CHAPTER 12

The ache of parting was still gnawing at my belly like a peptic ulcer when Blackie picked me up at the airfield in a jeep.

"My goodness, Colonel, I'm relieved to see you."

"Why? What gives? I'm on time."

"Yes sir, but the operation has been advanced, you see. We leave for Japan in the morning."

"In the morning? Oh, no!" I snorted in disgust. "Isn't that typical."

* * * * *

The week after our landing in Japan, we moved out again with full GI equipment. Our enemy clothing and arms went along in sealed wooden boxes as cargo, not to be opened again until D-day. Ostensibly, we were replacements for the Korean Military Advisory Group on our way to South Korea. We landed at Kimpo Air Base, near Seoul and then moved out by truck up the road past Uijongbu into the wooded hills south of the defense line near Kumwha. In the twelve years since I had come down that road for the last time, the mud and thatched villages had been rebuilt. Now the measlepox had ravaged, once again, the stoical population. Only a few were left, the few who perhaps had fled to the mountains and stayed there starving but afraid until the pestilence had killed and passed on. So it was back to a familiar land I came--a land of silent hills; of hardwood trees standing bare and cold above the brown earth and the dead brown leaves of the Kudzu vine; a land of little streams that thawed in the sheltered spots as the February sun rose higher in the cold dry air.

We trained over the steep hills, marching up faint trails where the woodcutters once had gone. In all that wild land there was silence--the silence of the four-footed animals who, unknown to us except by some chance meeting, watched our slow approach. The long nights shortened into March and then through April. Still we waited. Rains had come now, the spring rains, forecasting the steamy monsoon of July. In the steep valleys grass showed green and the maroon-petalled anemones had already conceived. At last the cherries were in bloom. It was time to go.

The troop-carrying convertiplane dropped vertically down on the freshly prepared landing strip shortly after dark. As soon as we were loaded it took off, wavering slightly under the hammering blast of the jet engines, and then went up, sidling over the dark trees that encircled the strip, and drifting down the valley like one of their lately fallen leaves. It swung west to go out over the Yellow Sea and then circle back into North Korea. Our rendezvous was farther to the east in the wild country close to the railway that ran up the east coast from Wonsan to Hungnam. Perhaps we could lose the radar in those steep valleys. It would have been suicide to attempt it from the east, across the Sea of Japan, right into the Siberian tiger's mouth.

* * * * *

An hour later we were approaching the drop zone. There would be a moon before midnight to help us make contact, but now it was dark, better for concealment but difficult for recognition of our landing area. The plane slowed, the red light came on. The pilot must have picked up the signal from our agent.

"Get ready!" I shouted. The men shifted their packs and moved their feet to get the weight distributed.

"Stand up! Hook up! Check your equipment!" One by one I called the time-honored signals, the ritual so necessary before the jump. By now the air crew had the door open and I looked out. Even with my eyes accustomed to the darkness I could see little but the dark mass of hills below us and the rough black line where they met the horizon. Above, the stars were bright. To the east a faint paleness marked where the moon was hiding. I looked down again and now a tiny green light winked up at me. It was the dropzone and the all-clear signal. The aeroplane passed on and then came back to make its run.

"Stand in the door!" I yelled. My hand holding the static line shook slightly and my thigh muscles were tight with cold and adrenalin.

"GO." The red light had changed to green and the first men were out. Shuffling from the rear the rest followed swiftly and seemed to drop on to each other's shoulders as they went through the door. The last man went by. I stepped behind him and in the same smooth motion went on out. The rush of air twisted me and a momentary black cloud blotted the stars as the tail assembly passed over. The roar faded and I floated, weightless and almost mindless, like a baby in the womb, while my mental clock ticked the slow seconds. "Three thousand, four...." The snapping of elastic and the rush of risers behind my head stopped in a sliding jerk. I looked up. Above me a black circle swayed. It was complete; no torn canopy to worry about. Alive now, I looked around full circle. Faintly I saw two parachutes below and in front of me as I glanced back the way we had come. We were dropping quickly into a steep valley, the others at a lower level where it widened somewhat. I could see outlines of the terraced rice fields coming up to meet me. In that warm, wet air I could have made it standing. The chute collapsed without a protest. I struck the quick release and stepped out of the harness. "Pretty soft," I was thinking. "I hope the rest is like this." Where the hillside joined the terraces I found a trail that paralleled the line of our jump. I followed it down hill.

