Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 18 Reactions

“Attention!” The sergeant major’s roar echoed over the snow-covered parade ground. One thousand men snapped to attention, their shoulders thrown back and posture ramrod straight. For a moment the sergeant major studied them, his narrowed eyes looking for any weakness or imperfection.

Satisfied, he wheeled and threw a rigid salute to the group of officers facing the assembled troops. “Battalion present and ready for inspection, sir!”

General Bae returned his salute casually. “Very good, Sergeant Major. We’ll begin now.”

The man dropped his salute and fell in behind Bae as he walked along the ranks, checking uniforms and weapons at random. Occasionally he stopped to have a name taken either for commendation or for punishment. But only occasionally.

Bae smiled thinly to himself. The battalion was in good fighting trim. Ready for anything. The phrase echoed in his mind: ready for anything. This was the unit he had planned to take to Seoul to reinforce Chang’s coup attempt if necessary.

The general continued his inspection but his mind was far away, concentrating on a more urgent problem. What had gone wrong with Chang’s plan?

Chang was dead. That was certain. Bae had heard the news from a friend in the Defense Ministry. But there’d been a complete security clampdown on exactly what had happened along the MSR north of Seoul. All Bae knew for sure was that a five-kilometer stretch of the highway was still closed — forcing supply convoys coming north to detour around it. And the 4th Infantry Division’s camp was quarantined, surrounded by a thick cordon of heavily armed Black Berets.

The general had avoided making any contact with the other plotters since the abortive coup, feeling certain that the DSC’s spies would be watching combat officers even more closely now. In a few days, perhaps, it might be safe to arrange a meeting to try to pick up the pieces. Bae shook his head slowly. Chang had been their inspiration. He wasn’t sure how many of the others would have the stomach to try again now that the Iron Man was gone.

Behind him, the sergeant major frowned as Bae walked right by a private with traces of weapons lubrication oil staining his tunic. He stopped, gave the man a ferocious glare, and then hurried on after his general. Something was bothering the Old Man all right.

Bae finished his walk-around and started moving toward the small cluster of officers nervously waiting for his verdict on their troops. Then he stopped.

Two black staff cars had just driven through the main gate. They were followed by three canvas-sided trucks. The car lurched off the camp’s main road and turned toward the parade ground. The rest followed it, their tires crunching over the compacted surface of snow and ice.

Bae started moving again but one hand dropped, almost unconsciously, to rest on the pistol holster at his right side. The sergeant major followed suit.

He rejoined his officers as the staff car pulled up and slid to a stop in a spray of snow and gravel. The trucks stopped right behind it, and Black Berets carrying submachine guns jumped down off them, fanning out to cover the little group of officers.

Once they were in position, the staff car’s doors popped open. Bae’s eyes narrowed. There could only be one reason for all of this, but surely they were making an unnecessarily large production out of what should be a simple procedure. Why hadn’t they simply waited until his inspection was over?

A small, nervous man wearing a thick officer’s overcoat and carrying a swagger stick levered himself out of the rear door of the staff car. He shivered in the cold air and pulled the overcoat tighter around him. Then he flipped open a file and studied it for a moment. Bae’s officers clustered around the general, waiting for him to take the lead.

Finally the man walked over to them, followed closely by two submachine gun-toting guards with DSC collar tabs. He stopped, facing Bae. “General Bae?”

Bae stood silent for a moment and then nodded.

One side of the thin man’s mouth curled upward and he reached into his pocket for a single, folded piece of paper. He handed it to Bae. “I’m General Kim of the DSC. Those orders come from General Park himself, and they authorize me to take command of your division.”

Bae studied them and then looked up sharply. “For what reason has General Park done this?”

Kim smiled. “For a very good reason, General Bae.” The smile disappeared. “You’re under arrest for treason.”

Even though he’d been half-expecting arrest since the failure of Chang’s coup, the words still shook Bae and he stepped back a pace.

One of the DSC troopers with him stepped forward and yanked Bae’s pistol out of its holster. The other kept Bae’s officers covered with his SMG.

Bae stood rigidly still as the guard frisked him for other weapons. Kim smiled pleasantly again. “What? No protestations of innocence and wronged honor? You disappoint me, General.”

