Chapter 4: A Shocking Turn of Events

I hope these orders find you well, Comrade Colonel.

Our mutual superiors have recently uncovered something of paramount importance involving that recent fiasco with our Communist brothers in North Korea. I apologize for dragging you away from your current assignment on such short notice, but this requires your immediate and undivided attention, Comrade.

I know that I do not need to remind you not to discuss this matter with anybody else, Comrade. This must be maintained, even in relation to our Communist brothers in North Korea.

Your orders are in the envelope.

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"A Shocking Turn of Events"
June 21st, 1968
Sergeant Adam Setser
1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"
A North Korean prison camp 7 miles north of the DMZ

When they had first captured us, life was hell.

That was to be expected.

Over the course of a month, we had been taken from camp to camp, and from torture chamber to torture chamber. It was brutal. Then something seemed to change when one of our "interrogators" discovered that Petya wasn't an American like me. The brutality went on for about a week until a man started coming in to our cell and having Petya taken off somewhere. The man was a Russian officer and he looked like intelligence to me. I quickly deduced that he was trying the "Kill 'em with Kindness" approach with Petya. All the torture stopped and we were actually given regular meals.

It was weird.

It almost didn't feel right in a way. Not being tortured, that was.

I hadn't expected such "kind" treatment from the North Koreans just to get somebody to talk.

Now though, our cell was silent. It was to be expected that prisoners of war would feel downtrodden, but Petya had come back with an air of particular dread about him this time. He was sitting on the pitiful excuse for a bed across from me, one hand fiddling with the loose edge of a stained bandage that covered his wound. That was another thing: they had taken particular care of his wound recently. He didn't seem to have much problem walking anymore. I couldn't stand seeing him like this, though.

After having killed his traitor of a girlfriend, I had felt a bit bad.

Now, after being captured, I felt like we were all the other had.

It didn't matter how "nice" the officer was: he had a motive. They all did.

If we were going to stay strong, we had to support each other.

Petya hadn't said a word since they had returned him to our cell maybe...an hour ago. He just sat at the edge of the bed with an expression of gloom and depression. I didn't say anything at first, just looking at the blood stains on my tiger stripe-patterned pants. After a few minutes, I started to glance up to him from time to time, and seeing if he was going to start talking. He didn't.

I whispered, not wanting to alert the guard out in the hall, "Petya: what's wrong?"

He was totally silent.

"What is going on, Petya?" I urged, trying my hardest to keep my voice at a whisper.

He didn't even look up, "They're going to shoot us."

The gravity of what he just said suddenly settled in the air. I had expected that they might at least kill me soon, what with their being so fascinated with Petya, but I hadn't expected that it would be both of us. Then again, I knew that Petya wasn't going to tell them anything. Apparently, whatever had gone on during Petya's "meetings" with the Russian officer must have irritated he and his superiors so much that they wanted to just get rid of both of us. It was almost hard to believe that this was how it was going to end for me.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He gave a minute nod of his head, "Later today: they're going to execute us."

"For what?" I asked, "Crimes against the "glorious" people?"

I couldn't help that sudden outburst of sarcasm. I guess it was just a defense mechanism for me.

"Exactly." Petya didn't sound amused at my sarcasm, "They want to get rid of us."

"So that's it then...there's nothing we can do." I shook my head slowly.

Of all the ways I thought I would die in this job, this wasn't one of them. I had thought that I might be shot by enemy agents in some far away country, or get killed doing something crazy like jumping roof tops while getting shot at. I hadn't imagined that my final moments as a Trustee, would be out in the jungles of a piss-hole country, and that the last thing I'd see would be some dirty lil' Gook with an AK pointed at me. I was right, though. There wasn't a thing we could do about this whole situation. We were dead men walking.

I made myself comfortable on my bed.

If I was going to die, then it was going to be as well-rested as possible.

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You never realize how grim the sound of a lock can be until you've been captured.

I could hear the one on the hall door being turned as I laid on my bed.

I could hear what sounded like two North Koreans, whispering to each other as they moved closer to our cell. I looked to the cell door but I didn't get up from my bed yet. The sun was slowly starting to set and some orange rays of light came through the tiny window of our cell: shining on the opposite wall out in the hallway. The two North Korean soldiers appeared, with Kalashnikov rifles in their hands, and disapproving expressions on their faces. They always had those: both the guns and the looks. Then the Russian officer stepped in between the two men, standing in front of the cell door.

He looked completely ambivalent as he retrieved our cell key from his coat pocket.

