Captain Cho Jin Soo had chosen the eight most brutal fighters he knew for The People’s Secret Death Squad. These were men without family or friends, bound neither by morality nor guilt. They had no problem fulfilling a mission, even if it involved the killing of innocent civilians. But two of the men objected once they were told where they were going.
“Our mission is simple: burn the village of Sinanju to the ground and kill everyone who lives there.”
Sung Min, the most ruthless of all of the soldiers, stepped forward. He was not as tall or strong as the others, but he was the most feared. The other soldiers knew how bloodthirsty he was. Some of them had even privately come up with a plan in case he did not stop with killing civilians.
“You speak of the home of the Master of Sinanju?” he asked.
“We have been tasked with erasing his village from the history books,” Cho said.
“Is this a joke?” Sung Min asked, knowing that jokes were only allowed with government permission.
Captain Cho raised his pistol at Sung Min’s face.
“No,” he said. “Do I hear fear in your voice, Sung Min?”
“I fear nothing,” Sung Min said. “I am, however, confused. Who would deliberately seek the wrath of the Master?”
“The Master is dead.” Cho said, cocking his pistol. “Captain Pak killed him.”
Sung Min began to laugh. “You are a fool. If Pak attacked the Master of Sinanju, it is Pak who is dead.”
Tae Jun, thought to be the most loyal soldier present, raised his pistol to Cho’s head.
“I do not believe the Master is dead,” he said.
Cho smiled. While he could not have anticipated who would revolt, he was glad that they had revealed their true natures so soon.
“One last chance,” Cho said, ignoring Tae’s pistol. “Who do you serve, Sung Min?”
“I serve Korea; therefore, I serve Sinanju,” Sung Min said. “Captain, with respect, your first bullet had better kill me.”
“It will,” Cho said and pulled the trigger.
Brain matter spattered the soldiers behind Sung Min. In the moment it took Tae Jun to realize what had happened, the other soldiers began firing. Tae Jun was hit in the chest but instinctively twisted and returned fire. Two men fell before he dropped to the ground, coughing up blood. Captain Cho kicked the gun from Tae Jun’s hand.
“All hail the Master of Sinanju,” were Tae’s last words.
Cho cursed to himself. He had not counted on anyone else being shot, but two of his men were on the ground with chest wounds. The wounds were not critical, but they would require surgery.
“This mission is too great a secret to allow survivors,” Cho said, giving a slight bow. “The Supreme Leader is grateful for your sacrifice and bravery.”
He thanked them by allowing one bullet for each man’s brain.
The People’s Secret Death Squad continued down Highway One, the only highway in North Korea with a maintenance budget. It took the rest of the day to reach their destination, but the highway came to an abrupt stop as they approached the western sea. An old metallic sign stood directly at the edge of the highway.
It was exactly where Captain Cho was told it would be. The sign marking the boundary of the village of Sinanju was legendary among North Koreans. It was smaller than Cho thought it would be and it was very old. The lettering could barely be made out:
Welcome to Sinanju.
If you pass this sign, you will die.
But Captain Cho was undeterred. He was not fearful of old world gods, and he did not believe in fairy tales or ghosts. He believed that the legends of the Masters of Sinanju were nothing more than stories developed to keep people in line.
He motioned, and the four men stepped off the asphalt and past the sign. They walked down the muddy path to the small fishing village. The path had not been maintained and they had to cut their way through the bushes.
“We start at the Master’s House,” Cho whispered. “Shoot anyone you see.”
Stone walked nonchalantly toward his hut, stealing occasional glances to see if Chiun was following him. He was using every bit of stealth he could muster to hide the four bottles of Sinanju wine he carried. Each bottle was a different size and shape. If he understood the man who gave him the wine, they used old cola bottles that had been purchased by peddlers who sold goods just outside the village.
He opened the door to his hut, half expecting Chiun to be inside, but it was empty. He quickly shut the door, carefully wrapping the bottles inside his clothes, hoping there would be enough padding for the wine to survive the return flight.
One bottle had a fancy scrolling imprint running across the middle. He was trying to interpret what it said when he heard gunshots.
Stone may not have known much about the village of Sinanju, but he did not believe that Chiun would allow guns.
Forgetting his pain, Stone grabbed a deep breath, immediately wishing that he hadn’t. Pain tore through his lungs and his head began pounding. He ran toward the sound but almost lost his balance as he leapt over the pile of trash by his hut. He felt weak, but it was all the strength he could muster. He scampered up the hand-carved rock steps, which Mick had once told him were carved by the Romans.
Several more shots were fired from behind Chiun’s house. He could hear shouting interspersed with the gunfire.
Darting into the large bushes lining the back of the house, Stone collided with Captain Cho. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and both men tumbled to the ground.
Stone instinctively took a deep breath to reestablish his center, and his nervous system caught fire. His heart felt heavy, like it was about to burst, and his fingers began tingling.
