Red Phoenix

CHAPTER 24 Activation

The first flash bulletin transmitted instantaneously to more than a thousand newspapers, radio stations, and television networks around the world could sketch only the barest outlines of the disaster:

“WAR BULLETIN! INVASION — SOUTH KOREA! The peaceful silence of Christmas morning in Seoul has been brutally shattered by a massive North Korean invasion launched without warning or apparent provocation. Following deadly predawn air raids and commando attacks on most of South Korea’s major cities, tens of thousands of invading North Korean troops have surged across the demilitarized zone separating the two countries. Radio Korea reports heavy fighting all along the 600-mile-long border, and government officials here in Tokyo confirm that Japanese listening outposts are picking up transmissions indicating that titanic air, sea, and land battles are now raging across the length and breadth of the Korean peninsula.

“Seoul has declared martial law, and all communications into or out of the country are now under tight military control. No word has been received from any of the independent journalists in the South Korean capital. A U.S. military spokesman has refused detailed comment but has confirmed that American air and ground forces are fully engaged in the fighting. All U.S. bases in Japan are now reported on full alert.

“So far, there has been no official Washington reaction to the morning’s developments.

“Meanwhile, in a propaganda broadcast heard here, North Korea’s Radio Pyongyang has claimed that its ‘heroic People’s Army’ has repulsed a South Korean invasion and is now engaged in pursuing its beaten remnants back across the DMZ.

“More information to follow as it becomes available.

“REPEATING. WAR BULLETIN! INVASION — SOUTH KOREA! The peaceful silence of…”

Fowler squeezed his way past the secretary of defense and made it to a chair near Admiral Simpson, ignoring a glare from Putnam. He’d never seen the Situation Room so crowded. The Joint Chiefs, most of the cabinet, the intelligence directors, their principal advisers, and senior members of the President’s personal staff were all crammed into this one subterranean, cigarette-smoke-fogged room.

A projection map system on one wall showed a large-scale display of the Korean peninsula. Red arrows and circles showed reported North Korean air, land, and sea attacks. Blake knew the overall pattern by heart since he’d spent the past two hours sifting fragmentary incoming reports to piece it together.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

The chief of staff’s words brought everyone in the room to their feet, and the buzz generated by more than a dozen heated, low-voiced conversations died away as the President strode in and took his place at the head of the conference table.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get right to it. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not much time to do it in.” The President motioned his National Security Council members to their seats, ran a hand through thinning hair, and then tugged at his shirt collar to loosen it.

His attire added a further touch of unreality to the crisis. Washington time was fourteen hours behind Korean time, and news of the North Korean attack had arrived during the first dance at the White House Christmas Eve Ball. The President had come straight from the ballroom floor to this emergency session of the NSC as soon as the reports had been confirmed through secure communications channels. He was still wearing white tie and tails.

Most of the cabinet secretaries and senior White House staff were similarly dressed, and the Joint Chiefs were all in full uniform. Blake regarded his own wrinkled shirt and hastily knotted tie ruefully. He’d been at home surrounded by torn wrapping paper and his daughter’s new toys when the calls started coming in. There hadn’t been time to throw on anything better before a Federal Protective Service squad car pulled up outside his town house to take him on a siren-screaming ride across the Memorial Bridge and through Washington’s slush-choked streets.

He pulled his attention back to the present as the President continued speaking.

“Admiral, we’ve all seen the initial messages from General McLaren, but not much more than that. So why don’t we start this show with a rundown on what you know about the current military situation.”

Simpson nodded and rose briskly to his feet. “Certainly, Mr. President.”

He walked over to the projection map and picked up a light pen pointer. “Exact details are still hard to come by, but it is clear that we’ve been hit with a general North Korean offensive across the DMZ at these points.” The light pen highlighted areas along the western half of the DMZ.

“These ground attacks were preceded both by a well-orchestrated series of commando attacks and by air raids on our airbases, command and communications centers, and supply depots.” Simpson nodded to the display operator, and dozens of points across the length and breadth of South Korea glowed bright red.

The admiral nodded grimly at the murmurs that swept through the Situation Room. “Yeah. We’d always worried about North Korea’s commandos, but we’d always counted on the ROK’s tight internal security to help control the threat. Obviously, what we didn’t figure on was that the ROK’s security force might be too busy cracking down on its own military to keep an eye out to the North.”

