Thunder in the Morning Calm (10 page)

Four fresh teardrops had smudged the blue ink on the letter.

The doorbell rang. Then the sound of the front door opening. “Mother, we’re here!” Gorman Jr. called out.

“We’ve got desserts!” The chipper voice of her daughter-in-law, Bri.

She refolded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope, and laid the letter back under his special plate. She dabbed her eyes with a napkin.

“Be right there!” Pushing her father from her thoughts, she hurried to greet her family.

Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp

S
taff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon glanced at his watch — 0800 hours. Time to get the old dogs moving.

He looked over at Chung Nam-gyu and Cho Doo-soon, the two comrades assigned with him to oversee the prisoners. They were drinking coffee in the mess hall and yakking. He knew they were just putting in their time until retirement. Chung and Cho had been at this job in the prison camp too long. They’d lost their ambition.

Not so for Kang Ho-soon. Although he was new, he saw his assignment to the top-secret prison camp as a testament to the Army’s confidence in his leadership abilities. Before being considered for duty in this top-secret program, Kang had been subjected to extreme physical and psychological tests, all of which he passed. After a second round of interviews with Army psychiatrists and Communist party investigators, he received the North Korean Army’s prestigious top-secret clearance and was awarded a medal for meritorious service.

He would never forget the day of the ceremony. They had ordered him to report in full dress uniform to party headquarters in his home city of Chongjin in North Hamgyong Province. His father and mother, both factory workers at the Chongjin Steel Company, were invited. They knew in advance only that he was being promoted to staff sergeant. But when he received the prestigious medal for meritorious service, his parents were shocked
.
His mother, her hands rough from years of glorious labor in service to the party, shed tears when they pinned the dangling medal with the red star on his jacket.

Of course, his parents never knew the real reason why he had earned the medal, nor did they know that he had received the prestigious top-secret clearance. Indeed they could not know — nor could anyone else know. Perhaps one day his children would know of his new assignment.

Kang remembered the day they led him into a secure chamber and told him of his assignment to the top-secret camp. He then had spent six months learning English in Pyongyang before reporting to Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp.

At first, Kang had not understood it all. And then it hit him. He had been chosen to be among North Korea’s elite! His star was rocketing upward! This was his chance.

Kang eyed his comrades sitting there at the table, more interested in their coffee and their bellies than their duty, he thought. Part of the problem was that the two standing guard with him were his superiors, but not by much. They were one stripe and pay grade above him. He
technically
was subject to their orders.

Kang had decided that the North Korean High Command had erred by bestowing on them the same top-secret clearance that he had just received and now had recognized that mistake. But rather than relieve them of their duties and send them elsewhere or shoot them, they had brought
him
in to clear things up. Yes, Kang Ho-soon planned to take command here. His leadership abilities would propel him to the officer ranks of the Army and, from there, assignment to the highest places of power in Pyongyang. Kang smiled as he envisioned his rise to power.

He was certain his new commanding officer, Colonel Song Kwang-sun, had high connections within the Army and the party. He hoped Colonel Song had already heard of his no-nonsense discipline of the rebellious prisoner yesterday. What better way to grab attention than a quick whipping to the foot? A slash across the back would come next.

“Comrades! Time to go get them up,” he snapped.

Chung looked up at him. “Comrade, why such a hurry? They are old men. They are not going anywhere. So what if they have to pee? They can wait.” He rolled his eyes at Cho, who chuckled.

“Excuse me, Comrade First Sergeant,” Kang shot back, “but I have examined the regulations, and the regulations require them to be up and marching for morning latrine visits no later than zero-eight-hundred hours.”

“Regulations. Please.” This was from the other one, Cho, responding in the same lackadaisical, lazy tone used by Chung. “What will they do? File a complaint?”

“Should we take this up with the colonel?” Kang asked.

Cho eyed Chung, who shook his head. “Very well, my young and ambitious friend. Let us get moving.”

“I will wait outside,” Kang said. He marched across the dining area, pushed open the door, and stepped out into the snow. A moment later, Chung came outside. Cho followed him like a sheep following its master, Kang thought.

