CHAPTER 11

The sunny days slid by as we explored farther and farther north. The weather held fair all that month except for a few quick showers that washed the warm decks and cooled the quiet air. There was little good sailing weather but we didn't worry. There was fishing enough, swimming enough, and loving enough to fill the days and nights.

In a deep side channel of Louise Inlet, I was trolling one day in the fourth week. Pat held the tiller and the engine, throttled back hard, barely puttered along. Then, above the noise, the sound of a more powerful engine rose and gained rapidly in intensity. Around the bend from the main channel an amphibian swung into view and banked to glide down over us. It banked again, full circle, and the pilot let down and taxied up behind our boat. I stopped the engine and waited. The small door on the passenger side opened and a bare head stuck out. I recognized that full, cheery face.

"For the love of Pete! It's the Chief," I yelled above the motor.

Pat nodded, not too happily. Her woman's intuition was probably working overtime. A short time later we anchored inshore. The Boss and his grim-looking pilot climbed aboard.

"Lord, we've had a time finding you two," Hallam sighed. "This is Colonel Jones, United States Air Force."

I raised my eyebrows at Pat. Neither the man's flying suit nor the plane's markings had shown any indication of their military nature.

"How do you do sir," I said, as I shook his hand. "Are you up here on a vacation?"

"Strictly business, I'm afraid," he said crisply.

"Business? With whom?"

"With you." The lips opened and shut in his face like a ventriloquist's dummy.

He was strictly business, I thought. "With me?" I turned to Hallam. "What have I done now?"

He didn't smile at my feeble joke. "It's not what you've done, John, it's what they want you to do. Colonel Jones is from the CIA."

"Oh oh, the cloak and dagger boys," I thought. "Trouble coming up." Out loud I said, "We might as well sit down and be comfortable while we talk. Pat, how about some beer?"

The Colonel was obviously impatient but he tried to swallow his irritability with his beer.

"It's nice being a civilian at times," I was thinking. "I don't have to take any more guff from the brass. This guy's obviously a West Point type in a hurry and it must gall him to have to wait on my royal pleasure. He wants something. Let him wait for it!"

It was a rebellious thought but I'd been prodded painfully by his classmates on occasion in the past. I couldn't resist getting a little of my own back.

"All three of you are cleared for Top Secret," Jones said. "I checked before I came out here."

I took a long drag at the bottle. "What about yourself, Colonel?" I smiled thinly at him.

Silently, stone-faced, he showed his credentials. Pat frowned at me. She thought I was being unnecessarily cool to a guest. Rivalries in the service meant nothing to her.

I grinned at him and the tension eased. "The old routine, Colonel. I wouldn't want to foul up with a security officer watching me."

The stern exterior cracked as he relaxed. "I hate to butt in on your vacation like this. I had no choice. We have a deadline to meet."

"Sounds familiar," I murmured. "Submit a complete report, in five copies, based on information you'll get tomorrow, to reach headquarters not later than yesterday. Well, give us the bad news."

"First let me give you an estimate of the situation as we see it. That will put you in the picture."

"You mean I'm being framed?" I joked.

He actually smiled. "The weather and biological offensive against the Reds are now at their height," he began, "and are proving most successful. We anticipate they will exhaust their food reserves very soon and will be desperate for more. If they ask us, we will give them some this winter, under certain conditions." (He was referring to the use of the contraceptive drug in that food, as I learned later.) "That will give them a respite, which we can't very well avoid, and the war is expected to continue on into 1964. By early summer, some eight months from now, we estimate that continuation of our offensive will drive them to the wall, since we will then inform them that we cannot give them any more supplies from our store. It is then that we can anticipate the hidden war breaking out into the open. Even if they retaliate in weather and bacteriological warfare, they must know we can win because our hoarded supplies will keep us going while they starve. They have to plan a knockout blow and yet our G-2 people believe they will not use atomic power. They won't use it because of its dreadful after-effects on future populations. Even the so-called clean bombs must affect many survivors and, in an already decimated world, they cannot afford to have contaminated survivors from which to rebuild the race. Also, they are sure that we won't use it if they don't. Now, as far as we can foresee, that leaves only one other way to achieve the knockout ... by the use of nerve gases."

* * * * *

"But we have nerve gases too."