Simpson turned back to the display. “Okay. The current situation is this. General McLaren has activated his field headquarters, but communications are still somewhat screwed up. What we do know is that North Korean armored spearheads have penetrated out MLR at these points.” Blobs of light sprang into existence on the map. “Casualties are reported to be heavy, and some of our forward positions have either been surrounded or overrun.” He shrugged his shoulders. “No one knows for sure.”

“We’ve also got some initial reports that suggest that some South Korean units folded up under the first attacks and are pretty well out of it. But that’s also unconfirmed.”

Simpson looked at the President directly. “That’s all I’ve got right now, Mr. President. I’m sorry there isn’t more, but we’re still trying to get a better fix on things.”

The President nodded and turned to the secretary of state. “Any more news from your side of things, Paul?”

The secretary looked ashen. The ambassador to South Korea had been one of his closest friends. “I’m afraid not, Mr. President. The survivors at our embassy are trying to sort things out, but things are still very confused. The ROK government also had a number of its own people killed in the first wave of these terrorist attacks.”

The secretary made a visible effort to pull himself together. “I would recommend a direct call to the South Korean president as soon as possible. Something to let him know we’re backing them in this crisis.”

The President nodded.”Agreed. And I’ll want to talk to the Japanese prime minister right after that. But not until I can give them a fairly detailed overview of the actions that we’re taking.” He looked at his communications people. “Set up a secure channel for use after this meeting.”

He swiveled his chair back around to face the rest of the NSC and signaled the display operator. The map expanded suddenly to show the Soviet Union. “All right. It’s pretty clear that things are bad enough in Korea. Now, what I want to focus on is this. Just what the hell are the Russians up to? Are they a party to this North Korean invasion? Is this just a prelude to something bigger?”

There was a momentary silence around the table as everyone waited for someone else to take the first crack at the President’s questions.

Finally Blake cleared his throat. Time to stick his neck out.

“Yes, Dr. Fowler?’

Blake looked up from his notes. “Well, Mr. President, I’d have to say that the best guess is that the Soviets were just as surprised by this attack as we were.” He heard a contemptuous snort from Putnam but ignored it. The national security adviser had been cut out of Pacific policy planning for months, knew it, and wasn’t happy about it.

“Is that just a plain guess, or do you have something to back it up?”

“Mr. President, I can’t tell you that we have anything solid yet, but I think it’s the most reasonable interpretation of the facts — at least based on the signals data the NSA has been picking up.”

Blake pushed his glasses back up his nose. “About an hour after the North Korean air and commando attacks began, the NSA intercepted an emergency signal from the Soviets’ Far East Military District HQ in Khabarovsk to Moscow. They’ve been in almost constant communication since then. But the pattern is consistent. Short transmissions from Moscow followed at intervals by longer transmissions from Khabarovsk. Based on that, I’d say that Moscow is asking pretty much the same sort of questions you’re asking, and that the Far East district is doing its best to find out the answers.”

The President considered that for a moment, looking at the map. “Okay. Sounds reasonable. Do you have anything else along those lines?”

Blake nodded. “Yes, sir. Our satellites and recon aircraft have picked up signs that some of their Far Eastern Voyska PVO air defense squadrons have been put on a higher state of alert — but not their Long Range Aviation bomber units. Again, that’s consistent with a defensive and not an offensive reaction — at least for the moment.”

“So there aren’t any immediate signs that the Soviets are planning to jump into this thing.”

“That’s about the size of it, Mr. President.” Blake flipped his notepad to a new page. “In addition, we’ve picked up similar signals from the Chinese. Their Shenyang Military Region fronting North Korea has gone on a defensive alert, but nothing beyond that.”

The President sat back slightly. “Well, good. We may only be facing a local crisis, then.”

Blake nodded. “So far, Mr. President. But if the Soviets or the Chinese scent real success developing in the North Korean offensive …” He shrugged. “At that point all bets are off.”

“Fine, so be it. Now then, that leaves the question of what we can do to make sure these North Korean bastards don’t succeed. Admiral?”

