Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter features Henry and Mark on active orders again with the Marine Reserve, attached to regular Marine forces in South Korea. I wrote this one all in 1 day, but I went over it numerous times to do proofreading. Overall I think it turned out well.

"That," Mark said in amazement, "was some of the best I ever had," practically skipping along the sidewalk. Seoul had never looked better.

"I told you I'd find us a good place to get some," Henry answered, looking quite pleased with himself.

"It's fucking weird paying for it."

"It's not like money's a problem for us."

"I still think it's weird."

"Listen, Mark, I'm just glad you've calmed down since you were in high school."

"What?"

"Look, it's a good thing you ended up with Julie and Jessica, because you needed it so bad-"

"Oh, like you were any better? You and Lisa. You two fuckin' deserved each other."

"Well, all those years of her begging for it-" Henry shrugged. "I'm a nice guy. I just gave her what she wanted."

"Didn't she piss on you? When you guys, uh, 'broke up'?"

Henry laughed. "Yeah, well, what can I say. Honestly? I wasn't even bored with her. I just wanted to do it. I guess all that time with her acting like I owned her, I believed it too."

"So what's with you and Asian girls, though? You've always liked them."

"Yeah? Your first was Asian, what're you telling me about it for?"

"But you popped out two boys with those two blondes of yours."

"I like them, too." Henry shrugged his well-muscled shoulders. "Listen, Mark, you've always liked Asian girls, too. Taking turns with that girl in there, you didn't seem to mind."

"As long as she's a nine or above, I'm good."

"Glad you're so open-minded," Henry quipped. He glanced up at the sky, frowning. "Thunder, but I don't see any lightning. At this time of ni-"

"INCOMING!" Mark screamed. In a single second he swung out an arm, pulled Henry down with him, and shielded Henry with his back as the first shells came down and the street exploded around them.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

It took hours for the shelling to let up- or be suppressed- enough to make any real progress. Even at peak extremes of physical fitness, Henry and Mark were not immune to exploding shells and rockets. They had a power all their own.

They cared little for the immense suffering and death around them, except to be envious of whoever was doing it. Then again, Henry knew Mark especially had never liked killing from a distance. He always, always wanted it up close. That was part of what made him such a good infantry officer.

Left with no real options, unable to get back to their home base, Henry and Mark had made it out of the city inch by inch, block by block, and linked up with some Marines trying to make it up to the DMZ to counterattack.

With the North Koreans still finding ways to keep their guns in action even with all the sounds of jet engines roaring northward, the advance ended up being slow and difficult. Trucks, Humvees and LAVs joined the others hit directly or blown off the road.

But in the end, they did make it up. Mark had one cobbled-together platoon of Marines with him in a couple of troop-carrier Humvees, and Henry, the forward observer who had no communications link to air or artillery, ended up leading the whole shebang by virtue of his rank.

Mark would have almost been annoyed Henry made captain first, but the instinct to be happy for his brother, to support him and cheer him on wherever he went and whatever he did, overrode any notions of jealousy.

A hard slap to his helmet got Mark back in the moment.

"Fuckstick!" Henry shouted over the bellowing Humvee's diesel engine, steadying himself from his seat in the back.

They'd managed to pair up in the only four-door Humvee that was still working. Mark regretted taking the front passenger seat to an extent. It let Henry smack his helmet anytime he wanted, and while it made sense given the situation, Mark was convinced Henry also was just doing it for fun.

"What?" Mark shouted back.

"We're almost to the buildings in the center of the- the damn Joint Security Area."

"Oh, cool, we're about to invade North Korea," the driver, 19-year-old Lance Corporal David Korr observed."

"P'anmun'gak," Henry pronounced, "There it is. Looks like some of our guys got there first." He was pointing to the rectangular gray-white two-story building looming over the rest of the Joint Security Area, just as the North Koreans had no doubt intended when they'd built it.

Long, flat-topped and lethal, K1 tanks were parked under the trees to either side of the pavilion, their guns all arrayed to the north. Drawing in closer, Mark noticed how many of the North Korean building's windows were gone, and how much of its front was decorated with shell impacts and bullet holes.

"This is gonna be so much better than Iraq, and Afghanistan," Henry exulted. "We're gonna really fuck some shit up this time."

"Respectfully, sirs, you guys are nuts," Korr commented, taking them toward the cover of the trees. "But right now you're just what we need."

