The Pacific Rim Collection

by Don Brown

  Either the saying was a lie — and he had been fooled in boot camp — or he was never a true Marine to begin with.

  Keith slammed the shovel in the ground again and threw the chunk of earth he broke loose out of the hole. His knees ached and his arms burned as he worked. Again and again he slammed the shovel down, breaking through small clods of ground, picking them up, heaving them out of the grave, sometimes with his bare hands. A knifing pain shot through his back as he chucked more dirt out of the grave.

  But no matter how much pain he suffered, no matter how much burning, no matter how many tears dropped to the ground, Keith knew he would not give up. Robert was his friend, his best friend, and Robert would be laid to rest among their comrades here on this mountain with all the honor and dignity that a United States Marine deserved.

  Hongwon

  North Korea

  Gunner looked through the windshield of the moving van and got his first view of the downtown area of a North Korean city. If not for the snow piled along the sidewalks and the snow-covered mountains to the west, Hongwon could have passed for a ghost town in the West. The streets were nearly empty. Only a few small cars were moving. Empty parking places abounded in front of empty and abandoned buildings. Most of the storefronts were boarded up, barred up, empty.

  The town’s main drag, Kim-Il-sung Boulevard, had only a few people milling about. A couple were ambling in and out of the business establishments. Gunner watched one man walk down the street aimlessly, as if he had nowhere to go. Several came out of a building and headed toward the van. The faces were expressionless, like stone. The number of civilians seemed matched by an equal number of green-jacketed Army personnel and a matching number of blue-jacketed police officers walking along the street.

  “If GPS is correct, the pharmacy should be on the right,” Jung-Hoon said. “I will pull over here.” He parked the van on the right side of the street and turned off the key. “Here, take the keys, Jackrabbit. If something goes wrong, drive to the spot where we spent the night. I will find you. I will be back in a few minutes.”

  “Good luck, Jung-Hoon,” Gunner said.

  Jung-Hoon got out of the van, slammed the door, and headed down the sidewalk.

  Jung-Hoon looked up, trying to find the sign for the pharmacy that he thought should be about three doors down. He almost collided with two policemen who stepped from a storefront just a few feet ahead of him, but he moved out of their way just in time. Each wore a black service belt with a pistol holster on one side and a riot stick on the other. They were deep in conversation, talking and gesturing with their hands, when suddenly they saw him and stopped talking.

  “Ahn yang haseo, officers,” Jung-Hoon said, dipping his head slightly.

  “Ahn yang haseo, citizen,” one officer replied.

  Jung-Hoon walked on, eyes straight ahead, and held his breath as he waited for some order to stop. To turn around. But none came. The two kept right on walking and talking. They were headed toward the van.

  Jung-Hoon took four more steps, then glanced back over his shoulder. The police had not yet reached the van. He wondered if the old van’s presence, parked alone on the side of the street with no other vehicles nearby, would snag their attention. Not that either of them stood an ice cube’s chance in hell of winning a shootout with Jackrabbit, but a bloody shootout here and now would be a serious complication.

  Jung-Hoon slowed his pace, took a few more steps, then quickly glanced over his shoulder again. The officers had passed the van and were walking briskly on down the sidewalk.

  When he turned back, he saw the small sign, maybe three feet in length, hung over the next stone storefront: EAST SEA PHARMACY — A DARK CLINIC.

  Jung-Hoon pulled open the door. The front area was empty. No customers, no clerk. He walked to the back of the store, where a man and a woman, both middle-aged, both dressed in white pharmacy coats, stood behind a counter. They were looking down and shuffling paperwork.

  The man looked up.

  Jung-Hoon said, “Pardon me, Comrade Pharmacist, but I need topical antibiotic for a cut to prevent infection.”

  “I am sorry. Pharmacy opens at nine,” the man said. “Come back then. First we must complete government paperwork. I shall check for antibiotics. Supplies are low from the government these days.”

  The man looked down and resumed his paperwork. The woman never looked up. Jung-Hoon was not surprised. Korean women, especially North Korean women living under the totalitarian regime of Dear Leader, were often reluctant to make eye contact with men.

