North Korean Blowup (14 page)

Five minutes later they rolled on up the highway that climbed seriously now as it moved into the taller mountains

Hunter found Beth staring at him in the cab of the stake truck.

“What?”

“You just killed a man.”

“Yes, an enemy of the United States.”

“How do you feel?

“About killing that bandit?”

“He was a human being.”

“That’s right. And so am I. He was pointing a rifle at me and could have killed you or me or Ho at any split second. It was the him or me concept. This time it was him.”

“But how do you feel, emotionally?”

He looked at her. She was serious. More than just curious, it seemed like she really wanted to know how he felt. He sighed.

“I’ve been a military man for eight years. In my line of work I am called on to end the lives of some individuals. Emotionally I have to back away from the fact of the killing. It’s my job. It’s how I serve my country. In this case it’s one small step to saving perhaps five million lives if North Korea were to drop one of their bombs on Tokyo. The differential is staggering. One life here, or five as it has been so far on our mission, against five million lives of men, women and children. It’s mind numbing and the deaths have to go on the plus side.”

“But inside, how do you feel? What is your gut telling you?”

“Right now I’m as calm as I ever get. I killed an enemy so we can continue our mission. That was my job. My gut is fine with that. I have no regrets, no nervous stomach, no bad dreams, no subtle hints that I did something wrong for the right reason.”

“Okay, I think I understand.” She was quiet for a moment. “How many people have you killed in the line of duty?”
               He frowned. “You aren’t going to let go of this, are you.” He watched the road a while, and then turned to her. “The fact is I have no idea how many people I have killed. Some have died in fires that we set, some in explosions, many in the sights of my rifle or my submachine gun. In six years with the teams, I have no idea how many men and women I have killed.”

“I understand that.” She watched the hills and trees, then touched his shoulder. “The two bandit women back there. Were they killed?”

He turned to his shoulder. “Bancroft. Condition of the two bandit women?”

“They were not harmed. They screamed and called us all sorts of bad names I’m sure. We didn’t touch them. Now they’ll have to hunt for a new way to make a living.”

“Roger that.” He looked at Beth.

“Good.”

The highway pitched up again and wound through the mountains. The engine sputtered a moment but continued to hum along. Hunter looked at the gas gauge. The needle was at the lower end, but he wasn’t sure if that was the empty or full point.

A minute later the engine coughed, sputtered and died. Ho coaxed the machine just off the highway and stopped. The pickup pulled in behind.

“No gas,” Ho said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“No gas?” Hunter asked. “How much in the pickup? Maybe we can share?” The men left the cab and told Tran about the problem.

“Gauge in here shows about a quarter full. I was thinking about getting some gas at the next town. We both couldn’t make it on what we have left.”
               “Some Korean drivers carry a gallon can of gas in their trunk,” Ho said.

“A gallon won’t help much,” Hunter said.

Tran looked down the highway. “Something big coming up. A truck with a big gas tank. We can borrow some gas from him.”

“Unless it’s a diesel,” Chief Chapman said.

“Give it a try,” Hunter said. “Ho, stop the truck with your MP-5 and we’ll see what’s next.”

“So how do we get gas out of his tank and into ours?” Chapman asked.

Tanner had come up to the group talking.

“Hey, no trouble, man. I used to borrow gas all the time from my neighbors. I just never borrowed too much. Those rubber tubes we use to tie our weapons on our backs for the swim. I’ve got one almost three feet long. Work great. A little suction, a mouth full of gas to spit out and we’ve got a siphon from his tank to our tanks.”

They all could hear the big truck coming. It plowed around a curve and they could see it.

“Hope like hell it ain’t no diesel,” Tanner said.

Ho went into the middle of the highway and stood with his legs apart and the MP-5 held high in the air. The truck driver couldn’t help but see it. The big rig had a thirty foot trailer and something that looked like a GMC tractor but wasn’t. It slowed, then ground to a halt just in front of Ho. He went around and talked to the driver.

“Ran out of gas,” Ho said. “Need to borrow some.”

