Morning Sunlight
The fishing boats, heavy with beer, had cleared Masan harbor and were running northeast at full speed for Busan Port.
Gijo stood on the deck among the crates and watched the black sea.
He had spared no effort to bring the leaders of Busan Port's two great unions to terms. Both, to begin with, were deeply uneasy that the port's cargo was thinning, and both understood that if anyone interfered with a shipment of beer, the U.S. Army would not sit idle. The 55th Quartermaster Depot had burned to the ground and still could not do its work; if American supplies coming into Busan were looted on top of that, the military would not look kindly on the city.
The Free Union had no stake in the beer itself, but they wanted it delivered without a hitch, so the Americans would have no cause to strike back. The Daehan Union felt the same — and yet their ties to the gangsters left them stuck, unable to move either way.
Gijo set a way through in front of them.
"I'll haul the beer to Masan. We load it onto ships there and bring it into Busan Port, and I ask your two unions to take the cargo in."
Park Hyo-san of the Free Union agreed.
"That'll do. Anything that comes in off the sea, we're bound to receive it anyway."
But Han Mu-jeong of the Daehan Union shook his head.
"Maybe so. All the same, the liquor men won't look kindly on the Daehan Union."
He was afraid of what the gangsters would do in answer.
"Volume coming in by sea will be hard for the liquor men to get wind of. If the truth comes out later, dig in and swear you never knew the goods that entered the port were a Cheongsan Transport shipment."
"Even so, the gangsters won't sit quiet..."
To the wavering Han Mu-jeong, Gijo laid down his terms.
"Then we'll bring only half the beer in by sea. The other half goes by truck, and anything coming overland is bound to run straight into the liquor men."
"That's right."
"The gangsters will take the land shipment for the whole of it."
"Hmm..."
Han Mu-jeong turned it over. Even if they were caught later, then just as Gijo said, claiming they had taken the beer without knowing where it came from would give them something to hide behind. And whether the overland load was stopped by the gangsters or got through, it would have nothing to do with the Daehan Union.
"All right. But let this be the last time."
"Understood. Thank you."
Gijo was certain the beer runs would end with this one. Once the 55th Quartermaster Depot was itself again, the beer would come back into Busan as before. The two unions would unload it on the pier, and Cheongsan's men would bring trucks and carry it on to the depot. Using the port off the books was unofficial, but in those days such things were common enough, and the work went easier with the unions' consent. The cooperation of the Daehan Union, which split its take with the gangsters, mattered most of all.
The agreement settled, Gijo got word to Ma-ryang, and so the beer was loaded at Masan and brought on to Busan.
The boats entered Busan Port with it at 6:45. On the dark pier, longshoremen hauled Gijo's beer up onto dry land. When he climbed onto the dock, welcome faces were waiting.
"Boss!"
Kim Seogwang, Seong Dae-ik, Oh Seok-mun, and Jeon Hyeon-su.
"Trucks ready?"
"Brought five."
Seogwang pointed at them with open pride.
"Then we move it now."
There was not even time to greet the four department heads, down in Busan to put up the seasoning plant. They loaded the beer onto the trucks and made straight for the 55th Quartermaster Depot, which lay so near the harbor a man could have tripped and touched it with his nose.
They turned the beer over to the Americans at 7:36. The sun was lifting off the sea and the light was spreading when a heavy boom rolled in from the direction of Seomyeon Rotary.
Boom.
Every head at the depot turned as one toward the rotary. Black smoke was climbing.
The instant he saw it, Gijo knew the convoy was there. He strode up to the American MP on the main gate. MPs had been posted in unusual numbers. He laid the situation out for an officer.
"Half the beer is over at Seomyeon Rotary. They're trying to bring it here now, and they're being blocked."
"We know. Reports say they've been at it since around four this morning. We're out here ourselves, in case something goes wrong."
"American supplies are under attack, and you mean to just stand here and guard this place?"
"There are no Americans over there. The beer can be issued again and that's the end of it. Our orders are only to keep this depot secure."
Gijo burned at the way they stood by and watched.
"The people who were hauling your goods are in danger out there!"
"Putting down a riot is the Korean police's job. I'm sorry, but we have to follow our orders."
The Americans were cold as iron. Koreans fighting Koreans — sort it out yourselves. That was the whole of their answer.
There was no time to waste.
"Into the trucks!"
Gijo swung aboard, packed his men in, and headed for Seomyeon Rotary. The streets were already full of people running to see the fight. He rode the horn and tore through three kilometers.
When he reached the rotary at last, he saw a bus and a truck burning at the center of the circle.
Ten minutes before Gijo arrived, the last of the fight was underway at the rotary.
The gangsters had realized they could never break Cheongsan Transport's seven-sided wagon circle, and they were grasping for a final measure. They would ram the bus with the truck that had blocked the road, and set Gijo's bus alight.
Mobile Unit Commander Kim Won-taek had been watching the talk from beside Vice-boss Jeon Hyeong-san, and he snapped.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!"
"It's all or nothing now, isn't it! Their beer has to burn."
"The police are posted on every side of this place, and that's what comes out of your mouth!"
"Then the police can step aside."
Vice-boss Jeon Hyeong-san had already taken leave of his senses.
"What kind of talk is that? You think the police are a joke?"
