The Pacific Rim Collection

by Don Brown

  The soldiers exchanged confused glances. Then the original interrogator seemed to regain his bearings.

  “I still need to see identification papers.”

  “You want to see papers, do you?” Now! He whipped the .45 out from his belt. “My papers, soldier, are pointed between your eyes! Would you like a closer look? Perhaps at the ink on my papers? I will give you a hint! The ink on my papers is made of lead!” He stepped forward, closer to the swine.

  “I am Inspector Jung-Hoon of the National Security Agency. No member of the National Security Agency must produce papers to anyone in the Democratic People’s Republic, Comrade Soldier, and, no offense, but especially not to an enlisted member of the armed forces. Now what is your name, soldier?”

  No response.

  “I am speaking to you, Comrade Soldier!” he screamed and walked closer, pistol straight out, gripped in both hands. “Your name … and place your military identification on the counter! Now!”

  The big he-man soldier raised both hands in the air. His hands and arms were shaking. His mouth hung open and a glaze of shock had set into his eyes. The he-man had morphed from a cocky swashbuckling piece of Communist trash to a scared snow dog. His two young Army colleagues did not look much better.

  “Do you have a problem hearing, Comrade Soldier?” Jung-Hoon screamed at the top of his lungs. “I am going to count to five. And if your military identification card is not on that counter by then, I will blow your head off! One … two …”

  “Wait … wait, Comrade.” The bantam cowered. “I will do as you say.”

  “Then do it!”

  The dog-wimp removed his military badge and, like a compliant sheep, laid it on the counter.

  “Clerk! Read this man’s name.”

  “Kim. Sergeant Kim. Kim Wong-sai.”

  “Well now, Sergeant Kim Wong-sai, what are you doing out here in the dead of night? Away from your duty station? Do you think Dear Leader will be happy to learn that you are out getting drunk on soju rather than attending to your military responsibilities?”

  The sergeant stared back, speechless.

  “Again I ask. What are your duties? I demand an answer!”

  “My mission is to form a lookout for three US Navy SEALs believed to be coming ashore from the sea!”

  “At last! Now do you believe that you can leave here and focus on your mission and cease harassing citizens and dignitaries whose concern is not part of your mission?”

  “Yes, Comrade Inspector!”

  “Very well,” Jung-Hoon said. “The only reason I did not blow your head off is because of the grave importance of your mission to the national security. But hear this! My eyes are on you the rest of the night, Comrade Sergeant Kim! I will be invisible. I am your worst nightmare. Now if you think you can behave yourself and get to your duty station, I might even let this incident pass without mentioning your bumbling incompetence to your superiors. But one slipup, Comrade, and I will be delivering your brains to your mother for breakfast in the morning. Am I clear on this?”

  “Yes, very clear, Comrade Inspector. Thank you, Comrade Inspector.”

  “Good. Now get out before I change my mind!”

  The three hurried out the door, jumped into their jeep, and rolled out of the parking lot, their taillights soon swallowed by the thickening snowfall.

  The clerk stood there, wide-eyed. “I just now remember that we do have one bottle of alcohol left, Inspector.”

  “Excellent!” Jung-Hoon stuck the pistol back inside his belt. “I am pleased to see that your memory has suddenly improved.”

  The clerk hurried to a back room and returned with the bottle of alcohol.

  Just then, another set of headlights flashed into the building from the parking lot. Jung-Hoon reached back for the .45, but as the headlights dimmed, he saw an elderly white-headed man, wrinkles clearly visible from inside the store, get out of the van. The old man closed the door of the van behind him, then limped slowly through the snow toward the store.

  “You know him?” Jung-Hoon asked, removing his hand from the pistol.

  “He is Eun Ji-won,” the clerk said. “A local plumber. Regular customer. Comes for petrol and soju.”

  The door opened. “Comrade. Comrade.” The older man waved and spoke in a friendly tone. He reminded Jung-Hoon of an uncle who had long since passed away. “You are working late tonight, Comrade Clerk.”

  “A special occasion tonight, Eun Ji-won,” the clerk said.

