Devil's Fork

by Spencer Adams

CHAPTER 35

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT / THURSDAY MORNING

  Northeast Coast, North Korea

  Tom holstered his silenced Sig Saur pistol. The patrol had moved on up the hill towards the road behind him. He sat and listened for a moment.

  While he had been moving away from the road, he had seen a KPA fireteam approaching him in line formation. He was coming down a small hill as they were approaching about 100 feet away. He had remembered a key acronym from SERE training: BLISS. He used it to find the right hiding spot:

  Blend

  Low Silhouette

  Irregular Shape

  Small

  Secluded location

  He had found the right shelter at the bottom of the small hill. There was an opening under the spot where a fallen tree rested on a rock. It was a small spot that was quite dark, matching his completely black uniform. Tom liked the spot because it was low and the tall grass at the base gave him some additional cover. He had slipped into the shelter right as the unaware fireteam had been approaching.

  He was laying there as the team walked towards him. He was expecting them to continue up the hill. However, they had stopped right in front of him. Tom had aligned his M4 with his body in the hole so that the KPA team would not see a strange barrel sticking out of the rock in front of them. But he expected to be found within seconds, so he had pulled his Sig Saur pistol out of his holster and aimed it at them. He aimed right between the eyes of the soldier who seemed to be the officer—the man who seemed to be calling out orders and was playing with his broken radio.

  This could be the time where I really find out if I’m still at the expert pistol standard.

  This fireteam in front of Tom looked as if it had decided to take a break. The officer was trying to repair his radio. It spat out harsh sounds, like a ‘90s TV during a power surge. Tom smiled.

  That’s good. Their comms look terrible.

  The soldiers at the officer’s right were staring up the hill but those to his left were staring at the fallen tree. They did not look like they were searching for anything. They seemed to be just eyeing the irregular shape directly in front of them.

  Tom held his aim. He knew that if one of them discovered him, Tom could shoot all five before they had even realized what they had seen. That’s the pistol standard with which he tested himself back at Yongsan Garrison.

  After the officer had fixed his radio, he received some kind of message and went up the hill with his men.

  Now Tom had paused long enough where he was confident the fireteam was a safe distance away from him. He felt he needed to begin moving again. He rolled out of the comfortable hole, rose to knee level, and looked around. He saw nothing but desolate woods, lit up only by his night vision goggles. He got up and started moving.

  He kept a speed of one full second per step. He felt that was the optimal medium between speed and silence. He looked at his GPS watch. He was moving parallel to the road. He looked back up as he continued to move silently. Trees were approaching him like buildings on a street block. As he walked, he would take a step left, or a step right to avoid them, paying attention not to brush against them.

  He could not hear any patrols, but he heard the sounds of a civilization of birds and insects, singing their songs. They were chatting, trying to impress each other like many people do, he thought.

  Tom was not unfamiliar with operating in environments like these. This is exactly the purpose of the SAD. By definition, any intelligence that could be collected in a major city in what was considered a normal country, could be infiltrated by traditional intelligence officers. They could work at companies, agencies, or embassies. They could live in houses or apartments and be a part of a society. But Tom always found himself running around in sparsely populated areas, far removed from society, but typically not far from military installations. He did this to protect society, one that he sometimes saw. But on every mission, as he found himself hidden in a ditch, on a mountaintop, near a sand dune, or like now in a dark forest, he asked himself if there was anything he would rather do. He always replied “no” to himself. One appreciates the comforts of civilization only by removing oneself from them. Going on these missions maintained that appreciation, he believed. It seemed like a paradox.

  As Tom was moving through a thick patch of trees, he suddenly thought he heard something to his left. He quickly stuffed himself into a small corner created by several trees and tall plants. The corner created a one-way entrance out of which Tom stared, with his M4 pointed in front of him. He listened carefully for a branch to break or a twig to split. He used James-Lange by trying to let his upper arms loosen up. He let his jaw hang for a moment too. It helped – he could feel his heart slowing despite the sudden excitement. He heard nothing – no voices talked and none of the vegetation around made sounds of being disturbed by bodies. He was on one knee and with his back bent, slowly walked out of his corner hiding spot. When he was out, he looked around and made a 360 degree observation of his surroundings. With his night vision he would have been able to spot someone nearby, but he saw nothing. He must have heard a bird or small animal, he thought. He continued moving parallel to the road towards his next waypoint.