Kim Won-taek was halfway gone himself. He had to stop Hyeong-san from starting a fire on a scene under his command. Fail at that, and his own head would come off.
"Chief, let's just make it a traffic accident. Our truck hit their bus, and that's how the fire started, and so..."
"What?"
"You ease the police out quiet and call the fire brigade. A fire off a wreck, so let the firemen put it out first, and you can sort the accident later."
Kim Won-taek thought a moment. Day had already broken, and the fight did not look like it would end until one side gave up. He still had not sent a full report up the chain. If he reported it the way Hyeong-san was suggesting, it might pass.
"Fine! The police will pull out, so set your fire and get yourselves clear. When we come in, the story is that a major traffic accident happened here and the fire brigade was called."
"Aye. That's how it's got to be."
Kim Won-taek hurriedly withdrew his men. Hyeong-san loaded the hands who had readied the oil drums into the back of the truck, then took the wheel himself and drove for the bus that held one face of the seven-sided circle. It was the last choice left to a Jeon Hyeong-san sunk in despair.
He could not accept that three hundred gangsters had lost to fifty ordinary men. It cut deeper because he had been the one in command. His pride as a gangster was wounded past all bearing, and he could not back down like this. Better, he figured, to go clean out of his mind and cut his name into the history of Busan's underworld.
The convoy men saw the truck bearing down and scrambled onto the roofs of the other buses.
Crash.
The bus took the blow and lurched. Oil drums the gangsters shoved beneath it slid in under the chassis, and from the open drums the oil poured in a rush. One of them flicked a lighter and touched it off, and in an instant flame leapt up from under the bus.
Ma-ryang knew Taesik was lying inside. He was the first to run. He dragged the man clear, and with Taesik across his shoulder he gave the order.
"Everybody out of the ring! Close up in a circle!"
At his word the men fell back out of the formation. Wang Cheol did not. He threw himself into the cab of Truck No. 1, right beside the burning bus.
"Where are you going!"
Ma-ryang's shout did nothing. Wang Cheol was desperate not to lose the truck, and the other drivers, seeing him, ran for their own. They waited, cool-headed, until he was clear, then pulled the trucks out one after another. Once each man had his truck well back from the fire, they sprinted to join Ma-ryang, who had drawn a ring around Taesik.
The bus the gangsters had lit went up, and Ma-ryang spoke.
"Forget the trucks. So long as none of you are hurt, that's enough."
They swallowed their fury at that. The fight had been won, and it was a bitter thing to lose a bus to the gangsters' last thrashing. Wang Cheol most of all choked down tears of rage and seethed where he stood.
"Those... bastards..."
He could not tear his eyes from the burning bus. Ma-ryang clapped him on the shoulder and still did not look away from the gangsters.
Vice-boss Jeon Hyeong-san was coming toward him. Ma-ryang took the iron bar from one hand into a two-handed grip. There was a pistol in Hyeong-san's. Ma-ryang drew one long breath and set himself to spring. The closer a gun came, the easier it was to slip it. In the war he had lived through a moment like this — a Japanese officer's pistol in his face — and he had struck the man's arm aside and taken him down.
"Well now, you Seoul gentlemen. Busan that funny to you?"
Hyeong-san came on with a sour smile.
A little closer. Just a little closer.
Ma-ryang gave no answer. He measured the distance.
Hyeong-san, closing in, had already let go of everything else. Only one thing was left. If he could hold on to his honor, he was ready to shoot a man and do a few years inside. He was fool enough to think that was a man's path.
He saw the iron bar in Ma-ryang's hands and stopped. Another step and it would be dangerous. He brought the pistol up from his side and aimed it at Ma-ryang's gut. Aim at the head, and a man only had to move it. When a body moved, the navel — the center — moved last. That was the shot with the best odds.
"Eat one round and get yourself to a hospital. The doctor'll save you. First time you've been shot, it's gonna hurt."
"I've been shot plenty. Pull it."
Ma-ryang stared him down with eyes that did not move.
All at once Hyeong-san was afraid. It was like standing before a tiger that would not lay down its dignity for any hunter. He had to be quick.
Miss with this one shot, and I'm the one that gets eaten.
He put his strength into the index finger on the trigger.
Now. Shoot.
It was the instant Ma-ryang meant to shift his weight left and spoil the aim.
Thuk.
An arrow buried itself in Hyeong-san's right shoulder, punched through the bone, and stood out the other side.
"Hhk—"
He startled, and the pistol spilled from his hand.
Thuk. Thuk.
Three arrows in a row drove into his back. He curled around the pain. No words would come, and breath would barely come either.
"Ngh..."
When he crumpled, Ma-ryang and the convoy men saw Hansu in the distance, a bow in his hands. Hansu nocked another arrow on his little bow and this time leveled it at the gangsters.
What gangsters were left — a hundred or so — locked up in the legs at his words. Three hours of fighting had already worn them out; after the crew bosses, even the vice-boss had gone down. And then, on top of that, thirty more of the convoy's men had joined the line, and the will to fight left them.
Thud. Thud.
Weapons struck the dirt.
Ma-ryang and his fifty men looked at Hansu, standing with the dazzling morning sun at his back.
The citizens gathered at the rotary that day saw it plain with their own two eyes: an arrow drawing its arc across the blue sky, and striking three times running into the back of the man who held the gun.
The three arrows that had split the sky were beautiful beyond words.