Simpson looked up. “I’ve had my planning staff and the other Chiefs put together a list of options. In the short run, I think it’s essential that we commit our F-15 squadrons based in Japan and Okinawa to the air battle. The ROK’s Air Force took heavy losses in the first raids, and our F-16 wing at Kunsan is almost certainly being worn down by sheer numbers. And I’d like to get a task force from the Seventh Fleet steaming to the area right away. North Korean subs and missile boats have already started trying to interdict the sea routes into the ROK.”

“Approved. Send the F-15s and the Seventh Fleet in ASAP.” The President waited while Simpson handed a note to an aide before continuing. “Okay, Phil. What are my other military options?”

“Well, I think we should start sending ground unit reinforcements to McLaren. He’s only got the Second Division over there right now, and infantry tends to get chewed up pretty fast in this kind of fighting.”

Blake agreed with the admiral. The South Koreans could mobilize a lot more men than the U.S. could possibly ship in, but every extra man would count. Besides, it would send exactly the right signal to Pyongyang, Moscow, and Beijing by demonstrating American resolve.

Simpson continued, “With your permission, Mr. President, I’ll alert the commanders of the Sixth Light in Alaska, Seventh Light at Fort Ord, and the Ninth Motorized at Fort Lewis for movement to the ROK. The ready brigade from the Twenty-fifth in Hawaii is already loading.”

He nodded toward the Marine four-star general to his left. “The commandant says the Third Marine Division on Okinawa is already packing, and the prepositioned cargo ships at Tinian will sail within six hours. They have the equipment for a heavy brigade already loaded. He has also alerted the First Marine Division at Camp Pendleton, and some of the Force Troops Pacific at Twenty-nine Palms.”

The President toyed with a pen and asked, “Do we have enough sea- and airlift to move all those troops?”

Simpson shook his head. “Not even half of them. But I’m sure we can get help from the Korean merchant fleet and from their national airline. I’d also like permission to begin mobilizing the West Coast elements of the National Reserve Defense Fleet and a limited portion of the Civil Reserve Air Fleet. I expect the airlines will cry bloody murder for a few days, but we’re gonna need the transport.”

Again the President sat thinking for a moment and then said, “All right. Let’s do it. Cut the orders and I’ll sign them.”

“Excuse me, Mr. President.” Putnam leaned forward in his chair, his face flushed and his voice barely under control, obviously smarting at having been ignored in the discussion so far. “Shouldn’t you consult with our allies and with the congressional leadership before taking these steps? I mean, we don’t want to go this thing alone.”

Blake frowned. The President saw it and motioned to him to respond. “It would be wise to consult with our allies as soon as possible, Mr. President. But there’s no need to give them a veto over our discussion here. The actions you’re taking now are all covered under the UN Security Council resolutions passed back in June and July of 1950 calling on member states to meet North Korea’s aggression with force. They’ve never been rescinded. So, technically, our allies have the same obligations with regard to South Korea that we do.”

Blake pointed to the map. “But no one else has the ability to transport the needed troops and equipment into the Pacific region. In practical terms, then, we’re going to have to go it alone anyway.”

Putnam’s face purpled. “That may be true. But what about the Congress? Under the War Powers Act — ”

“Come off it, George!” The President cut Putnam off in midsentence. “No administration has ever recognized the War Powers Act as constitutional, and I’m not about to start now. Christ! You think I want the North Koreans believing I’ll have to go hat in hand to the Congress to keep our troops there longer than a lousy ninety days?”

He slapped a hand down on the table. “Not a chance, Mr. Putnam! This is a question of national security, and I’m acting on my authority as commander in chief. I’ll meet with the congressional leadership later.” The President stared icily at his national security adviser. “Does that give you some kind of problem?”

Putnam subsided into an embarrassed silence while the other NSC members looked carefully away. Blake glanced down at the conference table to hide his own grin. The President had obviously grown tired of pretending to respect Putnam’s opinions.

“All right, does anyone have anything else we should discuss right now? I’m going to have to make a statement to the public before long and I’d like to work on it.” The President looked around the table.

Simpson nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. One final matter. I’d like to raise the DEFCON status of all our forces in the Pacific. There’s no reason we should assume that North Korea’s attacks will be confined to our facilities and troops in the ROK.”

