by Unknown
“Our submarines have orders to sink all their shipping and the air force to attack supply aircraft. That should keep the resistance to a minimum,” the naval officer said.
“Have we heard from our submarines?” the Minister asked.
“Not as yet. They are under radio silence but should be returning to port within a few days,” the naval officer said. He purposefully did not mention that one submarine was already overdue. Nor did he mention no shipping had been coming into port over the last week. Most of their supplies came from the People’s Republic of China, so the lack of shipping had little effect on what they were doing.
“What about air dropped supplies?”
“Our planes are shooting down any supply aircraft or large transports coming into or out of any major city. Nothing should be getting through,” said the air force officer. Once again, he neglected to tell his minister that they were only in the air during the day. The night sky had a few patrols, but none had any really reliable systems. He knew some supplies were getting through, but it couldn’t be much.
The Minister thought a moment. “Comrade General, call in more troops to launch a main assault. I want this fighting over before the Chairman’s deadline.”
The men saluted and left the room. A massive movement of men and equipment began within the next 24 hours.
Truck Terminal, China
Kee Yuan Ho was dog tired. Kee had been contacted, but had no idea when the next contact would be. The first told him to return to the terminal for another assignment. Once there, he was assigned to drive to the People’s Republic for a load of machine parts for the war effort. A party official came along. When they reached their destination for onloading the parts, Kee was told it would not be ready until the next day. The party official simply shrugged his shoulders and left for one of the better hotels in the area. Although Kee would have been allowed to do the same, he did what he always did - pulled out a bedroll and slept on the back of his truck. This simple gesture earned him some respect within the party since it spared the party some expense and demonstrated his reliability. Kee offered a spare roll to the party official, but it was politely declined. Obviously he didn’t need to prove anything. The one other thing it did was give Kee the chance to be alone for a while.
Kee unrolled the mat and sleeping bag. He strung a wire from the top of the trailer to the end and draped a tarp over it for some protection from the elements. With all the electric lights around the compound, his flashlight was not needed. He was able to set his little shelter up and rest comfortably. As he lay on his mat, he looked out to see the men busily working around the area. Even here the people seemed happier and more industrious than in his country. Some of the men joked and roughhoused around. Some even sat and enjoyed a meal together. In his country such things were discouraged. People were there to work for the state and not much else.
After a few minutes he realized he was hungry. The terminal had a small kiosk where workers were fed. He dropped off the flatbed and made his way to it. The cook behind the counter recognized him from previous visits. He seemed excited to see him.
“Good to see you back again. You hungry?” he asked.
Kee nodded. “It’s been a long drive.”
The cook rolled his eyes. “Aren’t they all. We have a good fish stew tonight. I give you extra portion,” he said with a smile. He produced a large bowl of steaming rice covered with a fish broth. It smelled heavenly. Kee thanked the man and took a seat at a small table in the corner. The hot bowl warmed his hands. He took his chopsticks and quickly devoured the contents of the bowl. Then he tipped the bowl to his lips to drink the broth. Even the food here is better, he thought.
As he set down the bowl the cook came from behind the counter and walked over. He had something in his hand. “I have never seen anyone eat as fast as you. You must have been very hungry,” he said.
“It was wonderful,” Kee said. “I live alone and haven’t had cooking like yours in a long time.”
The cook beamed. “I learned from my father. I enjoy making people’s day more pleasant, so I cook special. Here, I have something for you,” he said handing over a small chocolate covered cake. He kept his back to the other men as he handed it over. “I had one more and held it for you. A little extra for the drive from Korea,” he said.
“Kee looked at the cake. It was very rare that he could have chocolate and it meant a lot to receive such a gift. “That is very kind of you.”
The old cook waved him back. “No, I have seen you come here for several years. You work hard. Much harder than some of these,” he said pointing around. “I am closing up for the night, so you take it. Tomorrow I bring more for you and your rider,” he said.
Kee thanked him again. The old man took the empty bowl and went back to his kiosk. After a few minutes cleaning up and putting things away, he pulled down the front flap of the small shack and locked the door. He gave one last wave as he walked toward the front of the terminal and home.
Kee got up and walked back to his little canvas shelter. There he took off his shoes and clothes and slid into the bag. He had bought the bag in China as well and it was down filled, making it snug and warm on cold nights. Sitting with his back against the windscreen of the flatbed, he ate the chocolate cake and savored the rich flavor. He ate it slowly so he could keep the taste in his mouth a long time. Then he licked the excess chocolate off his fingers and washed it down with water from his canteen. It had been a nice ending for the day.
Kee sat a while, looking out along the terminal floor and the other trucks. But soon his eyes grew heavy and he eased down on the mat to fall into one of the deepest sleeps he had ever experienced. He was awakened when he felt a prodding in his ribs. He opened his eyes to find one of the terminal managers trying to get his attention. “We’re ready to load you now,” he said.
