Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 19 The Dragon Stirs

“Mr. Sik?”

The North Korean commando major turned to face the security man. “Yes?”

“Your papers are in order.” The South Korean held them out and gestured toward the baggage claim area. “Your luggage has also been cleared.”

“Thank you.” The major bowed, holding back a smile. Scorpion had been right. These fascists were so busy looking for traitors in their own military that their normal security measures had been relaxed. Now, with this last contingent flown in from Japan, his assault team was complete. And not one man had been picked up or even questioned by the authorities.

He moved past the checkpoint toward Baggage Claim through a crowd of Japanese businessmen. Not even a bloody coup attempt and continued riots could keep these capitalists away from their money-grubbing ways, he thought. Well, all that would soon change. Soon discipline, order, and unity would be restored to this weak-willed land. And they would be enforced by the North Korean Army.

The commando major picked up his bags and walked outside to call a cab. His men were assembling at a safehouse right in the heart of Seoul. And once there, they would wait for the orders that would unleash them. The major smiled openly now. He was ready.

There was almost no wind, which was a relief for Tony. He had been standing outside the Kyonghoe-Ru for almost twenty minutes. It was cold, a few degrees below freezing, and a light snow had begun to fall. Of course, he had arrived early. As it was, the snow softened the cold and made it just crisp, instead of raw.

The Kyonghoe-Ru was a centuries-old meeting hall on the grounds of the Kyongbok Palace. Sitting in the middle of a now-frozen artificial lake, it was reached by one of three graceful stone bridges on the eastern shore.

Tony walked a beat up and down the eastern side of the building, both for warmth and to keep a lookout to the north and south. The lake lay to the west, so she would not come from that direction.

The building was two stories high, but the bottom floor was open, supporting the upper with forty-eight stone pillars. The building was covered with beautiful ornate carvings, and perched on the edges of the roof were chapsang, “ridge beasts,” guardians too intent on their task to brush off the dusting of snow.

The snow continued to fall gently, muffling traffic noises. It also hid objects in the distances, softening outlines and washing out colors. The few people visiting the palace today were indistinct forms, moving quickly from one building to another.

He saw her coming down the mall from the east. Her red hair was a spot of color in the snow. She wore a long green coat and brown leather boots, both trimmed with fur. Moving quickly, she seemed sure of her destination.

Tony stood by the shelter of the hall until she was closer, then walked toward the center span of the bridge and waved.

Anne waved back, smiling, and ran to the east end of the center bridge. Suddenly she stopped, looked left and right, considering. She walked over to the end of the left-hand bridge, and Tony followed, waiting by the western end. She waited until he had stopped, waiting for her, then ran to the far span on the right.

Tony looked at her, shook his head, and trudged somewhat theatrically to a point opposite her. He stood there, arms crossed, waiting for her next move, and she walked over as if nothing had happened.

When she reached his side, he took her hand and they walked silently under the sheltering overhang of the roof. Her shoulders were sprinkled with snowflakes, and ones that had landed on her hair had melted to small, clear drops of water. They hugged, and she allowed him to kiss her once.

She looked at his leather flight jacket and gloves. “Aren’t you cold?” Frowning, she reached out and held a hand over his bright-red ear. “It’s like ice.”

As she looked him over, she spotted a package he was trying to conceal. It was gift-wrapped, and as soon as he realized his efforts were in vain, he handed it to her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get yours yet. I won’t have it until our date on Christmas Eve.” She looked at it and then at Tony. “Can I open it now?”

“Yes. Go ahead. It’s very appropriate.”

He leaned against a pillar and watched as she tore open the package and opened the box. Inside was a scarf covered with green and silver dragons.

“Tony, it’s beautiful!” She ran up and hugged him, then shook her hair to get most of the water droplets off. She tied the scarf over her head and announced, “Now I’m ready for the weather! Thank you, Tony.”

“Well, it wasn’t much.” He’d only spent his last day off canvassing Kunsan from one end to the other, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I hope you like mine as much as I like this.” She was running her hands over the soft fabric. “I haven’t known you long enough to know what you like.”

“Don’t worry, Anne, there will be other Christmas presents.”

“Yes, there will.”

He took her hand and they started on their way.

The blacked-out train groaned to a slow, shuddering stop inside the tunnel entrance. Dim lights came on as a massive blast door slid across the tracks — sealing it away from the outside air.

The train had come down from the north, moving slowly under a rising moon. Never hurrying. Never racing around curves, through villages, or across mountain bridges. Doing nothing that would call attention to itself or to its cargo. At last it had come gliding down from the hills into this huge, steel- and concrete-faced cavern.

The blast door locked in place across the tunnel mouth and bright arc lights flared to illuminate the cavern. Shrill whistles blew, and uniformed men moved under shouted orders to unload the train’s hidden cargo. Some worked in teams to yank aside heavy tarpaulins concealing squat T-55 and T-62 tanks loaded on flatcars. Others slammed boxcar doors open to get at the artillery shells, mortar bombs, and small arms ammunition stacked inside.

No delay could be tolerated. There were deadlines to be met, schedules to be kept. This last train had to be back on its normal route long before the next imperialist spy satellite swung high overhead to spy on the fatherland.

Other soldiers carrying AKM assault rifles, RPK light machine guns, and full combat packs poured out of the passenger cars just behind the engine. They wore the shoulder flashes of the 4th Guards Division. Some carried bulky, Soviet-made SA-7 SAM launchers slung across their backs. Every man’s pockets and pack bulged with extra ammo clips, rations, and grenades. As they jumped down out of the cars, officers formed them into ranks and led them away down a long, darkened corridor stretching south.

Heading into the darkness beyond the train, the marching men tramped past row after row of camouflaged tanks, M-1974 self-propelled guns, and tracked BMP and wheeled BTR-60 troop carriers parked in the main corridor and in large galleries off to both sides. Small groups of leather-helmeted tank crewmen and steel-helmeted infantrymen were clustered around officers giving final briefings and exhortations. A heavy, almost intoxicating, mix of diesel fumes and engine exhaust hung in the air, stirred only faintly by ventilating fans spaced at fifty-meter intervals along the high, arching roof.

The main corridor stretched for more than three kilometers, cut straight through the east-west ridge marking North Korea’s side of the Demilitarized Zone. It came to an abrupt end at another massive blast door, and the column turned left into a side passage leading to another, much narrower tunnel continuing south — under the DMZ.

This tunnel sloped downward and it grew darker with each step forward. Their officers now led with flashlights to show the way. The air grew thicker, and the noise behind them fell away — sinking to a dull, murmuring mix of voices, clanking tank treads, and idling engines. The men in front could see lights bobbing up and down ahead down the corridor. Officers went down the column whispering harsh warnings about the need for silence.

Finally the column halted at the foot of a long, gently sloping ramp leading up — up toward the surface. Up toward the enemy. Sweating combat engineers were manhandling jury-rigged blast doors into place, and far ahead, at the very end of the tunnel, the assault troops could see other engineers moving with careful precision to place explosive charges against the roof.

It was nearly time.

Time for war.