"Fucking-A we are," Mark answered. "Okay, let's add some security here, link up with these tanks. Whatever radio frequencies they're on." The truck stopped, and Mark was already hefting his M4. "Come on, come on! Let's go!"

"Hey, you! Hey!"

A South Korean in BDU's and body armor darted out toward them from the Phanmun Pavillion, waving.

"Hey, asshole, how's the war going?" Mark called.

"Going great!" the South Korean answered in identical tones. "One of you in charge? You come inside now, with me, Black Panther wants to see you."

"Who?"

"Let's go!" the young man called, waving impatiently. Henry shrugged and followed, reluctantly parting with Mark as his brother joined forces with the South Korean tankers.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The North Koreans must have figured out that their favorite two-story building at the DMZ had been taken, because artillery fire started coming down not long after Henry got inside. He worried about Mark, but the shelling was sporadic, not the devastating volume they'd gotten hit with in Seoul.

Standing at some big conference table that had either been left, or been hauled, into the main entrance hall, was a tall, broad-shouldered Korean-American shouting into a radio. A variety of telephones were laid out around him, some possibly working, others definitely not.

"I just want someone to explain to me, why we're still getting the crap shelled out of us!" the man shouted as Henry approached with the South Korean from outside.

"Been trying to support all morning," the aide explained. "Fuel for the tanks. Air cover." He paused. "Bandages."

"All the essentials," Henry remarked wryly.

"You're a model in America. What brought you here?"

Henry looked at the South Korean, noting he was an officer, a first lieutenant, in their army.

"I'm in the Marine Reserves. My brother Mark and I wanted to-"

"Now who the hell is this?"

Turning his head, Henry felt anger, then fury surging into him. He knew that voice, he realized. He knew that face, grimy as it was, caked with dirt, sweat and from the looks of it, blood. Under a helmet and body armor, Henry wasn't as recognizable, but he'd recognized this 'Black Panther,' all right.

Standing in front of him, looking thoroughly pissed-off like he always did, was Major Jackson Lee.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

"You!" Henry practically hissed.

"What?" Jackson asked, frowning. "The fuck happened to-" he broke off, looking at the ROK Army lieutenant. "Park, who the fuck is this?"

"They send us two models," Park replied, grinning. "We ask for diesel fuel, no. We ask for air support, all busy. We don't ask for models; they send us two."

"Evans- oh, shit, you two assholes? Park, how'd you know it was them?"

"Such a shame you're still alive," Henry observed with icy calm.

"Yeah, it's fucking good to see you, too, jackass." Jackson laughed as another resounding boom sent dust raining down from the ceiling high above. "Look, cuntface, we drove up here getting the shit shelled out of us and took this place. We need fuel. You probably wanna live to go back home with your fuckin' cousin, so-"

"Call him that again," Henry said, stepping forward. The soldiers and Marines around, most of them South Korean, had all turned to look now, both drawn by the newcomer and also by the clear hostility in the air.

"Easy now, pretty boys," Lieutenant Park interjected.

"-so what say we kill some North Koreans together, and leave the other shit for later?"

Henry hated the man in front of him. Hated him like few people he'd ever known. No one had ever defied him, let alone hit him, in front of witnesses and gotten to walk away. No one else had ever dared in all those years in high school. Cold vengeance was due for Jackson Lee, well overdue.

But as much as Henry didn't want to admit it, Jackson's call was the right one to make. He'd chosen the right words for the moment. The North Koreans were not going to stop. It was either push north or stay here and sooner or later get blown up.

"All right with me," Henry answered.

"Okay. Good. Park, uh, go find the other model. I've already got my other commanders in here, so, we better get on with this."

When a disbelieving Mark was also seated on a war-trophy chair by the conference table, Jackson started.

"Good fuckin' morning, everyone. I don't have time to do this brief again in Korean so English it is. Thank you for joining me on this lovely day in North Korea."

The men gathered laughed appreciatively. Though overworked and tired, they'd at least had a small taste of victory already, and they were hungry for more. That, Henry knew, was something they all had in common here.

"The bad news is we're not getting but so much help. Not yet. We got thousands of guys coming in after us but turns out we managed to get further than anybody else while the North Koreans were shelling the shit out of South Korea last night."

Jackson paused, looking around. "The good news is that we're now the tip of the spear. The Joint Security Area people have to stay and keep our first war trophy secure. The big boys passed down word that there's an artillery unit up in these hills just north of us. We take their position, we not only silence those guns, we'll have enough diesel fuel to get us back in business. From there, they want us going north, as far and as fast as we can. They're concerned about the fucking Chinese coming in and annexing whatever parts of North Korea they can get their hands on."

