by Gus Lee
“In each team, two men carry a SADM-909, Special Atomic Demolitions Munition/Field Series High Terrain, yield fourteen kiloton, weight 162 pounds not including steel ruck.
“The Mikes have sardonically nicknamed the SADM Tluto,’ for the risk of plutonium contamination through constant disassembly drills. They wear radiation badges, which Dr. Purvis checks.
“Two other men carry ID-967 trigger fuse mate detonators, nicknamed ‘Goofy,’ forty-nine pounds. They carry a machine gun. The other men carry M-79, ammo, radio, food, and water. All alternate carrying the Plutos. Despite noninterchangeability of ammo, half the team carries lightweight 9mm Parabellum Uzis, the other half M-16s.
“In a contingency, one man alone can carry Pluto and Goofy to the target site, arm it into hot status and detonate it. These are real strong guys. They have to be. Ergo, anabolic steroids. The downside is that steroids invite irritability; they get in fights.
“That's why the Pentagon worried about the Wizard and SADMs. Brawling Ninety-five Mikes would mean possible arrest—and a crooked SJA could bring untold trouble.
“Once the Inmingun attack,” continued Levine, “the Iron Mikes ruck for the passes in the Ouijeongbu-Munsan attack corridors, ten to thirty klicks. Officers provide security and rucksack backup.
“They will detonate the SADMs without delayed-action fuses, dying with their Plutos to insure they do not fall to the Inmingun, one of two world armies that cannot ever have atomic weapons.”
“Aeigu,” whispered Song Sae, saying something like “non-gay.”
Levine seemed to understand her. “Mikes live in winter bivouac with ground radar. I think they're compromised for three reasons. One, we saw them running two days ago. That is impermissible. I have recommended the commander's immediate relief, which is imminent.”
She glanced at me. “Two. You were allowed into a Mike area twice—once to shower, once to work out. Unforgivable.
“Three. When I was in Wizard Q during the fire, I found triple-stitch load straps and ruck locks. That is equipment tailor-made for SADM-909s. Ergo, the Wizard knows something about AGTs down to an extremely uncomfortable level of detail.”
The cargo straps she was looking at in the Q when Foss called.
“I should have known this,” I said.
Levine took a breath. “Wrong time to worry about ego and pride. Do you understand? The Wizard knows about the bomb. That's why I burned down his Q.”
Magrip smiled approvingly. I looked at her: the Wizard could have his war with tac nukes. On lunar New Year. Min saw it, too.
“Are Inmingun close to your sappers?” asked Min of Levine.
“I don't know. It's time we figured that out.”
“What's your mission, Colonel?” I asked.
Levine's generosity with top-secret information had intoxicated him. “Locate the bombs. Guard them. Your security is lamentable.” He shook his head. “America is a foolish country!”
“Whose boys,” said Magrip, “died for you on the Chongchon, the Imjin, the Naktong? Chosen Reservoir… Pork Chop Hill… Heartbreak Ridge?”
Min nodded. “Yes, Magrip dae-wi. But your past battles never seem to improve current security practices.
“Now, please listen. Colonel LeBlanc enlisted Korean nationals into your Army—1,415 since 1967. None met your Army's citizenship requirements.”
Min rubbed his face. “Nearly a hundred were North Korean troops. Radio men. Intelligence officers. Photographers. Special Purpose troops.” He peered at Magrip. “A ridiculous country!”
“A hundred?” That was a big problem.
“It is not that bad,” said Min quietly. “We have kidnapped all of them, except for twelve very big men.”
“Colonel,” said Levine, “even bolos have American rights.”
Min checked his nails. “Captain,” he said slowly, “there are three things my organization does not do. We do not underestimate. We do not overlook questions. And we do not screw around.”
We had trained its CIA. “How many KCIA enlisted in our ranks?”
The colonel bared his fine teeth, smiling like a plastic doll.
“Why didn't you kidnap the twelve big guys, the jumbos?”
Min took a breath. “I cannot tell you that.” “Bullshit,” said Magrip.
“‘Bullshit, sir,’ right, Captain Magrip? Yet I must insist on not telling you. I will simply say it involves only our security.”