“Got a gallon can in the back for idiots who run out,” the driver said.

“That won’t help much. You run on gasoline?”

“Right.”

“Your saddle tank must hold a hundred gallons.”

“No, about seventy. How you going to get any out of there?”

“Easy. Turn off your engine and give me the keys.”

“Just a minute.”

Ho pointed the submachine gun at the driver who did as he was told.

Five minutes later they had the big rig positioned within a foot of the side of the stake truck. Tanner worked his magic with the three feet of quarter inch rubber hose and soon gas flowed from the big tank into the stake’s tank.

“My boss will never believe me,” the driver whined.

Ho laughed. “Tell him you contributed to the welfare of a roving soccer team that ran out of gas.”

“That he for sure he won’t believe.”

They filled the stake’s gas tank until it over flowed, then Tanner bent the tube double stopping the gas and asked someone to drive the stake out of the way and bring up the pickup.

“Tell the driver he’ll never miss another twenty gallons,” Tanner said.

The driver listened to Ho, and spouted a few choice phrases which Ho didn’t bother to translate.

Ten minutes later they waved the truck driver away and settled in behind him. Soon they passed him and scurried up the mountain toward Chongsong. When they saw the town coming up, Hunter had them pull off the road in some trees where they couldn’t be seen.

“Ho and Foster take the pickup into town and buy us a whole pot full of food. Bread, fruit, anything you can get that will take out. Unload the pickup of all the weapons and drag bags. We don’t want anyone getting curious. Get enough food to feed an army. The troops are getting hungry.”

“Wonder what they’ll bring back?” Chief Chapman said. “Sure as hell won’t be any hamburger joints or pizza places.”

The men flaked out in the grass under the trees. Hunter sat down and leaned back against a tall pine tree. A moment later Beth sat down near him. She frowned.

“Back there you said: I’ve got the right, and somebody else said I’ve got the left. I don’t understand that.”

“A matter of target priorities. If there are two men in front of you and two of you, we could wind up both shooting the same enemy, then the live one kills both of us. So we designate targets or what might be targets in the left or right. This time it worked out simply. Two targets, one left and one right.”

“You practice this?”

“All the time. We have what we call a Close Combat Battle House where computer programmed targets pop up electronically and we have to shoot them. We use live ammunition and get scored by the computer after we go through four rooms.”

“You have training all the time?”

“When we aren’t out of the country on an operation. We have to stay laser sharp for any emergency.”

“Looks like it pays off.”

“Don’t you train on your bomb stuff? I mean learn about new ways to defuse and defang a nuke? Will these Korean bombs be like the ones in the US?”

“Basically they’ll be the same inside, but the firing and activation mechanisms will probably be different.”

“So it’ll take some time to study them to figure out how to do the job?”

“Yes. I won’t know how much time until I see what they look like.”

“You’ll have all the time you need, depending on the situation and the terrain.”

She laughed. “I used to have a captain boss who told me the same thing every time he couldn’t figure out a problem.”

“It’s a small navy.”

Twenty minutes later the pickup came back with two big cardboard boxes in the body loaded with food. The SEALs dug into the boxes. They found sweet rolls, loaves of rice bread, four kinds of fruit, six roasted chickens, sweet and sour pork, and a dozen other delicacies, some of them strictly Korean.

The cut up chicken vanished first. Beth settled for a leg and a thigh and Hunter used his knife and carved off most of the breast. He put it between slabs of rice bread for a big sandwich.

After a half hour of eating, Hunter ordered the remains kept in one of the boxes and the pickup loaded with it’s usual gear, drag boxes and rifles and they were on their way.

Ho finished a large apple and started the truck. “Some kind festival in town. We go back street, miss it.”

That’s what they tried to do. The main road through the town was draped with banners, and they heard bands and music and marchers. They cut down a block and were at the far side of town when a policeman held up his hand stopping them. He came up to the truck and looked at Ho, then at the uniforms.

He grinned and nodded and talked with Ho. The Korean replied and tried to argue with the man but he shook his head.  