Bae said nothing. How had they known? Chang had told them he’d never kept written notes, so someone must have talked. But who? Chang was dead. Who had betrayed him?

Kim nodded to the DSC guard who now had his SMG trained directly on Bae. “Take this traitor to the car.”

Bae swallowed, trying to clear his throat. “May I have a moment to inform my family of what has happened? I give you my word as an officer that I shall not attempt to escape.”

The DSC general laughed, a harsh, braying sound. “Don’t worry yourself. They’ll be informed of your fate. And your word means nothing to me.” He nodded to his guards. “Take this dog away. The sight of him sickens me.”

Bae was stripped of his coat and hustled away into a waiting car. As it drove off, Kim turned back to face the shocked officers. “Very well, gentlemen. Now that this unpleasantness is behind us, we can get on with my other business here today.”

He looked at the battalion commander. “We will start with your battalion. Have your companies return their weapons to the armory. The entire division is confined to quarters until I’ve had time to sort out this mess to my satisfaction. Clear?”

The battalion commander nodded quickly. Kim was satisfied to see the man’s hands trembling. Good, it was time to throw fear into these soldiers. Fear would keep them in line until he’d had the chance to purge this unit of every traitor and malcontent.

He stood back to watch as the process was begun.

McLaren waited while the uniformed aide cleared away the tea and then looked hard at General Park. “You do realize how goddamned stupid your government’s behavior is right now, don’t you?”

Park spread his hands. “I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to, General.”

“Come off it, Park. I’m talking about the mass arrests made by your security forces. I’m talking about the way your DSC goons are ripping the guts out of your command structure.”

“There have been arrests, yes.” Park laced his fingers together and sat back in his chair. “But surely that is an internal matter, General McLaren. It does not concern you or come under your authority.”

“Bullshit!” McLaren’s fist crashed down on the low table between them. “You’ve thrown half the best officers in your Army, Navy, and Air Force into detention camps, and the rest are too busy looking over their shoulders to run their units properly.”

“I’m well aware that the necessary steps my government has taken to quell General Chang’s rebellion may have affected some elements in our officer corps.” Park’s eyes shifted away from McLaren’s face and then came back. “But they are necessary, General. The rot was widespread and we must burn it out.”

“Damnit, man, you’re burning the heart out of your army.” McLaren lowered his voice. “Have you been up to the DMZ lately? Have you seen what’s happening up there?”

Park shook his head and said stiffly, “Matters of state have kept me here in the city.”

“Well, let me tell you, General Park, your ‘necessary measures’ are a fucking disaster for military preparedness. I’ve never seen morale so low. Christ, how do you expect the troops to react to seeing their officers hauled off under guard?”

“Loyal officers have been left in command. That should be enough.”

McLaren shook his head. “No, it’s not. You really think your troops are going to follow a bunch of HQ Milquetoast ass kissers into battle?”

“If it is necessary, yes.”

McLaren took a deep breath. Time to calm down before he throttled the obstinate s.o.b. “General, it’s my duty as Combined Forces Commander to ensure the readiness of all the units under my authority. I can’t do that while you’re stripping them of the most experienced and dedicated officers. So I’m asking you, in my official capacity, to suspend these arrests and to release all the officers who haven’t been directly tied to General Chang’s coup attempt.”

Park’s lips thinned. “You pick a strange time to … how do you say?… throw your weight around, General. You and your men will be gone from my country in a few months, and your authority will end with your departure. Why should we pay any heed to the advice of those who are deserting us?”

McLaren had no answer for that. It would have to come from Washington.

Kevin Little knocked once on Rhee’s door and waited.

No one answered, but he could smell cigarette smoke. The South Korean lieutenant hadn’t been at Captain Matuchek’s morning commander’s meeting. He hadn’t been at dinner the night before. And he hadn’t signed out through the gate guardhouse. That left only one place he could be.

Kevin knocked again. This time the door opened.

“Lieutenant Little?” Rhee sounded surprised. His English, usually perfect, was a little slurred. “What can I do for you?”

Kevin pushed the door open wider. “For starters, Lieutenant Rhee, you could let me in out of the hallway here.”