  Jung-Hoon let a few seconds pass, then spoke again. “Peace be with you.”

  These words brought the eyes of both pharmacists up from the paperwork. “And also with you,” the man said.

  “Fear not,” Jung-Hoon said, “for I am with thee.”

  The woman responded with, “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

  Then Jung-Hoon said, “In my father’s house, there are many mansions.”

  “You are from Pastor Lee!” The woman’s face beamed from ear to ear.

  “Yes,” Jung-Hoon said. “I am from Pastor Lee.”

  “Wait, please,” the man said. “I must lock the front door.” The man rushed to the front of the store, twisted the dead bolt in place, then turned and, with a smile on his face bigger than the woman’s smile, rushed back. “Welcome, my brother.” The pharmacist threw his arms wide open and held Jung-Hoon in a bear hug. “We are Mr. and Mrs. Jeong. Any friend of Pastor Lee is a friend of ours.” They each gave a half bow.

  “Ahn yang haseo, Mister and Mrs. Jeong, of whom I have heard many good things from Pastor Lee. I am Jung-Hoon.” He returned a half bow to each of them.

  Their faces changed from smiles to looks of astonishment. They exchanged glances, then Mr. Jeong said, “Was it your brother …”

  “Yes,” Jung-Hoon said, “they murdered my brother. He was on a mission trip through Pastor Lee.”

  “We are sorry,” Mr. Jeong said. “We met your brother once. He was a wonderful Christian man.”

  “My brother was a better Christian than me,” Jung-Hoon said. “Although I am a friend of Pastor Lee, I do not go to church like my brother did. I want to kill Communists too much to be a good Christian.”

  “We know your reputation, Jung-Hoon. Many in the North know of you. You are a great freedom fighter for Korea. We stand with you.”

  “Thank you,” Jung-Hoon said. “Pastor Lee said you might be able to help.”

  “Anything.”

  “First, it is true, I do need topical antibiotic.”

  “What sort of injury?”

  “Gunshot.”

  “I see. We are low on inventory. Government supplies always low. I think we have one tube. Would you please check, my dear?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Jeong nodded and walked down an aisle about halfway. She reached up on a high shelf. “We have one.” She gave the yellow tube to Jung-Hoon.

  “Kamsamnida.” He thanked her in Korean.

  “Chu-man-ay-oh,” she responded and nodded.

  “Second, Pastor Lee said I should ask you about escape routes out of North Korea.”

  “Do you know the military already thinks there are Navy SEALs in the area?”

  “Yes, thank you for the warning.”

  “Hmm. You want to escape by land, sea, or air?”

  “By air if we can find a private plane.”

  “Hmm.” The pharmacist looked down at the counter, then back up at Jung-Hoon. “Not many private aircraft in North Korea. Most planes are controlled by Dear Leader and the government. But if you can make it across the border, across the Amnok River — you know it as the Yalu — we have missionary friends with access to a seaplane in Dandong, China.”

  “Really?” Jung-Hoon raised an eyebrow. “What kind of seaplane?”

  “Not big. Small with pontoons. Carries five, maybe six people. They keep it in the Yalu River on the Chinese side, several miles downstream from Dandong.”

  �
��Interesting,” Jung Hoon said. “And we could use this plane?”

  “The plane is officially a charter tourist plane run by Christians. All Christian missionaries in China and North Korea must operate some sort of front business. But I know the owner. It is part of a network of Christians who help people escape from the North. He has helped North Koreans escape, and if I ask him, I think he will let you use the plane. But you have to pay for fuel.”

  Jung-Hoon smiled. “We may end up paying for more than fuel if we make it that far.”

  “I do not understand,” the pharmacist said.

  “Perhaps we could buy the plane? For a very good price, of course. You could ask them?”

  The pharmacist thought about what Jung-Hoon had said, then he nodded. “I will ask them. I can see how that might be necessary.”

  “Good. You have a map? It would help for me to see the route on a map.”

  “Yes, of course.” The pharmacist reached in a drawer, pulled out a map, and spread it out on the counter in front of them.

