Thunder in the Morning Calm Read online

  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!”

  Already 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 re
prieve would be brief, but he welcomed it nonetheless.

  Staff 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.

  Mounds of snow, glistening in the early morning sun, were piled on each side of the gate at the entrance of the prison. Pak squinted her eyes to protect them from the glare. She held her breath as she approached the gate. Two stiff-necked, rifle-bearing guards in drab-green uniforms were in the guard shack. Pak prayed that no one had noticed the missing medicine. These were not the same guards who had been at the gate when she left the night before. One she recognized. The other she did not. The one she recognized opened the gate for her, and she thanked him.

  She walked into the prison compound and headed for the prisoners’ barracks, her heart pounding. She held her breath as she walked rapidly away from the guard shack through the newly fallen snow, half expecting a guard to shout, to stop her, to escort her at gunpoint to the colonel’s office when he realized that she was the one who had stolen the bottle of medicine.

  When neither guard stopped her, she exhaled and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Lord,” she mumbled. As she approached the courtyard, she thought about the sick old man — the one they called Robert. His head had felt like a hot iron and his body had shaken with chills. Stealing was wrong. Pak knew that. But not taking care of the sick was also wrong. She had just tried to give him some comfort in his last days. The poor old man would not live much longer. She was sure of that. Almost all the others had died here in the camp.

  When she was halfway across the courtyard, she heard angry voices yelling near the administration building. She quickened her pace but lost her footing and landed butt first in the snow and fell backward.

  “Did you take it?” she heard a man yell as she got back on her feet and dusted the snow off.

  “Answer me. Did you take it?”

  Pak walked quickly in the direction of the voice. When she passed the corner of the administration building, she saw them. They were about twenty feet in front of her. Two prisoners were standing side by side, shivering in the cold. The colonel, flanked by the three guards and his assistant, stood facing the prisoners and was yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “I ask you once more!” He held up something …

  What is that? Pak thought.

  “You do recognize this! Do you not? It is medicine from my personal cabinet. It was found on the floor by your locker. I demand to know! Who stole it?”

  The colonel began pacing in front of the two old men.

  Keith stared at the ground and said nothing.

  “Very well,” the colonel said. “Perhaps this will revive your memory.” He turned to the guard who had found the bottle of penicillin. “What is your name?”

  “Kang! Sir!” The guard jumped to a stiff position of attention. “Staff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon!”

  “Right,” the colonel snapped. “Revive the prisoner’s memory!”

  “Yes, sir!” Kang responded with enthusiasm. He stepped in front of Keith. “Answer the colonel’s question!”

  Nothing from Keith except a blank face, eyes down.

  “Answer!”

  Still nothing.

  Kang hauled back with his hand and slapped the old man on the face, sending him tumbling into the snow.

  “Where did you get the medicine?” Kang screamed as he stood over the man.

  Keith raised his head. Blood was running from his nose.

  “Answer me!” Kang cursed. “I will teach you to steal from the Army of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea!” He grabbed a bullwhip and lashed down perilously close to the old man.

  WHAP!

  “Stop!” Pak screamed. “Stop it! Stop it!”

  They all turned around. The colonel said, “Woman, if you know what is best for you, do not interfere with the state’s administration of justice.”

  “Please, Colonel! Do not strike the old man!” she begged through her sobs. “I did it!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I stole the medicine! Please, do not whip him. I did it.” She dropped to her knees and sobbed. “Please. Do not beat the old man.”

  Silence.

  Pak hung her head and looked down as a torrent of tears rained down in the snow.

  “You two!” She heard the voice of the colonel. “Take these men back to the barracks.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Kang, arrest this woman and take her to my office!”

  “With pleasure, sir!”

  Pak flinched as Kang grabbed her arm and began to drag her across the yard toward the colonel’s office.

  Kang stood at attention in front of the colonel’s desk. This time, Kang thought, he had been invited into the colonel’s inner office. This time, he was not stopped outside, in the office of his commander’s military-mistress-secretary. By proving himself, he had earned the right to be here. He looked over at the other guard, Chung Nam-gyu, who was standing at attenti
on at the other end of the colonel’s desk. Kang considered Chung’s presence a mere formality, present as a practical necessity. He thought back to that morning, how he had taught the two incompetent and spineless guards a real lesson. One he was sure they wouldn’t soon forget.

  The colonel was seated behind his desk. Standing between the two guards and facing the colonel was Pak.

  This sobbing, worthless, traitorous thief-of-a-woman, Kang thought. The point of this whole meeting, he reasoned, was to draw attention to the fact that he — not Chung Nam-gyu — had uncovered the theft of this woman, this traitor to the state, and the colonel knew it and would reward him greatly.

  Kang decided that the colonel had brought Chung in only as a second bodyguard. After all, neither Chung Nam-gyu nor the other incompetent excuse-for-a-guard Cho Doo-soon had been selected to interrogate the old-dog prisoner. Only he, Kang, had been so selected! And his interrogation technique had been so effective that he had psychologically pressured the sobbing heap now standing here to confess her crime.

  He wondered what medal he would receive this time. His eyes scanned the photos on the walls, of the colonel standing beside Dear Leader, of the colonel with other decorated leaders of the state.

  “Why did you take it?” the colonel’s demanding tone brought Kang’s eyes back on the traitor.

  “I … I do not know,” she said through a torrent of tears.

  “You do not know?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You do not know! Well, then, perhaps this will refresh your memory!” The colonel looked at Kang. “Refresh this traitor’s memory!”

  “Sir! Colonel! With pleasure!”

  He raised his hand and swung.

  Whap!

  The slap across her face sent Pak spinning. She tumbled to the floor, landing at the feet of Chung, who stepped back. The woman was a sobbing ball at Chung’s feet.

  Pathetic against pathetic, Kang thought.

  “Get her up!” the colonel ordered.

  Kang watched as Chung bent down and pulled Pak to her knees.

  Finally, Chung was given a job, Kang thought. What a contrast the colonel must see in us. On his right, an authoritarian, dashing, rising young leader, one capable of uncovering crimes against the state and extracting confessions from those who would oppose Dear Leader. On his left, an incompetent fool in uniform, a man whose only usefulness is to steady a soon-to-be-dead traitor.