Impasse. Min nodded. “The twelve men—‘jumbos’— were at Vlodverny Testing Fields, Soviet Union, summer 1968. The Soviet Red Army was experimenting with tac-tical nukes.
“The Russians were joining a low-yield tac atomic to its fuze mate when detonation occurred, dumping gamma and alpha particles.
“Soviet sappers and technical types were incinerated. The Inmingun Tiger Tails were at the periphery of the blast. They survived. Five years later, they have cancers. Kept alive by the che chub, pharmacology, of medicinal mudangs”
The mudang. I could not imagine dealing peacefully with an Inmingun terrorist squad, but this was the price she exacted. I saw her wind-coarsened face, and saw the plan that might work.
“Colonel, I can share information with you. On one condition.” I described the mudang’‘s offer. Min tilted his head away from me.
“You,” he said, “have been smoking hand-rolled joints, I think.”
“Then we will act without you.”
Min almost snarled. “Not in my country, Kan dae-wi.”
Song Sae stood. “Please pardon me standing and speaking in public. Believe that the pu-dok, the virtue, of Jungsan is pure, despite my manners.” She glanced at me, coloring.
“I am under the direction of the wang mansin, and her authority must be heard at this table.” She cleared her throat.
“Colonel Min, you are a man with ch'ilgo chiak, ancient doctrine and culture reaching back before Kong-ja. Or you are not. You will pardon me for saying such an obvious thing.”
She looked at me and bowed courteously. “Kan dae-wi is a foreign man, twice removed. He has not one drop of Korean blood, but he gave his word to the wang mansin. She accepted his word as if it were from a Korean yangban of long lineage.”
She turned to Min. “Your honor cannot be anything less. Do not think a woman is asking you about your heart. You ask yourself.” She drew herself up, as if she were performing in a theater. “Min yukgun taeryong, do you promise to obey the wang mansin's request?” A loud voice.
“Moon kidae, how can I help if I lose the power to arrest?”
“It is not your power,” she said. “It is Buddha's.”
Min exhaled. Later, he pushed on a speakerphone. Johnnie Walker Black, Glenfiddich, and Diet Pepsi were brought to the table with cocktail glasses; Western alcohol was used to solemnize Eastern agreements.
A woman in a long purple dress with elegantly long hair poured. Min downed whiskey; Levine took the scotch; Song Sae stuck with the tea. We all drank.
Min drummed fingers. Hand through hair. A hiss. “I promise.”
“Mudang” she said, “cast the kung-hap. The geo-mancy means twelve men will take an unknown action on the lunar New Year, according to the legend of brave men pulling the tiger's tail.”
“Uuohh!” Min barked questions; Song Sae answered in her normal, sedate, melodic voice. Min sighed. “Lunar New Year begins tomorrow. Dae-wi, I told the mudang you were here—information she valued. She knows me and told me nothing. Why is this?” He was whispering.
I thought for a moment. I whispered back, “Maybe she saw you drive.” “Ah ha,” he said flatly.
“If the Tiger Tails act tomorrow,” said Magrip, “it could be the prelude to invasion. What are your intelligence estimates?”
Min nodded. “The Inmingun cannot attack within ninety hours. They need bridging and fuel moved up. Ninety hours’ work. None have moved.”
“Gentlemen and lady,” said Song Sae, “the wang mansin cannot allow bloodshed. She knows you have the authority, Colonel, to slay
in the name of the Korean state. That Magrip dae-wi is a killer. That Kan dae-wi has killed and does not wish to kill again.
“This is why she told the Chinese man. She wants to stop the Northmen without death.” She turned to me. “Her information placed their lives in your hands.” She bowed, hands peaked in Buddhist prayer for submission, humility, emptiness, invoking a dominion over the unknown.
“She revealed to you that courageous Korean hunters from old legend have come to this valley to pull the tiger's tail. These are poor men from farms that can only give two meals a day. They are frightened and shocked by the richness they have never before seen.
“Even so, in enemy country, they come to Jungsan unarmed to receive the mudang‘s care. They respect ch'ilgo chiak, ancient doctrine and culture, faithful to the past. They are polite to fatherless children.” She looked at Bin.
“Do not confuse your desire to kill with in-yon, God's fate. Other men have done this, to their eternal regret.”