The other soldiers aimed their rifles at Stone, but did not fire because they did not want to hit Captain Cho. Stone used the momentary stillness to his advantage, rolling away from Cho and toward the closest soldier. Stone grabbed his rifle as the man fired, the bullet passing into the ground, inches from Stone’s ribs. The heat of the barrel scorched his hand, but Stone pulled the rifle forward, lifting the soldier off the ground, and impaling him on the end of his own barrel.
Chiun, where are you? Stone thought.
The soldiers recognized that their rifles were almost useless in such close quarters, and pulled out their knives. Stone was too busy fighting off the other two soldiers to notice Captain Cho approach from behind. He moved quietly toward Stone, only to trip over a stick that he had not seen. He lost his balance and landed on his own dagger.
The remaining soldiers pulled their pistols and Stone dodged the few shots coming his way. He could no longer feel his fingers when he grabbed the nearest soldier by the collarbone. He pulled hard, tearing the man’s chest open.
Another soldier stood and emptied his pistol at Stone. Even though the shots were at point-blank-range, Stone dodged each bullet. He felt each jarring pull as his body instinctively avoided the lead flying toward his heart. When his pistol ran out of bullets, the man dropped his pistol and reached for his knife in a well-practiced move.
Stone launched his body at the fighter, knocking him to the ground. Then Stone realized something. The man was trying to stab him, but even though he was too close to properly use the weapon, he would not drop it.
Sunny Joe was right, Stone thought. His weapon is interfering with his attack.
Using his body weight to hold down the arm with the knife, Stone squeezed the soldier’s neck until he heard a pop. In an adrenaline-fueled fury, he pushed Stone off, then suddenly fell to the ground clutching his throat. Stone moved behind the man and snapped his neck. Stone fell to the ground at the same time as the dead soldier. His body relaxed on the icy cold mud, and his breathing slowed.
“I turn my back for twenty minutes, and return to find you playing in the mud!” a high-pitched voice cried.
Stone was too tired to even move his head. He looked up to see Chiun standing above him, wagging his finger.
“The men had guns,” Stone said. “I thought they were shooting villagers.”
“And you think I would let them march into my village with their boom sticks?” Chiun asked. “They were shooting at me.”
Stone closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. If Chiun had been watching, none of this had been necessary.
“Stand,” Chiun ordered.
Stone slowly rolled over and pulled himself to a kneeling position.
“Is this good enough?” he asked.
“Your performance was so bad that I am even ashamed to tell your father, who is known to bend his elbow when I am not looking.”
“They’re dead and I’m not. Mission accomplished,” Stone said, gathering enough strength to stand. He wiped off clots of frozen mud from his pants.
“It was very fortunate that the man coming up behind you tripped over a stick,” Chiun said, winking.
“Wait, was this another one of your tests?” Stone asked.
“You are paranoid, even for a white,” Chiun said. “I merely used the situation to evaluate your performance.”
“So, you’re saying that these guys just happened to attack the village while I was here?”
“In the same way the soldiers attacked while we were in Pyongyang,” Chiun said.
Stone gritted his teeth and then yelled in frustration.
“Everything here is crazy and you treat it like it’s a normal thing!”
“Normal is merely a perception,” Chiun said. “The lower your expectations, the lower your definition.”
“No, stop it! Everything is not a lesson!” Stone shouted. “What am I even doing here?”
Captain Cho looked up from the ground and slowly pulled the blade from his stomach. Besides the initial shock of the blade entering his stomach, it did not appear that he had struck anything crucial. He had no idea why an American was at the village and it did not matter. Cho saw the old man that he thought he had shot. He was arguing with the American and that was when he realized that this was the Master of Sinanju. Cho recognized another chance at killing the old man and slowly pulled his pistol from his belt.
He pulled the trigger and Stone flinched. He was not centered, so he did not see what happened. He heard a shot. Then he saw Chiun’s extended hand, and a bullet impaled on the end of an impossibly-long fingernail. Then, without looking, Chiun flicked the bullet back with his thumb. It returned faster than it had been fired, striking Captain Cho between the eyes. Everything happened so fast that the last thing that Captain Cho’s brain thought was that he had just shot the Master of Sinanju.
“Holy crap!” Stone shouted.
Chiun turned toward Stone and his voice was as calm as the sea.
“Sinanju is the normal you have longed for your entire life, son of Remo Williams. It is engraved into your bones, and you will either master it, or you will die trying.”
Stone looked at the bodies lying around him and back at Chiun. He was too tired to argue.
“Fine,” Stone said. “But I’m not going to call you Grandmaster Chiun anymore.”
“I have been wondering how long it would take for you to find a spine,” Chiun said.
Stone stretched and yawned.
“I think I’m going to sleep for a million years,” Stone said.
“Lazy white,” Chiun said.