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THE COMMAND BUNKER
UNITED STEAKS FORCES SEOUL CITY 18 May 80
Dear Spike,
I pulled my camouflage snap-brim low to shield my eyes from the arcing tracer rounds. I lit up a Lucky from the parachute flare that floated down past my vantage point outside the Dog House near the Korea Area Post exchange. ROK Special Forces Troops rushed past me. The light from the fire-fight was just sufficiently strong for me to make out the eighteen-point headlines of the Pacific Stars n Stripes. I squinted my baby-blues into a scowl and made out the words: "Emergency Marshall Law Declared" I adjusted the web belt at my waist and read on in the flickering light: "Strong Action Taken to Quash Non-Mainstreamers."
I turned to the Riot Cop who was next to me, sighting an IL-28 Beagle bomber that was unloading on the Base Theater.
"Say, Bub," I said. "How does this Emergency Marshall Law differ from the old regular Marshall Law we used to have?"
He grimaced with pain as the shrapnel pierced his biceps. "Ungh. S.M.L. means we can shoot the non-main streamers before the trial, instead of having to wait until it is over. Saves time, and is more energy efficient."
"Well, you can bet your ass I'm in favor of that. I'm going home to lower the thermostat." I stepped off the curb and skirted the kill-radius of the FROG rocket that left a large crater by the Class VI Liquor Store. I had the feeling that something was going on, but I wasn't sure just what, I looked at my Ration Control Card and saw that I still had one more quart of cheap bourbon to last me through the month. I bought a quart of Old Underwear and thanked the Lord that it hadn't been a direct hit. A platoon of Unconventional Warfare Troops was dragging a student across the road. I looked closely.
There was no doubt about it. A non-mainstreamer. They were all over, and they had to be quashed ruthlessly like the cockroaches they were.
It was all a conspiracy. A lot of them, from the Ministry of National Defense right down to my Assignment Officer in Washington.
If only I had been able to detect non-main streamers before I had arrived in Seoul, none of this would have happened. I took a sip of bourbon and examined my options. I was nearly broke from the three-month advance pay that I had used to buy the land back home. They call it a Dead Horse, because that is just what it is like.
My pay checks were gutted; just a cruel joke by the Navy Department. The Disbursing Office was stalling my Travel Claim and my Transient Living Allowance. Obviously they were part of this thing. How was I going to replace the two stereos that had been stolen from my Household Goods shipment?
The Army had promised, to look into the theft just as soon as they had time, maybe next year, and had promised top dollar. Perhaps as much as ten cents a pound, The special rate for electronics. Thank God they hadn't got my weapons. I rounded the comer by the Main Snack Bar and nearly ran smack into a non-mainstreamer. I could tell by his shifty look and jaundiced complexion.
I drew my Dan Wesson .357 with the eight-inch barrel and ventilated his evil humors. It was blocks to my luxurious hooch. I took another sip and marched on forthrightly.
Overhead a flight of MiG-l7s rolled in on the Blue House, followed by two I-Hawk missiles and a couple ROK F-5Es.
This could mean trouble, I thought, and lit a Lucky on the parking meter and walked on down the road. The only consolation I could dredge up was that I wasn't stuck out in the clean air someplace, mountains around me, with nothing but Caucasians with big tits and round eyes and mountains and trees and that yucky shit. I scragged a non-main streamer who was cunningly disguised as the Mama-san at the Hooch. There was no indignity that they would not perpetrate.
I locked the door behind me and turned the radio to the Armed Forces Korea Network.
They warned me against taking any part in the current destabilization, advised me that my money was worth 2.3% less this month, and returned to the Hispanic Heritage Hour, serving the large Chicano population on this part of the Korean Peninsula. I took a last draught of the cheap bourbon and listened to the B-52 Arc Light Raid downtown. It was time for bed, I shot out the light and notched another day on the bedpost.
And that is the way it is on the Korean Peninsula.
Take care of yourself, brother. And keep your head down.
Love
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