36
ARABESQUE
Bin looked like a serial killer composing a victim list. I missed the cheerful humbler, suspecting he was gone forever.
Song Sae spoke. “The mudang treats the twelve at Jungsan every noon. They will come tomorrow as usual. The kung-hap shows they will probably act in darkness, sometime after midnight tomorrow.
“Colonel Bin. If KCIA or ROK Army come to Jungsan tomorrow, the mudang and her responsibility will be destroyed. She will then kill herself, in the style of Non-gae, the kisaeng who embraced the Japanese gen-eral and pulled him to his death three hundred years ago.” Kisaeng were courtesans, trained in the erotic arts.
“I, her kidae, will follow her, as will all the Jungsan women who work for the in-sam of this village. It is a sad truth. Male violence always creates tragedy for women.” Levine nodded.
“Worse, men will have fought men on holy ground. The spirits will leave, forever. Our orphans have found women who, at Jungsan, are serving as their mothers. These women will all be dead.”
“Sad, but women have died before,” said Bin. Levine glared.
We were in a whirlpool.
“What does the mudang recommend we do?” asked Levine.
Song Sae paused. “The mudang cannot recommend in matters that belong to the political world of men. She only states what you cannot do. You must not bring violence to Jungsan.” Silence.
I knew the power of the wu over Eastern people. Kim II Sung was a paksu shaman and even the KCIA, with good scotch, could bend down to promise great forbearance to a mudang.
Do not think like an American individual; this is Asia, where promises bind generations and clans with the strength of Confucian gahng and lun, bonds and relationships.
I emptied the Pepsi. I stood. “I have a proposal. Set aside normal presumptions.” I presented it. The plan sat heavily in the room. Chair legs scraped, glasses were emptied. Magrip did not appear amused. Bin would not look at me.
“An arabesque,” said Levine.
Bin hissed. “You cannot be serious. It is terrible.” He searched for the word. “Unthinkable. Psychedelic. Dae-wi, how will you become a general if you side with your enemy?”
“Colonel, after this, 1'11 be lucky to be a civilian.”
He stood. “CAE-Hi! This is weak and unmilitary. I know your honorable father is a Christian, a follower of Jesu. If he wishes to love his enemies, it is his business, but you must keep him out of our security affairs.” He hissed again, arms crossed on his chest. “You are in Hankguk, the Republic of Korea. My country. No religious fools trying to love communism will endanger us.”
“The Inmingun is my enemy, and it'd be easier to arrest them than try to dance with them. But I made a promise.”
I looked at him. “Do you want SADM weapons out of Korea?”
Bin took a sharp breath. “Take the bombs out. The bombs that would slow the Inmingun, allow UN reinforcements to fill the approaches south of the Han and save lives. Very daring, dae-wi”
“And real stupid,” muttered Magrip, ever impressed with my tactical acuity.
It was a simple engineering problem: tac nukes, by definition, had to be positioned close to the enemy. If the enemy has nukes, their value is diminished. If the enemy doesn't have nukes, he'll try to take them from you. And if this enemy got them, the whole world could pucker and count its dead.
“Neh—yes.” Bin nodded. “They are far more risk than gain. Particularly in your hands. Your man-portable tactical nukes are too close to the Inmingun, too vulnerable to capture. If Kim II Sung gets them, he will use them as fuel to burn the world.” He chuckled. “American security. Oxymoron, Do you like my English?”
I nodded. “What do you want to do with the Inmingun sappers?”
“Death by firing squad,” he snapped. “Or hanging. Gaah!” He brushed us away. “Why waste words? Your idea is dung on a carpet. How will a young Chinese captain in the American Army make nukes disappear? I know your country. Minority men are not leaders.”
“No, but our boss is a member of the high command. And he's a member of two minority groups. Colonel, if he advises removal of the weapons, they'll go.”
Colonel Oh-shik Bin weighed my words. “The famous one-legged Colonel Carlos Murray.” Thinking, he reached for a pack of cigarettes. I reached for my array of American smokes. Gone. Sleepy had them and my wallet. Bin pointed the cigarette at me. “If Kim II Sung captures your nukes, would that end Nixon? And if he refuses impeachment, will the American Army defend him?”