  “Here you can see Hongwon. It is marked with the star right here on the east coast,” the pharmacist said. “To the west, straight across the Korean peninsula, almost due west of us and across the Yalu River, is Dandong, China. It is marked with the other star. If you can cross the border, we have Christian contacts in China to help you get to Dandong.”

  North Korea, two white stars, Hongwon and Dandong, China

  “Excellent,” Jung-Hoon said. “Please contact your friends in China. Ask them to be on standby to help us get to Dandong if we get across the border. And to please have the plane ready.”

  “Yes, of course, Jung-Hoon.” The man bowed. “How else may I be of service to you, my friend?”

  “You have cigarette?”

  “My wife and I, we do not smoke. But we sell Chinese cigarettes. Here. You like one for free?”

  “Not for free.” Jung-Hoon slipped enough North Korean won across the table to more than compensate for the pack and the antibiotic. Then he picked up the cigarettes, took one out, lit it, and took a drag. Then, lowering his voice, he said, “I have heard these hush-hush rumors of elderly Americans still being held from the Korean War. These rumors, in my opinion, come from credible sources.” Another drag. “What do you think, my friend?”

  Mr. Jeong slid him an ashtray. “Rumors are true. Only one camp, and only a few Americans are left. We hear one died yesterday.”

  “Oh? What caused him to die?”

  “We do not know.”

  “Hmm,” Jung-Hoon mused. “And where is this camp located?”

  “About forty miles away. Near the small town of Youngwang, on Songch’on River. North of Hamhung. I have never seen it. You should speak with Dr. Kaesong at Hongwon State Psychiatric Hospital. He is the director of the hospital. It is more like a small state-funded clinic. Not many employees and few patients anymore. Unless the state needs to teach someone a lesson. Dr. Kaesong is a Christian, he is one of us, and has Christians on staff. He came here earlier this morning. He has a woman patient who works at the prison camp. The commanding officer of the prison camp burned the woman on the neck with cigarettes because she took medicine to try and help one of the old American prisoners who was sick.”

  “Some lesson.” He flicked ashes into the ashtray.

  “Yes, they do that.”

  “And you say this woman is still a patient at the hospital?”

  “Yes. The doctor says she will be there several days.”

  “And do you think it would be possible for me to speak with this Dr. Kaesong and his patient?”

  The couple looked at each other and exchanged nods. “Yes. I will take you to the hospital now if you like. My wife will stay here and run pharmacy. Let me call the doctor and tell him we are coming.”

  “Excellent,” Jung-Hoon said. He stuffed the antibiotic, the cigarettes, and the matches in a front pocket. “And I have some American friends I want you to meet.”

  Kim Yong-nam Prison Camp

  Two guards, the two older ones, lowered Robert’s body into the grave. Then they reached down and pulled the blanket over Robert’s head. Kang, the whipmaster, stood at the head of the grave, lording over the whole procedure like a god, a look of hatred on his face.

  The two guards stood up. They reached over and took the shovels that Keith and Frank had used to dig the grave, effectively relieving the old men of any further grave-digging duties.

  The two guards silently began shoveling chunks of earth on top of the blanket-covered body. The way they worked seemed like a small act of human kindness in a prison camp so focused on brutality.

  As soon as dirt completely covered the body of his friend, Keith could no longer hold back the tears, Marine or no Marine. He still had Frank, but Robert was his brother. Their bond had been forged forever the day Robert saved his life. And the bond had held through all they had endured as prisoners through all the many years.

  Now Robert was gone. The image of his friend disappearing forever under the soil of the earth ripped apart Keith’s soul.

  What now did he have to live for? Where was hope? Where was joy?

  “Let me die fast, Lord. If you are still there, take me home,” he whispered.

  Approaching Hongwon State Psychiatric Hospital Hongwon

  North Korea

  The gravel road snaked through a forest of evergreens. Snow covered the ground. They saw no tire tracks.

  Jung-Hoon was behind the wheel, and their new pharmacist friend, Mr. Jeong, sat in the passenger seat, speaking Korean and pointing out front as if giving directions.