The President shook his head slowly. “I’m sure you’re right to worry, Phil. But I don’t want a general Pacific Command alert just yet. That might provoke an unnecessary Soviet reaction. Stick with an alert for our forces in and near Korea and Japan for right now. I want to try to keep this thing bottled up there as long as possible, okay?”

He stood and everyone stood with him. “All right. Let’s break this up for now, but I want this room continually manned by a crisis team. And I want you all ready to meet again as needed, clear?”

Heads nodded around the room. “Good. Okay, these North Korean sons of bitches have caught us with our pants down. Now let’s pull them up and kick their teeth in.” Both his voice and face conveyed grim intent, and muttered agreement from other NSC members echoed across the Situation Room.

Blake hoped that would be enough.

The makeup artists had done a wonderful job, thought Blake Fowler, as he studied the President from off to the side — from off behind the tangle of cables and cameras now cluttering the Oval Office.

The Chief Executive’s bleak, haggard look and worried expression were gone, replaced by what appeared to be calm, rested confidence as he addressed the nation:

“My fellow Americans, by now many of you have heard the first reports of fighting from the Korean peninsula. I must tell you that those reports are accurate and that we are once again engaged in a desperate struggle to preserve the cause of freedom in our world.

“Beginning before dawn today — on this day sacred around the world as the birth day of the Prince of Peace — communist forces from North Korea brutally and without warning attacked a wide range of civilian and military targets inside the Republic of Korea. Their assaults have also been directed at American diplomats and American soldiers serving the cause of liberty and peace under the auspices of the United Nations. Many of our fellow countrymen have already lost their lives while heroically resisting this vicious and utterly unprovoked aggression.”

The President stared directly into the cameras and his voice hardened as he spoke. “Their sacrifices will not be in vain. North Korea will pay a heavy price for this dastardly aggression. They have fired the first shots in this conflict, but I assure you that we shall fire the last.

“And with God’s help and our own commitment and courage, the cause of freedom will triumph in the Republic of Korea. Together with the other members of the United Nations and with the courageous Korean people, the United States of America will resist this communist onslaught with every proportionate means at its disposal.

“We shall not rest until we have once again secured the blessings of peace and liberty for the people of the Republic of Korea.

“Accordingly, I have declared a state of national emergency for the duration of this conflict. Effective immediately, all ships and aircraft registered under…”

Blake turned to go. The crucial words had been spoken. America was going to war.

The General Secretary of the Communist Party inclined his head gravely toward the general standing by the large wall map of the Northern Pacific. “Thank you, comrade. That was a most concise and enlightening briefing.”

The General Secretary swept his eyes around the elegant, wood-paneled room with its polished brass lamps, thick carpets, and priceless paintings. Not exactly the sterile, modernist room one would have thought would house the top leadership of the world’s most powerful Marxist state. The irony never failed to amuse him slightly.

His eyes focused on a thickset, bull-necked man at the other end of the table. The director of the KGB looked more like a butcher or farmhand than a master spy, he thought. And judging by its most recent efforts, that description of the KGB’s master might well be accurate. He put his thoughts into words. “Well, Viktor Mikhailovich, I’m glad that we had the benefit of your marvelous intelligence assessments to prepare us for news of this war.”

The KGB director flushed at his heavy sarcasm. “The North Korean regime’s actions have always been difficult to predict, Comrade General Secretary. Every report I’ve submitted on the situation has included a note to that effect.”

“Oh, very true, Viktor. Naturally it was only our own foolishness” — the General Secretary gestured around at the assembled Politburo — ”that made us read phrases like ‘the likelihood of open warfare is negligible’ and assume that they were correct. Shall I read from your most recent submission, Viktor?”

The director stayed silent.

“Very well.” The General Secretary adjusted his reading glasses. “Ah, here it is. Quote, instead of offensive action, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea will almost certainly pursue an escalating campaign of terror and subversion designed to add to the increasing chaos in the South, end quote.”

He looked up at the director. “So, a completely accurate document, eh, Viktor? Assuming that is, of course, that one counts an invasion by over six hundred thousand troops as ‘an escalating campaign of terror.’” He smiled with his lips pressed tightly together. Now he could see the veins standing out on the man’s neck.

