The Black Hawk hit an air pocket which roused Malcom from his needed slumber after restless nights. The giant Indianhead flags were growing as the chopper passed over the village of Dongducheon. Malcolm looked outside the chopper and saw multiple Black Hawks flying adjacent, more Chinooks were directly behind their flank. Malcolm had to leave the Shuffle on full blast just to drown out the sounds of the propellers, but the synchronization of the formation made the Jimmy Eat World lyrics barely audible…
“…Little Girl, you’re in The Middle of the ride...
…Everything will be just fine!
…Everything, everything will be alright, alright…”
It was sixteen hundred hours; Malcolm felt revitalized from his nap, and he drummed his fingers across the grip of his beloved, freshly painted rifle. After withdrawing the iPod from his ears, he picked up on Thompson’s ramblings over Football:
“…If it weren’t for that fucking Manning and that one year his defense bellied up on him, Brady would have seven rings by now! I want Gene Therapy to become popular just so he could serve another twenty years and get fifteen rings! Talk about the ultimate Brass Knuckle, it shines like a comic book gauntlet! Could you imagine the punching power?”
Bannon interrupted, “If it weren’t for Brady being a professional cheater, he wouldn’t have that gauntlet of his….”
“That can be debated,” chimed Kemper, “...what isn’t, is the plight of the Underdog, whom I will always root for. Manning was on his last legs and deserved a last win or else he would’ve made as ass out of himself. Brady is too uptight anyway, I can at least drink beer with Manning.”
“Negro, that beer is the reason Manning had to retire!” Thompson boasted. “Brady drinks carrot juice in his spare time. That’s why he’s a winner and will keep winning when season starts up again!”
“He’s pushing it, man.” Kemper smirked. “He’s in his forties. It’s the same reason we cap new officers at thirty…”
Malcolm remained mute to them and tapped his wireless receiver, “Humphrey, Come in. Over.”
“Captain Nelson, this is Camp Humphreys. Over.”
“Could you patch me over to Major Mendez? Over.”
“Uh, your Major is in a meeting right now. Can I take a message? Over.”
“We’re arriving at Camp Casey and have no way of finding our men. Over.” Moments passed without a response. Malcolm grew impatient. “Sir?”
“This isn’t the first confusion we’ve had today, standby…...”
The Black Hawk touched down at center field of Camp Casey and was garbled by countless more choppers. As Malcolm exited, the Black Hawk across from him was beginning to take off as its payload of soldiers ran off. There were at least five hundred troops collaged throughout the field. At the roadsides, there were transport trucks and Humvees carpooling and merging with traffic; tanks, APCs and armored cars which were special for majors. There were a notable number of ambulances on the road.
Kemper hopped off from Malcolm’s flank; Malcolm immediately followed while tightening the strap of his rifle.
Malcolm’s receiver sounded. “Nelson? Come in.”
“Sir?”
“This is Casey. We’re patching you all to your companies, standby. Over.”
“You hear that?” Malcolm asked the others as they began their stride down the field. Looking up for the next helicopter, finding none, Malcolm paced to his three o’clock and covered his ear.
“Nelson?” The X.O. spoke.
“Daniels, I’ve arrived at Casey. Where is the rest of the company? Over.”
“We’re still held up in the hotel, sir. Over.”
Malcolm made the mental note. “Well get them organized, I’m heading there now. Over.”
“Sir, yes sir…over and out.”
Malcolm swiveled left and made his way back to his other captains, who were now swelling into a three-score mass of soldiers. He was next to Bannon, Kemper and Thompson; Tolbert was nowhere to be found. While Malcolm checked behind them, he was standing under a tail propeller and careful enough not to whack his head in the blades despite how funny Malcolm thought that would be. He dismissed the joke and left Tolbert to what seemed like dismay on his face.
The crowd pooled at the side of the road and collectively hitchhiker-posed for the transport brigades. Malcolm’s group made their way around the backline of the crowd where officers were beginning to thin out. Everyone frantically hoped a Humvee would break around traffic to acquire them, some even crossed the street to catch a car from the opposing lane. To Malcolm’s fortune, one of the Humvees pulled over to them. The passenger door opened which revealed two specialists in the front.
“Unless you all are going to the hospital then we need to keep going. Sorry sirs.” The driver spoke.
“You sick or something?” Malcolm asked.
“Neck cramps.” The passenger strained to respond.
Bannon slapped the roof, “Go get your neck brace.”
