammed with Korean soldiers and weapons. Hooter and Chips were talking with a burly-looking captain, who stood lopsidedly. Hutchins and Evans were still deploying their men around the area, in case there were any commandos nearby.

“Tony, this is Captain Cha.” Cha saluted briskly. “Chips and I have been filling him in on what we saw.”

Cha picked up the conversation. “Yes, sir. It’s almost certainly a group of enemy infiltrators. My men and I will clear them out. It cannot be more than a few men, and I have a reinforced platoon.” He looked at the three pilots. “Would you like to accompany us?”

The Americans exchanged quick glances and simultaneously said, “No thanks.” Tony added, “I’ll leave ground combat to the professionals.”

Cha actually looked disappointed, seemed about to try to persuade them, but changed his mind and boarded his jeep. “We will drive up closer to the bridge and then deploy. This shouldn’t take too long. We will send a messenger back when the road is clear.” Saluting, the captain and his troops roared off.

Captain Yi knew that there would be some sort of attempt to clear the bridge, and he was going to make them pay dearly for this piece of territory. They would never get the bridge back, and even the ruins would be expensive.

Private Suh waited in a camouflaged spider hole three hundred meters up the road. He was isolated from the bridge by a small rise, and his hole was dug into the edge of a copse of trees. He had found the time to line his hideout with pine boughs, and outside of the cramped quarters, it was moderately comfortable.

He had been waiting for over an hour, ever since the American helicopter had escaped. He heard the engines, and his rush of excitement and fear at the approach of the enemy was mixed with relief.

A jeep appeared first, then three trucks. The lead jeep held an officer and had a machine gun over the back. As he watched, it pulled off the road, with the officer motioning to the vehicles behind. It slowed and stopped, exactly where his captain had said it would.

The waiting was hardest. If they had dashed off quickly, he might have been helpless, but they were in no hurry to unload. As soon as the last truck had come to a stop, he pushed the plunger.

Claymore mines weighed about ten pounds. They were the size and shape of a telephone book and were not supposed to be buried in the ground. They had two prongs that a soldier could push into the ground. The prongs allowed them to sit on one edge, while wires ran back to electric firing switches. One side of each mine said “Place Toward Enemy.”

They were directional mines. On detonation, plastic explosive fired hundreds of steel balls several hundred feet in a fan-shaped pattern. And the North Korean commandos had planted five of them in an arc, facing the road.

A mixture of snow, smoke, and fragments filled the air, followed by screams and splanging sounds of metal balls hitting metal.

Suh waited. As the mist thinned, the horror it hid was revealed slowly. Men lay sprawled in the snow, red patches outlining their forms. He could see at least a dozen bodies, and he knew that as yet, he could not have been detected.

The sudden silence was filled with moans and cries, and Suh waited a few minutes for the leaders to appear, to start giving orders and get the men organized. Then he started shooting.

They all heard the explosion, and the firing. Tony and Anne and everyone else listened for the smallest sound, trying to follow distant events. After the first explosion and gunfire, there was nothing.

Hooter bounced up and down a little bit. “Short fight. I guess there weren’t too many bad guys.” He smiled.

The others ignored him. Tony looked at Hutchins. “That didn’t sound like what I would have expected.”

The captain agreed. “It didn’t sound good.”

“Should we check it out?”

Hutchins, more from courtesy than need, considered the question. “No, Major. We don’t know the situation and might stumble into something. Even if everything’s okay, Cha wouldn’t like having his elbow joggled.”

He looked at Hooter. “If that was all of the fight, they’ll send word back. EVANS!”

The sergeant came running over. “Sir!”

“Double-check the perimeter. Make sure there’s no way for a man to be taken alone, and no way for anyone to slip in between our men.”

To no one in particular he announced, “We will sit tight.”

The South Korean soldier appeared twenty minutes later. They all heard the call from one of the lookouts, but there was no real need for a warning. He staggered up the road, doing his best to hurry, but slowed down by wounds and shock and half-frozen to boot.

The sergeant started snapping orders. “Get him in the truck! Hughes, get your aid kit! Murphy and Rodriguez, scout down the road and find out what happened. Shoot at anything that moves.”

Hutchins, Evans, and the aid man disappeared into the truck while the others waited outside. Anne kept on looking up the road, feeling the cold grow with her uncertainty.

After five minutes Hutchins and Evans jumped out of the truck. Anne ran up with a questioning look, and Hutchins answered, “He’ll probably live.”

“What happened?” she demanded.

“They walked into some sort of ambush. Most of them are killed, the rest are wounded. The Korean says they only got one man.”

Sergeant Evans came up to the officer with a walkie-talkie. “Sir, Murphy’s reached the spot.”

Hutchins took the radio. “This is Six, over. … How many?… Okay. Sit tight and watch the road to the south. We’re on our way.” He turned to the sergeant and nodded.

Evans started giving orders. “Saddle up! Everybody into the trucks.”

