Chapter 43: The Defection Deal

TL: LittlePeach

A mass defection.

To begin with, defection only sounds grandiose. In truth, it isn't the harrowing spectacle straight out of a movie or a TV drama.

'Halt! Grab that goddamn bastard!'

'Open fire! Don't let him cross the Yalu!'

'I left in search of freedom!'

'Defect-yeehaw!'

It's not that kind of chase.

'How much were you quoted elsewhere?'

'Hold on, a few days ago you said it was this price. That price won't do.'

'Payment up front.'

'How about a little discount?'

These days, it's haggling like this.

A broker takes money from a defector's family in South Korea and feeds a cut of it to North Korean soldiers as bribes so they'll turn a blind eye to the defection itself; that's the structure.

These days, even North Korea regarded defection as a branch of its foreign-currency earning business.

"This is Sparrow, moving to the deal site. Turning up the volume on radio one to share the situation."

In one corner of the storage lot near the marshalling yard stood a battered twenty-four-man tent.

From my position, I could see plainly who was under it.

Five squad-leader-grade North Korean soldiers, armbands strapped below the shoulder.

They waited slouched, hips cocked, puffing away at their cigarettes.

Before long, one by one, the defection brokers who had been waiting to deal with them began to gather.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Never seen this face before."

They faltered and edged back at the sight of me.

Everyone glowered sourly at my suspicious getup, a brimmed cap and a mask pulled up over my face.

I tipped the cap slightly and smiled with my eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you all. I'm a defection broker who normally operates out of Russia, but a client's request has brought me to Dandong for the first time."

"What? Russia?"

"There's a defection route through Russia too?"

"Of course."

"Then let's hear some of that Russian you know."

"Certainly. Spasibo."

"...The fuck? Did you just curse at me?" [TL Note: "Spasibo", Russian for "thank you", sounds like the Korean curse ssiba, i.e., "fuck".]

"No? It means thank you in Russian. Spa-ssi-ba."

"...Now I'm sure you just cursed at me."

Whether or not they kept eyeing me, the new face, with suspicion, people slowly gathered under the tent.

Ten defection brokers in total.

"Right, the goods that came over this time are in fine condition, so no quibbling. Count quick and let's be done with it."

Once it looked like everyone had more or less assembled, one of the North Korean squad leaders raised his voice.

At that, one of the more impatient-looking brokers raised his hand first.

"The one I'm buying is a man named Do Jeong-ho."

"Do Jeong-ho? That one's in my charge. Come this way."

"The amount as agreed. Check it."

"Wait. Let's see now. One, two, three...."

And so the defection deal began, human beings lined up like livestock at auction.

One of the North Korean squad leaders licked his thumb and started counting his way through the wad of bills the broker had handed over.

Rustle, rustle. The sound of money being flipped was singularly chilling.

"I'm here for a man named Nam Kyong-sik."

"My merchandise. You brought the money in full?"

"See for yourself."

The deals proceeded mechanically, in a calm atmosphere.

The brokers each waited their turn and made contact with a squad leader.

Once a squad leader confirmed the bribe amount, he dragged one defector out from the group of laborers waiting nearby.

"You are Nam Kyong-sik?"

"Th-that is correct."

"Your father's name?"

"It, it is Nam Yang-jun."

"Your father said there is a wart the size of a thumb on his body."

"On the right shoulder.... The, the right shoulder as I face him."

"Your mother is missing a front tooth. Do you remember how she lost it?"

"M-Mother, missing a front tooth? What do you mean by that? Has somebody struck her...."

"...Good. Seems this is the man. I'll take him."

"Ah."

Only after passing that simple identity check could the defectors finally slip out of the soldiers' grasp and tuck themselves behind a broker's back.

A few brokers achieved their goals and left the marshalling yard that way, and then the next deal proceeded.

"Is there a man named Ri Do-sik?"

