An hour later, we were all together. The slow speed of the plane, the low jump altitude and the lightness of the wind had kept the sticks from scattering. Nobody was seriously hurt. We buried the parachutes in an overhanging bank under the Kudzu and began our march down the path. As the protected one I was now about the middle of the file. The moon was rising and the light was strong in treeless areas. We kept to the blackness of the shadows as much as possible and made a reconnaissance before crossing any open space. Our progress was slow. It must have been another hour when the line stopped advancing. A short time later a whispered message came back, "Send the Colonel up front." When I got there, Blackie and Pak were talking Korean to a small man dressed in the ragged coat and baggy pants of a peasant. Pak introduced him. "This is Lee Sung. He has the password and knows all about us." I took the small limp hand Lee Sung extended. "I am Colonel Macdonald, the Doctor. What do you want us to do now?" "I have a place where you can stay," he replied in excellent English, with an accent that seemed familiar, though blurred with lack of use. "We should go there immediately." * * * * * We followed him a short distance on the same trail and then turned up a side valley where the cultivated land rapidly rose in steps and narrowed to a point at the little stream which had watered the crops. There we found the remains of a small village. Hidden behind a row of thatched mud huts that faced the fields with eyeless walls, a narrow courtyard opened abruptly to the main house. Overhanging wooden beams and tiled roof had protected the white paper walls of the recessed front porch from the weather. It was the house of a rich farmer, rich for Korea that is, and still intact. "This is where you stay," said Lee. Makstutis took command. "Kim, set out your perimeter guard and get the men settled down. No lights; no smoking; no talking. I'll take a look around." "Yes, sir," Kim moved them away. I followed Lee, Blackie and Pak onto the verandah of the house, stepping quietly on the wooden planks. Sliding aside one of the paper and wood panels, we bent our heads and entered. Crouched over a shaded flashlight, Lee traced a map laid on the grass mat floor of a small side room. "Here's where we are now. Here's the Imjin River and the village of Song-dong-ni. The virus factory is less than a mile this side of the village." He indicated the spot. "It's about twenty miles from here over the hills." "What are the trails like?" Blackie asked. "There's a small trail, a bit slippery in wet weather, that climbs the ridge behind this house. It joins a wagon road that runs down the next valley and then you cut over the watershed to the Imjin by another trail. That one is good in all weather." "Is it travelled much?" "Not now. The villages over there were wiped out by the plague. I doubt if there is anybody left."