The South Korean nodded slowly and stepped back out of the way. Kevin closed the door behind him and studied both Rhee and his quarters carefully. Though normal looking by most standards, they were a shambles when judged by the impossibly high standards that he knew Rhee set for himself.

Rhee stood swaying slightly in the middle of the small room. His eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, and the top button of his uniform shirt was undone. The sheets on Rhee’s cot were slightly rumpled, as though he’d been lying on top of them and had gotten up without bothering to straighten them out. A lit cigarette smoldered in the ashtray on the desk, perched atop the twisted, crumpled remains of more than a dozen others. An open bottle and a half-full glass of clear liquid sat next to the ashtray.

The room smelled like a hellish combination of rum and furniture-polish remover. Kevin recognized the smell from trips to Korean restaurants and bars that had always been followed by monstrous hangovers. It was Soju, a cheap, grain liquor. He looked from the glass to Rhee. “A bit early in the day, isn’t it?”

Rhee lowered his own gaze. “Perhaps.” He let the word hang there.

“You missed the captain’s meeting this morning.”

Rhee’s head snapped back up. “Did he ask where I — ”

Kevin interrupted him. “I told him you were out running down a missing equipment requisition for me.”

The other man’s eyes fell again and he sank back onto his coat. “You should not have lied for me, Lieutenant. I have failed in my duty. To drink when I should be at my post is … unforgivable.” The South Korean’s voice faded completely.

Kevin stared at Rhee’s slumped shoulders and felt his irritation vanish. He pulled the chair away from the desk and sat facing his liaison officer. “Look, Rhee, you’ve got to snap out of this funk. Just what the hell is wrong?”

“General Chang’s coup attempt …”

Kevin felt cold. They’d all heard the scuttlebutt about the slaughter outside Seoul and the DSC’s ongoing wave of mass arrests. “Jesus Christ, Rhee, you weren’t involved in that, were you?”

“No.” Rhee shook his head slowly. “I was too junior to be involved. I had no hand in it.”

“Well, then, you haven’t got anything to worry about.” Kevin forced a cheerful note into his voice. “This’ll all blow over in a few more days and things’ll get back to normal.” He winced. That sounded fatuous even to him.

Rhee locked his fingers together and stared at his clasped hands. “I do not think so, Lieutenant. My country being destroyed from within before my eyes, and I can do nothing. My friends and relatives are being thrown out of work in the midst of the winter. And I can do nothing for them. Now the Army, our last bulwark against the enemy, is being broken on the wheel.” He raised his bloodshot eyes to Kevin’s face in a mute appeal. “And what can I do to prevent this? Nothing.” His eyes strayed toward the Soju bottle.

Kevin stared at him for a second, framing his reply carefully. He had to find a way to rouse Rhee from his depression. If Matuchek found the South Korean in this state, there’d be hell to pay — both by Rhee and by Kevin. Another thought crossed his mind and chilled him further. If any of the DSC men in the area heard about this reaction to Chang’s coup, Rhee would probably find himself on a short ride to a long prison term, guilty or not guilty. Kevin shook his head. He really didn’t have any choice. He had to get Rhee back to some semblance of normal, and fast.

He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word as he thought of it. “Look at me, Lieutenant.” Rhee’s eyes swung back toward him. “Neither one of us is in a position to do much about the big things that are going wrong over here. I’m not the president, so I can’t undo that stupid trade bill. And you’re not a general, so you can’t call off this DSC witch-hunt. Right?”

Kevin saw the South Korean starting to pay attention to him. Encouraged, he continued, “But that’s not what they’re paying us for. They’re paying us to soldier. And you’re a damned good soldier, Lieutenant Rhee. You’re a hell of a lot better at this game than I am.” He narrowed his own eyes and stared hard at the Korean. “Or at least you are when you’re not drunk.”

Rhee hung his head in shame again.

Kevin softened his voice. “C’mon, Rhee. Everybody screws up once or twice. But you can’t let it grind you down.”

The South Korean slowly lifted his head. He stared back at Kevin for a moment in silence and then answered, “You are right, Lieutenant Little, I should concentrate my energies on the things that I can affect. On the platoon and on my own preparedness.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve been indulging in nothing more than weak self-pity. That was foolish and wrong.”