An hour later, we were all together. The slow speed of the plane, the low jump altitude and the lightness of the wind had kept the sticks from scattering. Nobody was seriously hurt. We buried the parachutes in an overhanging bank under the Kudzu and began our march down the path. As the protected one I was now about the middle of the file. The moon was rising and the light was strong in treeless areas. We kept to the blackness of the shadows as much as possible and made a reconnaissance before crossing any open space. Our progress was slow. It must have been another hour when the line stopped advancing. A short time later a whispered message came back, "Send the Colonel up front."

When I got there, Blackie and Pak were talking Korean to a small man dressed in the ragged coat and baggy pants of a peasant. Pak introduced him.

"This is Lee Sung. He has the password and knows all about us."

I took the small limp hand Lee Sung extended. "I am Colonel Macdonald, the Doctor. What do you want us to do now?"

"I have a place where you can stay," he replied in excellent English, with an accent that seemed familiar, though blurred with lack of use. "We should go there immediately."

* * * * *

We followed him a short distance on the same trail and then turned up a side valley where the cultivated land rapidly rose in steps and narrowed to a point at the little stream which had watered the crops. There we found the remains of a small village. Hidden behind a row of thatched mud huts that faced the fields with eyeless walls, a narrow courtyard opened abruptly to the main house. Overhanging wooden beams and tiled roof had protected the white paper walls of the recessed front porch from the weather. It was the house of a rich farmer, rich for Korea that is, and still intact.

"This is where you stay," said Lee.

Makstutis took command. "Kim, set out your perimeter guard and get the men settled down. No lights; no smoking; no talking. I'll take a look around."

"Yes, sir," Kim moved them away. I followed Lee, Blackie and Pak onto the verandah of the house, stepping quietly on the wooden planks. Sliding aside one of the paper and wood panels, we bent our heads and entered. Crouched over a shaded flashlight, Lee traced a map laid on the grass mat floor of a small side room.

"Here's where we are now. Here's the Imjin River and the village of Song-dong-ni. The virus factory is less than a mile this side of the village." He indicated the spot. "It's about twenty miles from here over the hills."

"What are the trails like?" Blackie asked.

"There's a small trail, a bit slippery in wet weather, that climbs the ridge behind this house. It joins a wagon road that runs down the next valley and then you cut over the watershed to the Imjin by another trail. That one is good in all weather."

"Is it travelled much?"

"Not now. The villages over there were wiped out by the plague. I doubt if there is anybody left."

"How do we go about contacting the Russian who's going to give us the virus?"

"He's not a Russian, Colonel, he's a Pole. His name is Anders and he is the senior virologist at the factory. He is a keen botanist and it's his custom to wander alone over the hills almost every day collecting specimens. He carries a burp gun in case he should meet bandits although there's little chance of that nowadays. However, it is a good thing to remember in approaching him that all strangers are suspect. I try to catch him on these walks of his, so it's a matter of chance and may take a day or two to arrange a meeting. In the meantime, may I suggest you and your white officers keep out of sight as much as possible. Your oriental soldiers can pretend to be living here temporarily while searching for bandit gangs."

"What about food?"

"The farmer who owned this village had a well stocked store room. You will find it at the back of the house. There is plenty of rice, root vegetables, pots of kimchi ... you have eaten kimchi I presume ... and other preserved foods."

"What about the measlepox, doctor?" Blackie asked.

"I doubt if the food was contaminated. Besides we had one shot of that Russian vaccine before we left. It's a small risk."

"I envy you Colonel. My only protection is to run away," Lee said wryly.

"How did people survive?" I asked.

"After they became aware of the danger some took to the hills and some small villages escaped. They kept strictly to themselves and killed anyone who attempted to force his way into their area. I have a small fishing vessel at Wongpo. I took it out to sea and stayed there by myself for several weeks."

"Then you have no family?"

"No, my father was an exile in England during the Japanese occupation. I grew up and went to college there. We came back to our ancestral home after the World War. He and my mother died very soon afterwards. The Communists let me stay, mostly because they think I am sympathetic to their viewpoint and I have made myself useful to them. An agent has no business with a family anyway," he concluded grimly.

We talked on for some time, clearing up the details of our plans. It was uncomfortably close to dawn when he left.