Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

Yong Kyu nodded. It meant standing guard at the prison camp, if lucky, or acting as an orderly for a superior officer or in the mess hall. He had seen a few of them wandering about in markets or in refugee camps in operations zones, trying to communicate with their bad Vietnamese and sign language under the contemptuous gaze of the infantrymen.

“Nine times out of ten you’re dead meat. An infantryman at least has some peace of mind. That bastard, Sergeant Shin, he’s going to be kicked out. You heard what the captain said a little while ago, didn’t you? Once you’re marked as unreliable, they’ll pack you up and send you back down to brigade. Even then you’ll be lucky to be sent back to your old unit. Otherwise you get pushed all the way down to platoon.”

Yong Kyu still had a vivid memory of the waterlogged trenches and the swarms of mosquitoes back in his old defense emplacement. And of the cooking that involved indiscriminate butchering of chickens, pigs, even dogs. And the migration of the flies with the movement of the sun. .

He did not want to think of it anymore. At any rate, he had escaped, hadn’t he? Someday when he returned to civilian life, some night when he got good and drunk, his experiences in those days might return to haunt his dreams. Or, would he try hard to recall those days when his body becomes too exhausted even to dream them anymore? Yong Kyu looked out the window. A Phantom was taking off with an ear-splitting roar. The Jeep was threading its way through the crowd and the bicycles.

“Your driving is amazing,” Yong Kyu said.

“It cost me twenty boxes of C-rations to learn this.”

“Who taught you?”

“Nobody. I learned on my own. Once I drove through a house and another time I ran over a guy. I used rations to settle the survivors’ claims.”

The Jeep halted in front of the air force PX. It was quitting time for the employees, so the front gate was congested. Two guards, a male and a female, were conducting body searches on those leaving the PX. The MPs on duty were checking bags and bundles. Blue Jacket Kang exchanged a knowing bow with them and went inside. In back of the PX, in huge galvanized sheet metal Quonset huts, there were several warehouses and office compounds. An American staff sergeant emerging from the security office shouted a greeting as he ran into Kang.

“Hi, Sergeant Kang, nice to see you. I tried to call you. A little problem’s come up.”

“What is it?”

“Come on in.”

Inside the guard office they found a Korean marine in a neat jungle uniform. A Vietnamese civilian was sitting next to him and a Vietnamese policeman was also there. When he saw them, the Korean soldier moved to stand up. Blue Jacket Kang glanced quickly around the office, spotted a torn box under their feet and looked inside. It was full of green cigarette cartons.

“Where’s your unit?”

“I’m at Brigade, sir.”

“Son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing here, then? You’re AWOL, aren’t you?” Kang asked sharply.

“No, sir. I came to pick up these goods.”

“Do you know what time it is now?”

“Please, pull me out this once, sir.”

“You’re under Master Sergeant Pak, aren’t you? When did you come here?”

“It’s been two weeks, sir.”

“Bastard, been here only two weeks and already cheating on your superiors behind their backs. . did you take the money?”

“I did, but these bastards. .”

The soldier turned toward the Americans. Kang nodded. Then he called the American sergeant who seemed to be the head guard and talked with him for some time. He seemed to be signing some sort of receipt for the transfer of custody.

“You, over here.”

The soldier, his head hanging, walked across the room and stood before Blue Jacket Kang.

“How many times have you done this?”

“Today was the first time, sir.”

“How did you buy the Salems?”

“I increased the quantity by altering the shipping documents.”

“You son of a bitch, don’t lie to me. Who did you buy it from? How much mark-up did you pay?”

The soldier was silent.

“Listen, bastard, if you want to help yourself at all, use your brain and don’t disgrace yourself in public. How dare you profiteer right in front of our noses when everybody else is fighting for their lives in the middle of an offensive? Son of a bitch, thanks to your good connections you wrangled an assignment to the PX at brigade headquarters and within two weeks you open up shop to do business? Hey, Corporal Ahn, take a good look at this bastard.”

Kang pointed at the soldier with his ballpoint pen. Then he went on.

“One report from me and you’ll never be coming back to Da Nang to pick up the goods. For thirty cartons of Salems, at a buck-fifty a carton, you must have paid forty-five dollars.”

“No, sir. I paid sixty dollars.”

“Who did the extra fifteen go to? You couldn’t have bought them with a ration card. Must have been an American PX soldier. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know his name, sir. I just made friends with him a few days ago. He’s black and fat, works at Warehouse No. 2. .”

“You mean the black guy with the yellowish brown face?”

The soldier nodded and Kang turned to Yong Kyu and said, “Good timing. Remember: a fat man called Park.”

Kang asked the soldier again, “You haven’t reported it to the Americans, have you?”

“I only told them it was goods I was ordered to pick up.”

“So you’re to keep it and share the profit between the two of you, bastard. . Then those guys took a total of one hundred fifty dollars from you, right?”

The soldier nodded. A sixty-dollar investment turned into a hundred fifty in a few minutes, the goods have a new owner and ninety dollars is left as sheer profit. Blue Jacket Kang talked over the situation again with the American sergeant and the Vietnamese police. The policeman, obviously agitated, spoke loud and fast.

“No way you’ll ever see your principal again. The smokes will all be confiscated by the American soldiers and the Vietnamese is arguing that he should not be shorted a penny out of his hundred fifty dollars. If you’re willing to forget about the money they said they wouldn’t make a case out of it.”

“I’ll give up the money, sir.”

“You idiot,” Kang spat out. “Who said you could give it up? Whoever’s money it was, it’s blood money. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? We’ll also have to recover the expenditures. Do you have the shipping documents with you?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, you do have your ID, right?”

The soldier took out his ID and held it up. Blue Jacket Kang took it and went over to them. After a lengthy debate they left the office together. Yong Kyu remained seated on a hard metal chair. The shrewd-eyed soldier in the neat uniform tried to strike up a conversation.

“You must be new here?”

Yong Kyu only looked at him blankly. Definitely a city bastard. His longish hair falling on his neck gave him a certain charm. Fair complexion, hands long and soft.

“Friends? We’ve got nothing to lose.”

Yong Kyu took a cigarette and put it between his lips. The soldier offered him a light, and Yong Kyu glared at him for a minute before letting him light his cigarette.

“Even back home I heard how good Da Nang is.”

Even after accepting the light, Yong Kyu kept examining him without a word. Not a speck of dust on his boots. Only then did Corporal Ahn remember that he was in civilian clothes. Kang returned with the head American guard. He summoned Yong Kyu and introduced him to a thin American technical sergeant. After that they all went outside. In front of the main gate, Kang took out the PX soldier’s ID card.