by Griff Hosker
Korean Winter
Book 12 in the
Combined Operations Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2019
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Cover by Design for Writers
Prologue
I thought my war was over in 1945 but when the Korean conflict flared up, I was called back to the colours. I had been sent to the Pusan Peninsula where my team and I had spent a couple of months raiding behind enemy lines. My last mission, unfortunately, resulted in a wound which had been potentially life-threatening as a piece of shrapnel had come within an ace of crippling me for life, but an American surgeon had saved my life. While I was recuperating, I had been ordered to Hawaii to meet with British and American intelligence. My wars were never simple. A mysterious American woman whom I had first thought was a sergeant clerk but who turned out to be a major, had whisked me to a Japanese Airbase and I was on an aeroplane heading for Hawaii. I confess that I was bemused. I know that I could have made a fuss and said that my wound and the terms of my service meant I could return home to England, but I had always been a team player. I was asked to go and go I did. Major Aitkens, the CIA agent who had taken charge of me, had read my character well and knew that I would not abandon a job half done. My father had had the same problem for he had served in World War One, in police actions between the wars, and had only retired from the R.A.F. at the end of World War Two. I could only hope that my sons, William and Samuel, would not be called upon to go to war! If they were like me and my father, they would make sacrifices which, I knew, others back in England had avoided! I had spent almost as much time away from my wife, Susan, than I had with her! It was only because she had served in Intelligence and was a wonderful lady that she had understood and stood by me. As I looked out of the aircraft’s window at the Pacific below, I wondered what the future entailed.
Chapter 1
I was asleep and I was dreaming that I was flying one of our company Dakotas. I enjoyed flying. In the air all appeared peaceful and the sky was relatively empty for there were few other aeroplanes and, if you were a good pilot, then it was safer than driving. My father and I had set up a charter business which flew cargo all across Europe and it was a choice I had made when I stopped being a warrior. I would be a pilot and enjoy the company of my father and other ex-servicemen. The dream was so pleasant that when I was woken, I woke with a scowl!
“Tom, Tom.”
I looked up at the stunning Major Aitkens, “What?”
She laughed, “Ah, I see you wake up grumpy!” She pointed at the airman who had a trolley with snacks. “The airman wondered if you might like something to eat or drink. We are halfway through the flight.” I looked at the trolley, seeking the whisky. The Major said, “This is a USAAF aeroplane, it is dry.”
“Then I take it a cup of tea is out of the question?”
The sergeant grinned, “That is not a problem, sir. When I knew we had a British officer on board I made certain we had some tea.”
“Then a cup of tea and a sandwich would be splendid.”
“Pastrami or ham sir?”
“Pastrami. Have you any English mustard?”
“Sorry sir, American.”
I nodded, “We must all make sacrifices in war.”
The sergeant said, “I will be back soon, sir! Anything for you Major?”
“Coffee and a cookie if you have them.”
“Coming right up Major, we have some freshly baked chocolate chip!”
The Dakota Skymaster had forty-nine seats and three quarters were occupied. Most of those on our flight were wounded servicemen returning home. I looked at the Major. The uniform looked brand new. When I had first met her, she had been in the uniform of a sergeant. “I am guessing that you are not even a Major.”
She had an enigmatic smile, “I am like a chameleon, Tom. Let us say that it was easier to travel in the uniform of a Major than a sergeant. You are a Major and this allows us to chat as equals without ‘sirring’ each other all the time.”
“And I take it we cannot talk about the reason I am flying to Hawaii?”
“For the purposes of this flight, you are a wounded man being sent for further treatment in Hawaii so we will keep our conversation to chit chat.”
“Even though the noise from the aeroplane means it is unlikely that anyone can hear?”
“I forgot that you are a pilot and know such things. Will it be so hard to talk to me, Tom, as a woman rather than…” she smiled, “an officer?”
Her perfume was intensified in the confined cabin and I shook my head, “Major,” she frowned, “Kathleen, I have already told you that you are a very attractive woman but I am a happily married man.”
She laughed, “Even though you are half a world away from your wife and she would never know?”
“I would know.”
She nodded, “Are all Englishmen as ridiculously noble as you?”
“Probably not. So, can we talk about my men? I know that Callow has been repatriated and Captain Poulson promoted but where are they now and will I be returned to them?”
“What makes you think I would know?”
It was my turn to laugh and the return of the sergeant with the trolley delayed my answer. He put two trays on our laps. I drank the tea first. It was weaker than I would have liked. Sergeant Major Dean liked tea that you could stand a spoon in and that was my preference too. The mustard on the sandwich was not hot enough and although there was plenty of meat, I found myself missing England. True, we still had rationing, but you grew used to the taste of home. I had had just five years of life in England after the last war but I had made the most of it.