Abruptly he dropped the matter. Pushing the director of the KGB into a premature heart attack would be satisfying but hardly productive. “Very well, comrades. You can see that we have a problem. Our North Korean friends have taken it upon themselves to open a war with the United States. The question we must face, therefore, is what our response to all of this will be.” He gestured at the map, opening the floor to discussion.

The defense minister was the first to speak. “With respect, Comrade General Secretary, I think that we should view this as a golden opportunity. As our briefing showed, the North Korean offensive has been astonishingly successful so far. With judicious assistance on our part, they could win this war — crushing the American puppet regime and humiliating the United States.”

The defense minister shoved his chair back and moved to the map. “The strategic benefits of such a victory are obvious and might even exceed those we reaped after Vietnam.” His hand moved across the map, touching briefly on Japan, the Philippines, Taiwan, and on down to rest on Singapore. “By again shattering the American image as a reliable ally, a North Korean victory would force Japan and all of the emerging economic powers in Asia into a more neutral posture. A posture that would make it easier for us to expand our presence in the region and obtain important advanced technologies.” The defense minister’s dark brown eyes gleamed beneath heavy eyebrows at the thought.

He continued, “By driving the Americans out of Korea, comrades, we could also roll them back halfway across the Pacific. Out of their offensive bases in Japan and the Philippines. The benefits to our defense of the motherland and to our ability to project power in the Pacific unhindered would be incalculable.”

The foreign minister, a lean, impeccably dressed man, objected, “Come now, comrade. You’re not proposing direct intervention against the Americans? That would be madness.…”

“No, no.” The defense minister’s voice was impatient, irritated. “General war with the United States is out of the question. I know better than you that the strategic correlation of forces does not yet decisively favor us. When our antiballistic missile system is fully in place, perhaps then — but not yet.”

The General Secretary thought it time to take a hand in the discussion. “What are you proposing then, Andrei?” He kept his tone friendly, even solicitous.

“That we maintain the supply of advanced armaments that we are presently providing, provide spare parts, and replace combat losses.”

“Why should we provide any help to them?” one member objected. “They didn’t provide us with any warning of their actions.”

The defense minister stared at the man. “We must continue to help them for the same reasons we sent assistance in the first place. If we do not bribe Kim’s regime with weapons and assistance, he will look to the Chinese for support. North Korea will move into the Chinese sphere of influence, and comrades, the last thing we need is a Chinese ally on our border.”

He let that sink in, and then continued, “Comrades, I do not believe the North Koreans can win a modern technological war without our support. They know that, and once they are totally dependent on our stream of weapons, we can dictate any terms we choose. We will control them.

“While we must increase our own support to Kim, we can help them reduce the flow of supplies to the puppet South Korean regime.”

The foreign minister raised a finely sculpted eyebrow. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

“By putting pressure on the Japanese. The Americans need their airspace, airfields, and ports to ship supplies and reinforcements to South Korea. A strongly worded diplomatic note to Tokyo protesting their intervention in this Korean ‘internal struggle’ might force the Japanese to assert total neutrality. And that would choke off the American resupply effort.”

The General Secretary asked, “You think a diplomatic note would have that much effect on the Japanese?”

“Yes.” The defense minister’s lips creased into an unpleasant smile. “If it were accompanied by intensive air, sea, and naval infantry manuevers off their coast.”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps we could even offer to return the Kuril Islands to them?” That raised smiles around the room. They had been seized by the Soviets at the end of World War II and held by them ever since. They would never willingly give it up.

“Go on, Andrei. We’re listening.” The General Secretary leaned forward in his chair.

“Well, we could also provide the North with useful military intelligence on U.S. movements in the Pacific. RORSAT data. That sort of thing.” The defense minister’s eyes fixed on a small aircraft symbol attached to the map near Pyongyang. “And finally, Comrade General Secretary, we could ‘allow’ our MiG-29 instructors already in North Korea to serve as ‘volunteers’ and participate in the air battle. That kind of tangible support would count for a lot with our little yellow comrades. It would certainly give our crews some valuable combat experience.”

The foreign minister frowned. “Comrades, with all due respect to the defense minister, I said this was madness before and I say it is madness now! We are on the verge of a new long-range arms agreement with the Americans — an arms agreement on terms favorable to us. This is not the time to reignite the Cold War!”

