Frightened, almost numb, she looked at the people around her, but their attention was on the fight and the soldiers breaking it up. The knife, if that’s what it was, enforced her silence. A few people glanced in her direction, and presumably saw whoever was close behind her, but had no reaction.
After a few steps, she asked, “Why…”
The hand pinched her shoulder, hard. He pushed her roughly and they began walking more quickly. “I said, do not speak!” the voice said harshly. “Save it for the motor pool. You are going to sign out all four trucks for this evening.”
It was Ye Dong-soo. She’d spoken to him long enough that afternoon to recognize his voice. They were walking quickly, almost to the front gate and the Korean army base outside. Other people were nearby, but almost everyone’s attention was still drawn to the fight. It was starting to get dark, too.
“They’re stopping civilians at the border.” She’d said as much that morning. Wasn’t he listening? The shock and paralysis of the surprise was passing, but fueled by adrenaline, her mind was racing. Could she persuade him to let her go? Could she yell for help somehow without getting stabbed? People were passing by them all the time. Why didn’t they notice?
At least he didn’t squeeze her throat this time. “You are coming with us. If we are stopped, you’re going to tell them that the army has given us permission to return home. I’m sure you will be able to convince them,” he added almost brightly.
She looked at the people walking by. Everyone was heading toward the altercation in the mess tent. She thought about winking or making some sort of weird expression. After all, Ye was behind her. He wouldn’t see it. But their first reaction would be to ask her what was wrong. That wouldn’t help her at all, and would just involve someone else.
Then she saw Cho Ho-jin. He’d just turned the corner and was heading toward them, walking quickly. He was some distance ahead, but they were still close to the camp. He had to pass by her to go in the front gate.
But what could she say? Did he have the pistol with him? No. She remembered it was back in her footlocker.
“We don’t have any paperwork to take the trucks, or to cross the border.” Cho was only meters away.
“I’m sure you can talk us through. The people at the motor pool will listen to you.” She tried to look straight ahead, and not at Cho.
Then he passed them without even looking in her direction, heading toward the commotion with everyone else. How many tall American women were in this camp, anyway? Was he too distracted to notice them?
Her heart sank and her legs seemed to lose their strength. His sudden appearance had meant salvation, but he’d passed by. More afraid now, she thought furiously. Keep Ye talking.
“What about drivers?” she asked, trying a practical approach.
“They’re already waiting near the motor pool,” Ye answered. “We’ll be moving in minutes, and loaded… ”
Ye’s reply ended with a strangled “Gurk!” His hand on her shoulder tightened, then was torn loose. The motion pulled her around, and she saw Cho standing behind and to one side of the farmer. He had one hand on the front of Ye’s throat, pulling him back hard, so that he fell backwards over Cho’s outstretched leg. Cho was twisting his upper body as he pulled Ye down, literally throwing all his weight into the movement.
Her kidnapper, surprised and wide-eyed, landed hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Cho then delivered a vicious kick to the side of Ye’s head, and the farmer went limp.
Kary realized she was screaming, as much out of surprise and reaction to Cho’s fierce attack as she was from fear. She forced herself to stop, as those around her, including several ROK soldiers, saw what had happened. Ye and his alarmingly large knife were quickly taken into custody, while Cho promised to bring Kary to the provost’s office as soon as she’d had some time to recover.
She shivered, swallowing hard, and found Cho was supporting her, one arm around her waist and the other under an elbow. She did feel a little unsteady.
Cho was almost frantic. “Are you all right? Did you get cut anywhere?” Even as she tried to answer the question, Cho swung her around to check her back and neck for injuries.
“What about your throat?” he asked, studying her throat and then her shoulder. “Does it hurt anywhere?” He was holding her by her shoulders, his face full of concern.
Without thinking, she hugged him, hard, wrapping both arms around him and burying her face in his neck. She wasn’t crying, not exactly. It was half for support — no, it was all for support, and right now he was an iron pillar. “I thought you didn’t see me,” she said after a moment.
His arms were around her now, too. “I would never walk past you. You’re easy to find, especially in a crowd of Koreans.” That made her laugh, a little, and she eased her grip to something less desperate.
“Your expression was completely blank,” he explained. That was my first clue. And that nappeun nom was right behind you. You’d never let someone get that close.”
“Really?” she remarked, looking at the two of them. They both laughed, and realized that a small crowd surrounded them. As they released each other and she stood straighter, she heard cheers and questions. The ajummas all wanted to make sure she was unharmed, and everyone congratulated Cho on his neat takedown of her assailant.
She realized that she was still holding Cho’s hand, but was reluctant to let go. She was also a little embarrassed. Public displays of affection in Korea were usually limited to handholding, or a quick peck on the cheek. Embraces like theirs often earned a scolding from more conservative citizens, but under the circumstances, allowances could be made.
Cho also noticed her holding his hand, but made no move to break away. He smiled and said, “If you’re all right, you should go to the provost’s office.”
“Please come with me?” she asked.
The Seventh Air Force was now fighting a round-the-clock war. Lieutenant General Randall Carter and his deputy, Brigadier General Tony Christopher, had agreed long ago that at least one of them would be in the ops center at all times. With advanced sensors and night vision gear for pilots, nighttime was just another operational environment. In fact, it was a little safer than flying during the day, with a lower risk of visually aimed potshots. And the air was smoother, without the thermals from daytime heating.
And it didn’t help that Washington was thirteen hours behind Seoul. The message Tony was reading had been sent at three in the afternoon, Washington time.
He’d already sent word to wake the general. They were supposed to be getting at least six hours of sleep out of every twenty-four, but it was a goal they didn’t always reach. For something like this, the boss had to be told right away.
General Carter hurried in, still shaking off sleep. Both he and Tony had quarters in the same building as the ops center. “Flash precedence?” he asked.
“The Chinese rejected the latest note,” Tony explained, handing Carter the hard copy. “All of a sudden, Pyongyang falling doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”
“It does change one’s perspective,” Carter remarked as he read the message, then took the time to read it again while Tony waited silently. “At least they’re giving us decent ROEs for the Chinese. Beijing is going to regret this,” the general predicted.
“They can still cause a lot of problems,” Tony replied with caution.