  “Perhaps you could sell an old man some soju so he can get to sleep and petrol so he can get up early in the morning and go fix broken toilets in a Hongwon apartment building.” The old man’s voice whined from age and cracked a couple of times.

  “I have soju, Eun Ji-won,” the clerk said, “but I can only provide petrol to military vehicles until further notice.”

  “Until further notice?” The man looked perplexed. “What does that mean? I have job in Hongwon. I need the money.”

  “Sorry, old friend,” the clerk said. “Perhaps in the morning. Perhaps not. You come back then and I will let you know.”

  “Old man,” Jung-Hoon said, “there is good news for you tonight.”

  The old man turned and looked at Jung-Hoon.

  “I am Inspector Jung-Hoon of the National Security Agency in Pyongyang. I am instructing the clerk that your request for petrol is approved as a special-needs exception to tonight’s military-only rule.” He looked at the clerk. “Do not worry, Comrade Clerk. I have verbal authority directly from Kim Jong-un personally to override the policy by special exception on a case-by-case basis, and I believe this to be such a case. This man’s work is of high importance. Unsanitary conditions in an apartment complex due to malfunctioning toilets are a danger to public health. Do not worry. I will pay you cash immediately from a special government fund.” Jung-Hoon whipped out enough won to pay for two tanks of petrol and put it on the counter. “You are authorized to keep the excess for your personal use, to spend as you see fit. However, you are not authorized to tell anyone about this, or the consequences will be grave.”

  The clerk’s eyes widened as he counted the won. “Yes. Thank you, Comrade Inspector.”

  “Very well,” Jung-Hoon said. “I will help our friend here pump his petrol. I will check in on you soon. Remember, you are not to speak to anyone concerning anything that you have seen and heard this night.”

  “Yes, Inspector!”

  Jung-Hoon opened the front door and held it for the old man, who stepped back out into the falling snow. “Does the heater work in your van?”

  “Yes, a little.”

  “Good, then go start the engine and sit in the van and turn the heater on. Get warm. I will pump your petrol.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.”

  Jung-Hoon walked the old man back to the van and began pumping his petrol. After the petrol topped off, Jung-Hoon put the nozzle back onto the pump.

  He walked around to the driver’s side of the van. The old man had rolled his window halfway down. “You are kind, Inspector.”

  “How much will you make tomorrow, Eun Ji-won?”

  When the old man told him, Jung-Hoon asked, “How would you like it if tonight you were paid a whole year’s wages and I were to purchase your van for twice what it is worth?”

  The old man raised an eyebrow. His wrinkles became more pronounced. “I am afraid I do not understand, Inspector.”

  “As you heard, there is a military operation going on tonight in the area. Dear Leader is in need of every vehicle available tonight. I can pay you cash now. An entire year’s wages and twice the value of your van. Are you interested in serving Dear Leader? Are you willing to accept this token of cash gratitude from Pyongyang?”

  The old man’s eyes lit up and sparkled like stars on a clear night. “I am happy to serve Dear Leader in any way I can, Comrade Inspector.”

  “Very well. I will report your cooperation to Dear Leader. But there is one caveat.”

  “A cave
at? What is that?”

  “I will pay you now, but I need your van immediately for the state’s business. Are you able to make it home?”

  “Ha, ha! For that kind of money, I would walk in the dark and snow to Pyongyang! Besides, my house is only two kilometers from here.”

  “Good.” Jung-Hoon pulled out a wad of cash, flipped through it, and handed it to the old man. A wide smile crossed his wrinkled face, revealing a toothless gumline.

  “That enough?” Jung-Hoon asked.

  “Yes, this will be perfect.” The old plumber looked from the money in his hand to Jung-Hoon and smiled.

  “Then I ask you to step out of the van now.”

  “Of course, Inspector.” He got out. The limp in his step had almost become a spring. “Thank you again, Inspector,” he said, still counting the wad of cash as he headed away from the station, as if he wanted to take the money and run before Jung-Hoon changed his mind.

  Jung-Hoon smiled. He got into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and put the van in first gear.

