FORTY FIVE
Feb. 16th: 0800 hours
"…All right, Goldman. Let's go over this one more time. When we have the OR running, what reports do we have to send to HQ...in addition to the daily reports?" Sergeant Klinger quizzed another medic.
"Well...the most important ones are the patient lists," the corpsman answered. "One for the military, with...five things, I think. Oh, I remember: with name, rank, outfit, country of origin and type of injury. And the one for the civilians has: name, village and injury."
"Right. And, if you have any POWs?" The sergeant prompted.
With a frown of concentration, Corporal Goldman answered, "Well, you have to notify the MPs and file a separate report."
"Okay. What else needs to be sent to HQ?"
Colonel Potter, sitting at his desk, was listening to the inquisition occurring in his outer office. Ever since yesterday afternoon, Klinger had been trying to teach Goldman the intricacies of his position.
"...No! That's not all!" The colonel heard his company clerk exclaim. "You've forgotten about the blood and plasma usage reports and the evac schedules. And, the...."
"Klinger!" The other man objected. "I can't remember all this. Besides, I'm supposed to go on duty now. How do you expect me to be a medic and a clerk?"
"The same way I have to be both---every single day! Come on, Roy! You have to learn this!!..."
Hearing the desperation in his company clerk's voice, the commanding officer smiled to himself. He had informed Klinger that he couldn't begin his R&R in Tokyo until he had trained a replacement. Obviously, the Toledo resident had taken his words to heart. He sounded close to panic.
Potter decided to let him off of the hook. In a few minutes, he'd have Klinger write a list of all the things that needed to be done to give to Goldman. After that, he could hitch a ride out on this afternoon's scheduled supply truck.
He knew his officers would help Corporal Goldman as much as they could. And, he would try to remember to have patience with his new company clerk.
The colonel doubted that Sergeant Klinger would be as reluctant to leave as Major Houlihan had been. She had stopped by his tent earlier this morning. She thought she shouldpostpone her trip to Seoul. With more wounded expected at any time, and now, with Sergeant Klinger leaving and Goldman having double assignments, she felt the outfit would be too short handed.
While appreciative of her dedication to duty, he had assured her that they could handle it. After all, if they needed her, she was only a short flight away. It had taken some doing, but he had finally convinced the head nurse to go and enjoy herself. She had climbed into the passenger seat of the helicopter a short time later.
Seeing her happy smile, Colonel Potter hoped that they wouldn't need to recall her. That no one at this unit would be needed for surgery any time soon. He knew better, of course.
Feb. 16th: 1400 hours
"Thank y'all for helping me with this," Sarabeth MacAllister stated. Inside her quarters, the Texan had her feet propped up. Her dog was resting beside her chair. The flag of her home state was once again hanging on her wall. With the heater warming the small area and with the two small carvings of Australian mammals and the rest of her decorations back in place; the woman's tent had a comfortable, welcoming feel to it. She smiled at her companions, "We'll have the quilt top finished in no time."
Earlier, she had announced that there would be a "sewing party" in her tent; that cookies and coffee would be served; and that all of the nurses,-and nurses only, were invited to attend. She had firmly pushed Captain Pierce away from her door when he showed up. He left only after she handed him a tin full of "cow pies" cookies.
With the exception of Monica Parnelli who, not surprisingly, had refused to join them, the nurses of the 4077th were crowded around inside the tent. All of them held sewing needles and pieces of material.
"This is fun," Kellye remarked. "I've never made a baby quilt before."
"I'd much rather be doing this kind of embroidering," observed Liza, "than the surgical kind."
"That's for sure!" Christie exclaimed. She held up the pattern she was working on and laughed. "Trust Hawkeye to come up with something strange: a lobster wearing a bib and holding a fork!"
"You think that's strange?" Linda challenged. "Look at Major's Winchester's design. It's all these squiggly shapes."
"It's supposed to be the opening bars of 'Brahms: Lullaby'," Sarabeth explained with a wry grin. "He said it was very important to introduce infants to the classics immediately."
"At least it's better than some of the other music he plays," Jeanette commented. "That 'Dead Children's Lament' gives me nightmares."
"Speaking of nightmares…when does ours begin?" Sandra asked seriously.
MacAllister shrugged. "The supply truck is supposed to be carrying more blood products and antibiotics than usual. So that means…soon."
"Well, at least we got to have fun at the dance," Christie noted.
"How would you know?" Jeanette challenged. "You and Tony left the mess tent after the first dance."
"What makes you think we didn't have fun?" Nurse Baker replied with a meaningful grin.
The women laughed at her statement.
Walking outside the tent, Lieutenant Parnelli stopped to listen to the sounds of merriment coming from within. She knew they were talking about her. That was all right. She didn't need them. She didn't need Colonel Flagg, either. She'd figure out a way to get her revenge on MacAllister. And she would have the last laugh.
The Intelligence officer sat at his desk. He refused to admit it but he was stymied by his lack of progress in his investigations. He had nothing that he could really use on Pierce. And, while he knew that the Korean family at the 4077th had somehow been important in locating Zheng He, that lead was certainly a dead end. He almost smiled at the play on words until he remembered that he didn't allow himself to have a sense of humor.
Flagg frowned. He had found nothing on Yunjin, either. He still didn't know whether the word was someone's name, or a coded message, or if it held any meaning at all. He could not find anything, anything at all. That lack of evidence told him there was something out there; he was just going to have to dig harder.
The youngest MacAllister had to know more that she was admitting. The trouble was; she was too closely protected there---both by the medical personnel and by the patrols that routinely swept through that area.