Chung headed across the courtyard toward the prisoners’ barracks. He had taken about three steps in a shuffling, nonmilitary bearing when Kang could bear it no more.

“Halt!” Kang screamed.

Chung stopped and turned to look at Kang. “What do you mean, ‘Halt’?”

“Are you not forgetting something?” Kang said.

“Forgetting something?” Cho said. “You were anxious to awaken the old fools. And now you say ‘Halt’?”

“I must insist that we proceed in accordance to regulations,” Kang said.

“Regulations? What now?” Chung moaned.

“The regulations require marching in formation across the grounds for the initial dealings with the prisoners during the day. According to the regulations, this keeps up the all-important message that this is a military prison camp. It sends the strong message to the prisoners that they are to obey.”

“We have never marched across the parade grounds just to begin the process of taking the prisoners to the latrine,” Chung said. “That regulation was written long ago when there were more prisoners and the prisoners were much younger and needed more force.” Chung stepped toward Kang. “Who do you think you are? You have no right to order us around. You are junior to both of us! We tell
you
what to do!”

Kang hesitated. Chung was right. But … if he backed down now … He could not. He would not. A true leader was not a mere stripe on a uniform sleeve.

“My obligation is to obey regulations!” Kang almost screamed. “You
cannot give me a lawful order that is contrary to the regulations. And the regulations of this camp are promulgated by written decree of the commanding officer!” He moved closer to get into Chung’s face. “Now, First Sergeant Chung” — he blew his breath directly into Chung’s face — “would you like to take this up with the commanding officer?”

Chung bit his lower lip but said nothing.

“I thought not,” Kang said, a sneer playing at the corner of his mouth. “Strap your rifles over your shoulders and get into formation. As the junior officer present, I will lead you across the parade grounds in a three-man triangle vanguard formation.”

Kang had taken charge.

“Chung, to my back-right five paces! Cho, to my back-left five paces!” Kang took his position as the point man leading the triangle. “Company. Atten-hut!”

Kang heard the cracking sound of two rifles slapped into place behind him — proof that the two guards were complying with his orders.

“Mark time! March!”

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

“Forwaaard march!”

A
lready dressed, Keith knelt on the floor, next to Robert, who was breathing with difficulty. He put his hand on Robert’s forehead.

“How ya feeling, buddy?”

Robert groaned.

“Little Kim Il-sung will be here any second,” Frank said.

“Good name for him,” Keith said. He spread out the wet towel on Robert’s forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that? Another Kim Il-sung wannabe.”

“Aren’t they all?” Frank said. “How’s he feeling?”

“Feverish. But not as hot as yesterday.”

“How’s your foot?”

“Fine.” Keith lied. Marines never complain. Master the pain. He moved the wet cloth from Robert’s forehead to his neck. “There, that’ll cool you off a bit.”

Another groan.

“What the heck?” This from Frank.

Keith looked up. Frank was peering out the barred window beside his bunk. “Unbelievable!” Frank said. “They’re marching in formation … actually doing the Communist goosestep!”

“Who?”

“The three amigos. Our Little Kim Il-sung is out in front. They’re headed this way.”

“Oh, great,” Keith said. “I’ve got a feeling Little Kim Il-sung will be a challenge.”

Rap Rap Rap.
The door flew open. “Get up, old dogs!” Kang Ho-soon stood in the doorway. The other two guards stood at attention behind him.

Keith rose to his feet. Frank slid off the bunk and stood beside him. They were in the middle of the concrete floor, standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the exuberant new whipmaster who had stepped just inside the open door. Fresh snow blanketed the grounds. Frigid air whipped in, carrying snow with it.

“I said get up!” Kang Ho-soon snapped. He glared at Robert, who was rolled over on his side, covered with a blanket, his back to the door. The whipmaster stomped over toward Robert’s bunk, screaming, “Get up! Get up!”

Keith stepped in front of him, eyes carefully lowered. “Sir, he is sick. Very sick. He cannot get up.”