"Why'd they even start doing this?" Mark asked. "Do we know anything about that?"

Jackson shrugged. "Maybe Kim Jong-Il decided it was time to fuckin' party." He grinned, looking as exhausted as he was eager. Henry noted, with grudging respect, that although he was nearing thirty, Jackson Lee had hardly aged a day. He had clearly continued to fight ferociously against laziness, weakness, and the coming toll of the years.

That much, at least, he had in common with Henry and Mark.

"Then again," Jackson went on, "I think that's detail. We have a chance right in front of us to reunite Korea. Whatever reason the KPA decided to start hitting us, in the end, it's gonna be for the best that they did." He spent the next several minutes giving out captured maps re-marked with new grid coordinates, giving directives to each of his subordinate commanders, and conferring with Henry and Mark so everyone knew what their role would be and what they brought to the fight.

One platoon of Marines, a forward observer who now, at least, had a radio to call in with. Henry and Mark each wore a mish-mash of hastily-obtained armor and clothes, some of it agonizingly tight, given that they towered over and were bulkier than even other Marines.

But they were not only in the fight, but as Henry and Mark both noticed with pleasure, they were going to be at the very edge of it. Endless opportunities to kill their way to victory and just about no one to get in their way. Even Jackson Lee didn't seem to be looking to try.

Things were looking up.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Mark Evans had barely slept in days, but he didn't care. Sustained by a fierce love for anytime and anyplace he could take lives, inflict pain, and share the fun with Henry, Mark had taken everything the North Koreans could throw and dished so much more back.

Even better, as American and South Korean air power and artillery really got into it, the battalion-sized force that Jackson, Henry and Mark had put together got top priority to call for whatever shells, rockets or bombs they needed.

At one point as they battled their way toward Pyongyang, living on hoarded MRE's, captured NK rations, and adrenaline, they'd managed to get an AC-130 gunship. A pair of them, in fact, circling that valley and pounding the hills with howitzer and minigun fire.

One of them had ended up getting hit by some ZSU-57s, ancient Soviet-era AA guns mounted on a tank chassis. The things had stayed silent and hidden in a well-prepared position until they'd managed to get a good fix on the path the gunships were taking as they circled.

The first gunship they hit got it the worst, with numerous shots raking its starboard side, raking the wing. It didn't take long to realize that one was going down.

What the North Korean gunners hadn't counted on was the gunship eating up more and more shellfire, steering toward them. What they definitely hadn't counted on was the AC-130's pilots, who must have realized they were by then too low for anyone to bail out, driving the gunship in, all flames and smoke, and taking the ZSU-57 battery with it.

The blast had echoed across the valley. No one was making it out of that. The remaining North Korean tanks and artillery pieces in that fight soon either had their crews abandon them or were destroyed.

Mark remained almost jealous of that AC-130 crew. They were gonna end up in the books for that one for sure.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

"They're in that hospital." Henry pointed for emphasis. "I know they're in there."

"Captain Evans," Jackson Lee said, "I'm trying to get more out of these two traffic cops here. They're saying it's just a fucking hospital." He paused as one of the worried-looking officers, standing by the hulking K1 command tank that Jackson had been riding in since before the DMZ, started talking hurriedly.

"I can't follow a thing he's saying," Mark sighed nearby.

Jackson whirled on Mark, frustrated and exhausted. "Evans, if the two of you keep talking, we're gonna be stopped all day. I'm trying to get some firsthand HUMINT here. Fuckin' gimme a minute."

Henry understood Korean fairly well, but not its Northern dialect. He could make out pieces of a sentence at best. There was no difficulty reading Mark's eyes right now, however. Though Jackson Lee fought well, was loved by the SK tankers he'd been assigned to as an exchange officer, and had even secured a pretty snazzy nickname, Mark was nearing the end of his patience.

We're almost done with this, Henry assured himself. War's gonna be over or near enough to it once we take Pyongyang.

But right now I wanna kill this faggot, Mark answered. At least we can talk like this.

Shit, Henry thought with wry amusement. I guess we are that stressed, aren't we?

"Okay, guys, good news," Jackson announced finally, turning to acting-Captain Park and his infantry leader and forward observer. "These guys say that the NK brass had the main force on this side of the city pull back toward the city center over twelve hours ago. They, uh, they left a bunch of cops and kids to defend the hospital. Nothing but some small arms."