Kee quickly dressed and packed up his mat and canvas. In a few minutes an old wheezing forklift started placing pallets of heavy equipment on his truck. As they did, Kee and another man began securing each pallet with chains and straps. It took only 30 minutes to get the flatbed filled to capacity and beyond. The party official showed up with 5 minutes to spare. It was obvious he was not planning on giving any assistance. Instead, he spent his time talking to the Chinese political officer for the terminal. As soon as all was tied down securely, Kee climbed in his truck and tried to start the engine. Despite his best efforts, the engine failed to turn over.
Kee stepped out of his truck and unhooked the locks for the cab. The entire cab tilted forward and he worked his way over the engine step by step, making sure the wires were tight and nothing was cracked or loose. By now the foreman was beside the truck.
“I need this space open,” he said angrily. “You need to move this thing.”
Kee looked up at him. “Give me a few minutes, it doesn’t want to start,” he shouted back.
After going over it a second time, he closed the cab and tried to start it again. The engine cranked but failed to run. Now several men were beside him giving advice on what to look for and how to fix it. The party official came out and added his two cents worth, then told Kee he was a fool and headed back to the office.
Kee could feel the pressure to get things moving now. After another series of failed attempts, the terminal manager had another truck pull in front of Kee’s and hook on a chain. The truck was pulled to a small maintenance facility at the far end of the yard. Kee was truly frightened now. Truck repairs were often taken out of a man’s pay and were notoriously expensive. A mechanic came out of the facility and greeted Kee. He was wearing a set of dingy, stained overhauls and was covered up to his elbows with grease and grime. He was wiping his hands on a rag that would probably leave more grease than it took off.
“What is the problem?” he asked.
“It was running when I pulled it in and it won’t start now,” Kee said.
The mechanic nodded and helped him tilt the cab again. Then he crawled up on the edge and began leaning over the
engine. After a moment, he called Kee over. Kee jumped up on the edge with the man and looked where he was pointing.
“You seem to have paid attention to our signal, my friend,” the mechanic said in a low voice.
Kee almost jumped off the truck in surprise. Although he knew there was to be a contact, he never expected it here, in the open, with his political officer watching.
“Do not be afraid, Comrade. My government is watching out for your best interests. We simply would like some information that you may be able to obtain for us,” he said calmly while appearing to work on the engine.
Kee nodded briefly and handed the man a wrench from the tool kit. At least he could appear to be helpful. “What information would you like?” he asked.
The mechanic leaned back and grabbed another wrench. “We would like to know the locations of the tunnels leading from your nation across the demilitarized zone,” the man said.
Kee blinked at that one. “That is no problem,” he said. “I have already traveled through all of them. Have you a map we could look at?”
The mechanic sat up and stared at the man. It was that easy? Surely these were state secrets.
Kee saw the puzzled look on the man’s face. He couldn’t understand why he would not understand. He had said it plain enough. He repeated himself. “I have delivered military supplies through each of the five tunnels going under the former zone. I can show you right now,” he said.
The mechanic nodded his head. “Wait here,” he said as he got off the truck and went back into the building. Two minutes later he came out carrying a box with a part in it. He jumped back on the truck and joined Kee. Taking the part out, he placed it beside the engine and unwrapped it. The wrapping was a map with every known road in North and South Korea. As the men leaned over the engine again, Kee took out a pencil and marked where five roads were detoured and came out on the other side of the Zone. He also indicated where they linked up to roads in the South. Then he started making other notations. He talked as he wrote.
“These two tunnels are only one way. Although I could get this truck through them, there was only three feet of clearance on either side of the road. I do not like them. This one is made for very heavy equipment like the tank carriers. It is very wide and lighted inside with thick concrete walls and top. There are also security posts along the way. I heard one of the other drivers say they could pull our fighter planes inside.” Then he pointed to the last two. “These are for general trucks. They are two way, but not as wide as they should be. There are no guards there,” he said.
“How deep do these tunnels go?”
“I am not sure, but they go down at an angle for more than a mile before leveling out. Then they climb for more than a mile. I know my ears pop several times before getting to the bottom or coming to the top. They also tell us to drive through swiftly. The air in the bottom will make you pass out if you stay too long,” Kee said.
Seeing that Kee was finished, the mechanic nodded and folded the map back, placing it in the box again like a piece of waste paper. He grabbed the part and replaced the old one on the truck. He also took out a small wire and replaced one already on the engine. “It should run fine now,” he said.
As they stood up the Political Officer came running up. “I see how you treat state property. If you had taken better care of your equipment, this would not have happened!” he shouted.
The mechanic held up his hand. “Comrade, it is not this man’s fault. The Soviet factory that made this part has produced faulty ones for years. It is a wonder it lasted this long. As a matter of fact, we have never seen one last as many miles as this one has. It is a tribute to this man’s skill that this truck is still on the road. I have examined the engine and except for this, it is perfect. We of the People’s Republic assume some of the blame for this part. After all, we helped our Comrades in the Democratic People’s Republic get these trucks. We have a stockpile of new parts to take care of such matters. It is provided at no cost. I will make a formal report to the state committee on the ongoing problem so that it is on the record. I hope this has not delayed you too long.”