The lock to our cell door sounded rusty and old as it scraped its way in to the open position. The officer opened the door and the two North Koreans stepped in. They both took a moment to stop short of Petya and I, looking back to the Russian. It looked like they had wanted to start yelling at us and beating on us, but I guess the Russian had ordered them not to earlier. Wasn't it Churchill who said something about it not costing anything to be polite when you're about to kill somebody? Well, I guess the Russian must have read up on the guy. Instead the two soldiers just motioned impatiently for the two of us to stand up.

We both did. Slowly.

It wasn't like we were trying to make them angry, but it wasn't like we were overflowing with energy at the thought of walking to our death. The soldiers, though obviously very irritated, were patient enough to not start beating on us, and waited until we were both fully standing before ushering us to the cell door. However, neither of us got to see the trip out of the prison facility. Instead, the soldiers retrieved some sort of burlap sacks, and Petya and I had them tied up at our necks to prevent us from seeing anything except what little light trickled in through the fabric. A few moments after that and both of us were turned around to be handcuffed by the Russian officer. It was after that when they began walking us through the halls of the facility.

Then we were sent up a flight of cement steps.

From there, we were tossed gruffly in to the back of a truck, and I could hear the gate slam shut. The metal of the truck-bed felt cold, but it wasn't like I was going to complain. In a weird way, I was kind of enjoying it. It was one of the last things I was going to be able to enjoy before I died. It was still frustrating. I hated every commie' SOB in this God-forsaken country, but there was nothing I could do to stop these particular ones from killing me. Petya was still silent: not making a noise, save for when the bumps that the truck hit made us bump shoulders with each other. I didn't make much effort to speak, either.

It stayed that way for at least fifteen minutes until the truck eased to a stop.

I could hear the tail gate drop and the soldiers grabbed us by our boots: pulling us to the tail gate. They made sure not to pull us completely to the ground and let us stand by ourselves once they had gotten us there. Then they pulled off our masks and I took in the sudden change of scenery. We were surrounded by trees, with no signs of civilization in sight, and with only the five of us to be seen. Petya and I were marched to stand in front of a particularly large tree. There we stood as the two North Korean soldiers stood across from us with their rifles in their hands. Meanwhile, the Russian officer stood halfway between each pair, and faced to Petya and I.

"You have been charged with crimes against the glorious Communist regime of North Korea." He spoke in remarkably good English, "As well as being spies, for which you can be executed without a trial."

What happened next was too fast for me to recognize at first.

I watched as the Russian officer pulled his pistol from his holster, turned around, and shot both of the North Korean soldiers before they could fully raise their rifles. Both of them hit the ground, each with a single gunshot wound to the chest. The Russian officer looked over his shoulder at the two of us before holstering his pistol. He approached the two of us, and roughly turned each of us around. A few moments later and I was rubbing my wrists to restore circulation while turning to face the officer.

"I'm going to tell them you got away." The officer said, holding his pistol out to Petya, "You two took my pistol from me while I was talking, shot both of these men, and knocked me out. When I woke up, you were both gone from the area." He pointed off to the distance, "The border is seven miles that way: a small motor pool is one mile in the same direction in case you feel that you need to "acquire" a ride."

We both watched as he turned and walked to the jeep. There, he sat in the driver's seat and watched us. Neither Petya nor I moved, fearing that it might be a trap. When he didn't do anything else, the two of us moved to the bodies of the North Korean soldiers. I put one's vest on over my stained tan t-shirt, took all of his ammo, the two grenades he carried on him, and his assault rifle. I made sure to grab a compass the soldier had on him, as well. Once we were both equipped once more, Petya and I turned away, and started in to the wilderness. I was curious as to why the officer was doing this but I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Petya and I moved quickly but quietly. It would have helped if the guy had given us a map, or at least I thought he hadn't at first, and then I saw Petya fishing around in his back pocket when we took a brief moment to rest behind a fallen log. I looked at it and he must have seen the expression on my face because he stopped looking at it to explain.

"He apparently slipped this in my pocket when he was un-cuffing me." Petya reasoned.

I rolled my eyes, "Awful nice of him."

Petya shrugged, "He took the time to mark the motor pool out, too."

"Why don't I feel like he's just letting us go out of the kindness of his heart?" I asked.

Petya quirked a brow at me now, "Everybody has an agenda, Adam."

I didn't say anything else, simply handing the compass I had gotten to Petya. That seemed to be true enough since I had been in the Trust. Everybody had a motive, an objective, or some reason to be doing whatever it was that they were doing. I brushed that thought from my mind and opted to simply focus on keeping watch while Petya examined the map. Whoever that Russian officer, for whatever reason, had let us off, and that meant we had at least had some sort of chance for making it south of the DMZ...assuming border guards didn't shoot us on sight. We still had to stick together, too. Just like back in the prison.