"Yes, of course. However, we have information from our agents in Russia that, as a last desperate chance, they will fire their intercontinental missiles, plus shorter range rockets from their submarine fleet, at every major population center and key military target in the U.S.A. and Canada. Probably, in addition to nerve gas, the missiles will be loaded with various deadly bacterial toxins and bacteria, and quite likely new viruses of even greater lethal power than the measlepox, able to attack and kill people in as short a period as twenty-four hours. We also believe that, in the temporary paralysis of cities, military posts and air bases achieved by the nerve gases, they will attempt to land airborne or rocket-borne troops to capture and hold our main centres. As you know, we are not mobilized because there isn't supposed to be a war on. Their plan might be fantastic enough to succeed."

"Who dreamed all this up?" said Pat, skeptically.

"It's no dream," the Colonel said. "There's a strong moderate element in Russia today, mainly in the Armed Forces and the new managerial classes, that is sick of dictators and war. They have contacted us and are ready to revolt when the Reds are a bit more disorganized and the people still more starved and discontented."

"Where do I come in?" I said.

"You are still a Lieutenant Colonel in the army reserve."

"That's right."

"The President himself, on the advice of his counsellors, asks that you volunteer for special duty. As there is no declared state of emergency, you cannot be recalled. In fact if you don't want to leave Canada he can't force you to. He simply requests that you volunteer."

"That's all lovely, and very sweet of the old boy," I said sarcastically. "Why me?"

"On the Imjin River, in North Korea, there is a large plant which is very busy manufacturing those deadly viruses I talked about. The Russians have quietly taken over the country, and in fact the whole of China, since probably there are less than fifty million healthy Chinese alive today. The crowding into communes in the Fifties really facilitated the spread of the measlepox we hear. We think the Kremlinites want to keep an eye on them; probably want to sterilize with the S-Flu, those left by the other diseases. To have such a dangerous factory well away from their own homes and close to their enemies in Japan, as well as reasonably convenient to the submarine pens around Vladivostok, are other likely reasons for its location there. Whatever the reasons, the factory is there. Now, by good luck, the senior virologist is one of the moderates who is heartily sick of all this killing."

"Hear, hear," the Chief said. "I know exactly how he feels."

The Colonel nodded and went on. "He has agreed to give us the biochemical formulas of the viruses plus methods of growth, how to make the vaccine against them, and finally a sample of each culture to work with. We believe that if we have that information ... and also we hope to sabotage their installation ... we can defeat the attack before it ever starts. We plan to destroy their nerve gas centers at the same time and aid the rebellion," he concluded, "but that doesn't concern us here."

* * * * *

"I still don't see what I do," I said, although I had an uneasy suspicion.

"You were a paratrooper, weren't you? And you served in Korea."

"Yes, a long time ago," I admitted grudgingly.

"And you are a virologist?"

"You know that."

"You also speak some Japanese, Korean and Chinese."

"I wish I'd never admitted it."

"We want you to parachute into North Korea with a Special Forces Group, go to this plant, get the necessary information and sample viruses. The information cannot be written down for security reasons and because of this and the dangerous nature of the viruses we feel that only a man of your qualifications can be trusted to handle it."

"That's what I was afraid of," I said.

"Will you do it?"

"In the name of heaven, Colonel!" I exploded. "Twenty minutes ago all I had on my mind was catching a fish for supper and now you want a snap decision that may cost me my life."

"I'm sorry, Doctor," his face froze again, "but we haven't much time."

"The hell with deadlines," I growled. "I'm not on active duty now and no damn chairborne Pentagon pencil pusher is going to impose a time limit on me. Let him get out and do it himself if he can't wait."

"Unfortunately you are the best qualified," he said stiffly.

"Yeah, unfortunately for me," I sneered. "How is it the guys best qualified for the dirtiest jobs don't seem to be best qualified for promotion too?"

"John, please!" Pat put a hand on my shoulder.

"Sorry Colonel," I choked down my anger. "You hit some raw nerves with that best qualified remark."

"I'm sorry too, Doctor. We know you've already done more than your share. Perhaps if you think it over for a while, you'll want to help us."

"How do you propose to go about it," Hallam said to Jones.

"Colonel Macdonald, or a substitute, will have to renew his airborne training and get into first class physical shape. There will also be language school to brush up on his Korean and Japanese, with some basic Russian."

"Why Japanese?"

"It was the official language in Korea until after World War Two and many of the older people can speak it. What he misses in Korean he might be able to pick up in Japanese."

"How long will this take?" Pat said.

"About six months. Then there will be a month of special preparations for the attack itself. After that we wait for the right weather and the psychologically correct moment. The idea is to delay until the last possible moment before the Reds are ready to attack us and pull the rug out from under them. We hope the confusion and loss of morale will be so great that the partisans or maquis or whatever you want to call them will be able to rise and overthrow the communist regime."