The officer with what looked like higher rank on him spoke again, hurrying, seeming desperate to assure and convince.

"He said they will come out and surrender now," Park added.

"We've been taking small arms potshots from that fucking building at 300 meters for how long?" Mark sighed in exasperation. "Listen, we've got the guys. Let me in there and I'll fucking clear the place. Gimme some armor cover and we'll do it."

"No, Lieutenant, we have orders, no unnecessary destruction of civilian infrastructure or property," Jackson answered firmly. "Besides, we might be able to talk 'em into giving up in there."

"It's fucking North Korea!" Mark burst out. "Who gives a shit? They've been fighting us mile after mile this whole time, who says these cops aren't trying to lead us into a trap?"

Another shot pinged off the opposing side of Jackson's command tank. With the men all either safely inside the tanks or behind cover, though, the AK round had little chance of doing harm in the first place.

"See what I mean?" Mark asked.

The junior-ranked officer talked now, and the senior one nodded in agreement.

"He said, that the authorities tell them to fight or else they kill their families," Park explained.

"Yeah, uh, okay." Jackson sighed. "Okay." He spoke carefully in Korean, looking to Park, and the two officers, tense and frightened as they clearly were, seemed to hear something they liked. The senior walked back to their patrol car, some type of early-90s Camry knockoff with a big red lightbar on it, and took out a bullhorn.

"Mark, c'mon, let's go up there," Henry said.

"Park, you come too," Jackson added.

More rifle shots. The muzzle flashes came from windows on different floors. Looking through his binoculars, Henry could see the sweaty, harried faces of some of the defenders. They were all no more than eighteen. If that.

As the party of American and South Korean officers approached in the open, the senior traffic cop started calling out what sounded like either commands or announcements in a well-practiced voice, one that could have carried even without the bullhorn.

From the fifth or sixth floor of the hospital, two boys unfurled an improvised banner that read, roughly: WORKER'S PARTY OF KOREA! WE DEFEND OUR HOME! STAND BACK AND RETREAT NOW OR YOU DIE, FOREIGN INVADERS!

"He's telling them to come out and lay down their weapons," Jackson said in a strained voice, as the senior of the two officers kept talking.

"This is bullshit," Henry said calmly. "I'm calling it in already."

"What?" Jackson almost shouted. He spun, grabbed Henry's handset and forced it down. "Don't you fuckin' dare, Captain! We're not missing this chance here."

Mark snarled, but Henry held up a hand. "Okay, sir," he said calmly. "Your call. How about I tell 'em to stand by, then?"

Jackson thought about it. They were expecting heavy resistance moving into the city center, and he was visibly weighing his distrust versus the desire to have that air power right at his fingertips. The chance that this was a trick may have decided him.

"Okay," he said finally, "do it."

From a window, one of the boys started shouting something. The older traffic cop answered him. Waving an AK in the air, the youth pointed at the advancing party with his free hand, then shouted some more.

"They're afraid we're going to kill the patients," Park announced. "They don't want us inside." He cracked a wry smile. "Especially the American whoremongers."

"I think he said warmongers, dude," Jackson said, but he managed a smile himself.

"It was one or the other."

Henry spoke into his handset, gave the coordinates, described the maybe-target. He told the F-15s circling way up above to stand by, just like Jackson had said. For now, Henry was completely willing to play along.

The rifle fire from the hospital slackened, then stopped. A set of double doors, their glass long-gone, covered up with what looked like cardboard, swung open.

Bearing what Henry could have sworn was a curtain rod with a passably white bedsheet wrapped around it, a group of three boys came hesitantly out, led by the oldest, who wore the shabby but recognizable uniform of an NK army officer.

Henry was tired. He'd been fighting non-stop for days upon days. But the prospect of this idiot who'd been a pain in the ass for years getting to take credit for a negotiated surrender… It was unbearable.

And the prospect of killing everyone in that place was… tempting.

I know I can spin this, Henry thought firmly. I know I can make it look like it's what Jackson said to do.

Then do it, Mark answered him. I'll waste him if I need to.

Time to crash the party, Mark.

Good shit, Henry. Do it.

"Cujo 5-1, this is Black Panther, Fox-Oscar," Henry said clearly. "Send it."

"Roger, Panther, bombs away."

Jackson and Park both froze when they heard that. They turned.

The trio of frightened teenagers, sensing something was wrong, froze in place, too. The leader went for the AK hanging off his shoulder. Mark shot him, firing twice quickly on semi.

