Thunder in the Morning Calm

by Don Brown

  She looked up at Gunner. Her black eyes had a soft, haunting beauty about them.

  “So it is true,” Gunner said, “Americans are still alive here.”

  Pak looked at the doctor, then at the nurse, then at Jung-Hoon. She appeared to be terrified.

  The nurse put her hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear.

  “She is afraid to talk about the camp,” Jung-Hoon said. “Dear Leader makes it a capital offense for anyone to mention it. She thinks we may be North Korean agents seeking to trap her so we have an excuse to cut off her head.”

  The nurse kept talking to Pak.

  “The nurse is telling her that no one here will report her to Dear Leader or to anyone at the prison. She says we all are against Dear Leader and are against Communists.”

  Pak kept nodding as the nurse spoke to her.

  Finally, when the nurse’s explanations seemed over, Jung-Hoon said, “Pak, let me show you something.” He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. He pointed at the tattoo of the man shoveling dirt on the North Korean flag.

  Pak looked at it and smiled. Then she burst into laughter.

  “Jackrabbit, show her yours,” Jung-Hoon said.

  “Sure, anything it takes.” Jackrabbit rolled up his sleeve, revealing the same tattoo.

  More laughter and head nodding. Even Gunner could not contain his laughter.

  Pak smiled and put up both hands, as if to say she needed no more convincing. “For the two old men who are left, I will tell what I know. If you are agents … I will have done what is right.”

  Gunner came back to his last question. “So it is true? There are Americans still in the camp?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is true.”

  “How many?”

  “Only two left now. There were three. One died yesterday. The one I tried to help.”

  “You know his name?”

  “His name was Robert. That is all I know.”

  Dear God, no! Gunner thought, then he asked, “Do you know his last name? Where he was from?”

  “No. Don’t know last name. He from USA.”

  “No, I mean where? Where in USA?”

  “Don’t know. Sorry. One time he mention … Vur …”

  Gunner’s heart jack-hammered. “Was it Virginia? Maybe Vermont?”

  “Not sure. Don’t know those places.”

  He took out the photograph of his grandfather in uniform. “This was my grandfather. He disappeared in Korea. Did he look anything like this?”

  Pak studied the photograph. “This young man. These old men. No recognize. Sorry.” She handed the photograph back.

  “Okay, okay,” Jackrabbit said. “It may or may not have been your grandfather, Commander. We’ve known all along that was a long shot. But the point is, this lady says some old Americans are in a camp somewhere nearby. I say if that’s the case, then let’s go get ‘em. Get ‘em out of there.”

  “Amen,” Gunner said.

  “Mind if I ask you a few questions, ma’am?” Jackrabbit said.

  Pak nodded.

  “What’s the name of this camp and how far away is it?”

  “Camp is Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp. I think from here, it is forty miles. I am not good with distances. Takes about one hour.”

  “She is right,” the doctor said. “About forty miles is right.”

  “Which direction?”

  “It is on Songch’on River near small town of Youngwang,” she said.

  “That is west of here,” Dr. Kaesong said.

  “How many guards are there?” Jackrabbit asked. “What kind of guns do they have? What does the camp have to keep people out? Walls? Fences?”

  “Not many guards. Two at front gate all the time. They stay outside with guns and guard front gate. Fence all around has much barbed wire at top. Inside, there are three guards. One very mean new guard named Kang. He takes bullwhip to prisoners and spits in their faces. The other day, he hit one of the prisoners across his foot with bullwhip. The colonel is commander of the camp. He has an assistant, a sergeant, who is … how you say … his mistress.

  “Three kitchen workers come and prepare meals. Arrive about eight and leave at seven. Not many people working at camp. Once many more people working there. More guards, more workers. More prisoners. But so many prisoners die. Now only two.”

  Gunner, Jackrabbit, and Jung-Hoon looked at one another. “Pak, can you draw us a map of the inside of the prison camp grounds?” Jackrabbit asked.

  “Yes, I can draw map.”

