Seize the Day. A M (Jack) Harris
ever. “Y’re all jealous that I’m goin’ to Tokyo with ten pounds sterling in me pocket!”
“Ten pounds!” one of the soldiers ejaculated. “Christ, that wouldn’t even get you an old bag outside the gates at Ebisu!”
“I’m not intending to pay for anything but me beer,” the Scot remarked witheringly. “You must understand that creatures of fleshly delights fall easily to the charms of McFee!”
“For Christsakes!” the corporal swore. “Jock, you’d be the biggest bullduster ever!”
“Not me,” McFee responded darkly. “And I can assure you it will not be dust that I’ll be wasting on some of the superior Geisha gurrls I know in Tokyo!”
I joined in the laughter which followed McFee’s reply, and as I looked about at the laughing men surrounding me, I wondered for a moment at the duplication of this same sort of scene in many defensive positions set all along the parallel in this bright dawn; of all the other soldiers, secretly fearing, as these men did, what another night might bring, but finding relief from their concern in merriment. Almost as my mind conceived the image of our allied armies dug in all along the 38th Parallel the Australians and the Canadians and Turks, the Americans and all the others nations involved it was replaced by the thought of the Chinese and the North Koreans facing them across the small waist of Korea. A lot of men were bogged down in this war and all, I knew, had only one wish and that was to see tomorrow. I knew that the Chinese and North Koreans would be standing-to now, in their defensive positions and I could not but wonder if they too were laughing and joking about the same things as their enemies: about women and home and love, about killing and getting killed, even though in the bright sunshine of the new day, that seemed improbable. But I was recalled to the present moment by the voice of the corporal.
“What was that?” I asked him.
“I said,” the corporal repeated. “Our commanding officer has organised a cup of coffee for you at the O-pip, if you felt like it. Knowing our CO I think you’d better feel like it. Okay?”
“Good! That sounds wonderful.” Turning to Lim who had been following the quick, slangy conversation with a half-comprehending grin, I added to it by saying, “Come on, Lim, let’s blow.”
As we walked away I called over my shoulder to McFee. “Have a good time in Tokyo, Scotty! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“I might be doin’ a few things you couldn’t do, Sergeant!” Mcfee promised bleakly and he was swamped again by the ready derision of his companions.
Lim and I stepped warily through the marked gap of the minefield, then around a slippery curved path which led to a sand-bagged forward observation post. One of the sock-hatted soldiers watching us from there ducked his head down into the post and yelled for his platoon commander. A young-looking lieutenant pushed his head out of the door of the bunker and stared at us.
“I have orders from above to prepare a hot coffee for you. With something strong in it. I presume you are interested?”
“Presumption correct. Got enough for two of us, twice?”
“Sure. Come’n get it.”
Lim and I went quickly down a communication trench, ducked our heads and entered a big, rough-hewn bunker. The smell of earth and dampness pervaded the place but I knew that this bunker, like the hundreds scattered over the hills, was home for a soldier. A poor place and a transitory one where comforts were few and which a shell could turn into a shambles.
The young officer groped about into an empty old shell case and brought out three battered enamel mugs marked and chipped by the rough use of many hands. He slipped his fingers through the handles and with a dextrous movement placed them bottom down on four large shell cases which was the dugout table. He looked up at me and smiled. “The rum’s over there,” he pointed. “Help yourself.”
I reached behind me and into a suppurating cleft cut in the wall. The rum bottle I found was muddy but I handled it with due deference, placing it carefully on the improvised table, and soon the comforting aroma of hot coffee and rum blossomed on the damp air of the dugout. Lim stood back from the table, sipping at his drink with a gusty appreciation while the lieutenant and I discussed our patrol.
“It must have gone well,” he remarked. “But you sure are a mess! Can I get you some dry gear?”
“No. I’m roger. I was a bit damp before but I’ve dried out well. Except for my feet which are still damp but I’ll soon be home. I know I look somewhat dishevelled, as they say, but I’ll get my gear cleaned up.”
“Yes. I suppose so. I was told you wear a Chinese uniform but I found it hard to believe, until now when I see what you’re wearing. But if you were ever captured, wouldn’t you be executed?”
“No doubt. But I travel in enemy country and I have no option but to try and hoodwink the people back there, where I move about.”
“A silly question I suppose, but are you ever scared? I know I’d be petrified. I’m National Service, you see.” He sounded apologetic about it.
“I went for the heavy-duty rosary beads out there tonight myself,” I remarked. “All over a bloody pheasant!”
“A pheasant? How come?”
“We were crawling across a paddy field and the blasted thing shot up like a singed bat out of hell right under my hand. You know how the wings whirr? I thought it was a landmine or some such. I reckoned I was going to give birth!”
I laughed at my own story but inwardly marvelled that I could feel so happy, so buoyant as I always did, after a successful start to one of our missions. I would feel good for several days to follow and then the old gnawing fear would start again. What time, next time, what bloody time, would it not be simply a bird but a real bomb, or an enemy patrol which would give me a gut full of lead for my stupidity? Bugger it all! My thoughts were dispersed as the young officer coughed, and looked at me inquiringly after having said something.
I had missed a question once more. “Sorry. What was that?”
“I said that I’ve heard you have been out for several days yourself. Just you and these Korean chaps you control?” He nodded towards Lim. “It must be lonely work nerve-wracking as well.”
“I have excellent men.” I nodded directly at Lim, and continued. “But we are small fish and it’s a mighty big ocean out there, with too much water to net. Practically and looking at a map I suppose it does seem hopeless, but the odds are all with a small party pushing through the enemy lines. Which completes my sermon for today. We must be on our way. Thanks for the coffee and that additive.”
We laughed and I made a request. “I know you’ll be very careful for a few days, sir. Those two men who went out tonight will be back in ten days. You’ll watch out for them?”
“Of course. They’re in good hands.”
“I know. I just wanted to thank you.”
We left the dugout to make our way along a trench which sloped up until in a thin tear it wound its way through the earth and emerged on the reverse side of the hill. Dug in farther down that same slope was a company command post. I asked Lim to wait outside while I entered and reported briefly, and as a courtesy to the major in command, that my mission was well on the way, we had crossed the river and that I appreciated his help. I came out, signalled to Lim and together we hurried up to our camouflaged jeep and drove off into the early morning sunshine which was lending a sort of enchantment to the harsh contours of the hills. The day was softened but the impact of war was indelibly imprinted on the land for the enemy occupied positions about five thousand yards to the north, and as many of our lines were well within range of their big mortars. The road on which we travelled had high nets erected as protection, for if small puffs of dust raised by passing vehicles became discernible to the enemy’s forward observers, the area quickly became a target for a deadly rain of mortar fragments.
But now all was quiet. Tanks, mortars, machine-guns,