"Are you ready to move?" I asked, getting impatient after a few moments.

"He left some notes: there are canvas trucks at the motor pool." Was Petya's reply.

"Then let's get going!" I urged, "The sooner we get out of here: the better."

Petya put away the map, "Alright then: we hit the motor pool and make our way for the DMZ."

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The last mile of travel for us had gone totally unopposed. We had moved quietly, staying off the roads, and trying our best to avoid silhouetting ourselves on the top of any hills. Twice we had nearly run in to enemy foot-patrols, but so far we had made our way to the motor pool without any opposition. Now, though, it had started to rain. Thick, fat drops of rain came down from the canopy, and landed irritatingly on our heads as Petya and I observed the motor pool's perimeter from a short distance away.

We were staying crouched amongst some especially think plant cover: trying to decide what vehicle we should take. We wanted something in the open, easy to get to, and we both preferred that it be at least somewhat fast. So far Petya had suggested a simple canvas-covered flat-bed truck, I had suggested an open-topped jeep, and neither had seemed to be good enough for a combination of speed and protection from North Korean rounds. We only had a pair of Kalashnikovs to defend ourselves with, after all. Then I noticed something just inside a motor pool, halfway in and halfway out of the garage door.

It was a truck.

To be more specific: it was a flat-bed mounting what looked to be a medium or heavy machinegun. It wasn't the fastest thing they probably had, but that machinegun would definitely be good for making sure that our pursuers would have one hell of a problem. Not to mention the ammo canisters I could see that were secured by a net to the back of the cab. I didn't even say a word to Petya, instead just patting him on the shoulder, and pointing to the vehicle. He gave me a nod of agreement and we both started making our way to the fenced-off perimeter.

We knew there was a back gate with a pair of guards.

It was fortunate that it was hidden by a section of the motor pool. We would just take out those two guards, sneak in to the motor pool, quickly and quietly eliminate any of the guards in there, hot-wire the truck, and then drive out of there to the border as fast as we possibly could. We'd ditch it just short of the border; head in to the wilderness, and cross the border while hopefully avoiding the watchful eye of the South Korean border patrol. Right now, though, we had to focus on what was just ahead of us, and so we moved through the foliage and trees around the two rear-gate guards as covertly as possible.

I moved slowly, crouching low to the ground.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten to grab a knife from the North Korean guard I had gotten my other equipment from. I couldn't even remember if he had one with him at the time. Either way, the point was that I didn't have one, and so that meant that I would just have to kill the guard with my rifle. I wasn't very disappointed by the thought as I moved within six feet of the guard I was going to kill. Neither of the men were very attentive and the heavy rain covered any noise we might have been making as it hit all of the leaves around us. Glancing past the two guards, I saw that Petya was in position, and I sprung in to action.

I came from behind one of the two guards, bringing my rifle in front of his throat. He barely had time to gasp in surprise as I smashed it against his wind-pipe. The stupid idiot dropped his rifle in shock, grabbing at my own in an attempt to save his life. His partner, who was about to shoot at us with his own rifle, was suddenly struck across the back of the head, and fell to the ground. Tripping up the man I was wrestling with, I sent him face-first in to the ground, and wrangled my rifle out of his grasp. I repeated to beat him repeatedly in the back of the head and neck with the stock until I was sure he was dead. To be honest, I wanted to beat him some more to relief some of my pent-up anger, but I had a job to do.

Panting, I searched his pockets and belt for a key.

While I was at it, I took a knife he had on his belt, and secured it to my vest. Turning around, I watched as Petya tried to push the gate open as quietly as possible. We moved in slowly, heading for the back door of the motor pool. Petya took point as we went: both of us keeping a constant eye on everything around us. We could hear people in the other parts of the camp moving around; completely oblivious to our presence. As we approached the door I just silently prayed that nobody was coming to visit those two guards any time soon. Petya slowly reached for the handle of the door and pulled it open, moving to the side, and letting me take point.

The first person I saw was a North Korean man standing at a desk.

With the way he was dressed, he looked to be a low-ranking officer. He was going over papers of some kind and seemed completely shut off from his surroundings. The room was large and rectangular, with various filing cabinets, and tables. There was a hallway just to the man's left, leading away from us, and with a door leading to where the truck was being kept. At least that's where I assumed it led. There was nobody else in the room. With a quick signal, Petya quietly shut the door behind us, and kept an eye on both doors as I let my AK hang from its sling. Drawing my knife, I moved towards him at a crouch I tried to stay as quiet as possible.