"Adding all this up," I said, "I gather you expect the special training to start in about two weeks from now."

"That's right," Colonel Jones said. "That's why we need an answer soon."

"I have one week left of my vacation before I return to Vancouver. I'll let you know then."

"Thank you. I'll leave all the necessary information with Dr. Hallam at his office." Jones got up, bent slightly in Pat's direction and again to me, while he gave us a formal handshake. He climbed over the side and got into the amphibian without a backward glance.

"I wish I hadn't had to do this," the Chief said hurriedly as his big hands reached out for ours. "Try not to let it ruin the rest of your vacation. God bless!" He squeezed and my hand tingled until long after his great frame had vanished into the cabin of the flying boat.

* * * * *

After they had gone Pat cooked the fish I'd caught and we sat down to eat and talk things over. I hadn't committed myself in any way. My days as an eager beaver soldier were long gone and I was remembering the old army saying, "Never volunteer for anything." Pat had been unusually quiet. I knew she would go along with any decision I made but it is still not an easy thing for a woman to sit still while her man is thinking of committing what might turn out to be suicide.

"Want a drink?" she asked, getting out the bottles before I could answer. She mixed us a rum collins, taking the last of the ice from our little refrigerator.

"Well, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking just how much hell the next eight months will be."

"Hell for both of us, darling," she said. She leaned across the narrow table to kiss me. "I'm glad you want to do it. It may not win the war but you'd never be happy again if you didn't try."

I didn't relish the idea at all but I knew she was right. I'd always been a volunteer. It was too late to change. I heaved up off the bench and went on deck. The stars were out now and high overhead an Alaska-bound plane hummed by, its green and red lights winking.

"Red light ... green light ... GO," I thought and remembered again the quivering anticipation as I stood in the door of the C-119 watching for a little green button to flash on. I shivered with old remembered fears and I felt Pat's arms go around me from behind as she kissed the back of my neck. I think she sensed my trouble. She knew how I had sweated out jumping and the long strain of combat duty.

"Come down below, sweetheart, it's bedtime. Come and let me help you forget. There are so few nights left."

* * * * *

I rolled over in the soft sandy ground and pulled hard on the risers to spill the air out of my parachute. The breeze was dying. The spotted cloth wavered, flapped, and the canopy collapsed. I got to my feet, hit the box and stepped out of the slack harness. Slowly I straightened the canopy, folded it over my arms down to the back pack and tightened the straps over it. I picked the whole thing up and zipped it into the carrying bag. The trucks were waiting across the drop zone. I heaved the heavy bag up across my shoulders with the handles on each side of my neck and started towards them. My first jump was over. I was tired ... tired... tired and quietly proud. The first one was past. I was a paratrooper again.

"How was the jump, Colonel?" A small black haired officer of about my own age came up behind me. Captain Balakireff, the son of White Russian refugees and lately of Shanghai, China, spoke with a faint accent. His thin lips and hollow cheeks reminded me of the ascetic saints on a Russian ikon. He should be wearing a beard, I thought.

"Pretty good, Blackie. It's been a long time."

Trudging beside him through the loose sand, a tall blond and thick chested Lithuanian Captain called Makstutis grinned down at me. "Need a hand with that pack, Doc," he said, completely unconscious of the difference in our ranks.

"No thanks Mak. I may not be in shape but I'm not that decrepit."

Closer to the trucks Lieutenant Pak On, a native born Korean imitation of Balakireff awaited us. With him was Lieutenant Kim Cho Hup, a living embodiment of the Chinese god of happiness with his round smiling face and the figure to go with it. For all his weight, the result probably of too much feasting on his Hawaiian island home, Kim was quick and tough, a veteran of the early days in Korea with the 25th Division.

These four, all war veterans and career men formed, with me, the officers' component of a Special Forces team. With us, as we assembled around the trucks were twenty-five enlisted men. All were Orientals, a few native born, but mostly Hawaiian sons of immigrants. They too were Special Forces volunteers, qualified both as paratroopers and rangers. Each had a specialty, weapons, demolition, signal, engineer, medical, and each could take over at least one other job in an emergency. They had to be fluent in one of three languages, Korean, Japanese or Mandarin Chinese.

