Stephen Mertz - The Korean Intercept

Scott winced. "This bastard's breath is worse than his B.O.!" he said to Kate and Bob. "I think he's telling us that if we go with him, we might live."

"I have no problem with that," said Kate. She had difficulty keeping her voice steady in the face of four rifles aimed at her, but she succeeded.

Paxton was still gurgling painful complaints, his hands clenching his broken nose. "We're totally screwed! That old man who brought us here, he sold us out. I knew we shouldn't have trusted him!"

Scott turned without comment. He lifted his arms and extended both of his hands, to Paxton's face, batting away Bob's defensive gesture. With a nimble, self-assured twist, he delivered a single, savage jerking motion, resetting Paxton's nose with an audible clack!

Paxton stepped back, at first in shock, then becoming aware that he was no longer in excruciating pain. Han Ling and the other bandits viewed this with some good humor.

Han Ling snarled at Scott.

Scott listened, then said to Paxton and Kate, "Okay, let's do as the man says. We follow the trail that brought us up here, back down the way we came until we're told otherwise." He glared at Paxton, his eyes clouding. "Are you all right, Bob?"

"I-I'm all right," Paxton stammered. "But, Commander, we have to get away from these guys!"

"For now," said Kate, "let's just work at staying alive." Turning to face her commander, Kate offered, "Lean on me, sir."

"No, thanks, Kate. I can make it."

"Don't be macho, commander. Please."

"Sorry, ma'am," he said with a failed attempt at a Southern drawl. She happened to know that he was, in fact, from Minnesota. "It's just the way I was brought up. Let's move out."

One of the bandits took the point position. The other two fell in behind, and their small group began making its way down the winding path. Han strode with the Americans. Kate was thankful that they were upwind of the man. From time to time, one of the renegades would laugh or shout out something to prod the Americans, and would laugh when someone cried out or stumbled.

Scott's splinted leg nearly gave out from beneath him twice. Each time Kate was there to lean a shoulder in against him so he did not fall, but kept moving along the treacherous path. Each time, he would grunt a quiet, "Thanks, Kate" for her ears only, excruciating pain etched into his whisper, but he was determined that their captors not know the extent of his suffering, which they surely would somehow exploit. For his part, Paxton stumbled along as if in a trance.

The mountainside sloped gently, but the thickening of the forest was dramatic, hardwood trees and teak cloaked in darkness. Trees to either side of the trail were towering giant pillars. The trail became more winding.

After awhile, the bandits grew tired of the harassing. They continued on in silence, except for Han Ling's occasional snarled command, indicating a change in direction when they reached a fork in the trail. A jab with the barrel of his M16 into the back of the nearest prisoner would emphasize a new direction to take.

They continued on for what Kate's wristwatch indicated was about forty minutes. From time to time, a helicopter gunship could be heard rotoring overhead. The forest was dense, the treetops meeting far overhead. The choppers would eventually fly away.

During one such flyover, Kate asked Scott, "What do you make of it, Commander?"

"Han and his boys aren't concerned," Scott mumbled through teeth clenched against pain, "so why should we be?"

"Whoever brought us down," she mused, "someone's catching hell back at that landing field."

Scott grunted. "Never underestimate an American space shuttle crew. They should have had their choppers in the air. Then they could've followed us. They lost time, and we used it to cover up and evacuate." Weary to the bone, he sighed. "Poor Terri. Damn, I hate to lose her."

Bob Paxton continued stumbling along like a zombie. Only his eyes seemed fully awake, continuing to anxiously flit about.

Ahead of them, the point man halted where the trail crested a hill. He whispered a frantic, low-pitched warning and dived into foliage along the trail. Kate heard what the point man heard: the clumping of feet, a small group of men advancing toward them from beyond the crest of the hill, advancing at a good clip. Kate heard snippets of conversation in Korean, and that universal clinking and clanking of field-outfitted soldiers on patrol.

The bandits reacted with speed and silence, accustomed to eluding and surviving in this hostile wilderness. Han flung himself at the clustered Americans, knocking Kate, Scott, and Paxton collectively off their feet, into the brush. Han landed atop Kate. Scott was gasping in agony. Paxton's ragged breathing sounded like he was having a panic attack. The undergrowth clawed at Kate's face. Han snarled in Korean.

Scott started to translate. "He says-"

"I think I know what he said." Kate spoke with difficulty because of the foul-smelling bandit atop her. "Stay down and keep quiet or we'll be the first to die."

Bol Rhee's patrol had seen no trace of a space shuttle. They had seen nothing but inhospitable, uninhabited, rugged terrain, and Bol expected nothing but hours more of the same before the afternoon rendezvous with a gunship that would transport them back to the base. His platoon was traveling at combat intervals along the winding path. He overheard the muttering of his men, the eternal soldier's lament about the cold, the sore feet, hunger and sleep deprivation. He was not inclined to quell these grumblings, as he felt much the same.

He walked next to the radio man, though he knew full well that there was no way a helicopter gunship could be called in, considering the density of the surrounding forest.

His platoon was cresting a ridge when a figure unexpectedly jumped from the trail-shouting, screaming, and gesticulating wildly-startling everybody. A man, blond-haired and wild-eyed, came running at them. Blood was smeared across his pale face. He came, shouting in what Bol recognized as English, though he did not understand the language. Screams seemed to be of warning.

Something was not right. Bol opened his mouth to order his men to fall back, to seek cover. Saffron muzzle flashes spat like fiery arrows from either side of the trail. Next to Bol, the radioman's head exploded, spraying Bol's face with hot droplets of blood. He darted for cover with his men, some of whom were falling, mowed down under the hellish onslaught. Bol and a few others managed to return fire.

For what seemed like forever, Kate did not know if she was alive or dead. Her senses were pummeled by the astoundingly loud, blazing gunfire that made her body tremble and her mind tumble. Is this what dying was like? Paxton had broken from cover. Han had shouted an order at his men. Then the gunfire, the racket intensified by the closeness of towering trees.

She was not dying. She smelled the gunpowder. She heard the screams of those dying, and other, strangely magnified, smaller sounds like the clinking of spent brass cartridge casings striking the ground.

The gunfire ceased. She was alive. She opened her eyes, raised her head and observed her surroundings, struggling to regain her senses.

Scott was beside her, doing much the same. Han Ling stood in the center of the path, reloading an ammo clip into his rifle. Then Kate saw the tangled cluster of fallen bodies sprawled across the trail ahead, dead arms and legs askew.

Paxton emerged from the side of the trail, looking completely disoriented. His blond hair was matted with dirt, his face streaked with sweat. He took one look at the remains of the army patrol and stumbled back, emitting a frightened, child-like yip. Han's outlaws were prying amid the corpses, relieving the dead of weapons, ammunitions, wallets and watches. Paxton turned unsteadily to face Han, his eyes glazed with panic.