Jackson shouted and went for his own rifle, but before he could do anything, more shouts went up in the windows the banner hung from. They had seen the death of their leader. Jackson went down as a shot hit him dead-center, falling flat on his back as the advance party scattered to either side of the street.

Park spun, tripped, managed to catch himself and hauled Jackson away, going for the left building at the intersection they'd just reached. Henry and Mark went right. The traffic cops, who looked more horrified than anybody, were panicking, shouting some more at the hospital, seeming to be trying to salvage the situation.

The two surviving boys in the surrender party had seen enough. They dropped the curtain rod and fled for the hospital doors, which a couple of desperate-looking kids even younger than the rest lunged for and yanked closed.

"Okay, Mark," Henry said, clapping Mark on one shoulder. "Anytime no-"

Guided right into the dead-center of the hospital's roof by a GPS guiding system, the massive bomb punched clear through the old concrete and detonated soon after.

The explosion, which was already well within danger-close for the armored and mechanized force, all but vaporized the two traffic cops. The thunderclap blew out windows, sent debris and shrapnel rocketing in every direction, and Henry, who had already stuck his earplugs in, made sure to open his mouth.

The noise wasn't going to do his hearing any good, but no need to let the pressure make things worse.

"Come on!" Mark yelled, the second the roar began to subside. "Let's get in there and look!" Mark was excited, practically bouncing on his heels. Henry hadn't seen him this happy in years.

Amidst the chaos, dust choking the streets, the two Marines sprinting in toward the destroyed hospital had an easy time of it. Even if anyone in the hospital was still alive and with a weapon nearby, they were not likely to be in any shape to use it.

Laughing and joking, Henry and Mark entered the ground floor of the hospital. Amazingly, one member of the surrender party was still alive amidst the bodies. He lay on his back, hoarsely alternating between begging for his mother, and for water.

"Hey, hey," Mark almost giggled, ignoring the dust and debris still coming down from the crumpled ceiling. "Lookit him, Henry! He wants water!"

"Mark, let's help 'im," Henry said, grinning.

"Sure!" Mark seized one hand. Henry grabbed for the other.

The youth continued talking in that whispery, dust-choked voice, pleading with greater urgency as Henry and Mark strained against each other's power, eager to see if they could finally, in real life, pull someone apart for real.

"HANDS UP!" a well-hated voice shouted. Jackson Lee and a party of US-ROK personnel stormed in, weapons at the ready. "Hands u-"

Henry and Mark dropped the injured teenager, turning to face Jackson Lee.

Mark shot him at point-blank range, almost lazily. Blood sprayed Captain Park as the only person to so shamelessly defy Henry and his beloved brother finally met the end he had always deserved.

Henry launched himself forward, shoving Lance Corporal Korr's M9 so it fired into the ceiling. He threw Korr into another foe while body-slamming a third. Each one meant to threaten Mark, hurt Mark. And that was something Henry could not allow.

Shouts and yells from the Americans and South Koreans mingled with the growing chorus from floors above. A chorus made from wails of anguish and pain. Even if you didn't know the language or the dialect, there was no mistaking that for anything but cries of misery. People, even plenty of kids besides the ones who'd been defending the place, calling out for help, clearly wondering why this had to happen, and to them.

Jackson must have guessed his enemies would go down hard. Help kept coming in. Henry took down plenty, killed a few at least. The whole time that dumb kid with his paralyzed-below-the-waist shtick was laying on the floor, begging for mom and water.

He was consistent at least.

Henry was looking forward to making his death last. If given free reign over this place, Henry and Mark could make the end of these idiots drag on for at least a few days.

Nothing mattered now except for getting rid of the interruptions and defending Mark. Henry battled fiercely and close by, Mark did the same, and they did a lot of damage. It was Korr, somehow, who not only lived through it all, but came back with Park, more men-

-and two frag grenades with the pins out.

"Drop the guns!" Korr shouted. "Drop 'em! Shoot me and the grenades go off! Either they'll get you or this place will fall on your heads!"

It suddenly dawned on Henry that he and Mark were outplayed. Korr was far enough ahead of his comrades that, no matter what, they had a safe distance if the grenades went off. Park and the others all had rifles and pistols trained on Henry and Mark and nobody else. Henry and his brother had come into the shattered lobby of this place and trapped themselves here. The idea of picking through the rubble to laugh at the victims had been too much to resist.

"Henry," Mark gasped, "I-I'm out. Ammo. I got no fuckin' ammo." He sounded dazed, like he didn't believe any of this was real.

