The Shadow of Arms by Hwang Sok-Yong Page B

you to Lucas,” the captain said.
    Behind him, Yong Kyu heard a voice speak in Korean: “My name is Sergeant Lucas. I’m a marine like you.”
    â€œHello,” Yong Kyu replied in English, momentarily bewildered. Each was speaking the native language of the other.
    â€œI went to Korean language school in Washington and in Hawaii.”
    â€œHave you ever been to Korea?”
    â€œNo. I hope to in the future.”
    â€œWell, let’s head out,” the captain said, getting up.
    When they got back to their office, the captain said more familiarly, “You saw it, didn’t you? In this building you have to watch what you’re saying even in our language. After all, we are only guests. Kang, show him around the PX.”
    â€œWhich one, sir?”
    â€œAll three of them. Starting tomorrow, put him on duty at each, one by one, and take him through the market the day before you leave.”
    â€œWe’ve got big trouble brewing at the supply warehouse.”
    â€œBut we have Sergeant Shin posted out there.”
    â€œThe guy is incompetent,” Kang said.
    The captain nodded and they all left the office. It was already almost evening.
    â€œLet’s go to the Air Force PX first. That’s the most important one.”
    They turned the Jeep toward the airfield. Yong Kyu glanced quickly in the rearview mirror. Amazingly enough, the odor of death seemed to have left him. Already he was transformed from a man-killing soldier into a tourist.
    Blue Jacket Kang was a diligent teacher. “Loads of goods are pouring out from the air force PX because it has no checkpoints and is closest to downtown. There’s a new sergeant now, and I haven’t had the chance to make friends with him. I made some good deals with the last one.”
    Kang ignored the traffic signal and sped straight across the intersection.
    â€œDo the Americans do stuff like that too?”
    Blue Jacket Kang snickered at the naiveté of the question.
    â€œHaven’t you been listening? Didn’t I say that they do economic operations? They get assigned here with official operational orders from their headquarters. You’ll run into them often enough in the future. Stay out of their way. Our job is to identify whether the partners of the black marketeers are operational teams or just money-grubbing bastards.”
    â€œThen . . . what about Korean soldiers?”
    Kang answered the question with a feeble laugh. “On principle, we’re not allowed. We’re here to fight, not make money.”
    â€œHave we really come to fight?”
    â€œYou’re going to get on my nerves. We’re a poor country. We have to eat. Everyone does what they can. You gulp down one case and let somebody else help himself to the other. Or you can team up with them . . . there are no rules for that kind of thing. As for civilians, there’re a few Korean technicians, but let them be since they are only small fry going after a little pocket money for drinks or women.
    â€œThe big fish are elsewhere. The soldiers discharged on-site and the entrepreneurs running companies specialized in black market trading. There are three such Korean companies in Da Nang. Of them the strongest is what they call the Hong Kong Group. Its president is a former lieutenant colonel. His right-hand man, known as ‘Pig,’ used to be a smuggler who ran goods between Busan and Tsushima Island. A crafty man, that one, so be careful not to get taken in. Then they have half a dozen men for a suicide squad. All of them are magicians in underground trading. They rent houses in the Vietnamese residential districts and live with Vietnamese women. Hang around Dragon Palace or the Bamboo and you’ll learn about them.
    â€œOur rule is this. We more or less close our eyes to the black market dealings by Koreans. But we don’t allow them to do any big deals—those we take over for ourselves instead. Of the deals