When the trays were taken away, I said, “Kathleen, I know that you know where they are and what they are doing. Without compromising their security, what can you tell me?”
“They are still operating behind enemy lines using the MTB and that is all I can tell you. However, if I was a gambler,” she laughed, “actually, I am a gambler! As a gambler, I will predict that you will not be returned to them. You impressed a great number of people with… well, what you did. Those skills will be needed if we are to bring this war to a speedy conclusion and then you can get back to your very lucky wife.”
That was all I could get out of her and we spent the rest of the flight talking about our respective countries although she learned more about my background than I did about hers.
We landed, in Hawaii, at Hickam Air Force base where a car was waiting to whisk us off into the hills. We arrived at a compound surrounded by barbed wire and with some serious looking, well-armed sentries on the gates. We were inspected closely before they admitted us. There were a couple of accommodation wings and a building which had guard towers and wire around it. I guessed that was where Jeremy Blair, spy and traitor, was being held. I wondered at that for he was still a British citizen. Perhaps that was why the spymaster known as L, was coming over. He was MI6 and he would understand the diplomatic protocols better than I could. The last time I had seen him had been when we had been sent to bring Blair back from Uiseong-ro. Then he had used the title of Colonel C
hurchill. Like Major Aitkens that would not be his real name.
The accommodation block had a front desk which was manned. When the Major handed over documents, I saw the desk sergeant stiffen. She was senior and had far more power than I had assumed when I had first met her. He quickly handed us two keys, “Here you are majors. Do you need help with your bags?”
I had a small holdall with toiletries, pyjamas and a spare uniform. Both the uniforms I had were dress and not combat uniforms.
The American Major answered for me, “No thank you, sergeant. Are the arrangements for dinner still the same?”
“Yes, Major.”
“Good and if you would let me know when the British Colonel arrives.”
“Yes, Major. What is his name?”
She smiled a cold smile and said sharply, “I doubt that you will be inundated with British Colonels so let me know if any British Colonel arrives. Clear, sergeant?”
“Clear, Major.” The man was almost shaking. He was obviously not combat trained but I understood his reaction, Kathleen Aitkens, or whatever her real name was, was a force of nature.
She turned to me. “Dinner will be at seven-thirty. I will knock on your door at seven.” She smiled, “Is that soon enough?”
I knew what she meant and I nodded, “Yes Major, quite soon enough.”
My room was simply furnished but comfortable and it was a bed and not an army cot. I saw a dressing gown hung behind the door and there was a bathroom complete with a shower. For a serving soldier, this was luxury. There was a wardrobe and I changed out of the uniform I had used for travelling and laid my best uniform on the bed. I was not as tired as I thought I would be for I had slept for half the flight but I needed refreshing. I took a shower. One thing about American bases, they had good showers with hot water. In England, I had showered in cold water more often than hot! I donned the gown and, as I had some sheets of notepaper with me, I began to write a letter to Susan. I had one already started but that was in Korea. I had no doubt that Brevet Major Poulson would see to my gear. I had the shower first and then wrote a letter to my wife. I kept it simple and there was no reference to my wound or the action which had led to it. I spoke about Korea, the food and the people. I had learned to write carefully as my wife knew how to read between the lines! She had worked at Combined Operations and knew the form. I wondered when, if ever, my letters from home would reach me. Four pages later and I glanced at my watch. It was close to seven. I dressed quickly and, as I tied my tie there was a knock on the door.
The CIA agent was stunning! She knew how to dress. I guessed that here she could, quite literally, let her hair down. She had no need to hide who she was and what she did. I smiled, “Beautiful as ever, Kathleen.”
She beamed. “Am I breaking down your resistance, Tom?” I could not tell if she was teasing me or if she meant it and I just smiled. We walked down the corridor to the stairs, “Your L is not here yet and so we have a couple of days to see the island. You might as well recuperate and the sights will give you something to put in the letter you are writing.” I stopped and stared at her. She laughed, “There are no spyholes in your room, Tom. I am well trained and when you opened the door, I saw the unfinished letter on your bed and, besides, it is just the sort of thing I would expect you to do.”
“Then you should know that the one thing I will not do is to tell Susan that I am in Hawaii. I wrote to her that I was recovering from my wound.”
“You are thinking all the time, Tom. We shall eat alone tonight. I will bring you up to speed on Blair. He has been interrogated and we know a great deal already. The rest must wait for British interrogators.”
We had entered the dining room. It had linen cloths laid on wooden tables and the chairs were good ones. The stewards were military but, other than the uniform, this could have been a restaurant in Washington! A sergeant took us to a table. I saw that the tables were arranged for even numbers, two, four, six and eight. We were taken to a table for two. A few of the others were occupied by officers. This was the equivalent of an officers’ mess and I saw that there was a bottle of wine on the table. As we sat the sergeant steward poured us a glass each.