If he could ever get her away from that outfit, he could arrange her kidnapping. He was sure of that. And, she'd tell him everything…she'd beg to tell him everything.
For now, Flagg decided, remembering the little talk that her oldest brother had had with him, that would be done only as a last resort. Crockett MacAllister had approached him with a warning to leave his sister alone. It had been one of the few times…no, make that the only time…that he had ever had even an inkling of fear.
The tall Texan, who always seemed so easy going, had proved he was, indeed, a very dangerous man. And he had convinced the CID officer that he meant business. So, for now, the redheaded woman was off-limits. For now….
At least, Colonel Flagg consoled himself; he was more successful with his plan to draw Zheng He out of hiding. Several of the Chinese prisoners that he had interrogated and had then 'allowed' to escape had been spreading his carefully planted information. That tactic, coupled with his hatred…or fear…of the 'fire-haired' demons that were still raiding Chinese camps, had helped to nudge the general out into the open.
Just a few more carefully worded radio messages, harrowing survivor tales and the right bait placed along the trail, and he would have Zheng He. And then he'd see who had the last laugh.
The G-2 officer sat at his desk. He frowned over the report he was studying. "Sterling, the officer spoke, "hand me the recon pictures taken over sectors Fox 3 and Delta 12 for the past week, will you?"
"Got something?" Captain Sterling questioned as he handed the photographs to his commanding officer.
"Maybe," the man answered vaguely. He took a magnifying glass to examine some of the reconnaissance pictures. Intermittently requesting other reports, and staring at the papers before him, the senior officer remained deep in thought.
Silently concentrating on paper work of his own, the captain waited. He knew the soldier was on the trail of something important.
"I'll be damned," the Texan announced unexpectedly. He leaned back in his chair and added, with a bemused laugh, "There's going to be a battle near Kunsan--even if Flagg has to orchestrate it himself."
"How is he going to manage it?" The man asked as he moved to the other officer's desk. He didn't question his commander's assessment. James Sterling had fought beside him in the Second World War and in this one, too. And he trusted his judgment.
"We know that Flagg, and his sources, are behind these stories from escaped prisoners and all these Chinese radio broadcasts about a den of 'fire-haired' demons being located near Kunsan," Crockett MacAllister stated. He picked up some of the photographs. "And, from our source, we know that this is the area where Zheng He went to ground this past month. It used to be a Buddhist temple---until the butcher killed the monks and all of the people who had sought refuge there."
The anger in his voice was evident. It disappeared as the man continued with his explanation, "Until now, Zheng He's been ignoring those reports. He's been content to stay hidden, out of the action, and let his senior officers lead the many attacks against us. But now, with this latest message about one of the 'fire-haired' demons being separated from the group, apparently he's decided to move down the road…towards Kunsan."
The officer indicated a series of time lapse pictures, "These are four troop trucks leaving the camp---just one slipping away at a time." He tapped another photo, "Then, three days later, here are the same four trucks gathered together within 25 miles of the target."
"And we know they're the same four trucks because…?" The captain asked.
"Three out of the four have identifiable marks on the hoods or canvas tops that can be picked up by the camera," MacAllister grinned.
"And no transport trucks have come back to that temple?" Sterling asked.
"Nothing's gone back in," MacAllister confirmed.
"Four trucks," Sterling thought out loud. "That's about 40 to 50 men. We know that he likes to keep at least 50 of the 'worst of the worst' around him as bodyguards for protection against the demons that are hunting him." He smiled knowingly at the Texan who returned his smirk with an arched eyebrow. "So, either he's already moved with them, or he's planning to move…soon."
"There is no doubt that the majority of the Chinese army is rallying to hit us hard," the red headed man spoke. "We're fixin' to be in the middle some of the fiercest fighting we've seen yet."
"True." Sterling agreed. "But, he could also be planning to use the upcoming attacks as diversions…which would allow him carry out a personal vendetta."
The captain moved to the map on the wall. "Zheng He would have to come down from this road and cross the river, here." He indicated a location. "We could blow the bridge after he crosses it. That would leave him hemmed in by the river on one side and his back to the sea. Plus," he continued with growing excitement, "that whole area is marshland. "It would be a bitch for them to have to slog through that mud."
"If he's only got 50 men with him; and no support from the majority of the Chinese Army; and we're waiting at the base of these hills…." He turned to face the other man. "We've got him."
"It could be a decoy and there's no one in the trucks except the drivers," the colonel pointed out.
"You don't think so."
"I don't think so," MacAllister agreed. "Divide and conquer, Jim. That's always a good way to win a battle."
Captain Sterling smiled in disbelief. "So Colonel Flagg has actually done something right for a change?"
Crockett MacAllister shrugged. "Even a blind hog will root up an acorn, now and then," he drawled. "Are all of our 'fire-haired' demons still accounted for? Do we have anyone who has been reported missing or who may have wandered down that way?"
The other man shook his head. "I don't have any reports from newly arrived soldiers, yet; but all of our known redheads are where they're supposed to be."
The colonel nodded. "Then Flagg's playing bluff poker. We'll still need to keep a very sharp, very constant eye on them. If any one of them is not where they're supposed to be, I want to know about it--immediately."
He continued, "I'll take this to General Hawthorne. He may want to wait until our source can confirm the change of scenery. In the meantime, we'll fly recons over the area--high enough to keep from being spotted. We'll make some very discreet inquiries into the type of enemy firepower that's being set up in the area. As soon as we get the go-ahead, we can start moving some troops over…even more discretely."
"And after that?" Sterling asked.
Colonel Crockett MacAllister's predatory grin was enough of an answer for him.