Anne got the story from Hutchins as they rode forward. “It was a massacre. Murphy says the area is secure, but they need help. My men and I will have to tackle the commandos.

“Miss Larson, you and your people can’t fight, but we will need anyone who knows first aid. You can stay back and help the wounded while we move up.”

Anne protested. “Why don’t we just wait for more troops?”

“Our radios are too weak to call for help. Since the nearest detachment reacted, it would be even longer before anybody else could respond. Hours probably. That gives those bastards too much time. Besides, I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and let someone else do my fighting while I’ve got effectives.”

They saw the carnage spread out along the road, and Anne felt something twisting her insides. She felt flushed and stared at the soldiers’ wounds, imagining them on her body.

Hutchins shook her shoulder. “Don’t think about it, Miss Larson. Just keep busy. You can’t get sick if you’re helping them.”

The scene changed to one of organized confusion. The wounded were found and moved into the comparative warmth of the trucks. The dead, frozen into grotesque shapes, were stacked off to one side. Evans had his men throw up a defensive perimeter, while the pilots scavenged weapons and equipment.

It was an impressive pile, including antitank rockets, a heavy machine gun and two lighter ones, and ammunition. Evans’s eyes gleamed and he started distributing it to his men. Tony and Hooter refused to take rifles. They each had a pistol and fervently hoped they wouldn’t have to use them.

One volunteer from Anne’s staff and a lightly wounded soldier were sent back up the road to report to Taech’on.

Evans made his report. “Sir, there were thirty-eight Koreans here. Twenty-one are dead. Ten are seriously wounded, the rest are walking wounded. Cha is dead and his sergeant is incapacitated.”

Hutchins was shaken by the losses but looked determined. “Will they fight?”

“No question, sir. I recommend giving them another few minutes to thaw out and eat, but they’re mad, sir. They’d go alone if we weren’t here.”

There was a popping sound from the south that quickly exploded into rifle and machine gun fire. Evans yelled, “Hold your positions!” and sprinted over in that direction.

Hutchins looked at the pilots. “I think we’ve spent all the time we’re going to get. Let’s go.”

The captain kept it simple. Forming a skirmish line, he had his men advance in a line on both sides of the road. Moving from tree to tree, they knew they were up against the best the enemy had. They had to depend on numbers. Hutchins had briefed them all to watch for more claymore mines, and their progress was slowed as every man searched for trip wires.

It wasn’t enough. A man’s scream of fear was cut off as he tripped a mine. The sound of an explosion was replaced by rifle fire. Everyone fell flat as bullets whined around them. The commandos’ numbers were impossible to determine, but they were making their presence felt.

Tony blew snow out of his face and looked for Hooter. Like any good wingman, he was back a little and to one side.

Crawling backward, Tony moved next to John and punched him in the shoulder. Hooter looked at him questioningly, and Tony pointed over to where the mine had detonated.

Tony turned without waiting for answer and started crawling. Off to his left, men lay or crouched in the snow, firing at targets he couldn’t see. The effort of moving while staying flat to the ground tired him but kept him warm as well.

In front of him the snow was streaked with brown and gray. His eyes followed the lines back to the source, where a small depression was the only sign of the mine’s presence. He crawled a little farther, and another sign of its presence revealed itself.

The man lay on his back, half-covered by snow and debris. Tony could see a dark patch on his chest, and his face was bloody, dripping onto the snow.

As the pilots crawled up to him, he moaned. At least they hadn’t crawled all this way for nothing. Bullets whizzed over them, and it was obvious that the first thing to do was get him out of here.

Grabbing his arms, they started crawling away from the fighting. Occasionally a rifle bullet would remind them of which direction to go.

They reached a small fold in the ground, and Tony yelled for Hughes. The aid man came running and professionally eased in to attend the wounds.

After a few minutes the soldier moaned and his eyelids flickered. Hughes sounded positive. “He’s got two light wounds. The one in the chest needs surgery, but he should make it fine. Thank you, sirs.”

They had heard other men fall. Tony started to head back. “Come on, Hooter. No rest for the weary.”

Yi looked at his command. With seven men at the start of the fight, the odds were against him. He was down to two now, just himself and a private on the detonator for the bridge. There was no point in waiting any longer.

Tony and Hooter were resting between trips, congratulating themselves on not getting hit themselves, when there was an earth-shattering KABOOM! They could see a large cloud of smoke and dust to the south.

Hutchins jumped up and shouted, “That’s it! They’ve blown the bridge! They know they’ve lost.”

As Hutchins’s men had advanced, each trip to their impromptu aid station had gotten longer. Tony was creeping forward, with Hooter behind him, when he realized that they could see a small building, and that someone in it was shooting.

They flattened, Tony wiping snow off his face again. Looking left and right, he could see the troops pouring fire into the doors and windows. This went on for some time, when suddenly there was a whooshing sound and a smoke trail drew a line from the trees to the building. A second joined it, and the twin explosions tore chunks out of the walls, blew out the windows, and finally collapsed the roof.

There was no more firing.