"That one's gone. Caught a chill on the way here yesterday and died."

"I see. Then a man named Cha Ji-hun?"

"Here. My merchandise."

"Check the money."

All the while, I stayed a step back, quietly watching which way the wind was blowing.

Every deal was proceeding smoothly, step by step.

But then.

"What is this damn nonsense. Why is that wench getting a thousand dollars more than me?"

The mood inside the tent turned ugly in an instant.

One of the North Korean squad leaders had glanced sidelong at the wad of cash a colleague had just collected, then started bellowing at the broker in front of him.

Crash!

"Hey, you bastard. You playing games with me? We're each handing over one human being, same as the other, so why does he get four thousand and I get three?"

"Now, hold on. That's their business. Didn't we agree on an amount beforehand? We already settled all of this...."

"Shut it!"

The North Korean squad leader seized the broker by the collar and shook him hard.

Naturally, the two men's bodies spilled out past the edge of the tent.

While the other brokers froze at the utterly unexpected turn, I stole a quick glance at where the defectors were gathered.

'Is this the moment?'

If things went sideways, I had no shortage of ways to flip the table on the spot.

I'd just come from rifling through a nearby Rabbit Hole, so I'd brought plenty with me, a pistol and grenades among other things.

"I have no intention of quietly taking a loss. Raise it to four thousand dollars, now!"

"Come on, this isn't a one-time deal. Where is your honor as a merchant?"

"What? Honor?"

"Yes, honor! If you're going to dig in over a mere thousand dollars, how am I supposed to trust you and keep doing business with you!"

The broker, refusing to back down, grabbed the squad leader's arm just as roughly and pushed back, spraying spittle.

The squad leader's answering scream carried plainly.

"Don't make me laugh! When sanctions or whatnot shut this border down tight, do you think another train is coming after this one?"

"Th-that's...."

"Don't think there will be a next chance! This freight train is the last chance, plain and simple! Understand?"

He wasn't wrong.

If international sanctions tightened soon, there was a real possibility the border linking Sinuiju and Dandong would close for good.

So that North Korean squad leader must have resolved to grab himself a proper cut at this final opportunity.

"So I will say it plainly. For that money, I cannot hand over the merchandise, so pay more!"

Pay more. I won't. Then buy. Then don't.

The dismal reality of grown men screaming at each other while the defectors stood off at a distance, trembling and tense.

"Ah, dammit all! I'm not buying!"

At that moment, the broker in the man's grip wrenched his body around and shook off the hand at his collar.

"What? What did you just say?"

"I said I'm not buying. If this is how you're going to be, then you and I are done doing business, forever!"

"Fine! I won't sell to a bastard like you either! I'm dragging all this merchandise off to a prison camp!"

"Do whatever you want!"

Whether the North Korean squad leader raged on or not, the broker whose deal had blown up stormed out of the marshalling yard, fuming.

The remaining brokers held their breath and watched, afraid the sparks might land on them.

The squad leader stomped back, still fuming, and screeched.

"Next man, step up!"

And now, with a deal suddenly blown.

The brokers only hesitated, glancing at one another.

Just as I was starting to think it was about time for me to step up, at that exact moment.

"Oh dear! Apologies, everyone, I'm a bit late!"

A broker came hurrying in from outside the marshalling yard, half-jogging.

I'd been about to take a step forward, and as I watched the man in bewilderment, the mood among the other brokers turned ominous.

"Fucking hell.... What's that bastard doing here?"

"Yu Jong-pil, that bastard. He's been quiet lately, and now he turns up in the wrong damn place?"

"What kind of shit is he going to pull this time...."

Everyone seemed to know exactly who the man was.

As a strange tension hung over the deal site.

-Sparrow. That Yu Jong-pil is the man. The broker we originally intended to hire.

Kite No. 3, who had been listening in on the deal through radio one, cut in at once.

Only then did I understand why the brokers around me were reacting so sharply.