  According to Jung-Hoon, who translated the words of Mr. Jeong as he drove, they would soon arrive at the hospital. Mr. Jeong described it as a poorly funded and largely forgotten state-run psychiatric clinic. The doctor in charge of the place, a Christian nurse who is his ally, and the patient from the prison camp would be waiting for them. All would verify the existence of the camp still holding the elderly Americans, Mr. Jeong assured them.

  This confirmation, that there actually were Americans nearby, had sent Gunner’s heart racing. The information seemed too good to be true, obtained too easily, too soon. In fact, since their firefight with the North Korean sailors in the boarding craft, their travel down the coast to this point had been relatively unobstructed, without any serious opposition that Jung-Hoon couldn’t handle. Was it really this easy to move around North Korea? And now, to have the information they were looking for suddenly fall into their laps! Gunner felt an uneasiness. Was their luck about to run out? Were they headed into a trap?

  They rounded the last bend in the road and entered a large clearing in the woods, a quarter of the size of one of the family peanut fields back at Corbin Hall. At the far end of the clearing was a one-story building with a couple of cars parked in front. The building looked like a large medical clinic or a small hospital. The few windows boarded over made it look dilapidated.

  The circular driveway at the front appeared to continue all the way around to the back of the building. At the front door stood a single North Korean guard with a pistol. Mr. Jeong said something to Jung-Hoon.

  “What’d he say?” Gunner asked.

  “He says get in the far back of the van, out of sight. He will tell the guard that we are going to deliver pharmacy supplies to the director at the back of the building.”

  Gunner and Jackrabbit moved to the far back corner of the van with their M-16s. Mr. Jeong opened the door and got out. A few seconds later, he returned, speaking rapid Korean to Jung-Hoon.

  “He says the guard cleared us to go around back. The doctor will be waiting for us there. No one is in the back of the building except the doctor, nurse, and patient.”

  “Excellent,” Gunner said.

  Jung-Hoon drove around to the back of the hospital and parked. Gunner and Jackrabbit heard more Korean spoken. Then Jung-Hoon said, “He says wait here a minute.”

  They heard a tap on the driver’s-side window. Gunner pointed his rifle
toward the back doors of the van as Jung-Hoon rolled the window down. A voice in broken but understandable English said, “Colonel Jung-Hoon. I am Doctor Kaesong. This is an honor. You and your friends, follow me.”

  “Peace be with you,” Jung-Hoon said.

  “And also with you,” the doctor responded.

  “Fear not,” Jung-Hoon said, “for I am with thee.”

  The doctor responded with, “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

  “You do that well even in English, Doctor,” Jung-Hoon said.

  Gunner and Jackrabbit looked at each other. Jung-Hoon opened the door and stepped out.

  No shots yet.

  Gunner looked at Jackrabbit. “I’ll go. You cover. You know what to do if this is a setup.”

  “Got your back, Commander.”

  Gunner laid down his rifle — too intimidating if these people really were allies — but he tucked his pistol in the back of his belt. He opened the back door of the van — light poured in — and he stepped out.

  A smiling middle-aged Korean man wearing a white medical jacket and an old stethoscope stood beside Jung-Hoon.

  Jackrabbit, apparently satisfied there was no immediate danger, got out of the van without his rifle.

  “Please follow me,” the doctor said.

  Jackrabbit gave Gunner a quick and subtle it’s-okay nod, and they fell in line behind Jung-Hoon and the pharmacist.

  The doctor opened the door of the building, and they hurried down a long hallway that stretched all the way to the front of the building, where the guard was posted outside. They walked down the hall about fifteen feet. The doctor opened a door on the left and said, “Please, come in.”

  Gunner was last to enter the large room, which resembled an operating room, complete with an operating table in the middle of the floor. Two women, both midthirtyish, stood up when they entered. One wore a long white nurse’s uniform, something that looked vintage 1950s. The other had on a long black dress down to her ankles. On the side of her neck was a gauze patch.

  “This is my nurse.” The doctor nodded at the woman in white. “If it is okay, I will not give her name. Security reasons.”