“Move, old man!” The guard delivered a hard shove to Keith’s chest, knocking him onto the edge of Robert’s bunk, where his butt crash-landed on Robert’s feet.

“Oooh.” Robert groaned.

“Get up!” The whipmaster bent over Robert, relentless in his demands.

“What are you doing?” Chung asked. “They are old men. They move slowly.”

Kang blurted out a Korean profanity and kicked the locker by Keith’s bunk. A white plastic bottle fell on the floor.

Kang quickly bent down and picked up the bottle. “Penicillin! How did you get this?” He looked at Keith, then at Frank. Both had their heads bowed, their eyes looking down at the floor. “This is illegal contraband! Who is responsible for this?”

Silence.

“It was you!” Kang glared at Keith, who kept his eyes averted. “We shall get to the bottom of this. Out of the barracks! Now! Into the courtyard!” Kang bent down and shook Robert. “You! Outside!”

Cho grabbed the whipmaster’s arm and pulled him away from Robert. “Let him stay. He is very sick.”

“No! He is a suspect!” Kang screamed. “I will take this up with the colonel!”

“Then take it up with the colonel,” Chung said. “I am overruling you on this one.”

Kang grumbled something in Korean, then shifted back to English. “I will report this contraband to the colonel. You two stand guard until I return.”

Then Little Kim Il-sung pivoted and marched out.

Keith knew the reprieve would be brief, but he welcomed it nonetheless.

S
taff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon walked briskly through the dark hallway of the military prison’s administration building. He had not yet found the man he was looking for. He quickened his pace, his clicking boots echoing down the long hallway. He stopped in front of the closed door of the colonel’s office. He could see through the opaque glass that a light was on. Someone must be inside. He clenched a fist and delivered two sharp raps on the door.

“Enter!” a shrill female voice said.

Kang opened the door and stepped forward with two precise goosesteps, then stamped his feet together and came to attention. Staff Sergeant Mang Hyo-Sonn, the colonel’s assistant, was seated at the desk.

“Staff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon reporting for the colonel.”

“The colonel is occupied,” Mang said. “May I be of assistance to you?”

“Tell the colonel that I have discovered a crime against the state that I must report to him.”

“A crime against the state?” She looked up at him with a questioning expression.

“Yes,” Kang said. “Contraband stolen by the prisoners.”

“What sort of contraband?”

“Medicine,” he announced. “I caught the prisoners with medicine belonging to the state.”

Mang Hyo-Sonn raised an eyebrow. “Wait here, Staff Sergeant … state your name again?”

“Staff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon!”

The woman disappeared into the inner office.

Why cannot the stupid woman remember my name! Soon she will have no choice, Kang thought as he looked around the outer office of the colonel. He was just about to turn when he heard the
click
of a door latch.

The door to the inner office swung open and the commanding officer of the prison camp, Colonel Song Kwang-sun, with his assistant a few steps behind him, walked toward Kang. “What is this about unauthorized medicine being found with the prisoners?” he asked.

“Colonel, while doing my morning inspection, I began to demand that the prisoners respect proper military decorum, that they would in fact —”

“Get to the point!” the colonel snapped. “What did you find … Staff Sergeant … what is your name?”

“Staff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon, my colonel!”

“Right. Tell me about this medicine you found.”

“The prisoners possessed contraband. I confiscated it. Here, sir.” He took the bottle of penicillin from his pocket and held it straight out in front of him.

The colonel took the bottle and held it up to the light. “This is my medicine! Someone stole this from my personal medicine cabinet!”

“Yes, Colonel. The medicine was in the possession of the old one —”

“They’re all old!” the colonel snapped. “Get my jacket, Sergeant Mang! We will get to the bottom of this!” The colonel, grabbing his jacket from his assistant, walked out the door, Mang and Kang following him.

“The prisoners are lined up at my direction,” Kang said. “I will be happy to assist with the investigation or to conduct the interrogation, my colonel.”

Sergeant Mang shot Kang a warning look as they headed toward the exit into the courtyard.