Rhee stood abruptly.

Kevin followed suit.

“If you’ll allow it, I’ll get cleaned up and join you for the rest of the day’s schedule.” Rhee suddenly bowed slightly to him. “I must apologize for my behavior today, Lieutenant. And I must thank you for your kindness.”

Embarrassed now, Kevin awkwardly sketched a return bob of the head. “Ah hell, Rhee. No need for that.”

He turned toward the door and then turned back with a sudden grin. “After all, I didn’t want to get left facing Sergeant Pierce and Captain Matuchek on my own.”

Slowly Rhee returned his smile. “I see. Well, that is understandable. They are indeed a formidable pair. But perhaps they will meet their match in us.” He reached out and recapped the bottle of Soju.

The South Korean lieutenant was a soldier once again.

Blake Fowler slid General McLaren’s telex across the desk to the President and sat back in his chair. He waited while the President skimmed through it.

“You’re sure this general knows what he’s talking about?”

Admiral Simpson answered, “I’ve known Jack for a long time, Mr. President. He’s not a genius at spotting political trends, but he’s a damned fine soldier. And if he says that South Korea’s turning its army into mush, well, I believe him.”

The President turned to Fowler. “What do you think, Blake?

“I’ve got to concur with the general’s assessment. The reports we’ve picked up show a complete government overreaction to this coup attempt. They’ve already arrested everyone fingered by some internal security chief who was in on it, and now it seems that they’re hauling off any officer who’s shown any signs of competence — just on general principles.

“The results out in the field aren’t good. Morale in most units has hit rock bottom. There are even unconfirmed reports that some battalions have refused to obey orders from their new officers. The government’s Special Forces are supposed to have come down very hard on them.”

The President shook his head. “Why are they doing this? Hasn’t the South Korean government got enough trouble in its streets without looking for even more by wrecking its armed forces?”

“That’s just it, Mr. President. That’s exactly why they’ve reacted so badly. The government has always counted on the military as its bulwark against the mobs. Now that’s gone. I’d say that South Korea’s leaders are feeling increasingly isolated and increasingly paranoid — with some justification, of course, because there are people out to get them.”

Simpson nodded. “That’s why I agree with General McLaren that we’ve got to find a way to calm the government over there down. Maybe it’s time we sent someone over there to assure them that we’re not pulling out anytime soon.”

“Damn.” The President picked up a letter from his desk and flipped it so that Blake and the admiral could see the congressional seal embossed at the top. “I got this from our fine friend, the Speaker, this morning.” His tone made it clear that he considered the Speaker of the House anything but a friend.

“He writes that the congressional leadership is, quote, gravely concerned by the continuing turmoil in South Korea, unquote. He goes on to say that they’re most concerned that American troops still in the country might get caught up in this ‘cycle of violence.’ And they’re asking for an immediate troop pull-out, with every last American soldier to be out of South Korea by the end of January.”

“That’s impossible.” Blake looked at the admiral for confirmation of what he’d said.

“Blake’s right, Mr. President. Even if we hadn’t been holding things up, there’d be no way to meet that kind of timetable. It’ll take months alone just to ship our heavy equipment back across the Pacific.”

The President nodded. “They know that. The letter goes on to propose leaving the equipment there in storage until it can be moved. But they want our people out as fast as possible.” He tossed the letter back onto his desk. “Naturally this ‘private’ letter has already been released to the press.”

Goddamn all congressmen. Blake knew that the Speaker’s letter had probably been dreamed up by some congressional staffer as the ideal way to exploit South Korea’s troubles to get some TV time for the Speaker and his favorites. Congressmen were always looking for a way to stay in the public eye when the House and Senate weren’t in session. All right, that was understandable. But their publicity stunt had just drastically narrowed the President’s options.

Blake looked across the desk. “So I suppose we can’t take the chance that our reassurances to the South Korean government might leak?”

The President nodded again. “Dead on, Dr. Fowler. If the leadership hears that I’m delaying the pull-out after they’ve publicly asked me to expedite it, they’ll have no choice but to seek legislation setting an explicit timetable. And that’s something we can’t risk, true?”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t anything else Blake could say.