The Political Officer seemed to be placated. Since it was not the driver’s fault, there would be no blame at the delay. He thanked the man and asked where the bathroom facilities were. After some directions, he took off again.
Kee turned to the mechanic. “Thank you for your help. It could have been bad for me.”
The mechanic smiled. “I said before we were looking out for your best interests. It is also in our best interests for you to continue in your job. We will be contacting you again,” he said. Then he grabbed the tool box and his “trash” and went back into the building. Within five minutes, Kee, his passenger, and his cargo were on the way back to North Korea.
San Pedro, California
“Single up all lines,” came the order over the sound-powered phones. On deck, the men scurried to the lines to let all but one loose from the ship in preparation for getting underway. On the pier men stood by each bollard letting go each set of lines and allowing the men onboard to pull them in. Captain Hammond and the XO stood on the bridge wing watching the evolution. The last brow was lifted by a crane and set on the dock.
The pilot, an older man named Jamison, looked over at the Captain. “Ready when you are, Captain,” he said.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Hammond said. “The ship is yours, sir.”
Jamison winked and ordered all lines in. As the last line was lifted from a bollard on the pier, the ship’s Boatswain’s Mate keyed the 1MC, blew his whistle, and said, “Underway, shift colors.” With those words the American flag rose on the main truck of the mast along with the ship’s commissioning pennant. It was the first time the flag had flown there in over 25 years. The Bos’n’s mate reached up and pulled a handle on the bridge and the ship’s whistle let out a long boisterous blast.
Using a newly arrived set of radios, the pilot called the tugs to start pulling. Six big harbor tugs began straining at their cables, pulling the massive ship away from the pier. It was a slow process. 58,000 tons does not move quickly. After ten minutes the ship was in the middle of the channel and the pilot had the forward tugs continue pulling while the after tugs began pushing the stern around. The Iowa slowly began turning around in the channel for her trip to the sea.
Once the bow was pointed generally in the proper direction, Jamison turned to the two men inside a large protective steel cylinder on the bridge. “All engines ahead one third. Helmsman steady on 150.”
“All engines answer ahead one third, coming to course 150, aye sir,” replied the men in the conning station. The ship’s four gigantic bronze propellers began to turn at the command of the engineers below and Iowa began to move under her own power down the channel.
The Iowa made her way through the industrial section of the waterfront and turned left toward the breakwater. Once clear, the ship was turned to 080 degrees toward Seal Beach. The Captain called down to the chief engineer on the “bitch box,” an intercom system on the ship. “Cheng, are we up to standard speed?”
Commander Kimberlain, the Chief Engineer or CHENG, was eagerly awaiting that order. “Ready and willing, Captain. The systems seem to have steadied out pretty well.”
“Mister Jamison, you can take it up to fifteen knots whenever you want.”
Jamison grinned. “Been waiting for the last fifteen minutes, Captain. It should be no problem at all.” The speed was increased and a foamy wake appeared behind the ship as she sped through the darkened bay.
Captain Hammond sat back in his chair and took in the view. He was seated on the starboard side of the bridge where the bridge windows formed a corner. From there he looked out over the forward part of the ship, over the top of turret two and past turret one along the tapered bow coming to a point nearly 300 feet in front of him. Men were scurrying about the deck doing their routine duties, but he could also see Bos’n Patnaude up forward wearing a white plastic helmet wi
th a set of crossed anchors stenciled on the front. The captain watched as a young sailor came up to Patnaude with a coffee cup in his hand. He handed the cup to Patnaude, who took a sip. Hammond could almost see the old man’s eyes roll back in delight.
The Captain glanced at his watch. It was only 8:30 in the evening. They had been ordered to time the transit to Seal Beach after dark. The ship seemed to be running normally and he started getting a good feel for how she maneuvered. He glanced at the OOD. In the dim glow of the last rays of the sun he could tell the lieutenant was paying attention to all the details of a ship in transit – even more so since there was a pilot technically in charge going through the bay. When little things came up, he took care of them without much of a sweat. “OOD, how is the steering gear doing? I understand there were some occasional problems in the past.”
Lieutenant Lopez walked over to the captain. “Nothing has been reported, Captain,” he said. Then he walked to the big armored door and looked in at the helm and lee helm. “Golden, you have any problems with the steering at all?”
Petty Officer Golden shook his head. “No, sir, everything seems to be working okay. It’s just like it was before,” he said. Golden had been on the ship back in 1988 and 89. He could probably tell them a lot about this ship.
“Good enough,” said Hammond, who walked over to hear the report personally. “Golden, did you ever hear of steering problems when you were aboard before?”
Golden nodded as he made an adjustment in the steering to stay on course. “Yes, sir, but that was when operating at flank speed. The pressure from the engines can overpower the hydraulics. You have to watch it, especially anything like a full or hard rudder. Otherwise it’s okay,” he said. The whole time, he never took his eyes off the gyro repeater in front of him.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Boats,” Hammond said. He returned to his seat and continued talking with the OOD. “I thought I had heard something like that on these ships. How do you like this duty, Lopez?”
