Martin Limon: The Ville Rat

So if you deserted from 8th Army, you were stuck in Korea.

“So you’ll check for me?”

Riley promised he would. Then he thrust his right thumb over his shoulder. “The provost marshal wants to see you two. Now .”

I turned to Ernie. “I told you not to mouth off during the ceremony.”

“It’s not about that.”

“What is it, then?”

“You’ll find out.” Riley stormed off.

We found Colonel Brace outside the conference room, still conferring with the DPCA. When they were finished, he turned to us, crooked his finger, and said, “You two, follow me.”

Ernie and I followed him down a long, carpeted hallway. Ernie chomped on his gum as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Me, I was bothered by the crooked finger. In Korea, it’s an insult to beckon someone like that. The polite way is the wave downward with your flat palm. I told myself that Colonel Brace didn’t know the Korean custom, that I was becoming too immersed in Korean culture and that I should forget it. Still, it bothered me. We stepped into a small office. Lieutenant Mendelson, the young woman who’d read the award citation, rose from behind a small mahogany desk.

“You’ve met?” Colonel Brace asked us.

“Once,” I said. It was when she’d come through the office as part of a JAG conference with the colonel.

Ernie didn’t answer, just stared at her, chomping his gum.

“You’ll be working with her,” Colonel Brace told us, “on a case that’s about to go to court-martial. I’ll let her brief you.”

He started to walk out of the room.

“Sir,” I said, “I thought we’re assigned to the case up at Sonyu-ri, working with Inspector Gil.”

He stopped and turned and studied me and then Ernie.

“Yes,” he said, “you still are. As it happens, the case Lieutenant Mendelson is working on happened right up in the same area. You’ll be assigned to both at the same time.”

A murder case and something else? Ernie’s face twisted, probably in reaction to our time being wasted by being called back to Seoul in the first place, but I spoke before he could open his mouth. “We’ll need an advance on our expense account, sir.”

“Yes, of course, see Riley.”

He burst out of the room as if happy to get away from us.

Ernie frowned. “Why didn’t you ask for an increase?”

“Didn’t think of it.”

Ernie gazed down the hallway wistfully. “That’s why he was in such a hurry to un-ass the area. Thinks he’s getting over on us.”

Lieutenant Mendelson coughed.

Ernie turned, as if noticing her for the first time. “Something wrong with your throat?”

“No,” she said, “I’m fine.”

“You a smoker?”

“No.”

“That’s good,” Ernie said, sitting on a padded vinyl chair. “I hate smokers. Their mouths smell like ashtrays.” He steepled his fingers in front of his nose and studied her. “What is it you want us to do?”

“Agent Sueno,” she said, motioning with her hand. “Sit down.” When I hesitated, she said, “Please.”

Nice of her. So I did.

Lieutenant Mendelson explained the case and the information she wanted us to gather. I’d heard about the incident, but not in any detail. It sounded ugly and sordid. A black soldier in Charley Battery, 2nd of the 17th Field Artillery, had shot a white senior NCO-the chief of Firing Battery, commonly referred to as the “chief of smoke.” The wound had been serious but not life threatening, and the victim had been transferred to the 121st Evacuation Hospital in Seoul. The accused perp was a young soldier by the name of Clifton Threets, rank of private first class. He was being charged with attempted murder and violation of the Civil Rights Act, since the murder was seen to be racially motivated.

“I thought that case was wrapped up,” Ernie said, “witnesses and everything.”

“It should be,” Lieutenant Mendelson said, “but the officer appointed to defend him is claiming self-defense because the chief of smoke had been discriminating against Threets and assaulting him on a regular basis.”

“In the Second Division?” Ernie said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m shocked.”

Lieutenant Mendelson studied him, still trying to figure him out. Her eyes sparkled as she did so. Regaining control, she fell back on her paperwork. “Here’s the report,” she said, shoving it across the desk. “Read it and ask some questions while you’re up there, about this alleged harassment.”

I picked it up. “Has the Division provost marshal been informed?”

“Yes. And since it’s coming down from the Eighth Army head shed, you’ll have full access to all Division facilities. Colonel Brace is looking out for you. That way, you can work on the other case without being harassed by Division.”

Ernie snorted a laugh. “That’ll be the day.” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“When he’s ‘looking out for us.’”

“Well, he is.” She seemed shocked by our attitude. But she was young, a new officer, and thus far in her military career she probably had always been treated well. Most often, newly minted lieutenants had no inkling of the abuse that enlisted men could sometimes be subjected to. I saw no point in going there.

“Anything else, Lieutenant?” I asked.

“No, that will be all.” Then she smiled. “And please call me Peggy.”

I nodded. “Peggy it is,” I said.

Ernie saluted her with two fingers.

She started to raise her hand to return the salute but then thought better of it.

Outside, I tried to hand the report to Ernie. “Don’t palm that off on me,” he said.

“The colonel’s trying to help us,” I said.

“Fat chance.”

“You’re too cynical.”

“No, I’m not. There’s something behind this.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it.”

“Should we ask Riley?”

“Forget it,” Ernie said. “If Riley knows anything, which he probably doesn’t, he’ll be in on it too.”

“Anyway,” I said, “we have to get back to Division.”

While at the CID office I’d made a call to Mr. Kill’s office in downtown Seoul. He wasn’t in, but a message had been relayed that he wanted to meet us at the Munsan police station at noon.

“We can make it if we hurry.”

“We’ll make it,” Ernie told me. “But first we have to talk to Strange, get him to do some research for us.”

Ernie unlocked the padlock of his jeep and I climbed into the passenger seat. “Strange? Why Strange?”

“Colonel Brace is helping us work with the KNPs on a case that could prove embarrassing to Eighth Army. Smoothing the skids for us up at Division.” He shook his head. “That’s just not how things work. Something’s wrong.”

“What makes you think Strange can find out anything?”

“He’s a pervert. He knows everybody in Eighth Army and everybody knows him. Besides, he’s in charge of Classified Documents. All he has to do is lift up the cover sheet and peek.”

A pervert in charge of secrets. It made perfect sense when you thought about it.

We went to find Strange.

The Munsan police station was an impressive building for such a small town. Like other Korean National Police stations, it was constructed of sturdy cement block and the flag of the Republic of Korea-a red and blue yin-yang symbol centered on a background of pure white-fluttered from a pole on the roof. What differentiated it was the square footage out back. It was two or three times larger than most police stations, probably because of its proximity to the Freedom Bridge and, a few miles beyond that, the truce village of Panmunjom, where representatives from the two opposing governments in the Korean War and their respective allies met regularly for talks. Along the DMZ in recent years, North Korean commandos had machine-gunned American GIs standing in chow lines and even blown up a barracks on an American compound. The South Koreans suffered even greater casualties, with over a hundred dead in one particularly bad year. In this area, crisis could erupt at any moment, making a large police presence necessary.