by Martin Limon
“I mean he’s talking about attacking the Third Corps.”
A momentary silence fell over the group. Katie, who’d been quiet so far, swiveled her hair from side to side, as I’d seen her do when winding up to let someone have it.
“You’re saying,” Katie said, “that because these two guys have some sort of problem comparing the size of their tank battalions, that it’s the fault of an innocent woman? That it’s Estella?”
“Yes,” Screech Owl said. “Once she came on the scene, everything started going wrong.”
“Sure. Blame the woman.” Katie placed her hands on her hips. “What, exactly, did General Crabtree do to her? Did they just talk? Did they screw until they both passed out from exhaustion? Explain it to us, Sergeant Major, and don’t be bashful. What exactly are you talking about?”
“She went to his room.”
“Whose?”
“General Crabtree’s. Estella snuck in there one night when he was staying at the Third Corps compound.”
“How in the hell do you know?”
“I don’t sleep much indoors.”
“You sleep better outdoors?”
“Yeah. The way I grew up. That’s why I took to the Army so well. I’m a field soldier. Pulling guard duty in the middle of the night doesn’t bother me. I find it relaxing.”
“So you were snooping?” Katie said.
Screech owl’s expression was grim. He stared at her noncommittally. “You could call it that.”
“You feel protective toward General Crabtree.”
“He’s a good man.”
“And she’s an evil woman,” she retorted.
He didn’t answer.
“So did she spend the rest of the evening with the great General Crabtree?”
“Only a couple of hours. When she came out, I followed her.”
“Okay. Come on,” Katie prompted. “Give. What’s the rest of the story?”
“She went to her room, I heard the shower running. About a half-hour later, she came out. Quiet. Thinking nobody was watching her. She went to General Bok’s room.”
“So that’s what this is,” Katie said. “You and a couple of crybaby generals offended because they’ve never encountered a woman who aggressively asserts her sexual needs. And because she didn’t get off with General Crabtree and now she’s going to try again with General Bok, you’re blaming her for starting another Korean freaking War.”
“I don’t care who she screws,” Screech Owl said.
“As long as it’s not your boyfriend.”
Since I’d known him, Screech Owl had always kept his expression impassive. But this time, it was as if it had crystallized into the face of a cliff. What Katie had just said, if spoken at an all-male barracks, would’ve been enough to not only start a fight, but a war. No soldier wanted his reputation tainted in any way by hints of homosexuality—not even in jest. Not to mention that “going queer,” as it was often called, could result in arrest, court-martial, and a dishonorable discharge.
Katie fidgeted, realizing that she’d gone too far.
“All right,” she said, “I didn’t mean that. He’s not your boyfriend. But you’re looking out for him.”
“I’m looking out for everybody,” he said. “If those two keep screwing around with move-out alerts, the North Koreans are liable to think we’re preparing a preemptive attack.”
“And take the initiative,” Ernie said, “by crossing the DMZ themselves.”
Screech Owl nodded.
Footsteps shuffled at the end of the alley. At first, I thought it might be an MP coming to shoo us back to the compound since the midnight curfew was almost upon us. Then I realized that the sound was more than a shuffle. It was a pounding. A heavy pounding. Combat boots on the run. And then the siren sounded, a long wail like an ancient giant coming to life.
“Alert!” Screech Owl said.
And then we were all running. Screech Owl back to the compound. Ernie and I back to our jeep. When we reached the alley where we’d parked and locked it, Katie was right behind us, breathing heavily.
“You can’t come with us,” I told her. “We have to follow the Command and Control Communications van and try to find General Crabtree.”
“Right. That’s why I’m going with you.”
“They might move out right up to the DMZ,” I said. “And we’ll have to follow.”
“Good. I always wanted to see it.”
She climbed into the back of the jeep.
Ernie and I looked at each other. “You gonna drag her out?” he asked.
“I was hoping you would.”
He shrugged. “In for a hundred won, in for a thousand.”
Ernie slipped behind the steering wheel and I jumped in the passenger seat. When he started the engine and pulled forward, Katie patted him on the back. “Good boy. Wait’ll you see tomorrow’s Overseas Observer. You’re gonna love it.”
“I’m not gonna be in it, am I?”
“No. That’s why you’re gonna love it.”
When the Command and Control Communications van emerged from the front gate of Camp Red Cloud, Ernie fell in right behind. Because of the manic confusion of every move-out alert, nobody seemed to notice another military jeep following like a compliant duckling behind the mama duck up front.
The convoy headed east toward the northern end of Uijongbu until it reached a major intersection. Combat MPs had already arrived and were stopping what little civilian traffic there was and waving through the I Corps convoy. We zipped through the main intersection of Uijongbu, then past the two- and three-story high-rise apartment buildings on the northern end of the city, and soon we were passing dark rice paddies and quiet farm communities, heading north. It was a few miles later, when we reached the city of Pocheon, that things went nuts.
