Author's Note: The title of this chapter comes from the headline of the December 11th, 1950 edition of 'Time Magazine'. The article condemns America’s approach to liberating the South Koreans as ‘hasty’, and says that the UN soldiers got themselves into one heck of a predicament, because at this point in the war, every division of the army- land, air, or sea- was greatly outnumbered by North Korean and Chinese forces, and suffering great losses because of it.

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Chapter Four: Roger's POV, December 19th, 1950

...Since Mark’s supposed virtues cannot amend his political obligations, maybe his friends can.

…That is nothing but a hopeful statement, I remind myself, and a lie at best. I have no place within his crowd, and I know that they will resent my decision more than Mark did. They will assert their outrage all the more explicitly because they are not inhibited by love.

If I were smart, I would turn around right now and go back to the apartment.

Instead, I choose to be ignorant and mingle with my opposition…

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I keep my head down when I enter the café. I have been considered a part of this group for three years now, but I am still seized with the irksome impulse to act humbly. I do not greet anyone, simply because the gesture will not be met with enthusiasm, and it is less of a disappointment if I am the one doing the ignoring. As I approach the table of Mark’s acquaintances, Russell acknowledges, “Roger.” and says nothing more. Several heads turn and nod a subdued welcome, and a voice from the end of the table suggests, “Someone get him a chair?”

The restaurant is abuzz, although the network of voices is low and grim. There is no break in any of the conversations, and I could not interject even if I had a strategic way of making my confession. Someone brings me a barstool and I uncomfortably take a seat. Unsurprisingly, the news seems to be the talk of choice.

“Ha!” To my left, one of Russell’s friends, James, stands suddenly and laughs in such a derisive tone that the woman he is addressing ducks her head. The people near her mock her intake of breath. To startle the rest of the café to attention, James increases his volume, throwing up his hands and barking, “…since November! So either they’re fenced in and have been running in circles for a month-”

“Or this is the sloppiest exit strategy in American history!” The woman exclaims, and the café explodes with the same derisive laughter. The hairs on the back of my neck bristle, and suddenly I am even more uncomfortable than when I arrived.

They are discussing the war.

Russell taps his palm on his placemat and swallows a giggle. “You know Russia is having a field day. The Chinese are pulling soldiers outta every shithouse from here to Chongchon are what is the U.S. doing? Retreating. We don’t have the manpower anymore and no one seems to care. Truman can call for volunteers until his lungs give out but the Soviets are behind North Korea.” He raises his eyebrows and grins. “We are downright stuck. Running in circles indeed.”

“Russell, don’t laugh.” Another girl across the table pleads.

“Don’t laugh? Why not? Because it’s inappropriate? I disagree! Believe it or not, fifteen thousand casualties might be the only way to get through to the UN! One would assume- when more than half of the U.S. soldiers have died, and three major divisions in three months were pushed back South- that we’d rethink things a bit!”

Several people roll their eyes but James assures them, “Really, I think it’s time we found the silver lining. Atlee called for an armistice in Indochina. Britain’s ready to compromise if North Korea promises to behave.” He grins.

“…Compromise for what?” The arrogance in his voice piques me out of my tentative silence in the corner.

“Why, communism of course!” He muses, bowing with pretend gratitude. The corners of his mouth twitch- he’s just aching to jeer at me. James- as well as everyone else congregated in the basement of this café- knows that I don’t quite fit in, and it is in their nature to dwell on my peculiarity. He allows his declaration to sink in for a second before breaking eye contact and addressing his table. “I really do believe that if the Prime Minister of Britain is willing to negotiate socialism in return for the withdrawal of his troops, then someone is making progress.”

Russell twitters in a fake British accent, “Here here! Jolly good!”

“Wait.” I say quietly, and feel myself getting to my feet, even though I’d really prefer not to draw attention to myself. I wince a silent apology to Russell for interrupting, and turn to face James, although I dare not look him in the eye. “…When you say ‘someone is making progress’…who, exactly?”

James glances over his shoulder at his peers and then looks me up and down. “Well Russia for one.” He counts on his fingers. “Kim Il-Sung, all of North Korea, parts of China… It’s ironic how America is the one who drew the 38th parallel and then recommended we sew Korea right back together! We’re starting to realize that support of the Central Government is one big mistake in every aspect of this war. North Korea is too smart for us! We don’t want them to grow into some autocratic regime, but they’re sure as hell not just gonna shut up and settle into the democracy we have planned for them after we ‘win’. They are too determined and they are not going to stand for imperialism. I have a feeling Truman’s getting a real big head down there in the White House thinking he’s liberating all the poor South Koreans from a communist government. He’s imagining a clean fight and Uncle Sam riding in on his big red, white and blue horse to tell everyone what for. When in reality he’s making a fool out of this country because we’re getting nowhere but lost, so it doesn’t matter.”