As I approached the man, I instantly snapped in to a standing position. I clasped one hand over his mouth and drove the knife in to his back. He tried fighting me off but with four more quick stabs to the same general area, he quickly stopped struggling, and I slowly lowered him to the floor. Wiping the blade off on his tunic, I looked to Petya as he moved to the door which would lead us out in to the garage. I moved in behind him as he began to push the door open with one hand. I stayed right behind him to act as security.

Stepping on to the cement floor of the garage, we could hear people outside in the rest of the compound, but the garage itself seemed to be empty of any North Korean soldiers. That meant if we were quick then we'd hopefully be able to start up the truck before anybody could even get a shot off at us. We both took cover at the rear of the truck we were going to take, out of view from anybody outside the garage.

"Keep an eye out, I'll hot-wire the truck." Petya whispered.

I gave a small nod, "You've got it: now get the job done."

Petya moved from cover, down the driver's side of the truck, and tested the door. When he found that it was unlocked, he opened it as quietly as possible, and slipped in to the cab. He stayed below the dash-board while he tried to find the appropriate wires. Looking out past the truck, I kept my eyes on anybody close to the garage. The closest group I could see was a trio of North Korean soldiers around some crates. They were casually conversing with each other, two of them seemed to be smoking, and they were totally unaware of what was going on. I could hear a few rustling sounds from the cab as Petya continued hot-wiring the car.

"I think I've nearly got it." I heard Petya whisper just loud enough for me to hear.

Suddenly the rear lights started flashing. I froze in place as I saw one of the three guards I had been observing look our way. He then pointed the truck out to his two friends and they began to make their way over to the garage.

"Petya, you just alerted some guards." I whispered urgently.

"Just give me a few more moments." Petya replied.

The guards were getting closer. We didn't have a few more moments! I looked to the machinegun on the back of the truck and I could see there was already an ammo box loaded. I quickly pulled myself on to the bed of the truck, made sure it was ready to fire, and brought it to bear on the three guards. They all barely had time to start running as I opened fire. I cut the three of them down and the whole base suddenly came to life. I could see soldiers running from place to place, an alarm started going off, and soon enough there were rounds hitting the building as they opened fire. I returned the favor, keeping their heads down as best I could.

Then the truck roared to life, its diesel engine sounding like a throaty purr.

"I've got it, now let's go!" Petya slammed the door to the cab shut moments later.

The truck lurched in to gear and pulled out of the garage. I wildly scanned from left to right, firing wherever I saw a North Korean uniform, and Petya started accelerating for the front gate were another trio of guards were firing at the cab of the truck in an attempt to stop us. They stayed at their post until the last moment, when they dived out of the way to avoid the oncoming truck. The chain-link gate didn't stand a chance against the speeding truck and busted open instantly. I turned the machinegun around and began firing in to the base as we pulled away. We were so close. I could barely believe that we were so close to freedom!

Then the North Koreans managed to come up with a stronger response.

A pair of open-topped jeeps came tearing out from the motor pool after us. Each one had a machinegun on the back of it and a man in the passenger seat who would take periodical pot-shots at the truck. I focused on the two machinegun operators first, watching as the first one was hit so hard by a quick burst from my own machinegun that he was thrown completely out of the jeep. The second had just started firing at us when I opened fire on him. He fell to the floor of the jeep, his hand catching in the trigger, and sending a spray of bullets up and to my left in a dramatic, Hollywood-style fashion. His gun was still firing with his hand caught in the grip.

For that same jeep, I instantly shifted down to the driver.

He tried to duck but he couldn't do it in time. His windshield was torn to pieces and jolted about wildly in his seat from my machinegun fire. The jeep, now uncontrolled, went serving off the road, and flipped twice as its remaining living occupant was thrown out, and bounced along the ground a few yards from the jeep. The second jeep had begun to pull over and when I looked to the man in the passenger seat, I could tell that he wasn't aiming at me. He was yelling in to the radio, or that's what it looked like. He was calling for reinforcements! I covered the front of the jeep in sweeping machinegun fire. The jeep turned off to the side of the road in a less dramatic fashion than the first, slowing to a stop instead of flipping.

Looking around, it seemed to be clear, and so I went about the process of reloading the machinegun as quickly as possible. Once that was done, I suddenly found I had use for it once again. Even over the sound of passing wind and the truck's engine, I could hear the sound of a North Korean attack helicopter coming towards us. I began to desperately scan the sky for the incoming chopper, just as I had before with the one that got Petya and I captured. Soon I saw it peeking out from a hill to my left, coming in low and fast.