*****

The same hour, in a corner of the freight train.

"...You heard clearly what that squad leader Comrade was blathering just now?"

"Aye. I heard it."

"Is it true, that this freight train is really the last?"

"Judging by the mood of the other squad leaders, it seems so...."

"That goddamn...."

In truth, most of those who volunteered as freight-train laborers nursed the hope of defecting themselves someday, should the chance ever come.

So they had all been stealing envious glances at the defection deal unfolding in the distance.

"Don't think there will be a next chance! This freight train is the last chance, plain and simple! Understand?"

But then.

They heard one of the squad leaders, mid-haggle under the tent, screaming it at the top of his lungs.

At that single sentence, an uneasy whispering now spread among the thirty North Korean laborers at rest.

"Comrade Yang Min. Weren't you and I saving money to try for the next defection?"

"...We were."

"Then what are we to do now?"

The man whose name had been called, Yang Min, chewed his lip, his face dark.

"The trains won't stop entirely. There will be one now and then."

"Isn't fewer trains a problem in itself? The price of defection will climb, no ceiling in sight."

"That's...."

Yang Min couldn't bring himself to finish.

Every word his comrade said was true.

At that same moment, far off, they could see the defectors vanishing beyond Dandong, led away by the brokers' hands.

"Fuck it all...."

People who paid money and bought their freedom.

The common people who, having no money, must be dragged back.

In the chests of the laborers standing there hollow-eyed, a desperation slowly began to boil.

If they crossed back over the Yalu tonight as things stood, a chance like this might never come again.

A venom began to gather in Yang Min's eyes.

"This will not do."

"Will not do? What do you mean?"

"We escape from here, tonight."

At Yang Min's low, sunken voice, the comrades around him flinched and shrank.

"Wh-what do you mean to do?"

"We are thirty, and the low-ranking soldiers watching us number a mere fifteen. We have them beat on headcount, so first we crack their skulls from behind, take their rifles, and fight."

The sheer audacity of it stopped everyone's breath.

"A-and after that, what then?"

"They say this Chinese land is monstrously vast. If we run for our lives and hide, is there truly nowhere for us to hide?"

"...."

"Better to croak here than be dragged back to the Republic and work until we croak. Is it not so?"

Human resolve is a contagious thing.

Even without long words exchanged, a hot flame spread through their hearts on eye contact alone.

Thirty laborers shared the same expression, the same eyes.

"Right, all of you, back to work, quickly, quickly! Unload every last piece of cargo from that train!"

Before long, the low-ranking soldiers barked at the laborers in weary voices.

The laborers ducked their heads in silence and dispersed to their posts, careful not to draw attention.

Shortly after, in one corner of the freight train.

"Ugh. Did I drink too much sugar water?"

One low-ranking soldier, his guard down, fumbling at his waistband, squeezed hurriedly in between the freight cars.

And then, in an instant.

Thwack!

"Urk?"

With a dull crunch, the soldier's head snapped limply forward.

A heavy iron bar, the kind used as a lever, had half caved in the back of his skull.

"Hurry."

"His arm's sticking out."

The laborers gripped the fallen soldier's body from both sides and shoved it under the freight car's wheels.

"Take the rifle. You're sure you can shoot?"

"O-of course!"

Among two or three laborers huddled close, one man hid himself away, clutching an old service rifle.

Another blind spot.

Thwack!

"Ngk!"

Another low-ranking soldier was dragged under the train without so much as a scream.

And so, step by step, they went on snuffing out the watchful eyes, one at a time.

"Wh-what the!"

A low-ranking soldier patrolling between the cars spotted a military boot jutting out from under the wheels.

His flashlight swept beneath the train, and the moment it caught his comrade sprawled there in his own blood.

"R-revolt!"

That scream was the fuse.

Bang!

Bang, ba-bang!

A mass defection, in the truest sense of the word, had begun.

*****

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