We jumped as a team in two sticks, led by the Slavic officers. As senior officer I acted as jump-master in training although in the actual attack I was to be protected rather than to command. The operations plan was simple. We were to drop in North Korea in high mountain country near our objective. The three whites would masquerade as Russian officers. We hoped to pass as inspectors or medical health officers touring the country with a North Korean Army escort. As the Russians had taken control in China and North Korea, we should be able to get by, at least for a while, considering the disorganized state of that plague-tortured peninsula. A rendezvous with the agent who had contacted the enemy virologist would be arranged. From then on it was up to us. Afterwards we were to be evacuated by submarine from a pre-designated spot on the coast.

We climbed into the trucks. As they rolled down the road back to our quarters, I pulled Pat's latest letter from my pocket and skimmed once more through its well remembered pages. Because of the danger she was no longer working with the research project but was helping Polly on the electron microscope.... Polly had heard from Harry.... He was in Formosa training with the Americans and Nationalist Chinese for a landing on the Chinese mainland ... he had sold them on the idea.... Polly was worried of course.... She was too ... would I please be careful ... she loved me and missed me so much ... she wanted me to come home safely.

I folded the letter and put it away. I'd be coming home all right! On that I was determined. No damned disease, no stupid Communist fanatic was going to stop me!

The emphasis on pure physical conditioning changed although we continued our long marches and strenuous exercises. Now we worked constantly in Russian or Korean uniforms, used enemy equipment and talked Russian or Korean. It was hard at first but gradually I achieved a basic knowledge sufficient to deceive a casual observer.

A week before Christmas General Rawlins, the Special Forces commander, called me into his office. He came around his desk as I saluted.

"You're looking fit, Macdonald. The instructors tell me your team is progressing very nicely."

"Thank you sir."

"In view of their reports I am letting you and your men off for Christmas and New Years. Air transportation will be arranged as far as possible. Warn your men again about security regulations. See the Chief of Staff for the details." His normally stern face cracked into a smile and he stuck out his hand.

"Merry Christmas," he said.

* * * * *

The day following my return to Vancouver was Christmas Eve. Polly and Pat and I drove out to have dinner with Dr. Hallam in his hill-top apartment. We found him dressed in a white chef's cap and apron busily sugaring the top of a ham. In a moment the girls found aprons of their own and began to get in his way. I got busy with the brandy bottle and the egg nog.

"How's the research project coming, sir?" I asked as we sipped our drinks.

"We have a variant of the FS-flu now that sterilizes only monkeys. It may be the weapon we're looking for." He paused and looked mischievously at Pat. "Did you know, by the way that the original FS virus does not cause permanent sterility in primates?"

I caught the glance and her look of dismay.

"Primates? You mean humans too?"

He nodded. I turned to Pat.

"Then you aren't sterile? You didn't tell me you had a biopsy."

This time Hallam laughed outright. "How many months have you been away soldier?"

"My God! Pat ... you're pregnant!"

She came to me. "Yes darling. I am. I didn't want to tell you because I might miscarry again: but I went to Ray Thorne and he says I'm doing just fine."

"Oh baby," and I pulled her into my arms. "What a wonderful, wonderful Christmas!"

It was after dinner. We sat around the fireplace in silence. To one side the Christmas tree, with its tinsel streamers and glass ornaments, threw back a shower of sparks in answer to the flames. The coffee was finished and I savored the last drop of Drambuie slowly, letting it bite my tongue with its pungent sweetness.

"I wonder where Harry is," Polly spoke as she looked into the fire, absently twirling the liqueur glass in her fingers.

"Have you had any news?" I asked.

"I got a letter this morning," she replied and added after a pause. "They left for the Chinese mainland a week ago."

* * * * *

The wood crackled on the hearth and the room was silent again. I thought of the bare brown hills of China; of the squalid mud huts like those I had known in Korea; of the lice and fleas, the filth and bitter cold; of the snow that sprinkled the stunted brush and dusted the stubbled rice paddies. I thought too of the death that lingered in those dank and sweaty rooms, black holes of fear and despair.

"God help them," I said fervently and added a little prayer for myself in the days to come.

Polly began again. "He wrote the letter on the assault landing craft and sent it back with the Navy. Apparently they had not managed to perfect a vaccine before they left Formosa so the party is unprotected against the measlepox. They hope to find enough survivors on the mainland to collect anti-serum, provided they can keep away from Red patrols."

"It's a shame they couldn't have waited another couple of weeks," the Chief spoke up.

"Why so?" Pat asked.

"I got news this morning that our agents in Russia have sent out more of the vaccine, stolen by the partisans, I suppose. It should be available in a day or so and some of it will be rushed out to the research teams for their protection."

"Maybe they'll send another team with vaccine after the first," Pat suggested.

"I surely do hope so," said Polly, "I'm real worried about that man."