I saw its nose cannon come to life and watched as rounds tore in to the road just behind us. Then it closed in, releasing a pair of missiles that went just over the truck, in to the tree-line. I took aim, opening fire with a long burst aimed for what I knew to be the gunner's bubble. The HIND went over us, circling around in a wide arc, and coming in to a position behind us. I took aim for the pilot's bubble this time. I opened fire with a series of short bursts and I must have hit something because I could see it in the helicopter. It fish-tailed to the left, began to lose altitude, and plummeted out of sight in to the trees. I could see the ball of fire from the explosion.

It didn't seem like anybody else was catching up with us, but I kept scanning just to be safe. Eventually the truck slowed down and Petya pulled off the road. I watched as we went far enough in to the tree-line to avoid being seen from the road and came to a stop. I had already hopped off the bed of the truck before Petya had gotten all the way out of the cab. Neither of us needed to say a word. We both knew that we had to get to safety before more North Korean soldiers showed up to kill or recapture us.

We made good ground from the truck, and Petya was sure by looking at the map that we were just across the border. That meant we were almost home. Now we would just need to get to a US embassy or consulate...or something. Our superiors had never been very clear on what to do if we broke ourselves out of a prison camp. Mostly, I think, they just expected for us to be killed by our captors, or that a rescue team would be able to come for us like they had for me in Vietnam. Well now they would have to add this in to the book, if they hadn't already.

We were more relaxed with the knowledge that we were across the border. We knew that we didn't need to worry about North Korean strike teams. They would want to be quiet about everything that had happened: the families of those soldiers would be given a tale about training accidents, and the officers would be told that we had never been there. They'd probably be too proud to admit being one-upped by a pair of captured spies. If they threatened not to, I was sure our negotiators back in the States would get them to back down. With this knowledge, Petya and I made the mistake of being decidedly less cautious.

As we moved to cross a section of road in the setting sun, we were suddenly set upon by a single South Korean jeep that had been coming around the hill from which we had just been observing the road. Three men got out of the jeep and began shouting at us angrily. Petya and I wasted no time in hastily dropping our rifles. From there it was a simple matter of keeping our hands up in the air as one of the men approached us. I was almost in disbelief that it had been the South Koreans who captured us now. Well, at least this time we knew our own government would be able to get us out of their jail cells.

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The Director browsed over the report, "I'm impressed."

"I agree: it seems like nothing can keep Mr. Setser tied up." The Doctor gave a small smile.

"What about their mental evaluations?" The Director asked, setting the report on his desk.

The Doctor tapped on another packet on the desk, "Both of them cleared just fine."

"So they're ready for field service?" The Director asked.

"As right as rain, after some recuperation, of course." The Doctor's smile grew ever so slightly.

The news they had gotten from South Korea had been a shock to everybody in the Trust. Anybody who had enough security clearance to know about the Trust had thought for sure that Adam and Petya were both dead, or if not executed yet, then rotting away in some prison cell with no hope of freedom. Then the South Koreans had called them with the strange report of two dirty, armed white men who had been intercepted by South Korean border guards. They had kept them in a prison down in the city of Ulsan. The report on the two men matched Adam and Petya.

A Trustee under the guise of a diplomat had been sent to meet them in prison.

His report had stated that the two of them both had the same story: a Russian officer had been about to shoot them. Then, strangely enough, the officer had shot the soldiers with them, and let them go. He had even given them a map! The South Koreans had tried interrogating them as well, but hadn't been able to make any ground with them. The Trustee sent to meet them seemed to be very proud of that fact in his report. The Trustee got them taken back to the United States under the guise of a need for "further examination" from his superiors.

Medical reports had passed, they had been mentally evaluated, and both of them were deemed clear for service. The psychiatrist who had been examining them noted that they both seemed to be very close. Nothing too serious, but they seemed to have forged a close friendship while the two of them had been incarcerated in North Korea. It seemed that their imprisonment had accelerated the formation of that natural trust between brothers-in-arms.

The Director smiled with satisfaction, "It's good to know there back. We have a new mission and I think I'd like to send them on it as soon as they can get back in the field: we need our best."

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Author's Notes: Wow...I can't believe I had so much trouble with writer's block on this chapter! I feel as if, because of it, that the product did suffer in the end, and so I apologize to all the people who read this story. I feel so excited, though! I have a bunch of exciting things that are coming up and I can't wait to write it! It's going to be amazing, with explosion, spy planes, and all sorts of other action! I have said too much, though. Keep your eyes out for the next chapter!

Remember that constructive criticism and reviews are always welcomed!