The combat MPs had screamed past the convoy on the dirt edge of the road and were now blocking the center of town, closing the intersection with the main highway in order to expedite our movement. But instead of picking up speed as they passed through Pocheon, the convoy slowed.
“What’s the hold-up?” Ernie asked.
We were stopped long enough that I hopped out of the jeep and ran up on a berm along the edge of a rice paddy and tiptoed to see what was going on ahead of us. I ran back to the jeep and climbed in.
“The Command and Control van is up there,” I said. “Stopped. They’re moving the portable stanchions, from the south side to the north.”
“Why?”
“Hell if I know.”
It was odd, not heading toward the DMZ during a move-out alert. Instead we were turning away, in the general direction of the extreme eastern limits of the city of Seoul. A minute later, the convoy started to move again. Up ahead, headlights paraded steadily south.
“For Christ’s sake,” Ernie said.
“What?” Katie said, pounding her fist lightly on his shoulder. “What does this mean?”
“It means,” I said, “that General Crabtree is going to set up his First Corps defenses, and his headquarters, on the northeastern edge of Seoul.”
“Why?” she asked.
“To protect the city.”
“From what?”
“Not the North Koreans,” Ernie said.
“How do you know?”
“If this was a real invasion, the North Koreans would’ve already sent their air force south. We’d already be receiving incoming. More importantly, they would’ve unleashed their artillery. It’s dug into the sides of the mountain ranges near the DMZ. They roll it out on railroad tracks and the artillery pieces are huge. Massive guns, some of them almost as big as the Washington Monument. By now, we’d not only hear the rounds flying overhead, but we’d see the flashes of light from the explosions taking Seoul apart piece by piece.” He waved his hand to our left and our ri
ght. “As you can see, everything’s quiet.”
“So maybe the protection of Seoul is General Crabtree’s assignment in case of war. Maybe this is all practice,” Katie said.
Ernie hit the big intersection and was waved south by an MP with a flashlight.
“No way,” Ernie said. “At first, the MPs were set up to guide us north, as would be normal. But somebody must’ve ordered them to stop, and now they’re redirecting us to the south. Also, every unit has reinforced fire positions close to the DMZ, placed in advance at strategic points. There’s nothing like that on the northern edge of Seoul.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t make sense militarily. If the North Korean tanks get that far, they’re going to take Seoul and we’d already be pulling our surviving units south of the Han River, to regroup and make a stand.”
“So there’s no plan for going where First Corps is going?”
“No.”
“Then what in the hell is General Crabtree doing?”
Ernie didn’t answer. He was following the convoy through narrow roads that were mostly unlit. I turned in my seat.
“General Crabtree is going to set up a defensive position somewhere north of Seoul.”
“Against who?” Katie asked, almost crying.
“You already know.”
“Against General Bok,” Katie said. “The ROK Army Third Corps is attacking Seoul. He’s planning a coup. That’s what Estella was trying to tell me.”
“What’d she tell you?” Ernie asked.
“She said that she was there to help him do what he was destined to do.”
“But she didn’t explain what that was?”
“No,” Katie said, shaking her head in confusion. “I thought it was some sort of political grooming for his eventual run for the presidency. And while she was at it, that she would make sure he wouldn’t abuse more women. Wouldn’t bring them up there for more parties for him and the big shots he was wining and dining. I thought we were sisters, trying to protect one another.”
“Not likely,” I said. “When one dictator tries to displace another dictator, a lot of people die. Many of them, maybe most of them, women.”
“Not to mention children,” Ernie said.
“So what’s the US Army going to do?” Katie asked. “Are they going to reinforce Crabtree and stop Bok?”
“Probably not,” I said.
“Not? What are you talking about? They have to.”
“It’s an internal problem in the South Korean government. The US doesn’t want to be seen, at least not out in the open, as picking and choosing winners. North Korea already claims that the South Korean government is nothing but a puppet of the Yankees. The official stance of the US government is probably going to be to stand by and let them fight it out.”
“As long as the winner,” Ernie added, “hates the Commies as much as the Pentagon does.”
Katie looked back and forth between us. “You guys are crazy. I thought we were here to defend democracy.”
Ernie shrugged. “Don’t blame us.”
“And General Crabtree,” Katie said, pulling out her notebook. “He hates Bok. Allowing him to take over the country is certainly not what he would choose.”
“That’s why Eighth Army wanted to stop Crabtree,” I said, thinking out loud now. “But the honchos didn’t want to relieve him and admit how serious the problem had already become. Maybe they didn’t know how quickly Bok was going to act. That he’d already been moving ammunition to the rear and repaving roads to allow his tank battalions to move faster. They kept hoping that General Crabtree would come to his senses and stop acting on his own and start following Eighth Army’s orders.”
“Which were to do nothing,” Katie said, scribbling more furiously now.
“Yes. But Bok seized the moment. He didn’t wait for those opposed to his plans to close ranks. He acted with audacity.”
The convoy ground to a halt. Ernie tapped on the brakes, sliding on the muddy blacktop.
“Uh oh,” he said.
“What’s the hang-up?”