Magrip emptied his drink. “Listen, if North Korea gets our nukes, Nixon's political future won't be the issue.” “But it would be his political end,” said Levine.
“The Army won't help him,” I said. “Colonel Bin. The Pentagon will evacuate the weapons immediately because they have been compromised. The bombs can be removed with immediate effect. The time it takes to make phone calls, to lift aircraft.”
He took a slow drag. “I want to believe this.” He leaned forward. Behind the anthracite gaze was a cruel interrogator. Once he was in pursuit of something he wanted, no blood was sacrosanct. He reminded me of the Wizard.
He pointed at my face. “Why do you care what hap-pens to twelve Inmingun? They are like the North Vietnamese you fought. If these Tiger Tails knew you were after them, you would now be a dead man.”
“I agree. But I don't need to kill anyone to fulfill my mission. I want to bring everyone home.”
Min's eyes narrowed. “War has made you very sensitive.”
“Like it's made the KCIA a democratic agency?”
He almost spat. “I fight a few individuals—for my people. The Reds suffocate all in the name of freedom. Do not confuse my patriotism for the evils of Marxist destruction! CAE-Hi, you are a Chinese idealist, a scary and dangerous thing. What ideals does this female yin Jesu Christ plan serve?”
“The independence of your country.”
“Ha! You sound like an American propagandist, citing my freedom as your license. So now, in my country, you lie to me?!”
“In 1945, you should have had full independence. But the Cold War was on. We divided you with Russia, making both Koreas crazy maniacs for military security, spending all your money on guns and tanks and propaganda. In January 1950, we said we wouldn't defend you against Red aggression.
“Six months later, Kim II Sung invaded you using page one of the Soviet armor attack playbook. Now we've put bombs here. Bombs to delay an invasion that also invite a global thermonuclear war that would erase Korea. I'm not an idealist. Gave that up. I'm a historian.”
Silence. He exhaled. “What you say is very reason-able,” he said insincerely, his look glacial. “CAE-Hi, why do you care?”
“Your country holds a marker on us. I pay my debts.”
He looked into my eyes like a Chinese wu, as if all the answers he needed were to be divined within. His eyes narrowed and he nodded. “So. You are still Chinese.”
“I pay my debts, and that is Chinese. I have individual beliefs.
That is American.” A long silence.
He weighed my words. “If you get the SADMs out of my country, you may negotiate with the Inmingun at Jungsan. But they cannot go back to the North. You need to know we have a no-hostage policy. If they capture you, we will not bargain; we will presume you dead.”
“I understand.”
“He negotiates with the mudang's blessing,” said Song Sae. “On Jungsan, it is her word, not yours, that sways trees.”
Bin smiled thinly. “Yes, of course, Moon kidae”
“Kan,” said Levine, “Iron Mikes have an emergency field extraction sequence. I need PRC-77s to talk to them and to you. On 59.35 megahertz. And I need a DTOC hookup, right now.” Division Tactical Ops Center, with the big radios to talk anywhere. “Then physically get me to the Mikes.”
“Levine, you're translating at Jungsan tomorrow A.M. Send Magrip to find the Mikes.”
She considered it. “The Mikes would shoot him for his mood.”
Magrip emptied his glass. “How do I find them?” he asked.
“You don't,” she said. “You can come with me, under my command.”
He was going to curse, but Song Sae raised a finger. He stopped, giving Levine what Asians call the stink-eye.
“Colonel,” I said, “I need two 77s.”
“Come with me.” We left Levine and Magrip to work out the command structure. Song Sae sipped tea. He led me to an adjoining office.
Bin sat, gesturing at our wallets and papers in a pile; no cigarettes or gum. I retrieved them as he picked up the phone and gave orders. Photos showed he was a tae kwon do black belt. He canted his head at the door; I closed it. “I tricked you quite well, yes?”
I nodded. “Perfectly.”
“I thought I played the fool too hard. But you bought it.”
Which was particularly embarrassing. “I fell for it. Why'd you ram the kiosk at Suwon?”
He barked a nervous laugh. “I wore big boots to be awkward. At Suwon, the jump boot wedged between the accelerator and the fire wall. I could not stop. I scared even myself.”
