Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 09 - Under Fire

Again, the colonel paused to give McCoy time to absorb what he had told him.

"And there will, of course, be another attack. If not this afternoon, then during the night, or at the very latest, very early in the morning. The only question is where." He paused. "That, Captain, is `what's going on.' I really hope you can find communications somewhere and get through to the Dai Ichi Building. Somehow, I suspect that they don't know what's going on.'"

"Colonel, your prisoners are from the 83rd Motorcycle Regiment. It's one of their best-sort of an elite regimental combat team-normally attached to their 6th Division. Maybe if I-"

"If you know that, Captain, I have to presume that's common knowledge around the Dai Ichi Building. I won-der why they didn't think we would be interested to know that."

"I'm not sure how common that information is around SCAP, sir."

"So you-whatever organization you work for-had that information, but didn't pass it on?"

There was a perceptible pause before McCoy replied.

"Colonel, I'm only a captain. I gather intelligence, not disseminate it. I can't answer your question."

"You were saying, about the prisoners?"

"Maybe I can learn something from them, sir, about their intentions. Because it's highly mobile, I suspect that its officers have to be told more about the overall picture than officers are in standard units."

"That would be helpful," the colonel said. "Providing you do it quickly. I want you-especially the woman-out of here as soon as possible. I'm going to have enough on my platter without having to worry about her. Or you."

"Sir, with respect. I have no authority over Miss Priestly. Even if I returned her Jeep to her, there's no way I can make her leave, go back to Eighth Army. And I need that Jeep."

"And if I order you to get in your Jeep and, taking Miss Priestly with you, to get the hell out of here?"

"Sir, with respect, I'm not subject to your orders."

The colonel looked at him intently for a long moment.

"You intend to stay, then?"

"Yes, sir, for the time being. I really would like to talk to some more prisoners."

"It's occurred to you, I presume, that if you stay, you're likely to become a prisoner yourself?"

"Yes, sir, it has."

After a moment, the colonel nodded.

"Okay. I gave it my best shot. Will you need me, or any of my men, to deal with the prisoners?"

"No, thank you, sir."

[THREE]

"The corporal speaks Cantonese," Zimmerman reported outside the room where the prisoners had been held. "He was willing to talk, but he didn't know much. But you're right, they are from the 83rd Motorcycle Regiment, and the little guy is an officer."

"Who speaks English?"

"And Russian."

"That's interesting," McCoy said. "What's his rank?"

Zimmerman nodded, in agreement with "interesting," and then shrugged.

"The corporal didn't know. He said when he got drafted to do a little reconnaissance-there were originally five of them, two of them got killed when they ran into one of our patrols, where they got caught-the little guy was already wearing the private's jacket. But one of the others, one who got blown away, called him `sir,' and he was obviously in charge."

"What else did the corporal have to say?"

"He said that after they took Seoul, the regiment was taken out of action, and sent down the peninsula right be-hind the units on the line. Now they're getting ready to go back into action. Soon."

"No specifics?"

"No, but it can't be far off, Ken. It looks to me as if this guy, the officer, is an intel officer. Maybe not even from the 83rd. He wanted a closeup of where they were going, and got himself bagged."

"Did the 6th Division come up?"

"They're here. The corporal didn't know if the 83rd was attached to them or not."

"How's your Russian these days, Ernie?"

"Not bad. Milla Banning and Mae-Su decided the kids should know how to speak it, and then Banning got in the act. We have Russian suppers, talk only Russian. I'm all right with it."

"Let's go talk to the officer," McCoy said. "Where's the corporal?"

"I had him put in another room, to get him away from the officer."

"You go in there, tell the guard to put the sergeant with the corporal, make a show of chambering your Thompson, and in a couple of minutes, I'll come in. You pop to when I do."

"Got it," Zimmerman said.

"Where's Priestly?"

Zimmerman pointed out the door, to where Jeanette Priestly was talking to several GIs, who were beaming at her.

McCoy nodded and motioned for Zimmerman to enter the room where the prisoners were being held. A minute later, the American sergeant came out, holding his carbine in one hand, and with his other on the North Korean sergeant's shoulder.

McCoy looked at his watch, then helped himself to a cup of coffee from an electric pot next to one of the radios- and thus a source of 110 volts AC-and exactly five min-utes later, put the mess kit coffee cup down and walked into the room where the North Korean officer was being held.

Zimmerman, who had been sitting on a folding chair, popped to rigid attention. McCoy made an impatient ges-ture with his hand, and Zimmerman relaxed slightly.

"My friend," McCoy said, conversationally, in Russian, "I'm a little pressed for time, so I suggest it would be to your advantage to make the most of what time I can give you."

There was a flicker of surprise on the North Korean offi-cer's face, immediately replaced by one intended to show that he didn't understand a word.

"All right, we'll do it in Korean," McCoy said, switching to that language, "although my Korean is not as good as my Russian." He switched to English: "Or perhaps you would prefer English?"

The officer looked at him in what was supposed to con-vey a complete lack of comprehension.

McCoy went back to Russian:

"The fortunes of war have gone against you, Major," he said.

There was another flicker of surprise in the North Ko-rean's eyes, and McCoy thought it was reasonable to pre-sume that his guess that the man was a major was right on the money.

"With a little luck, Major, at this very minute, you could be sitting in a POW enclosure, as a simple private, biding your time until the forces of international socialism over-whelmed the capitalist imperialists and you were liberated. But that didn't happen. What happened is that I happened to come by here. We are not soldiers. We are Marines. Moreover, we are more or less-probably more than less-in the same line of work."

"He understood that, Captain," Zimmerman said, in En-glish. "I could tell by his eyes. But I also saw in his eyes that he won't be useful, so may I suggest, considering the time, that-"

"I would rather not dispose of him," McCoy said, and chuckled. "Professional courtesy, Ernest. You and I could easily find ourselves in his position."

"Sir, with respect, I suggest we have him shot, and be on our way."

"Kim Si Yong," the North Korean said, in English. "Seven-five-eight-eight-nine."

"Ah," McCoy said, now in English, "the major is par-tially familiar with the Geneva Convention."

"Partially?" Zimmerman asked.

"The Convention requires that prisoners of war furnish their captors with their name, rank, and service number. I did not hear a rank, did you?"

"No, sir," Zimmerman said.

"He has therefore not complied with the Geneva Con-vention," McCoy explained. "Not that it matters anyway, for under Paragraph Seventeen, Subsection B, since he is an officer, wearing a private soldier's uniform, it may be presumed that he is not a combatant, entitled to the protec-tion of the convention, but instead a spy, who may be legally executed."

"Under those circumstances, may I respectfully suggest we have him shot, and be on our way?"