  East coast of North Korea

  along the road between Iwon and Sinch’ang

  The snowfall had turned into a near blizzard, filling the night air with huge snowflakes. And while the thick snowfall would temporarily help hide their position from the North Korean military, it also obstructed their view of the petrol store.

  “I don’t like this,” Jackrabbit snarled. “Not being able to see. He’s been gone twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll bet you’ll like it less if that arm of yours develops gangrene,” Gunner said.

  “Gangrene in this weather? It could wait till tomorrow,” Jackrabbit argued. “Besides, Jung-Hoon said he had a pharmacist contact in Hongwon. The last thing we need is to get stuck in this God-forsaken place without a translator.”

  “I thought you spoke Korean, Jackrabbit.”

  “Yeah, I do, but my Korean sticks out like the color of my skin up here. Enough of a sore thumb to get us both shot.”

  “Maybe we should go look for him.”

  Bright headlights flashed through the snowfall from the direction of the store. “Back up, Commander. Got a vehicle coming this way. Get your gun.”

  “Roger that.”

  The vehicle moved slowly toward them, its windshield wipers flapping and squeaking, its motor whining. Just before it reached their position, it pulled over and stopped on their side of the road.

  His heart pounding, Gunner aimed the M-16 at the van and adjusted his eyes through the night scope. He worked the action — cha-chink — bringing a .223-caliber bullet into firing position. A couple of trees over to his right, Jackrabbit aimed his rifle at the same target.

  With the motor still running, the headlights went dark. A second passed. The headlights flashed on again. Gunner held his rifle on the driver’s door. A few more seconds passed and the signal was repeated. Lights off. Lights on. Lights off.

  A creaking noise cut through the night. The driver’s door opened. Gunner tightened his finger on the trigger, waiting.

  A figure emerged, hands straight up in the air. “Do not shoot! It is Jung-Hoon.”

  Gunner brought his night scope on the man’s face, then smiled and lowered his rifle.

  “I’ll be,” Jackrabbit said.

  “We have a ride!” the Korean shouted through the snow. “Get in the van! Fast, before another Army jeep drives by.”

  “I don’t know how he pulled it off, but let’s take him up on it, Commander.”

  “Right,” Gunner said. He picked up his backpack and, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, emerged from the treeline and crossed the shallow ditch to the van on the side of the road.

  “Stick the supplies in back, Commander. I bought this … excuse me … you bought this from a North Korean plumber. We have all types of tools in the back that might be helpful. Shovels, wire cutters.”

  “No windows in the back. I like it,” Gunner said. He opened the back door of the van and started slinging supplies inside. “Good work, Jung-Hoon.”

  “One more pack,” Jackrabbit said. “I’ll get it.”

  Gunner got into the back of the van. A moment later, Jackrabbit returned with the rest of the supplies, tossed them in the back, and slammed the door. Jung-Hoon got into the driver’s seat and Jackrabbit sat in the passenger seat.

  “Okay,” Jung-Hoon said. “We must get turned around. Hongwin is back that way.”

  “Let’s go!” Gunner said.

  Jung-Hoon flipped on the headlights. The snowfall was now so thick that the high beams created a near-blinding reflection. Jung-Hoon dimmed the high beams, then began executing a three-point turn in the road. A moment later, they drove slowly back in the direction of the store.

  “How far to Hongwon?” Gunner asked.

  “Thirty miles,” Jung-Hoon replied. “In this weather, that could take a while. At least the road is relatively flat.”

  “The road may be flat, but the road is not straight,” Jackrabbit said. “And the Sea of Japan is over that ledge to our left. I don’t want to go back in the water tonight.”

  “Do not worry,” Jung-Hoon said. “No more swimming tonight.” They passed the store on their right and continued along the winding, snowy coastal road, their headlights piercing the dark.

  “This would be a great time to alternate getting some shut-eye,” Jackrabbit said. “We’ll go in shifts. Commander, you go first. I’ll wake you in two hours. When we get closer to Hongwon, we’ll pull over on some back road and let Jung-Hoon catch a couple.”

  “Sounds great,” Gunner said. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and listened to the roar of the engine and the sound of a wiper against the snow.

