Part 25 (1/2)
”I said the Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune looks like a typical junk,” McCoy said. ”But she was prepared for the smugglingtrade by some very good s.h.i.+pwrights in Macao. You know, near Hong Kong?” looks like a typical junk,” McCoy said. ”But she was prepared for the smugglingtrade by some very good s.h.i.+pwrights in Macao. You know, near Hong Kong?”
Donald nodded.
”How prepared?” he asked.
”Wind of Good Fortune has a 200-horse Caterpillar diesel, and fuel tanks therefore in her holds,” McCoy said. ”And some basic, but pretty reliable, radio direction finder equipment. She'll make thirteen, fourteen knots, even with her sail acting as a windbreak.” has a 200-horse Caterpillar diesel, and fuel tanks therefore in her holds,” McCoy said. ”And some basic, but pretty reliable, radio direction finder equipment. She'll make thirteen, fourteen knots, even with her sail acting as a windbreak.”
”Sounds like something out of Terry and the Pirates, Terry and the Pirates,” Donald said, referring to Milton Caniff's popular comic strip.
”Why Socho-Ri?” McCoy asked. ”Why there?”
Dunston went to the stack of aerials, searched through them, and slipped one under the viewing device.
”For several reasons,” he said. ”For one thing, it's tiny. For another, it's about fifteen miles south of the 38th Parallel. Highway Five runs up to the border, but-since it had nowhere to go beyond the border-the closer it got to the border it was less traveled and not maintained. And even better, between the highway and the sh.o.r.eline”-he took a pencil and used it as a pointer on the aerial-”there's this line of hills. You can't tell from the aerial, but they're (a) too steep-sided to build rice paddies on them and (b) from 100 to 200 feet high, so that you can't see the village from Highway 5.”
McCoy touched Donald's shoulder. Donald moved his head out of the way, and McCoy studied the aerial.
”I'm surprised I don't see much of a road,” he said.
”We didn't use the road-actually just a path-unless we had to. We supplied the place using the Wind of Good Fortune. Wind of Good Fortune.”
”Okay,” McCoy said.
”When I found Socho-Ri,” Dunston went on, ”there were about a dozen fishermen and their families in the village. They not only hated the North Koreans but were delighted to find someone willing to buy their dried fish from them, and at a better price than they had been able to get after having to take it by oxcart south to Kangnung, the closest 'city,' thirty miles to the south.
”So I hired the fishermen to build four more stone, thatch-roofed houses, and to repair the existing, fallen-into -disrepair-because-their-small-boats-didn't-need-it wharf so the Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune could tie up to it,” Dunston went on. ”And then went to work.” could tie up to it,” Dunston went on. ”And then went to work.”
”How did it work?” McCoy asked.
”The Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune called on Socho-Ri on an irregular basis. Sometimes once a week, sometimes twice, sometimes not for two weeks. She sailed into Socho-Ri late in the afternoon, unloaded rice, live chickens, the occasional porker, and started taking aboard dried fish. And, at first light the next morning, sailed away.” called on Socho-Ri on an irregular basis. Sometimes once a week, sometimes twice, sometimes not for two weeks. She sailed into Socho-Ri late in the afternoon, unloaded rice, live chickens, the occasional porker, and started taking aboard dried fish. And, at first light the next morning, sailed away.”
”And during the night . . .” McCoy began admiringly.
Dunston smiled.
”We fired up her diesels and did our business up north. Always being careful to be back at Socho-Ri before dawn.”
”And you never got caught?” Zimmerman asked.
”Honestly, Zimmerman, I don't think they suspected a thing,” Dunston said. ”Not even when we built the new buildings. They were visible from the sea.”
”And used for what?” Donald asked.
”They housed a diesel generator, radios, weapons, and a detachment of from four to six agents.”
”And what do you see when you look at these aerials?” McCoy asked.
”Twenty burned-out hootches, and no people,” Dunston said.
”Alex,” McCoy asked. ”Are these aerials going to help you find this place?”
”Oh, sure.”
”Well, then, I guess we'll find out what happened at Socho-Ri in the morning, won't we?” McCoy said.
[SEVEN].
NEAR SOCHO-RI, SOUTH KOREA 0805 1 OCTOBER 1950.
The view afforded the observer-Major Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR-in the backseat of the high-winged, two-place, single-engine L-19 was all that could be asked for. But despite looking very carefully, and twice making the pilot-Major Alex Donald, USA-turn around for a better, lower-level look, McCoy didn't see any sign of Major Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, in the one hour and twenty minutes it took them to fly from the Munic.i.p.al Race Track in Seoul to the east coast just above Kangnung.
There, north of the city on Highway 5, they could look down on what were apparently elements of the South Korean army, but attempts to make radio contact with what they saw failed, and there didn't seem to be a place where Donald could safely land the airplane.
They flew north.
”There it is,” Donald said, pointing.
”Can you land there?” McCoy asked.
”I'll make a couple of pa.s.ses and see,” Donald said. ”But I have to tell you, when we leave, we're going to have to fly straight back to Seoul. We have less than half fuel.”
”Okay.”
Alex made two low-level pa.s.ses over the tiny village, then turned a final time and touched down smoothly on a narrow, half-sand, half-gra.s.sed field.
McCoy raised the side window of the L-19, then opened the door, got out, and reached back inside and came out with a Thompson submachine gun. Then he waited for Donald to get out.
Donald nodded at the Thompson.
”If we're going to be doing more of this sort of thing, I'd be more comfortable if I had one of those.”
”Can you shoot one?”
”I had, you know, familiarization.”
”I'll have Jennings get you an automatic carbine,” McCoy said. ”Thompsons are a lot harder to shoot than it seems in the movies.”
He started walking toward the burned-out hootches.
Before they reached it, there was the smell of putrefying flesh, and then they came across the first, near-skeletal body.
”Jesus Christ!” Donald exclaimed, fighting back nausea.
McCoy didn't reply.
He walked into the village, where there were more bodies, including three with their hands tied behind them.