“Okay, then. We’ll just have to hope that the government over there comes to its senses soon. Maybe the North Koreans will do us a favor and try some kind of commando raid — something that’d bring the military back into favor.”

Admiral Simpson shrugged. “Anything’s possible with those sons of bitches, Mr. President. I know Jack’s got his boys on rotating alert just in case something like that happens.”

“Good.” The President rolled his chair back a few inches and opened a drawer. He pulled out a folder and laid it open on his desk. With a quick flourish he signed the bottom of one of the papers in the folder. “There. That’s the one other thing I can do, gentlemen.”

He smiled at their puzzled looks. “I’ve just taken one of your earlier suggestions, Phil.” He handed the paper to the admiral. “That’s an order putting MAC on standby alert. Ostensibly I’m doing this to boost our ability to evacuate speedily should the situation in South Korea deteriorate further. Ostensibly.” He emphasized the last word.

Both Blake and the admiral knew what he meant. Putting the lumbering C-5 and C-141 troop transports of the Air Force’s Military Airlift Command on alert would also increase their ability to reinforce South Korea during a crisis. It wasn’t much, but it was probably the best they could hope for given the current political situation.

Blake just hoped they weren’t sending the wrong signals overseas.

Lieutenant General Cho Hyun-Jae was puzzled.

At the last meeting between Kim Jong-Il and the forward army corps commanders in late November, intelligence reports had made it clear that the Americans weren’t planning to pull their forces out of the South until at least the next spring. Given that, Kim had agreed that Red Phoenix should be postponed until the next year. As a result, orders had been issued to slow down the troop redeployments, munitions stockpiling, and training exercises associated with the plan. They would continue, but at a slower, more relaxed pace less likely to unnecessarily alert the South’s puppet government.

Now, just two weeks later, came Kim Jong-Il’s urgent middle-of-the-night summons to Pyongyang, compelling Cho to take a hair-raising, mountain-hopping flight north strapped into the back seat of a MiG-19UTI trainer.

He had been met at the Pyongyang East military airfield by a plainclothes security detail and driven through the capital’s empty streets in a motorcycle-escorted black sedan. The quiet around him had made no impression on Cho. There were few vehicles, even in the daytime, for Pyongyang’s broad four-lane boulevards.

But the car hadn’t deposited him at Kim Jong-Il’s offices at Party Headquarters as usual. Instead it had turned into the underground garage beneath the Presidential Palace — a building reserved largely for ceremonial purposes. Cho’s disquiet had been increased by the sight of other parked staff cars in the garage, cars carrying the flags of almost every major military command in the Korean People’s Army. He’d wondered what the devil was going on. Some briefing connected with the attempted coup in the South?

Now, looking around the huge, marble-walled room at the other grim-faced men seated nearby, Cho began to doubt that initial assessment. The room was filled with top-ranking officers from every service, and entire General Staff, the National Defense Commission, and even the drab-suited members of the Party’s Central Committee and its Military Commission. It seemed unlikely that the nation’s entire top-level political-military apparatus would have been assembled at such short notice for a simple briefing.

He caught the eye of his counterpart at the V Army Corps and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. The man shrugged back, his face carefully expressionless beneath the savage scar left by an American bomb four decades before.

Martial music suddenly sounded over hidden loudspeakers, pulling Cho’s attention back to the small, raised dais flanked by giant-sized portraits of Kim Il-Sung and his son. The assembled officers and party leaders snapped to attention as the room’s main doors opened and Kim Jong-Il strode in to stand near the platform. He inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the salute and stood stiffly waiting, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

The blaring military march continued, and the Great Leader himself, Kim Il-Sung, came through the doors, moving slowly, haltingly. Cho stifled a gasp. The elder Kim had aged dramatically since his last appearance at the Party Congress. The news photos taken in recent months must have been retouched to conceal the new, deeply etched lines on the Leader’s face, his thinning white hair, and dark, shadowed eyes. Kim moved cautiously down the center aisle, stopping briefly to clasp hands with some of the men in the room. Always the old men, Cho noted.