“Probably a roadblock.”
“Bok’s soldiers?”
“Who else?”
Along with other people in the front and the back of us, we climbed out of the jeep. Ernie elbowed me and pointed. In the distance, illuminated by the light of a three-quarter moon, I could barely discern the outline of a row of hills. “What?”
Katie stood next to us, squinting forward also.
“Along the lower edge of those hills,” Ernie said. “What do you see?”
They were so dim I almost thought I was imagining them. “Red lights,” I said. “Very dim lights.”
“Exactly. It’s hard to see them from a distance. Emergency lights for vehicular travel during blackout conditions.”
“Like combat,” Katie said.
“Exactly.”
“Christ,” she said. “There’s got to be thirty or forty of them.”
“That’s Bok’s lead force,” Ernie said. “And his advance commandoes are already blocking the road.”
“The Third Corps tanks will have a clear path into Seoul,” I said.
“Not clear.”
“What’s going to stop them?”
Ernie looked at me. “What do you think the rest of the ROK Army is doing right now? Sitting around with their thumbs up their butts?”
“They’ll confront them before they enter the city?”
“Or after,” Ernie said. “Wherever. It’s going to be a helluva fireworks show.”
Katie thought about it. “Goddamn it! What do these boys think they’re doing, playing these games? People are going to die!” She looked back and forth between us. “Well, don’t just stand there. We need to get to Seoul.”
“Why?”
“Estella. She told me that if anything went wrong, she would meet me at a Buddhist statue, near that big gate downtown.”
“Guanghua-mun,” I said.
“Yeah. That’s it. She promised me a full briefing.”
“A briefing?”
Gunfire erupted up ahead. Everybody crouched low, most of the GIs aiming their weapons forward.
“We better move now,” Ernie said, “before the road behind us is blocked.”
We piled back inside. Ernie started the jeep, pulled out of line, turned around, and rolled slowly back down the road in the opposite direction of the other vehicles in the convoy. The last vehicle in the row was an MP jeep. An armed MP stood in our way, his M16 leveled straight at us.
Ernie stopped. Another MP approached us from the side. He glanced at me and Ernie and Katie Byrd sitting in the back.
“What unit are you with?” he asked.
I showed him the dispatch.
“You’re CID, right?”
“Right.”
“Just got a radio report. General Crabtree wants you to hold where you are.”
“Why?”
“I don’t ask why.” He pointed the barrel of his rifle at Ernie’s temple. “Turn off the ignition.” Ernie turned off the ignition.
The other MP was speaking on the radio. He waved at our MP and flashed him a thumbs-up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Katie asked.
“Hell if I know.”
Less than two minutes later, two men, winded, ran up to the side of our jeep. They peered in. I recognized them both: Lieutenant General Crabtree and Sergeant Major Tapia.
“Make room!” Crabtree yelled.
I leaned forward and they pulled up the back of my seat. Both men clambered in and squeezed into either side of the tiny rear compartment, with Katie sardined between them.
Perspiration running off his face, Crabtree said, “Thanks for the ride. I just turned the Command vehicle over to the XO.” The Executiv
e Officer of I Corps. He turned to Katie. “Estella called and told me she designated a rendezvous point between you and her if something went wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Katie crossed her arms. “Why would I tell you?”
General Crabtree reached for his .45. Screech Owl leaned across them both and held on with both hands to General Crabtree’s right wrist. For a moment, the two men struggled.
“That’ll do no good!” Screech Owl yelled. “Calm down. Let me see if I can work this out.”
General Crabtree took a few deep breaths, raised his right hand, and set it on the top of the back of my seat in plain view. “Go ahead then,” he dared. “Try to reason with her.”
Screech Owl turned to Katie. “It’s important that we talk to Estella.”
“I want to be there,” Katie said. “I want to hear everything that’s said, and I want it all on the record.”
“Is that all you can think of?” Crabtree roared. “That damn rag of a tabloid you work for?”
“It’s not a rag,” Katie argued, chin tilting up.
“Sir,” Screech Owl said. “You said you’d let me handle this.”
Exhausted, Crabtree nodded his head. “Okay,” he said, waving his hand. “You handle it.”
Screech Owl turned back to Katie. “If we let you in on the story, when would you publish it?”
“Not till next Sunday. This week’s edition has already been put to bed.”
Screech Owl spoke in an appeasing voice to General Crabtree. “See, sir? It’ll all be over by then. Ancient history. Nothing to worry about.”
Rubbing his forehead with his right hand, Crabtree flicked the fingers of his left hand as if in acquiescence.
“Okay,” Screech Owl said. “Then it’s settled. You take us to Estella, we talk to her, you get to listen, and then you can publish a week from tomorrow in whatever rag you want.”
“It’s not a rag,” Katie repeated.
“Everybody ready?” Ernie asked.
When no one protested, he started the ignition and we slowly rolled forward. This time, the combat MPs stood back and let us pass. To our right, the clatter of tank treads on pavement rumbled across acres of rice paddies.
