THIRTY FIVE
"WHERE ARE THEY?" Colonel Flagg roared at the men standing at attention before him. Chagrined, the soldiers could only shrug in reply. They couldn't explain how they came to be trussed and muzzled inside a MASH unit tent, either.
Furious at their failure, the CID officer paced in front of them. They could hear snatches of his monologue, "…Kunsan…last chance…have to find them. How did they did get away?" With that question, the officer spun to glare at the Military Policemen. A vein was throbbing on the side of his face and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "How did they did get away from you?" he asked with an angry growl.
"We called for roadblocks and notified all the checkpoint stations," Captain Myles answered, hesitantly. He tried not to flinch as Flagg focused his attention on him. "They couldn't have gone too far, Colonel."
"…They couldn't have gone too far, Colonel," B J Hunnicutt was saying as he paced in front of his commanding officer. "Can't we call the checkpoints and ask them to be on the lookout for them?"
Colonel Potter looked at the surgeon with sympathetic eyes. "Son", he spoke softly, "perhaps it's best if we just let them go."
The captain shook his head, "We can't. We have to find out where they are; if they have enough food; if they have a place to stay…." In anguish, the man implored, "Please, Colonel…they're just kids…babies. We've got to know if they're all right."
Giving in, the senior officer nodded, "All right, Hunnicutt; I'll tell Klinger to start tracking them down."
Almost an hour later, a jeep pulled into the compound and stopped in front of the hospital building. Hearing the engine, the company clerk walked out of his office to investigate. The driver of the vehicle asked for the commander of the outfit.
Colonel Potter opened the door to the clerk's office, "Klinger, go get Father Mulcahy." There was sadness in his voice. "And tell Captain Hunnicutt we have something to show him."
B J Hunnicutt stared into the back of the jeep in disbelief. The items there would haunt his dreams for many a night: a piece of an Army blanket that, even with scorch marks and dark stains, the stenciled numbers '4077' could still be read; the charred head of what used to be a wooden toy horse; and a dirty, tattered red ribbon that had once been tied around a young girl's hair.
Stunned, having trouble breathing, he heard the soldier say, "They must have taken a direct hit…debris everywhere…this was all that was still identifiable."
"No," Hunnicutt whispered, "It can't be."
The memorial service held that evening was an especially solemn one. Mulcahy led his grieving flock in a prayer for the innocent souls that had been lost. The camp commander and a red-haired nurse exchanged a glance and added their own silent prayer that everything was, still, going according to plan.