War Women by Martin Limón

Author:Martin Limón
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2021-10-05T23:41:26+00:00

-11-

We decided to loop around the bivouac area until we reached the river, which I’d come to learn was the Pyeongchang River. At the shore, we regrouped behind a dune topped with weeds. Hurley and I conferred on the best way to approach Sergeant Skinner and his minions. She and one of the two female soldiers would proceed on the right flank and take a position behind the clump of tents. Me and a certain Private Muñoz, with one of the M16 automatic rifles, would make our way along the riverbank to where the row of pontoons sat beached along the shore. From there we’d make a pincer movement back to meet up, hopefully at about where the Morse code clanging seemed to have come from.

“What do we do when we find him?” Hurley asked.

“Ernie will brief you on what he needs done. If we don’t find him, we still want Staff Sergeant Skinner. The fact that he’s the ranking man and he allowed someone to take potshots at us all night is enough to make the arrest. You all recognize him, right?”

They nodded their assent.

“If you can, isolate him and force him up to the bluff where we can hold him at the Command Post.”

“What do we do with him then?” one of the women asked, flexing her trigger finger.

“We’ll decide that later. Any questions?”

“Nope. Get Skinner first. Agent Ernie if we can.”

“That’s it. Good luck.”

They nodded, but before they left, I said, “One more thing. I know how you must feel, but now’s not the time to take out your anger on Skinner or any of the other men in this outfit, no matter how deserving they are. With any luck, Ernie has already neutralized our target and all you’ll have to do is escort them to the top of the bluff. This is law enforcement. You can’t let emotions get the better of you.”

The three women grew quiet. Hurley stared at me. Finally, she said, “You have no idea how we feel.”

I didn’t respond.

Without further comment, she and her backup took off toward the tents.

Private Muñoz and I crept along the waterline toward the pontoons, keeping as close to the river’s edge as we could so the rise toward the high banks would keep us hidden. When we reached the pontoons, we crouched behind ancient wooden timbers that served as a stanchion for the pier and studied the encampment. Quiet. Very little activity, except for someone puttering around the big square two-and-a-half-ton mess truck. Not very disciplined, I thought. No morning formation, no roll call, no buzz of activity as the night guard was relieved and new sentries took over. Discipline was definitely slipping here. And then I figured out why.

I nudged Private Muñoz. “That old Korean man over there, next to the cart. Have you seen him before?”

“Yeah. He showed up when we first arrived, selling ramen and soju and Fanta. Captain Angstrom chased him away.”

“He’s back.”

“I’ll say.”

The old man was slipping empty bottles of the

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