  The doctor passed her a sheet of paper, and she began to sketch. Finally she was satisfied. “Here,” she said, handing over the drawing.

  Gunner and Jung-Hoon hovered over Jackrabbit’s shoulders. “Hmm,” Jackrabbit said. “Looks like a simple layout. Main administration building. Guard residence. Prisoners’ residences. Mess hall. Nothing too complicated.” He looked at Pak. “Only one entrance into the camp?”

  “Yes. At the front guard station. Here.” She pointed.

  Jackrabbit eyed Jung-Hoon. “Sounds doable to me.”

  “Agreed,” Jung-Hoon said.

  “When it gets dark, we move in,” Jackrabbit said. “Pop off the guards at the front and try the heavy wire cutters at the gate. If that doesn’t work, we rig a little C4 and poof. We’re in. Jung-Hoon, you find the colonel and take him out. The commander and I take out the other three guards. We grab the prisoners and get the heck out of Dodge.”

  “Dodge?” Jung-Hoon said, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Forget it,” Jackrabbit said. “Doctor, we’ve got lots of supplies, but we’re short on medical stuff. Could we buy a couple of light stretchers and bandages? That sort of thing?”

  “Of course. Anything you need.”

  Jackrabbit looked at Pak. “Ma’am, we sure could use your help if you would be willing to come with us. You could help us locate the prisoners. But this could be very dangerous. We’ll understand if you don’t want to come.”

  Pak looked over at the nurse as if seeking her approval.

  Gunner spoke up. “Pak, if we can rescue these men, we are going to take them out of the country. We’ll take you with us too, if you want to come. You can request asylum in South Korea or America. My family can help you.”

  Pak again glanced at the nurse. The nurse nodded.

  “Yes, I will come.”

  “Thank you,” Gunner said. He turned to the doctor. “Once we get these guys out of the camp, what’s the best way out of here?”

  The pharmacist reached in his pocket and took out a folded paper. “I have a map of the escape route.”

  Route from prison (small white star) to China and into Korea Bay

  “That is fabulous,” Gunner said.

  Mr. Jeong spread out the map on a table. “This is the route we use to get people into China from this area.

  “We are here, near the four-point star, between Sinp’o and Hungnam. Prison camp is here, north of Hamhung. I have small white star there. Near town of Youngwang. A single-lane road goes north out of Youngwang about thirty miles. All roads in this area are narrow. Not much traffic and no big cities.

  “When you get to the town of Changjin, you turn left on road across mountains to Chonch’on. From there you take road to Wiwon, where you cross Yalu River into China. It is about eighty miles across the mountains from Changjin to the Yalu River and the Chinese border. It could take you three, maybe four hours.

  “When you get across the river, the missionaries will pick you up. You are about one hundred miles from Dandong, China. The seaplane is about ten miles farther. From there to Inchon, South Korea, is about a three-hundred-mile flight over Korea Bay and the Yellow Sea.”

  “So if all goes well,” Gunner said, “we could cross into China sometime after midnight and be aboard that plane by sunrise.”

  “Possibly,” Mr. Jeong said. “The good news — there are not many cars or police or Army on this route. But the bad news — the Yalu River is he
avily guarded by North Korean border guards who shoot anyone they see trying to cross. And if the Chinese capture you, they turn you back over to North Korean authorities.”

  “Can the Chinese be bought?” Gunner asked.

  “Yes, some can,” Mr. Jeong said. “Not all. Depends. If they are hardcore Communist, then no.”

  “You’ll need to save your money for that seaplane, Commander,” Jackrabbit reminded him.

  “One other question,” Gunner said. “How do we cross the river?”

  “You walk across,” Mr. Jeong said.

  “Walk?” Gunner said. “Only one man ever walked on water.”

  “Hah!” Mr. Jeong said. “Actually, two. Jesus and Peter. But this river is shallow and is frozen over from late November till March. So you will walk across. But be careful. Very slippery. And if they see you, there will be deadly gunfire.”

  “I appreciate the warning,” Gunner said.

  “I will pray that the One who first walked on water will be with you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jeong.”