After he had left us, she toasted me, “Cheers!” We drank and I smacked my lips for the wine was good. “Californian. Prohibition destroyed most of the wineries but they have been getting better and the war meant we needed to produce our own wines. I chose a good one as I know that you Brits are such snobs about wine.”
I shook my head, “Some are but not me. I grew up drinking rough wine at our holiday home in France. This is good. It is a little sweet for my taste but good.”
She nodded, “I took the liberty of ordering food. I assumed you would like steak and that is what I ordered.”
“I like steak. We are still rationed in England so this will be a real treat for me.”
She ran a red fingernail around the rim of her glass, “I guess you and your people had it far rougher than we did. We just saw the air raids on London on the newsreels.”
“Not just London; Liverpool, Newcastle, Portsmouth, Coventry, Scotland… the Germans bombed wherever they could and those rockets they had by the end of the war, well goodness only knows how far they could have reached.”
She looked surprised, “You knew about them?”
It was my turn to smile, “Let us say, Kathleen, that you are not the only one with secrets.” I had helped to destroy the base which manufactured a vital part of the rocket.
The steward brought soup; it was chicken and sweetcorn. After we had eaten and while we waited for the main course she said, “Let me fill you in on our friend, Blair. When he was taken to the house where you recovered him, we knew that he was more than just a socialist in a Commando uniform. Blair is not his real name. His real name is d’Aubigny and his father is landed gentry. When Blair, we might as well use that name, went to University at the start of the last war, he was recruited by a Russian spymaster. With a war on there was less scrutiny at universities. There was a professor there who worked for Russia and he was subverted. His personal lifestyle helped. Your L is not sure if Blair was blackmailed but whatever the reason when he left University, he changed his name and joined up. The professor disappeared at the end of the war. By then your MI6 was investigating the professor. That is the reason L has not arrived yet. He is gathering as much information as he can.”
“It all seems a little elaborate.”
She shook her head, “Blair is what we call in our trade, a sleeper. He was put in a Commando unit because they are elite and, most importantly, are sent behind enemy lines. You can do real damage if you infiltrate elite units like that.”
“But the U.S.S.R. were our allies!”
The steaks arrived and we stopped talking while the food was placed on the table. When the waiters had gone, she continued, “The Communists are pragmatic. They needed the capitalists of America and Great Britain to defeat a common enemy but their avowed intent was always world domination. When the Nationalists were defeated by the Chinese Communists then the Russians joined with them. The map of the world used to have great red swathes that was the British Empire. Now that is Communist red and it is spreading!”
“Okay, I can see that placing Blair in a Commando unit would jeopardise missions behind the lines but when he was found out he ceased to be of importance, surely?”
“That is why he is here. It makes no sense to us but he was in Uiseong-ro for a reason and he was protected and treated as though he was important. The men you killed were North Korean elite soldiers! So, you see why we brought you here. We need to find out why he was there and if we have succeeded in cutting out the cancer or is there more out there that we know nothing about?” She leaned forward. “You should know that General MacArthur is about to land troops close to the original border between North and South Korea. Brevet Major Poulson and your unit will be involved. They are, even as we speak, being dropped behind enemy lines along with Major Rogers and his men.”
So, Captain Rogers had been promoted too!
“But Blair has been a prisoner so he can’t hurt us!”
“Who else is out there, Tom? Where are the other sleepers? Think of all the men who joined the army towards the end of the war and after. No, we need to know the extent of all this. Blair was in Uiseong-ro for a reason. You got in and out quickly. What if there had been radio equipment? What if Blair was talking to men in other units, not just the Commandos? These sleepers are clever men and radio operatives are well trained.”
I thought back to my radio operators. She was right and they were very clever. A memory hidden in the deep recesses of my mind surfaced. Blair had tried to be given responsibility for the radio. What might have happened if he had succeeded?
The coffee arrived and I leaned back, “What I can’t understand, Kathleen, is why Blair went out of his way to be so obstructive.”
She lit a cigarette and said, “I have thought about that too. There are two reasons, neither of them is mutually exclusive. His personality and the fact that no one would expect someone working for another government to be so high profile. You British like the underdog. You feel sorry for them and give them every chance. I think Blair was so clever that he played on that. He was the son of a lord and understood privilege. Just a theory.” She finished the cigarette and stubbed it out. “Anyway, you have had a long flight. L’s flight is due in tomorrow evening and so we have a day to see Oahu.”
I smiled, “I would like to see Pearl Harbour.”
“I thought you might. It is a reminder to Americans never to be complacent again! We were caught out once but never again!”
I had a surprisingly pleasant day although the sight of the Arizona in Pearl Harbour was sobering. Dad had spent some time in the Far East during the war and we had spoken of the loss of the American battlewagons as well as the British ships sunk by the Japanese. When it came to the men from the east it paid to look for surprises.