Korea Strait

by David Poyer

  “As we all know,” Jung said drily.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “So you counsel caution?”

  “Sir, in this case, I don’t counsel anything. This really has nothing to do with conduct of the exercise. You’re the OTC. You’re the host country commander.”

  “The North takes advantage of heavy weather to slip their infiltration teams in. When we fought them, defending our fishing fleets, they attacked at night, in bad weather. I believe we need to be ready to fight in bad weather.”

  “I can’t argue with that, sir. But you have to balance it against prudence.”

  “That’s what the Australians said.”

  “Are they in?”

  “They’re out. Left last night.”

  “No guidance from Higher?”

  Jung made an expression Dan couldn’t interpret. “COMROKFLT left it up to me.”

  “Well then—that’s good. If you’re satisfied there’s enough warning time to get into port, if it hooks toward us—”

  Jung nodded, pursing his lips. He muttered, “And of course there is the question of what Commodore Leakham will decide. So far his cooperation is… spotty. If I order him to go out and resume exercise play—will he?”

  “That’s up to him,” Dan told him. “Just do what you think is right. I don’t have any fucking idea where Leakham’s coming from on anything, if that’s what you’re asking me, though. Sir.”

  He looked toward Blair again. Her conversation with Harlen seemed to be winding down. He was moving up again, getting ready to introduce Jung, when a heavily bemedalled Korean Army aide pushed his way through the crowd toward them. Harlen bent to him, cupping his ear.

  The general turned to Blair. “If you’d step this way, ma’am, I’ll present you to the defense minister.”

  “Should I come?” Dan asked her. “Or wait here?”

  “Sure, come on,” she told him. “I want you to. Come on.”

  He smiled apologetically back at Jung. The commodore looked disappointed, but smiled back and shrugged.

  The defense minister, a small man in a dark blue suit, turned out to be the guy who’d ranted for forty minutes. He was smiling and bowing to Blair. Dan and Harlen bowed back. They were exchanging stilted small talk about the ceremony, how pleasant the weather was, and so forth, when someone behind him clamped a hand on Dan’s shoulder.

  He turned to confront the tallest, strackest Korean he’d ever seen. The guy was in starched fatigues, gleaming black battle helmet, and gold armband. A lanyarded pistol was holstered at his belt, and his face was coldly, absolutely hostile. He jerked a thumb behind him. “Commander Lenson? Is this your man, sir?”

  Dan leaned to see around him. To where, at some distance, Rit Carpenter, hands shackled behind him, was standing beside a jeep. Korean troops with unslung rifles surrounded him.

  “Excuse me,” he said, bowing first to the minister and then to Blair. She glanced from him to the jeep, and a line appeared between her brows, but only for a moment; she turned back to the politico, smiling and nodding, and moving ever so slightly—to mask what was going on from his view, Dan realized.

  He followed the guy toward the vehicle. “What the hell’s going on?” he snapped.

  The military police officer said stiffly, “This man was found with a Korean woman. Among the gravestones.”

  “So what? They were walking among the—”

  “They were not walking.”

  “Oh… shit,” Dan muttered. Past Carpenter now, in the back of the vehicle, he saw Lee was huddled. The girl’s dress was mussed. Her face was swollen with tears.

  “Rit, goddamn it. What the hell are you doing?”

  “It’s a tourist attraction. We heard there was some kind of celebration here—”

  “So you came and—what’ve you gotten us into? In the UN cemetery? On their Memorial Day, or whatever the hell this is?”

  “I’m sorry, damn it—I thought we were out of sight.” It didn’t look as if they’d hurt him, but Carpenter hung his head. “It’s my fault. She didn’t want to. I said, just for a minute—”

  “What are the charges?” Dan asked the tall Korean.

  The officer was deep in what seemed to be an English language phrase book. Finally he looked up. “Public fornication,” he stated. “And—de-se-scra—?”

  “Yes, desecrating,” Dan helped him out.

  “—Desecrating grave of British soldier. This is the charges. Very serious charges.” He examined Dan’s uniform, then Carpenter’s slacks and striped shirt. Then, finally, accepted Carpenter’s passport from one of the men guarding him. “This man is U.S. Navy?”

