Warren Murphy: An Old Fashioned War

"I believe they're outnumbered," said Remo. "You do have an army."

"Army," scoffed Chiun. "An army is a collection of human faults and poor discipline multiplied by thousands."

"An army would be useless in this situation," said Smith.

"Aha," said Chiun. "If but your wisdom could be transferred to Remo."

"The President doesn't want to see Americans killing Americans," said Smith.

"Then he should stay out of our cities," said Remo. Chiun remarked in Korean how true that was, but cautioned Remo against speaking honestly to Smith, who, because he paid the tribute to Sinanju, Chiun insisted on calling "Emperor Smith."

The saying from the eightieth scroll of the fifth Masterhood of Gi the Major, taken in commentary from Gi the Minor, was:

"Honesty to an emperor from his assassin is like holding the sword by the blade instead of the handle. It can only hurt the assassin."

Remo answered in Korean that he knew that passage, and that speaking honestly to Smith made working easier, not harder.

Chiun answered that what might appear easier was always harder in the long run.

Smith sat in the chilled living room of the resort villa with his briefcase on his lap, listening to Remo and Chiun babble on in Korean as though he weren't there. Voices rose and Smith realized that he was hearing an argument.

He tried to interrupt, and both Chiun and Remo told him to wait a minute. When Remo and Chiun finally turned their heads away from each other in disgust, Smith said:

"We have a problem. This little band of Indians has first defeated the sheriff's office, then the state police, and now the Oklahoma National Guard."

"The Oklahoma National Guard is kind of the army, Little Father," Remo explained.

"What would one expect from an army but to lose a battle?" said Chiun. "After all, Ferris wheels never lose battles."

"They would if they were made in Korea," said Remo.

"Don't argue in front of the emperor," said Chiun, resorting to Korean.

"I'm not arguing," said Remo in English.

"I think you are, Remo," said Smith.

"When I want your opinion I'll ask for it, Smitty. This is personal."

"How can you speak to a fool of an emperor like that?" asked Chiun in Korean. "You're a bigger fool. You're acting white. Whatever crosses your mind comes out your lips."

"It's called honesty, Little Father," said Remo in English.

"It's awfully confusing to hear only one side of an argument," said Smith.

"The confusion is ours, O gracious Emperor, that we should bring any unpleasantness before you who are serenity in yourself."

"Well, thank you. I certainly wouldn't want to get involved in anything personal between you two. But we have a problem. The Indian band has become an army. It has moved all the way up into the Dakotas and now is camped at the Little Big Horn, the site of the great Indian victory over George Armstrong Custer."

"The massacre," said Remo.

"Armies always massacre. Do you think they could assassinate?" asked Chiun, vindicated. "It takes an assassin to assassinate."

"Precisely," said Smith. "Therefore we'd like this army to be immobilized by the removal of its leader, who obviously is the guiding force behind this. It's like an army out of nowhere, a powerful, well-trained army with a spirit for battle rarely seen nowadays."

"You have decided well, O Emperor Smith. For a kingdom with a good assassin needs a small army, and a kingdom with great assassins may need no army at all."

At this point Chiun suggested that perhaps the new tribute for Sinanju should be based on a percentage of America's defense budget. He had heard it was over one trillion a year, and that was outrageous when one considered that for, say, four hundred billion dollars a year, a mere four hundred billion, Smith could be talking about a serious and major upgrade of assassin services-not that Smith and America weren't getting the absolute best as it was now.

"He's not going to shell out four hundred billion dollars, Little Father; besides, what would you do with it?"

"Replace the empty coffers that so disgrace my Masterhood. No other Master of Sinanju has lost so much as a copper coin, while I, because of my negligence with my pupil, because I have taken it upon myself to bring a white into the House of Sinanju, now am left like a pauper with bare treasury."

"Hey, stop this 'white' stuff. I know how the treasure was lost. The North Korean intelligence agency tried to trick you into killing for it, and stole the treasure so they could feed it back to you as though they were discovering a trail from a thief. I know what happened. It was Koreans, not whites, who stole it."

"A single misguided fool. One rotten apple does not a barrel make."

"He killed himself so you'd never find it. Talk of rotten," said Remo. They were both talking in Korean now and Smith threw up his hands and asked them to excuse him. The last words he heard were in English, with Chiun promising to take apart the Indian army in a way that would glorify Smith, and Remo promising that the leaders would be out of the way in no time.

Which was what Smith had come for.

* * *

Miles and miles of trucks and guns waited outside the Little Big Horn for the attack to begin. Only this time it was the American army that had the Indians surrounded instead of vice versa, and General William Tecumseh Buel waited for his orders from Washington.

It was ironic, he thought, that at this new battle of the Little Big Horn there would be no horses. His father was an old cavalrvman-though even in his father's time cavalry had meant tanks, not horses-and his grandfather and great-grandfathers were also. In fact, the first Buel to ride in blue for the USA was killed at the Little Big Horn. And while General Buel publicly affirmed he wished no injury to the innocents, in his heart he could not help thinking: Now we even the score.

He set up his heavy artillery behind his half-tracks, which were behind his tanks. The tanks would lead. The infantry would foilow. And if the Ojupa wanted to fight it out, well then, there was nothing he could do about it. They would fight. And they would die. Just the night before he had left two roads open so that young Indians, anticipating the glory of finally defeating the white armies, could join the Ojupa.

He had heard their drums and chants all night. He had heard rumors that they had a great new force with them, that finally the great spirits were with them and they could crush the white man once and for all.

"It is a shame that members of our society can feel so alienated as to express such sentiments," General Buel had said publicly. Privately he planned to grind the bastards into Dakota mud under the treads of his Pattons. He was only sorry that he probably would not be able to let the artillery mangle them for long. He would attack at dawn, approach in five columns, and where they would meet would be the last live Indian. General Buel would finish him off personally. Maybe a shot to the belly and watch him squirm, probably the way his own ancestor had squirmed.

He would then recommend people for medals and make a wonderful speech about how horrible war was, perhaps adding the sentiment that from this horrible battle all mankind might learn to live well together.

That night he did not sleep. Just before all the columns began moving, he got a direct call from the President.

"Bill," said the President, "I've got good news for you."

"What?" asked General Buel warily.

"I think we can stop this thing without bloodshed."

"Good," said General Buel, his voice cracking. "How are we going to do that?"

"Just hold your fire and wait for the results. I've got it covered."

"May I know how, sir?" asked General Buel.

"No," said the President.

"As you say, sir," said General Buel. "But those Indians seem pretty hostile. I'd hate to have to be on the defensive in this case, Mr. President, sir."