The specialist saluted, “Thank you! Sorry sirs.”
Malcolm closed the door for him, and the Humvee pulled off. Tolbert swung up between Malcolm and Bannon. “Whelp, I’m running late.” He spoke.
“What’s up?” Malcolm asked as Medical Crossed truck drove past, “Your boys hungover again?”
“Well, my X.O. is down for the count, so they better not be.” Tolbert huffed.
“What happened to her?” Kemper asked.
“All I know is that she puked her guts out.”
“Yep, she’s got that poisoning going around.” Kemper sighed. “Where are they?”
“One of the Barracks.”
Malcolm smiled, “My boys have priority lodging at the hotel.”
“We might as well split up then because my boys got here a half hour go. I just found out that they’re in the tree camps.” Bannon quipped.
“You could probably get to them on foot, no?” Malcolm asked.
“Hell no!” Bannn retorted. “I’ve got a tunnel to secure as well.”
Another Humvee finally stopped; Malcolm opened the passenger door and there was a smiling private occupying the driver’s seat. “Sirs!” he saluted, “What can I do for you?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Be our ferry.” Malcolm ordered as he sat in the passenger’s seat. “I need to go to hotel.”
“Barracks.” Tolbert ordered, pointing at the rank on his shoulder.
“Camps.” Said Bannon.
“Yes sirs!” he saluted again, “Hop in!”
Tolbert climbed in, crossed to the other seat, and was followed by Bannon before the Humvee could pull off.
After weaving through the irregular traffic, the Humvee was arriving at the hotel complex. They drifted onto a grassy patch and stopped at the end of a camo shanty town that extended to both sides of the hotel. There was a cindery campfire away from where they pulled over; it was surrounded by a dozen or more grunts. The sun was starting to sink from the sky.
“Captain?” the private looked back to Bannon, “Which Company were you with?”
“Echo.” Bannon replied.
“I’ll check.” Malcolm spoke. He stepped outside and crossed over to the to the campfire, seeking the man with a captain’s badge. It was a man who was tending to the burning logs with his platoon leaders. “You’re the officer in charge here?”
“Benson, of Charlie Company.” The man saluted courteously.
“Nelson, of November.” Malcolm quickly dropped his flat hand from his brow. “Is everybody here with the Second Division?”
“To my knowledge yes.”
Malcolm squinted. “Which companies?”
“Ours, Alpha, Bravo, Zeta, Delta, Foxtrot, Whiskey and Echo.”
“Thanks.”
“Yes, sir.”
Malcolm turned back to the Humvee and thought to wave but didn’t want to confuse Tolbert. He opened the back door, “Bannon your good.” Malcolm shut it and thumped the hood. As Bannon finished circling the car, it pulled out and waited to cut across traffic into Casey. Malcolm and Bannon walked side-by-side while overseeing the encampments.
“Well, where the fuck are my men? I wasn’t told they’d be at this camp.” Bannon quipped.
Malcolm paced ahead of him and with a flick of his fingers said, “Ask around, they’re probably keeping an eye out for you!”
“No, they’re NOT!”
Malcolm looked back. “Well ask Benson then!”
Bannon gaffed. “You strike a fine line between being a help and being a dick!”
With another flip of the bird, Malcolm was beneath the entrance to the lodge. There was a sentry with a corporal’s badge keeping a log of entries and exits. After checking in with a departing squad, he turned his attention to Malcolm.
“Sir!” he saluted.
Malcolm nodded. “At ease.”
“Captain Nelson?” he checked his clipboard.
“As my dog tag and badge suggests…”
He was unfazed by Malcolm’s sarcasm, “Your green. November Company should be on the first five floors of the building’s left section.”
“Good work kid.” Malcolm muttered as he slipped a five-dollar bill in the corporal’s collar.
“Sir…this isn’t necessary.”
Without a peep, Malcolm opened the door and entered the front lobby, which was bustling with troops eating while they still could. The front desks were all but deserted, as were the rest of the civilian families who had been relocated inside the Camp. Malcolm took a seat on one of the couches, the TV was tuned to CNN News, and it was simply a rundown of national events.
Without an interest in Washington drama, Malcolm decided to not linger. “Daniels, do you read me?” he switched his earpiece back on. “Come to the Lobby, over.” There was no response. “Clairet? I’m at the Lodge, come in. Over.”
After a minute of silence, she finally came through. “Aye Captain?”
Malcolm sucked his lips. “Where’s my X.O.?”