  Dan thought quickly, trying to figure if there’d be an advantage either way. Then was disgusted with himself. Just stick with the truth! “Not exactly. He’s a civilian, employed by the U.S. government.”

  “He is subject to Code of Military Justice?” the Korean said. “Covered, Status of Forces Agreement?”

  “Actually probably not—I don’t think so. It’d have to be a civilian trial.”

  The officer’s face changed, and not favorably. Dan guessed he’d just tripled the paperwork and time involved. “But I’m his senior officer,” he added.

  “You are his senior officer?”

  “That’s what I said. I’ll prefer charges against him in our system. If you’ll give me a copy of your charge sheet.”

  The Korean wavered. He looked in at the sobbing girl. “What about her?”

  “I think the shame is enough punishment,” Dan told him. “Don’t you?”

  The Korean was thinking that over when Lee screamed out, ”Ke jag a na rel kan gan hat seo yo!” The officer stiffened. He looked quickly in at her, then at Carpenter.

  “What’d she say?”

  “She accuses him of raping her.”

  They looked at each other. “This is much more serious,” the Korean muttered. “What do you know about this woman? Have you seen her before? Who is she? Her identity documents say she is a student.”

  Dan rubbed sweat from his forehead. “She told us she was a teacher. At Pusan University.”

  “Your man here. You! Turn around. Let me see hands. He knew her? You see them together before?”

  Dan felt they were getting deeper and deeper into something bad. He chose his words carefully, but spoke quickly; he saw Owens headed their way, a thunderhead riding over her. “Yes—I’ve seen them together before. I have witnesses who can testify she went to his room last night. At our hotel. Willingly. I can’t swear as to what happened here today. I didn’t see it. But to call it rape seems—unlikely.”

  The officer thought that over. He turned Carpenter’s hands over, looking at the fingers. Then reached in and roughly pulled Lee’s out of her lap and examined them too. The girl was sobbing noisily.

  He straightened. “I will give you arrest report and remand custody. You will escort your man back to your ship. I do not believe her story, but that is not for me to decide. I will keep her for my superiors to interrogate.”

  “I’d rather take them both,” Dan said, not liking the idea of leaving a teenager face-to-face with the military justice system.

  “No, she is Korean citizen. Student. Some students join unwise associations.”

  Owens joined them, breathing hard. “What’s going on here?”

  “Let me handle this, Captain,” Dan told her. “Believe me, it’s better if we can keep it between the—arresting officer, here—and myself.” He turned back to the Korean. “What kind of associations?”

  “Leftist associations. Dangerous ones, that act as the Communists direct. I will take charge of her. We will find out the truth.”

  Carpenter licked his lips as if about to butt in. Dan hoped he had the good sense to keep his trap closed, and tried to get that across to him with a scowl. The submariner closed his mouth and looked at the grass, flexing his wrists, handcuffed once more, behind him.

  Glancing back toward the official party, Dan saw Jung staring t
heir way. Behind him, with a fast-sinking heart, he caught Blair’s questioning glance too, and from beside her, the minister’s. He had to wrap this up, now. “I will take both, or neither,” he told the officer. “Look, Major: She’s his girlfriend. They met a week ago. Things got out of hand. But there’s no gain for any of us making an international incident out of this.”

  “I will keep the girl. This may be a plot. To make trouble.”

  ”You’re making it trouble, buddy. An ugly incident, at the Memorial Services, with the defense minister and the UN commander present. Wouldn’t that be exactly what they want? If she was some kind of student radical?”

  The Korean wavered, holding Dan’s eye. At last he wheeled and spoke sharply. His troops sprang out of the jeep and pushed the girl out. She struggled, then stopped resisting. She stood with head drooping like the windless flags. Dan felt pity for her, whatever was in her heart. The officer scribbled on a pad. He tore a sheet off and handed it over, together with Carpenter’s passport. He took a step back and saluted Dan smartly. Dan returned the salute, turned instantly on Carpenter, and started yelling. “You fool! Your punishment will be severe, you son of a dog. You have brought shame on us all! Get off the grounds this moment!” The Koreans looked more satisfied. They unlocked Carpenter’s handcuffs. Dan kept shouting, whatever threats and abuse occurred to him. The officer waved, got in the jeep, and drove off.

