Part 6 (1/2)

And then, ”Yes, sir, I'll do that, sir.”

Then he handed the handset back to McCoy.

”The colonel wants to speak to you, Major,” he said.

”Yes, sir?” McCoy said.

”Sorry about that, McCoy. He doesn't know what's going on, and for obvious reasons-G.o.d save us all from well-meaning idiots-I didn't want to tell him.”

”I understand, sir. No problem.”

”I told him to do whatever you tell him to do, and to ask no questions.”

”Thank you, sir.”

”If you need anything else, give a call.”

”Thank you very much, sir,” McCoy said, and handed the handset to the corporal.

”Major, would you be willing to lead my Marines-the jeep and the weapons carrier-to Division?” McCoy asked.

”Certainly,” Major Masters said. ”Anything I can do to be of service. . . .”

[TWO].

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA 1935 28 SEPTEMBER 1950.

Staff Sergeant John J. Doheny, USMC, thought it highly unlikely that ”fleeing remnants” of the North Korean Army would drive boldly up Korean National Route 1 with their headlights blazing, but it never hurt to be careful.

”Heads up!” Doheny ordered when the headlights first illuminated, then stopped at the wrecked and burned General Motors 6 6 truck he had ordered dragged into the middle of the road as sort of a prebarrier to his roadblock fifty yards up the road.

”Halt, who goes there?” a voice in the darkness called to the lights.

That was Corporal Daniel Meredith, USMCR, whom Doheny had stationed with three other Marines, one of them armed with a BAR, in the ditches on either side of the burned truck barrier.

On one hand, Doheny thought, that sounded a little silly, as if they were at Parris Island or someplace, waiting for a drill instructor to inspect the guard post and demand a recitation of the Ten General Orders, instead of here, in the middle of a war.

On the other hand, he couldn't think of any other challenge that could be made that did the job as well. What else could Meredith shout? ”Hi, there! Mind stopping there a moment, and telling me who you are?” ”Hi, there! Mind stopping there a moment, and telling me who you are?” or maybe, or maybe, ”Pardon me, sir, are you a friendly or a f.u.c.king gook Communist?” ”Pardon me, sir, are you a friendly or a f.u.c.king gook Communist?”

”Marines!” a deep voice called back.

The beam of one flashlight and then another appeared, one from each side of the road. If his orders had been followed-and Sergeant Doheny had no reason to think they hadn't-PFC Miller, the big hillbilly with the BAR, now had it trained on the vehicle on the road from his position nowhere near the flashlights, waiting for orders to fire from Meredith.

Sergeant Doheny could now see enough to know there was something really strange down there. There were three men in a strange-looking jeep. The two in the front had their hands over their heads. The one in the back just sat there.

There was an American flag draped over the hood of the vehicle.

As Doheny got to his feet, he saw Meredith come onto the road from behind the vehicle, holding his carbine at the ready.

A moment later, Corporal Meredith bellowed, ”Sergeant Doheny, I think you better come down here!”

Doheny ran quickly down the ditch, pus.h.i.+ng the safety off on his M-1 Garand as he did. When he was beside the funny-looking vehicle, he came out of the ditch, holding the Garand like a hunter expecting to flush a bird.

A not-at-all-friendly voice called to him from the vehicle.

”Doheny, tell that moron to get that f.u.c.king light out of my eyes, or I'll stick it up his a.s.s!”

”Who is that?” Doheny called back.

”Gunner Zimmerman! Are you blind as well as deaf?”

I knew I knew that f.u.c.king voice!

Staff Sergeant Doheny and Master Gunner Zimmerman had been professionally a.s.sociated at one time or another at the USMC Recruit Training Facility, Parris Island; Camp Lejeune; and Camp Pendleton.

Doheny was more than a little in awe of Master Gunner Zimmerman. He was a Marine's Marine: tough, competent, and fair. And-although Zimmerman had never said anything about it himself-Doheny knew that during War Two Zimmerman had been a Marine Raider.

”Turn those f.u.c.king flashlights off,” Sergeant Doheny ordered. They were out immediately.

”Jesus, Mr. Zimmerman, what the f.u.c.k are you doing out here?” Doheny inquired.

”Major McCoy,” Gunner Zimmerman said, ”this is Staff Sergeant Doheny. He's not too bad a Marine-when he's sober.”

Sergeant Doheny saluted.

”Sorry, sir,” he said. ”I didn't see any insignia. . . .”

”How are you tonight, Sergeant?” McCoy replied, returning the salute.

”Can't complain, sir. Sir, with respect, what the f.u.c.k is this vehicle?”

”We took it away from the prisoner in the backseat, Sergeant,” McCoy said. ”As best as I can tell, it's a Chinese copy of a Russian vehicle the Russians copied after a German jeep.”

”I'll be d.a.m.ned,” Doheny said, and then stepped close to the vehicle and looked in the backseat. There was enough reflected light from the headlights for him to be able to see a hatless North Korean officer tightly trussed up and then tied to the backseat.

”What happened to the truck?” Zimmerman asked.

”No f.u.c.king idea. I had it drug into the road so anyone coming down the road would have to stop.”

”Good thinking, Sergeant,” McCoy said. ”How do we get around it?”

”Sir, if you're careful, you can get around it in a jeep,” Doheny said. ”I done that. I don't know about in this.”

”Well, we'll try. What's between here and Seoul, Sergeant?”

”There's a checkpoint at the pontoon bridge over the Han River, sir. And that's about it. So far as action is concerned, we've got it pretty well cleaned out, but there's action north and east.”

He pointed. There were flashes of dull light, and booming noises. It could have been a distant thunderstorm. It was, in fact, artillery.

”You got a landline to the checkpoint?” Zimmerman said. ”I would really hate to get this close only to get blown away because somebody thought if it's riding around in a gook vehicle, it's probably a gook.”