  Jackrabbit looked at his watch. “I say we strike one hour after sundown. That gives us plenty of time to take care of business, get the men out of there, and get to China before the North Koreans wake up and realize what hit ‘em.”

  “Agreed,” Gunner said. “We strike one hour after sundown. Tonight is the night.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp

  Night had fallen over North Korea, and looming snow clouds had once again moved in from the Sea of Japan. This snow, however, differed from any that Gunner had ever seen. The large snowflakes floated down from clouds that flashed with lightning bolts, and after the flashes of lightning came booms of thunder.

  Thundersnow.

  Flash … Boom.

  He had heard of it. It was reported to have occurred in Manhattan in the Boxing Day blizzard of 2010. But Gunner had never before witnessed this rare phenomenon. Perhaps the snow, combined with the flashing and the booming thunderclaps, would serve as a well-timed distraction for what they were about to do.

  The prison camp was now less than a mile away. This was his plan, his brainchild. All that had tortured and twisted within him was racing toward a dramatic life-or-death climax. With this realization, a surprising case of nerves caught him off guard.

  He was an intelligence officer. He was not a Special Forces commando. But the plan called for him to perform like a commando. He and Jackrabbit were to advance on foot and eliminate the two front-gate guards while Jung-Hoon remained behind with the van.

  Once the guards were eliminated, Jung-Hoon would move up with the van to better position it for the getaway. That was the plan.

  “This is as close as we can get without being seen,” Pak said.

  Jung-Hoon pulled the van over to the side of the road.

  “Sounds good,” Jackrabbit said with an air of supreme confidence. “Let’s do it. Commander, quick checklist.” He sounded like a pilot preparing for takeoff. “Rifle?”

  “Check.”

  “Silencer and night scope?”

  “Check.”

  “NVDs?”

  “Check.”

  “Pistol?”

  “Check.”

  “Ammo for pistol and rifle?”

  “Check.”

  “Then let’s rock ‘n’ roll.”

  “Rock ‘n’ roll.”

  Jackrabbit opened the back van door and stepped out onto the road. Gunner followed him. They quietly closed the door.

  “Stay low and silent,” Jackrabbit said, crouching and moving in a double-time jog just in front of Gunner. They quietly moved forward about a hundred yards and, at a bend in the road, Jackrabbit stopped and held up his hand. He turned and gave Gunner the shusssh, with index finger over lips. Gunner didn’t move as Jackrabbit advanced, crouched down to get a better look at whatever was ahead. He gave Gunner the come-on motion with his hand.

  Gunner moved out and, a few seconds later, crouched beside Jackrabbit.

  Before them was the prison camp. The high fence with its tangle of barbed wire at the top ran about twenty-five feet to their left, then snaked off into the woods out of view. The two guards at the front gate were about a hundred yards away, the alternating red glow of the cigarettes they were puffing on clearly marking their positions. Each flash of lightning was like a spotlight on the area.

  “Okay, Commander, let’s get a bead on ‘em. You take the one on the right. I’ll take the one on the left. Get his head in your crosshairs, and when I give the go-ahead, drop him.”

  “Got it.” Gunner noted that because of the angle, the guard on the right was the easier target.

  “Can you make that shot, Commander?”

  “In my sleep.”

  “Get ready.”

  Gunner braced himself on one knee and brought the M-16 with night scope to his shoulder. He brought the crosshairs right onto the middle of the Korean’s nose and watched the guard enjoy the last cigarette he would ever smoke.

  “On my mark … Ready … Aim … Fire!”

  Gunner squeezed the trigger. The gun jumped, but silencers muted the sound. Both guards dropped to the ground in a heap.

  “Keep your gun ready in case one of ‘em is still alive. Let’s go!”

  Jackrabbit took off in a sprint, rifle forward, a soldier charging the enemy camp. Gunner sprinted behind him, following him to the front gate.

  Just outside the gate were the two guards, transformed into lifeless heaps. Their mouths and eyes were frozen open. Seeing what the bullets had done going through their heads nearly made Gunner sick on the spot. He took a few quick breaths and looked away.