When he reached the platform, Kim Jong-Il stepped forward to help his father up the low stairs to the microphone, the perfect picture of a devoted son. The elder Kim motioned his generals and party colleagues to their seats before speaking.

“Comrades!” The Great Leader’s voice was low, rasping as he read a prepared text without looking at his audience. “Comrades! The forces of history have created an opportunity for greatness. An opportunity for liberation. An opportunity we cannot afford to lose.”

Liberation? Cho glanced sharply at Kim Jong-Il. The man’s cold eyes were shielded by his thick glasses, but the general could sense the younger Kim’s smug sense of triumph.

“The corrupt puppet regime of the South is starting to crumble and its bandit military is crumbling with it. The people of the South are ready to rise against their oppressors. Accordingly, after careful consultation with the Military Commission of the Central Committee, I have decided to commit the armed might of the Democratic People’s Republic to a renewed revolutionary struggle to liberate the southern half of our beloved fatherland.”

Officers and party officials around the room stirred in their seats, thrown into consternation by the Great Leader’s words.

“To assure the unity of purpose and direction required by this historic decision, I am appointing the beloved Dear Leader, Kim Jong-Il, as acting chairman of the Military Commission. His authority is my authority. His voice is my voice.…” The elder Kim’s own voice trailed off into silence as he came to the end of his script. He stepped back from the microphones and glanced uncertainly at his son, who bowed and moved forward to take center stage.

“Comrades!” Kim Jong-Il’s voice was vibrant, assured, full of confidence. “I assure you that our Great Leader’s trust in me is not misplaced. Final victory is within our grasp. We have but to seize it.”

The younger Kim stopped, letting the silence build tension. Then he broke it. “Military operations against the South will commence at oh two hundred hours on the twenty-fifth of December. The plan will be Red Phoenix.

The excitement Cho had felt as Kim Jong-Il spoke suddenly flowed down his throat into an icy-cold spot in the pit of his stomach. A hasty attack? Eleven days to complete the planning and preparation for an operation recently postponed for at least a year? He stared at the younger Kim in shock. It could not be done.

Kim’s eyes met his briefly and roved on across the confounded leadership. “Comrades! Now is the time to strike hard and strike fast. Delay could be fatal. The puppet armies of the South are in disarray — torn by faction and mutiny. Their American masters are abandoning them. Already America’s air transports have been mobilized to speed their evacuation.”

Kim paused again, his eyes bright behind his lenses. “Comrades! The South is ours for the taking!”

Or so it appeared, he cautioned himself.

At first, the opportunity provided by this renegade fascist general and his attempted coup had seemed almost too good to be true. He’d been prepared to ignore the opening, preferring to wait until the American evacuation was complete. But then, as intelligence report after intelligence report showed confusion and dismay spreading throughout the South’s military, Kim Jong-Il had changed his mind. Such a chance might never come again in his lifetime. The enemy army would recover its morale in a few short months, and even without its American backers, it would remain a dangerous foe. Better to strike now, while the opening existed, than to wait for another chance that might never come.

Kim was all too aware that time was not on his side. His father was aging rapidly, and with each stage of the old man’s decline, Kim Jong-Il stood more exposed to his political enemies. Every instinct in him screamed for immediate action. The military situation was as good as it would ever get. The South’s puppet government was reeling, hammered hard by its supposed friends. And most importantly, his own survival might rest on a successful war that would bolster his authority as North Korea’s absolute ruler. It was enough. He had always been something of a gambler.

He stepped forward to the very edge of the dais. “Comrades! We stand on the brink of reunification with our brothers in the South. One sturdy push will smash the armies of our enemies into fragments — impotent fragments incapable of stopping the forces of history. Our forces!”

Cho saw Kim’s eyes swing back to settle on him. He felt the force of the man’s personality, the power of his oratory, flowing across the room into his own body — reinfusing confidence where there had been doubt. Kim was right. The opening was there, waiting to be used. And they could be ready. Oh, it would be difficult. There could be no doubt of that. Schedules would have to be compressed, risks taken, perfection subordinated. But it could be done. Red Phoenix could be readied and launched by the twenty-fifth. Slowly Cho smiled — a smile he saw repeated on other faces across the room. It would be a fitting Christmas gift for the imperialists.