Russell nods and reclines against his seatback. The boy next to him casually takes a sip of his tea, and a girl near the door summons a waitress. Almost comically, everyone resumes his or her previous conversation as if what James had just preached had no significance. My ears ring.

Russell lights up a cigarette.

“Roger?” He elbows me. “You look like you just pissed your pants.”

“…It doesn’t matter?” I repeat, walking unsteadily away from my seat. “What ‘doesn’t matter ’?”

“American involvement.” Someone says.

“-Why?” I sputter, before they are even finished speaking.

“Because we’ve already set our example, that’s why. I think by now the world understands that America is averse to communism. We’re more afraid of the color red than we are of our own ego! How do we get away with dropping two bombs and barging into Korea? Five months into the war and we’ve already murdered more civilians than North Koreans. We should just quit while we’re ahead!”

“…And abandon the American soldiers and condemn them to death?!” I cry, before I can stop myself. “…They need help!”

I am pelted with incredulous stares, and several people snap their mouths shut to gawk. Russell releases a boorish “Ha!” and snorts, “Wow. …Did Mark put you up to this?”

“No!” I yelp, and flinch at his name. My ears are ringing so indomitably that I grab at them and cover my face with my arms. “No! No- this isn’t about our ego! It’s about our home! Don’t you- you don’t understand that? This is where you live and this is who you are! What is wrong with you? The people- over there- they don’t have a home! They don’t even have the opportunity to fight for an identity! They are nothing but numbers- thousands of figures being put into a machine to aid production. Something you all would know nothing about! You advocate socialism like it’s the answer to war. No! Every word that comes out of your mouths is editorialized. You’re dependent on art and free speech. And all they taught you was how to express yourself and how to argue and nothing else. You’re all hypocrites. You sit here and hate your government when all they ever do is work to make damn sure that what is happening over in Korea will never happen here. Goddamnit, you wouldn’t even have a table to sit at if no one ever fought for that freedom. You can throw around words, but you could never get off your asses and prove your point.”

“Fuck you! America is in so deep we’ve gotta just keep killing and killing to prove a point. At least we’re conscious enough to expose the problem!”

“Oh, so North Korea is too oppressive and America is too capitalist…and you’re all too elitist for anything in between- and yet you need a governmental system in place so you have something to be conscious about? That’s pathetic!”

Russell glares at me with a look of both hopelessness and incrimination. “...What would you know about being conscious?”

“…Well that’s an easy question. He enlisted.”

Mark steps through the doorway, unbuttoning his coat.

There is no other sound but the noise of bodies swiveling in their chairs to face Mark. Very calmly, and without looking up at me once, he slips out of his coat and drapes it over the back of an empty chair at the far corner of the room. Slowly, he unwinds his scarf and folds it in his lap, and then he props his elbow on the table and rests his forehead in his hand.

“I don’t know why I-” He pauses to stare at the ground. “-we- didn’t see it before...”

I take a step towards the door but Russell scoots his chair back and leaps up, glowering. Several people start to whisper frantically and I panic, at a loss for words.

Mark, however, is not. “I guess he just doesn’t…he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into… and…he just doesn’t…belong…here.” The words are tumbling from Mark’s mouth before he really gets a grasp of what he’s saying.

“Mark…I-”

“You don’t.” He says quietly, raising his head from his hand and finally looking up at me.

He shrugs and ruefully admits, “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what hurts worse- his implied rejection, or how he robotically pushes in his chair and drifts to the thickest part of the crowd. Mark is mine. I do not like being reminded that he is also theirs; that he belonged to them before he belonged to me. For the first time since I branded my signature to the recruitment letter, I feel the sting of a consequence. If I accept his rejection, will I be doing him a favor? …Or his friends? Standing foolishly, stationary and disparaged at the head of the table, I watch all heads turn and whisper to Mark. Playing devil’s advocate never looked so satisfying. I convince myself that I am still standing here because I know Mark is going to push them away and defend me. Right?

Of course not.

I am still standing here because it amazes me that I have forced Mark to take a side. I am still standing here because, in all irony, I have incited a war amidst a war. And I am outnumbered.