“I will meet with the Korean army commander right away, and ask him what can be done to speed up the process.” Kary sighed. “At the very least, he can give me — and you — a timeline and progress reports. Maybe he could come back and explain exactly what they are doing.”
“No! No more speeches!” Ye insisted.
“When I find out, can I count on you to pass on what I do learn?”
Ye scowled. “You know where I’ll be,” he answered, and stalked out of Kary’s tent.
Others of her staff were waiting their turn to see her, but Kary told them to wait for half a moment while she stood and went over to the table where they kept a pot of coffee brewing. It was relatively fresh, and much better than the Chinese instant coffee most in the North drank.
The last two days had been an emotional roller coaster, and she could only hope that the ride was bottoming out. The victory in Pyongyang had been welcomed in Munsan, if not celebrated as wildly as nearby Dongducheon, or Seoul, or really every city in the South.
Alcoholic beverages were discouraged in the Munsan camp, and that may have also dampened the celebrations, but people from the North had a different context. They had been brought up being taught that South Korea was an enemy, and now its army had invaded and conquered their capital city. Even Northerners who hated the Kims felt conflicted. They certainly didn’t feel liberated.
The news media didn’t help her cause, describing the “collapse” of DPRK resistance and heavy KPA casualties, or announcing that the front lines were now north of the capital. Too many government officials, egged on by eager reporters, had already declared victory. Even when confronted with news about the Chinese invasion, they predicted that their all-powerful army would drive them out of “United Korea.”
Within hours, some people in the camps had simply left, walking out the same way that they walked in. They were inevitably picked up by ROK military police near the border and returned to Munsan; sometimes the worse for wear.
The same thing was happening to South Koreans who headed north to look for relatives, but Southern citizens were just told to go home, not taken to a camp where the disgruntled could gather and reinforce each other’s frustration.
Less than twenty-four hours after the fall of Pyongyang was announced, Kary’s tent had received a steady stream of people wanting to leave, and asking if she could please arrange transportation back north. There were so many helicopters and trucks and airplanes going in that direction. Certainly there was room for a few passengers.
Kary had appealed to Little’s deputy for help. In all the chaos it was hard to find a point of contact with the South Korean army, now once again in charge of Munsan and the other refugee camps. The new reserve colonel had been sympathetic and helpful. He’d even called a meeting to explain to everyone why they had to remain at Munsan, at least for the foreseeable future. Food supplies in the north were problematic, and he couldn’t guarantee their security. No, he couldn’t give them a definite date when they could go home.
It hadn’t gone well.
And today it was even worse. Munsan offered shelter, food, and many other positive things. But it was also crowded, uncomfortable, and smelly. People had to stand in long lines for anything worthwhile, and even with the classes Kary had organized, there was little to do. Those things were acceptable if the alternative was living in a war zone, but the war was almost over, wasn’t it?
She sat back down and one of the staff came over with a question. The children needed a playground. Could space be found? Kary was pretty sure she could get the city leaders in Dongducheon to contribute some equipment.
Another reported there were still incidents of food hoarding. It was understandable that people so used to scarcity would want to have some food reserved if the situation changed — or if they were planning to make a trip, Kary realized.
But there were few places in camp where food could be stored that were even close to being sanitary. Not only had there been incidents of food poisoning, but insects and even rats had appeared. How could she give people confidence in their food supply? And were the times of hardship really over?
As the afternoon progressed, she listened to the problems the staffers posed and either resolved them or, more usually, added them to a list, Kary watched the clock. Not only was her stomach complaining, the evening meal was only served until 1930.
She was missing Cho again. He spent a lot of time on errands for her, or the camp commander, who had found him useful. The South Korean officer openly admired someone who had worked against the Kim regime directly. There was no longer any talk of him being arrested.
Kary usually waited for Cho Ho-jin to appear before going together to dinner. She also often found him waiting near the ladies’ quarters when she came out in the morning. At meals, he asked questions about governments and laws, or life and work in the South and faraway America. In return, he fed her tidbits of camp gossip. Many made her laugh, while others helped her understand the life of a refugee.
By 1910, she gave up waiting for him and headed for the mess tent. She made it a point to eat what everyone else did. She needed to see that the camp’s residents were being properly fed.
The tent was full of people eating, and there were still a fair number waiting to be fed. She got in line, picking up a tray. Maybe it was good that she’d come in so late. The mess line had been open for over two hours, and the cooks weren’t keeping the serving area as clean as it should be. And they were running short…
She heard a commotion over at the far end of the mess tent, and then a gunshot. Her heart froze. She dropped her tray and headed in that direction.
Or tried to. Most of the people in the tent were running away from the source of the noise. Only her height allowed her to dodge and push upstream against a river of humanity. As she got closer, she could see some sort of fight had broken out, a dozen or more men, young and old, punching and wrestling. It wasn’t clear what they were fighting about, and she couldn’t see anyone with a pistol, or any other weapons.
She had to stop it, somehow, and was trying to figure out how when a phalanx of soldiers, in body armor and carrying batons instead of rifles, ran in the front gate of the camp. In wedge formation, they pushed their way through anyone that didn’t get out of their way fast enough, and drove straight into the center of the scuffle.
Teams of soldiers began pulling individuals out of the fight. While two men immobilized a combatant, another zip-tied his hands, blindfolded him, and turned the now helpless prisoner over to other soldiers, who had roared up in a truck.
It was brutal, but efficient. Kary wondered how long they had trained…
Something pricked the back of her neck. As she automatically tried to step forward, away from the irritation, a callused hand materialized around her throat. It firmly held her against the sharpness, and squeezed just hard enough to threaten her windpipe without preventing her from breathing.
“Don’t speak.” She tried to pull away and the hand tightened more. It felt like it was made of stone. Her movements also jostled her assailant’s other arm, and she felt a sharp pain on the back of her neck. “This knife is very sharp. Turn around.”
To reinforce the order, the hand slid out to her shoulder and spun her a half circle. It pushed her roughly forward. “We’re going out the front gate.” Still in shock, and hardly given time to understand, she complied, or more accurately, didn’t resist.
She half stumbled and began walking. The knife and the hand holding it dropped down to her upper back, while the other hand relaxed its grip, but stayed firmly on her shoulder.