  “Good shootin’, Commander.” Jackrabbit slapped Gunner on the back. He clicked the walkie-talkie. “Phase one complete. Move in.”

  Jung-Hoon’s voice came back, “Roger that. Moving now.”

  More lightning lit up the snow-covered landscape. More thunder boomed and shook the earth.

  Jackrabbit examined the locking mechanism on the front gate. “See if you can find a key on one of those guys, Commander.”

  Gunner reached down and felt for a key, a ring of keys, anything — first on one body, then on the other. “Nothing here.”

  Jung-Hoon pulled up in the van with headlights off. Jackrabbit jogged over to Jung-Hoon in the van. “No keys. Wire cutters will take too long. Grab the C4. Let’s blow this baby.”

  He turned to Gunner. “Commander, we’re going to use C4. Stay back and cover us. If anybody shows, you know what to do.”

  “Got it,” Gunner said.

  Jackrabbit grabbed the malleable C4 and meshed it into the gate lock as Jung-Hoon strung detonator wire from the gate back to the van, about fifty feet away. They worked with amazing efficiency, not wasting a second.

  “Okay, stand back,” Jackrabbit said. “Cover your ears!”

  The explosion sounded like a double-barrel .12-gauge shotgun going off.

  The gates blew wide open, as if the waters of the Red Sea had been parted in the midst of an ice storm.

  “Jung-Hoon, you and Pak head to the colonel’s quarters,” Jackrabbit said. “The commander and I will get the guards’ quarters, over to the right of the main building. After we’ve wasted those guys, you two meet us in front of the guards’ quarters and we’ll go find the prisoners.

  “One other thing. Let’s pull the silencers off. I want to intimidate the living heck out of these goons. I want ‘em to know what hit ‘em. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Let’s go!”

  Guards’ quarters

  Did you hear that?” First Sergeant Chung Nam-gyu, lying on the right bottom bunk of the four-bunk concrete guards’ residence, dropped his copy of the Pyongyang Times on the floor and pushed up on the rack. “Was that an explosion?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” First Sergeant Cho Doo-soon said. He was reading the sports section of the newspaper.

  Chung listened again. The wind was whi
stling around the building. Cold air seeped in through the cracks. The chimney on the stove in the middle of the concrete floor rattled as the wind shook its top.

  “You two are stupid idiots.” Staff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon had become a big-mouthed know-it-all who didn’t hesitate to say whatever he wanted to say. “One thinks he heard an explosion. The other heard nothing. You idiots do not know the difference between thunder and an explosion. It amazes me how you two ever got cleared to serve in a secret and prestigious post like this one.”

  Chung stared at the loudmouth. “Kang, if you do not shut up, I’ll report you for insubordination.”

  “Hah.” Kang snorted. “Do it fast, First Sergeant. In a matter of weeks, I will outrank both of you. You are idiots!”

  Chung said nothing. He watched Kang for a while, then lay back down and picked up the Pyongyang Times.

  Another booming sound outside.

  That, definitely, was thunder.

  Office of Colonel Song Kwang-sun

  They crept forward carefully, opened the door of the main administration building, and headed down the hall.

  “This is the door,” Pak whispered. “Lights are on. He is probably still in there. There are two offices. The first is his assistant’s office. That is where his girlfriend works. Colonel’s office is in the back.”

  Jung-Hoon held up his .45-caliber pistol in his right hand and turned the doorknob with his left. The door cracked open. The desk out front was empty.

  A jumble of giggling, groaning, and moaning came from the back office. It sounded like two voices — one male, the other female. With his pistol leading the way, Jung-Hoon tiptoed past the desk and headed toward the door to the back office, which was slightly ajar.

  More moaning. More giggling.

  Jung-Hoon put his hand on the door and pushed it open. Two bottles of liquor sat on the big desk. Behind it, a woman in a slinky red dress sat on a man’s lap. They were kissing passionately, oblivious to anything other than themselves.