Part 3 (1/2)

”I make it three tanks-M4s, Shermans,” Jennings said, ”plus maybe thirty-five doggies, with two air-cooled .50s, at least that many .30s, and a mortar.”

”All of which are going to shoot at whatever they see coming up the road,” Zimmerman said. ”Like us, for example. ”

McCoy chuckled.

”What do you suggest we do, Mr. Zimmerman?”

Zimmerman pointed down the slope of the hill toward their small convoy. The Russian light truck, which McCoy had impulsively decided to drive, was at the head. The weapons carrier came next, and the jeep brought up the rear.

The Russian truck looked vaguely like a jeep. It was, McCoy had finally concluded, actually a Chinese-built version of a Russian vehicle, which in turn had been copied from a German vehicle, built on a Volkswagen cha.s.sis, which in turn had been inspired by the Truck, General Purpose, 1/4 ton, 4 4 of the U.S. Army, popularly known as the jeep.

McCoy had found the vehicle very interesting, and not just as an example of the enemy's military trucks.

Very few North Korean lieutenant colonels had vehicles permanently a.s.signed to them. There were signs that this one was-had been-the colonel's personal vehicle. It was extraordinarily well maintained. The seats, for example, were thickly padded. There had been personal possessions in both the glove compartment and under the seats, including three packages of Chesterfield cigarettes.

The dashboard instruments were lettered in the Cyrillic alphabet. Either the Russians had provided the instruments or the Chinese had copied the Russian vehicle slavishly. In any event, calligraphed Cantonese translations had been prepared and glued to the panel. There were no such Korean calligraphs.

This suggested the possibility that the colonel had acquired the vehicle new from a depot, and had not felt the need for Korean translations from the Russian and Chinese because he spoke one or both of the languages.

Two kinds of North Korean lieutenant colonels would be likely to speak Russian and/or Cantonese: political commissars and intelligence officers.

A political commissar would most likely be at the front, exhorting the troops to give their all, not headed north in an obvious attempt to avoid capture by the now advancing Eighth United States Army. Political commissars are useful even in enemy captivity. Intelligence officers are not. Intelligence officers know a lot of things that should be kept from the enemy. Intelligence officers are taught not to place themselves in positions where they can be captured.

McCoy had a gut feeling their prisoner was an intelligence officer, and probably an important one.

”Untie the skinny Slope, hand him a white flag, and send him over the hill,” Zimmerman said.

”That would be a violation of the Geneva Convention,” McCoy said. ”It's against the rules to endanger a prisoner.”

”s.h.i.+t,” Zimmerman said.

”Besides, I really want to talk to him,” McCoy said.

”Killer, that Slope sonofab.i.t.c.h isn't going to tell us a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing,” Zimmerman argued.

”I think maybe he will when he sees we're back in Seoul,” McCoy said.

Zimmermann snorted.

”Sergeant Jennings, hoist the colors,” McCoy said.

”Sir?”

”Unstrap the antenna on the jeep. Let's get the flag out so our friends at the roadblock can see it,” McCoy clarified.

”Aye, aye, sir.”

”What are you going to do?” Zimmerman asked, as Jennings scurried down the hill.

”Drive the jeep to the crest of the hill, and then-very quickly-get out of it, and the line of fire. Whereupon, the Army will-or will not-fire upon it. If they don't fire on it, I will ask for a volunteer to expose himself. We may get lucky.”

”And if we don't?”

”Then I guess you get shot. You were going to volunteer, right?”

”s.h.i.+t,” Zimmerman said, smiling.

”I'll do it, Ernie,” Major McCoy said.

Marine majors do not ordinarily address their subordinates by their first names, and certainly not with the affection McCoy had in his voice. But there is always an exception. In this case, the two had been friends since 1940, when both had been in the 4th Marines in Shanghai.

They watched as Jennings untied the whip antenna on the jeep. It sprung erect, but there was no breeze and the flag hung limply.

”We could give Dunston a call in Seoul,” Zimmerman said. ”He's got somebody sitting on his radio.”

”How long would it take, Ernie, for Dunston-even if he was sitting on the radio himself-to get a message to that roadblock?” McCoy asked, patiently. ”Hours, anyway.”

Zimmerman shrugged, taking McCoy's point.

Jennings got behind the wheel of the jeep, put it in four-wheel drive, and started up the hill.

McCoy got to his feet and waited for him. When he got close, McCoy signaled him to stop.

”I'll take it out there, Major,” Jennings said.

McCoy jerked his thumb, ordering Jennings out of the jeep, then got behind the wheel.

Then he put it in gear and drove it slowly to the crest and over.

”s.h.i.+t!” Zimmerman said when the jeep was out of sight.

Two minutes-two very long minutes-later, McCoy reappeared on foot at the crest of the hill.

”I waved and some doggie waved back at me,” he announced. ”I think we're all right. I'm going to drive down there. I'll signal you with a flashlight when it's okay to come.”

”Permission to speak freely, sir?” Technical Sergeant Jennings said.

McCoy made a let's have it let's have it gesture with both hands. gesture with both hands.

”I should drive the jeep, not you.”

”He's right,” Zimmerman said.

McCoy thought it over, then jerked his thumb for Jennings to come up the hill.

When he came to McCoy, Jennings handed him his rifle. Then he raised his arms over his head and waved to them as he approached the crest, and disappeared over it.