The fun had been real enough. But it hadn't taken long for the rest of these assholes to spoil it.

For once in his life, Henry didn't know what to do. His bayoneted M4 was still in his hands, but he made no move to use it. The magazine in it was empty, he realized. There was ammo on the men lying on the floor, but… there was no time to get to it.

"I'll kill you all," Mark hissed, moving to get between the rest of them and Henry. "C'mon, c'mon. I'm just getting started."

"Mark," Henry had to force himself to say. "Mark, no." He dropped his M4 and raised his hands.

"What?" Mark asked, looking stunned. Disbelieving. "No." But he dropped his M4 just the same.

The fun's over now, Henry told him. We can't fight this. Not now. Not all of them.

No, Mark answered. We can do it! We can!

"It's okay, Mark," Henry said aloud, as the soldiers and Marines rushed them.

Then his face was down in the dust and chunks of masonry, at least two different people's knees pressed into it while his hands were bound together. Someone thought to unbuckle his helmet, and Henry looked to see that stupid jerkoff from the surrender party reaching up gratefully as a corpsman knelt and gave him that water he'd been asking and asking for.

Turning his head with great effort, grateful to find his sibling alongside him, Henry managed a joking aside to Mark. This isn't the first time I saved your life.

Mark smiled. Yeah. But you owe me, too.

Then the back end of Park's M9 slammed into his head and Henry knew no more until he woke up in the brig hours later. Then, as always, Mark was with him.

Henry had no regrets. Their boys were still safe, and Mark was with him.

There was nothing to regret.

A/N: 9-20-2022. Feedback is always welcome! Reviews and PM's, either or both can be plenty valuable and are appreciated.

HUMINT is Human Intelligence as abbreviated by the U.S. Armed Forces starting somewhere many decades ago.

Henry and Mark aren't normally capable of telepathy outside of Fleetwood Hall, but under sustained heavy duress, and in other moments of great emergency, they may be able to do it. I went ahead and used that in Chapter 11.

What ended up being Chapter 11 goes back 8-10 years! Finally it's done and Henry and Mark have met their 'canon' fall from grace at last. They lived behind a well-constructed mask for many years, but were unable to help themselves in this instance. I tried to write it where even Henry, the cooler-headed of the two, simply couldn't stop himself from taking the chance to destroy that hospital, and he and Mark became so caught up in their glee over the carnage that they were in no way thinking of what this would do to their reputations.

Somewhere in all the discussion that AM83220 and I carried on over PM's as "The Evil Angel" was planned and written, the idea of Henry and Mark eventually rising to become U.S. Marine officers and falling from grace at last by committing a war crime they couldn't resist came up. AM83220 even sketched out a scene for it. Key events included Henry or Mark calling in artillery or air power to hit a hospital that they would claim as a legitimate target, despite it becoming apparent that it was not, and then Henry and Mark being practically giddy as they go in and see the destruction they were responsible for.

War resuming on the Korean peninsula has been a realistic possibility ever since the cease-fire ended the official fighting in 1953. The two Koreas still remain legally at war and each one continues to claim to be the sole governing body of all of Korea. North Korea actually has attacked southward since the end of the Korean War, notably in sporadic border clashes as they sought to take advantage of the situation as both the US and South Korea drew troops away to fight in Vietnam during the 1960s. I wrote this fictional Second Korean War as breaking out for reasons that no one fighting on the ground would know. It could come down to top leadership in North Korea simply deciding to do it. The whims of even one person would probably be enough in a country notorious for being built around the whims of one family and one man.

Sketches for Henry and Mark's appalling crime had it take place in the Iraq War, or possibly in a fictional US invasion of Iran. I decided to go with Korea, partly because it allowed me to echo a bit of dialogue from the 2005 video game Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction (which was fun to write) in the Joint Security Area at the captured North Korean building overlooking it. It was also just a decent setting for a warzone and gave me workable ideas about both the North Korean military and North Korea's rugged, mountainous terrain resisting the counterattacking Americans and South Koreans.

Another idea entertained for what became Chapter 11 was for a grenade to nearly get Henry, but Mark kicks it away before it detonates, quipping that's another time he's saved Henry's life, if I remember correctly. In any event, some of the events and dialogue late in Chapter 11 echo that imagined scene.

From here, I will need to see where the story goes. AM83220 and I have gone over some ideas. I hope to continue the story before too long, staring with Henry and Mark going on trial.