  As soon as they were out of earshot Dan took his hat off and wiped his forehead. “All right,” he told Carpenter.

  “Nice act, sir.”

  “It wasn’t a fucking act! Well, maybe a little bit. But Jesus Christ, Rit! Couldn’t you keep it in your pants, just during the ceremony? I don’t know how you put somebody on report at TAG, but I’m going to find out. You’re not skating on this one.”

  The contractor mumbled that he sure deserved it, that he was grateful not to be on his way to a Korean hoosegow. “You just remember that statement,” Dan told him. He turned on Lee, but couldn’t muster the same rage for that tear-smeared face. “I don’t know what you tried to do just now. Or why. And I don’t really care. I just want you to go home and not come back. Rit, give her cab fare. Good-bye.”

  BACK with Blair he felt sweat trickling under his khakis. He eased the tucks of his blouse out, hoping he wasn’t showing stains. The defense minister gazed up at him, a question in his eyes. But instead of asking it, he turned to speak to General Harlen.

  “So what was that all about?” his wife muttered. “Who was that with the MPs?”

  “One of my guys. And a local girl.”

  Her brows contracted. “Oh, no. Not… is it serious?”

  “I defused it. At least I hope so.”

  “Rape?”

  “Public sex. But apparently it was consensual.”

  “Sex here?”

  Dan shook his head grimly. Blair blew out. “God, I hope you’re right. We don’t need any more bad press. Did you see any reporters?”

  “Not a one.”

  “I can’t believe you’d let this happen. Not here. Not now.”

  “It won’t again. The guy’s toast when I get his ass back to TAG.”

  She studied him; almost spoke; then seemed to dismiss whatever she’d been about to say.

  “So what’d Harlen want?” Dan asked her.

  “A lot of things are happening. A lot of other things might happen.”

  “That’s cryptic.”

  “And that’s how we’d better leave it. Considering tomorrow you’ll be under way again.” She glanced toward the reception tables, where aides were ushering the guests toward white-uniformed waiters, tables stacked with delicacies. “Hungry? Looks like they’ve really outdone themselves.”

  He wasn’t, not really. Not for more kimchi and rice and the little sickly sweet pastries. In fact he felt slightly ill. But aloud he only said mildly, “Sure thing, honey. Sure thing.”

  III

  PHASE II

  10

  The Eastern Sea

  THE wardroom lurched and heaved. The steward grabbed for a migrating bowl, but missed. Quickly accelerating, it lifted, took off from the table, and shattered, spattering kimchi across the bulkhead. Cups and plates slid one way, changed their minds, and slithered back. A junior officer jumped up, knocking his chair over, and rushed out holding his mouth.

  Dan studied Hwang across the table. The chief of staff looked translucent. His head wobbled like a rear-deck toy as the bow crashed down. Dan didn’t feel that great himself, but it wasn’t the rolls that were the problem.

  “You all right?” Monty Henrickson asked on the bridge later. The wind was moaning in every corner and crevice. The gray sky was darker than the hour called for. The bow lofted, then avalanched down into an oncoming sea. Green water geysered up through the hawseholes like a whale’s spout. It turned into white spume, wheeled in the air, curved by the wind, and rained down across the black-gleaming anchor tackle. They huddled on the starboard wing, watching the every-twenty-seconds luminescent digital wink of the 19 as it tracked their progress out into the Korea Strait north of Tsushima, north of Honshu, where Phase II of SATYRE 17 would take place.

  “Not exactly.” Dan looked out at green-hearted swells tall as garages.

  Henrickson looked at them too. “What do you call these? Ten, twelve feet?”

  “Something like that.” In the failing light they looked bigger and more threatening than that size sea should. But Chung Nam’s bridge was lower than Horn’s had been. “We’re still on the coastal shelf, though. Sea state should drop farther out.”

  “It’s gonna get worse, Brendan decides to head our way.”