Ho turned to Hunter. “Big trouble. He think we soccer team they wait for.  He lead us to soccer field. Game start in hour.”

“No way out of it?”

“If we shoot cop. Make whole town mad like hell.”

“But we’re not a team.”

“Have hour to train.”

The policeman led them on his bicycle to the soccer area. It was a grass field with bleachers on one side. They parked near the field and hid all weapons including their pistols in the drag bags. Walden stayed with the trucks as guard. He kept his hideout.

Ho produced three soccer balls from his drag bag. “Thought might need.” He said.

He looked at the group. “Who play soccer before?”

Tran and six of the men held up their hands. He took them and then found four more and had his team. He would play. Briefly he and Tran told the newcomers the rules, about where they would play, and not to touch the ball with arms or hands. They began kicking the ball around and Ho held his hands over his face.

“Me goalie,” he said. The rest of them scattered out on the field and tried bringing the ball down toward one of the goals. Some of the men could actually play, but the rest were a disaster.

The other team arrived and the coach came over to see Ho. They talked, smiled, shook hands and Ho’s team concentrated on one end of the field. Both Hunter and Bancroft were playing. Beth and the six other SEALs sat on the sidelines on a bench provided.

Two officials came on the field and the game was about to start when the other team’s coach talked with the officials who came and talked to Ho.

Ho raised his hands in surprise and argued with the officials. Then he shouted something and turned, angry. He called the team together and now had a huge smile.

“The other coach protested. Said we have expert foreigners on team. His team not play against us.”

Hunter took over. “Okay, good enough for me. The coach and his team have already left the field. So, we’re off the hook. Let’s get back in the trucks and get out of here as fast as our little rigs will take us.”

The men ran for the trucks, climbed on board and before the officials could come and check on them, the ‘team’ was on the highway out of Chongsong heading north.

“A close call,” Beth said.

“Real close. They would have whipped us eighty five to zip and become suspicious. At least we look like a soccer team.”

The road wound around curves and up the side of a mountain and over the top and down into a small valley and then skirted a river that flowed the direction needed for a while. The highway became increasingly worse, with small sections that had been washed out and not adequately repaired. Their forward progress slowed and now they were glad to make twenty miles an hour. They saw few cars, almost no trucks. But the map had said the road went all the way to the most northern North Korean town.

They had hooked up their personal radios again.

“Maybe we should get out and push,” Bancroft said on the net. “We could probably make better time.”

“Think of all the fun we’re having,” Chief Chapman said. “A scenic tour of the North Korean wonderland with all expenses paid by the government.”

“Which one?” Tran cracked.

Beth watched the mountains for a while. Then she caught Hunter’s attention. “We talked about my using a gun, you know, having to shoot somebody. I still don’t know if I could. Maybe it would be better if I didn’t carry the submachine gun.”

Hunter shook his head. “Not a chance. Right now you’re a Navy SEAL and part of your job is to protect the other SEALs with you. How can you do that with that little pistol? We need you as part of our team. We protect each other’s backs. It’s ground into us in all of our training. You haven’t had the training but you must do the job anyway. If you’re with Ho and a rifleman springs up just behind him and aims at him, your job is to shoot the rifleman before he can kill Ho. Simple, easy, nothing to it. When the time comes, you won’t even flinch.

“I wonder about that.”

“Before you did the triathlon, did you wonder if you could do it?”

Beth closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes, but that was strictly a physical exercise, a test of endurance. This is a lot different. The physical act is there, but what about the emotional aspect? I’ll have to do some thinking about this, and just hope that I never have to make that kind of a life or death decision.”

Hunter smiled and touched her shoulder. “Commander, I hope we never put you in that kind of a situation. Now, on to more pleasant things. Are you going to do any more iron women races?”

“Now there is a good question.” She smiled just thinking about it.  “I just don’t know. When the mandatory time for serious training comes around, I’ll be considering it.” She nodded and watched Hunter. “It just depends on the situation and the terrain.” They both laughed.