  Ten minutes later, they approached another parked military jeep on the left. Two soldiers were looking out to sea with binoculars. As the van approached, one soldier turned.

  “Guns ready, gentlemen,” Jackrabbit said. “If they stop us, we’re gonna have to take ‘em out.”

  Gunner held his breath, clutched his gun, and prayed.

  CHAPTER 23

  East coast of North Korea

  on the road to Hongwon

  The van rolled past the jeep. The soldier who had turned and seen them coming just watched as they drove by. He made no attempt to stop the van. He didn’t even alert the other soldier.

  Two minutes later, they rounded another curve and were beyond the military observation post, once again alone on the winding, snowy road overlooking the sea.

  “That was a break,” Gunner said. He leaned his head back again. He needed sleep. They all needed sleep. Two hours. He could sleep for two hours. He closed his eyes.

  Hey, Commander. Wake up, sleepin’ beauty.” Jackrabbit’s voice interrupted the rhythmic back-forth, back-forth tranquility of the lone working wiper against the windshield.

  Gunner looked out and saw a light snowfall and a dark two-lane road in front of them. “What happened to the snow?”

  “Still getting a little bit,” Jackrabbit said. “But it’s died down.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Three twenty.”

  “Three twenty? I thought we were taking two-hour shifts.”

  “We were,” Jackrabbit said, “but then we came through the first little town, and then the second little town, and I decided that if anyone needed to take a shot for any reason, it’d be better if I were awake and you were asleep.”

  “Oh.” Gunner rubbed his eyes. “You trying to say I’m not good with a gun? Hey, I’m an ex-NRA junior shooting champ. How do you think I got my nickname? I nailed every bull’s-eye they put out in front of me on the range. After that, the name ‘Gunner’ stuck.”

  “Impressive, Commander. I’ve got a feeling that before this trip’s over, we’ll find out just how good a shooter you are.”

  “Bring it on. Where are we?”

  “A few miles from Hongwon,” Jung-Hoon said.

  “We’re going to pull off on the next road,” Jackrabbit said, “and wait until d
awn. Your turn to carry the watch, Commander. Up to it?”

  “Since you let me sleep all night, I should be.”

  “Up there.” Jackrabbit pointed to a side road. “That looks isolated.”

  “Let’s check it.” Jung-Hoon turned the van onto the narrow gravel road and drove about a hundred yards.

  “Nobody up here, no tracks,” Jackrabbit said. “Looks like we’re in the back forty.”

  Jung-Hoon executed a three-point turn very carefully, for the road had a layer of fresh snow on it and deep ditches. He then pulled onto the side of the road. The van was facing east, toward the Sea of Japan, headed in the direction of the main road they had just been on.

  “Looks good to me,” Jackrabbit said. “We’ve got a long day ahead. You ready to take the watch, Commander?”

  Gunner picked up his rifle and moved to the front of the van. “You boys get some shut-eye back there. You’re in good hands.”

  Kim Yong-nam Prison Camp

  The body of his dearest friend was wrapped in a blanket just a few feet from where Keith was digging his grave. He’d been told to dig in a spot where a grave had already been started but not used. He needed to dig deeper. He slammed the shovel down again and got the tip to cut in. He stepped on the shovel with his foot, and it dug in more. He picked up a small clod of earth and slung it out of the hole. He kept working, promising his friend that he’d have a proper grave.

  The thick clouds that had brought the snow had departed. The sky was a rich blue.

  Perhaps it was never true, Keith thought as he worked. That saying that was pounded into his head all those years ago during that sweltering sand-gnat-infested summer in the salt marshes around Parris Island, South Carolina. He was but a teenager back then. A young boot camp recruit. Boys on the verge of manhood are prone to believe anything they are told. The words came back to him, as if playing on some unstoppable mental tape.

  Once a Marine always a Marine.

  Marines don’t let themselves get captured — especially not Marine Corps officers.

  Marines don’t cry.

  If all that was really true, he thought, as he slammed the shovel into the ground again, if Marines don’t cry, then why were tears dripping from his eyes, falling in the grave?