“Sulking in his room most likely.” Clairet answered.
“Where are you?”
“Out back.”
“Get in front.” Malcolm retorted. “Over and out.”
Malcolm noticed that the news was starting its opening rundown of the events for April Twenty-Fifth: The information blackout in China; military repression in North Korea, and overnight riots in Detroit following a police shooting. The president’s golfing record, income inequality, and shootings in Chicago. Sudden surge in Flu cases. Nine million starving in Yemen, Boko Haram’s new viral threat, and the death of Seymore Cassel. Record temperature highs set for the month. The morning host finally returned to the screen and was now leading a discussion panel regarding the geopolitical implications of regime change in North Korea; it was five A.M. over there.
Malcolm opted to escape the reality he was trapped in, but there were no books or newspapers on the coffee table; only local tabloids, and fashion magazines written in Korean.
I can’t fucking read these.
Malcolm seethed over his shortcomings and searched the pile for anything that was written in English. He didn’t have to wait long because Clairet already emerged from behind one of the pillars; her red hair was bundled up in the helmet as she held her AR-15 in one hand.
“That was a hell of a long meeting you had.” She clicked into her French-Cajun dialect. “Are you my new Major?”
“Read my badge.” Malcolm answered in English. “I’m still a Captain.”
“So, what the hell are we doing?” She asked.
Malcolm raised a brow. “You haven’t been briefed?”
“No.”
“Speak English or Korean.” Malcolm ordered.
“We’ve been told nothing yet. Also, I don’t speak Gook.”
“Gooks are Vietnamese.” Malcolm corrected.
“Whatever, just fill me in.”
Malcolm sucked his lips. “Well, the Japs called the Koreans, ‘Chosenjin’, which might sound like they’re some sort of ‘chosen ones’, but it was in fact a racial epithet between Asian subgroups…I suppose ‘Gook’ has also been used against Filipinos so-”
Clairet interrupted. “I wasn’t talking about grammar!”
Malcolm was confused. “Well, when you said ‘fill me in’ it sounded like-”
“What are we doing?”
“Getting the company ready to move out.” He relented. “Our orders are to keep the First Infiltration Tunnel secure while the rest of the Second Division moves across the parallel.”
“This an overnight op?” she asked.
“Yes; I doubt our unit is passing through until morning by this point. We still need to set up a dual outpost at both ends of the Parallel, preferably before nightfall. Go get Daniels and assemble the rest of the company outside.”
“Now that was short and simple.” She saluted, “Thank you, Captain.” Before walking to the elevator hallway. By the time she was gone, the News report was talking about power outages across Michigan following the State of Emergency; Malcolm stood up and moved to the front door for solace.
“Command?” he again switched his earpiece back to Casey’s frequency. “This is Captain Nelson of the Second Division, come in over?”
“…Captain Nelson, we’re reading you, over.”
“I’ve rendezvoused with my Company at the hotel. Requesting immediate transport to the First Infiltration Tunnel. Over.”
“Copy that. Our transport teams are overwhelmed for the moment. ETA, thirty minutes to two hours. Over.”
Malcolm cupped his face. “With all due respect sir, our orders are urgent. We require urgent priority. Over.”
“Captain, we’re aware of your orders. We can try to pull some vehicles, but our hands are tied with the current climate. How many personnel are you accompanying? Over.”
“One-hundred and seventy. Over.”
“Copy that…We’re patching you through to McElroy now. Over.”
“The Colonel?” Malcom was flabbergasted as he stepped outside.
“Greetings Nelson.” the familiar voice reverberated. “It’s been a while. Over.”
Malcolm nodded. “Long time no see Colonel.”
“Well, when we’re in Pyongyang the circumstances can be different. For now, I’ve got new orders for you: Going forward, all refugees that you see are to be detained on site until they can be medically screened. Over.”
Malcolm winced. “By our medics?”
“It will have to do until our doctors at the hospitals can give an all clear. And before you ask me, yes, this has everything to do with the Flu cases we’ve been seeing. Over.”
Malcolm cocked an eyebrow, “Are people dying? Over.”
“Not yet, but we still can’t afford to be dealing with an outbreak at this time. Over.”
Malcolm agreed, “Copy that. Over.”
“It might take a bit longer but I’m going to send Bravo Company behind you for extra security. Over and out.”
“Sir, yes sir.” Malcolm swallowed his pride while leaning against a pillar next to the hotel. He stared out into the now fading sky as the lights from Dongducheon turned on for the final time.