  The typhoon’s name was Brendan. Dan said, “The last plot from Met West shows it’s still sitting over eastern Honshu.”

  “It’s been stationary quite a while. Aren’t they supposed to lose strength over land?”

  “If it does start moving again, they think it’ll head over southern Korea. South and west of us. The swells aren’t the problem.”

  “Oh yeah. What’s the problem?”

  “Well—it’s just that I haven’t been able to take a crap for a week now.”

  “Ouch,” the analyst said.

  The officer of the deck looked out through the wing window. Dan beckoned. The Korean cracked the wing door a couple of inches. Dan pointed to the gray ovoid of the 75 mount, down on the forecastle. The tapered barrel was still pointed forward. “Don’t you need to train that around? In case you take a really heavy one over the bow?” The officer looked down at it, at him, and said something in Korean. He slammed the door again.

  “Well, you told him,” Henrickson said. “Would Imodium help? I always bring some along on these things. Especially when we go to Turkey. I always get the shits with the Turks.”

  “That’s for the opposite problem.” Dan cradled his belly. It felt swollen, as if he were three months gone. He’d completely lost his appetite. Which presented a problem, since when he dined with the commodore politeness demanded he chow down.

  Blair had left that morning, flying back to Washington via a short stop at the DMZ. The flagship had led the squadron out that afternoon past a conveyor belt of coasters and fishermen coming in. The high-prowed little trawlers had white hulls with a red stripe and red deckhouses. Their stumpy masts fore and aft seemed to be used mainly for drying nets. They reminded Dan of the dhows that had menaced Horn at her anchorage in Bahrain.

  As one had swung out of line toward Chung Nam he’d tensed before reminding himself: this wasn’t the Middle East. Except maybe for the student organizations, the population was friendly. A deep note had blared from the frigate’s horn, repeated. The trawler had seemed to hesitate, then swung back into line and passed down their port side, the crew smiling and waving up, one holding up two small fish by their fins and dancing a jig, waving them about as his buddies doubled in glee.

  Henrickson said, “Why’s he taking us out in this, anyway? We’re not going to get much done in mixing conditions
like this.”

  “That’s his point. We’re talking the commodore, right? The way he gave it to me, the North Koreans take advantage of heavy weather to slip their infiltration teams in. When he was in that surface action, up along the DMZ, they attacked at night in bad weather. So he feels, he has to train his people to fight in heavy seas, bad viz, and less than optimal sonar conditions.”

  “Yeah, okay. But it’s riskier. Collision, heavy weather damage—”

  “I pointed that out. He understands. But I can’t disagree with his reasoning. Anyway, like I told him, I can advise about the conduct of the exercise, but as to whether to put to sea—that was his call. And he made it.”

  “How about the other components?”

  “Both the Australians pulled the pin yesterday. Darwin and Torrens.”

  “Leakham?”

  “Haven’t heard from him yet.”

  Henrickson shook his head and squatted to tweak the 19. “Well, we’ll get location data, but that’s about all. Sonar’ll be shit.”

  Dan was shrugging when the wing door banged open again. It was Yu, Chung Nam’s little skipper, his dark aged face crinkled like a bad apple. He hissed at Henrickson, “I wish to speak alone to commander,” squinting at Dan.

  When the door slammed behind the analyst Yu raked Dan down pretty thoroughly. “Ship readiness is my concern. I understand you were captain once. This is good. You have my respect. But this is my ship. It is not place, is not your place, to tell officers what to do.”

  “I understand, Captain. But I’ve seen fiberglass mounts like that stove in by heavy seas. It wasn’t an order. Just a suggestion—”

  “It is not your place,” Yu said again, his little wizened face crimping so hard Dan just muttered an apology and added nothing more. The small man stood breathing hard, obviously not done, but since he’d gotten a “sorry,” forestalled in his anger. At last he grated out, “You are getting the coffee? All you want?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “I make special provision. Whenever you go into wardroom, coffee. For your men. Not mine.” He was getting worked up again. His fists balled as a gust spattered down the first few heavy drops out of the now nearly dark sky. “My officers do not like this. But for you—coffee. It is so important to you.”