One hand smoothed his tie, half-unconsciously. “And even more importantly, the Western banks are only now again starting to lend us the money we need. It took us nine years to repair the damage we suffered for intervening in Afghanistan. We should not repeat that folly now.”

Heads nodded gravely around the table, the KGB director’s among them.

The General Secretary turned to his defense minister. “Well, Andrei? What do you have to say to that?”

“That my friend, the foreign minister, is wrong. That he is shivering at shadows.” The defense minister brought a heavy fist crashing down on the table, making some of the older Politburo members jump. The gibe about Afghanistan must have cut deep, thought the General Secretary.

“The Americans are weak-minded, forgetful fools. They won’t dare link your precious arms talks with South Korea. And even if they did, they’d soon be back at the bargaining table. Their own internal politics will see to that.”

That much was true, the General Secretary admitted to himself. The American capacity for self-delusion never failed to amaze him. He pondered the matter while the debate raged on around him, back and forth across the conference table.

Not all of the defense minister’s arguments were wholly convincing, but the General Secretary had been intrigued by the possibility he held out of greater trade and technology transfers with the new Asiatic economic powers. Trade and new technology that would speed the work of revitalizing the Soviet economy.

He tapped a fleshy finger reflectively against his chin. The Asian countries, while economic giants, were military pygmies. Once stripped of American protection, they’d be easy enough to keep in line with a judicious mix of outright pressure, internal subversion, and fancy diplomatic footwork.

The thought pleased him and he studied the other men around him through slitted eyes.

In this matter the Politburo’s own factional politics were fully as important as the facts of the matter. And judged in that light, realism dictated a decision in favor of the defense minister. Despite all the General Secretary’s efforts, his position remained tenuous — dependent on a shifting coalition of votes. The armed forces were a crucial part of that coalition. They’d supported his reforms so far, believing they would lead to greater military strength in the future. If he thwarted their will now, how long would their support last?

Not long, he judged. The General Secretary nodded to himself. Together he and the defense minister had enough votes to force a consensus from the Politburo — despite the foreign minister’s objections.

The Soviet Union would support its “fraternal socialist neighbors” in North Korea.

But something nagged at his thoughts. Another factor that would have to be evaluated. Ah, yes. China.

He reminded himself to ask the KGB and GRU to step up their intelligence-gathering operations in Manchuria. It might even be worth another diplomatic push to ease tensions with the revisionist bastards in Beijing. It didn’t seem likely that the Chinese would be able to do much to influence events in Korea, but there wasn’t any point in risking an unpleasant surprise.

The General Secretary turned his attention back to the ongoing debate. Although he now knew which policy he would follow, it was still important to observe the formalities.

The Premier of the People’s Republic of China walked deep in thought across the windswept pavements of the Forbidden City. A security detachment trailed along behind him, shivering in the winter cold.

The Premier had no doubt that most of his bodyguards hated these slow, seemingly aimless, noontime strolls through the squares and palaces of the old Imperial compound. But he found them useful. They gave him time by himself to think.

Of course, they also served another purpose. They demonstrated his relative youth and good physical condition. Many of the others in the ruling Politburo were well past their prime. Some, including his two chief colleagues, the president and the Party’s general secretary, were either past or closing on eighty.

By itself, his youthfulness gave him no great advantage. Despite over forty years of Marxist rule, the people of China retained a traditional veneration for the elderly and automatically ascribed the virtue of wisdom to them. In fact, that attitude toward age had even insinuated itself into the Party. And the Premier had to admit to himself that he shared some of that peasant reverence for the old — despite the years he’d spent in the Soviet Union training as an engineer and administrator.

Still, this daily demonstration of good health acted as a reminder to his colleagues and younger members of the administration that he would be around for years to come — long after the first generation of the Revolution was dead and buried. And that was useful. It gave him an edge in the fierce internal struggles that often racked the Party out of public and foreign view.

Though that edge had most certainly not shown itself during the morning’s debate on Korean policy, the Premier reminded himself as he turned a corner and began climbing the steps toward one of the Forbidden City’s magnificent inner courtyards. Behind him, one of his bodyguards slipped and skidded on a patch of ice hidden among the cobblestones of the walkway. He ignored the man’s stifled curses and muttered apology.

No, he thought, this morning’s Defense Council meeting to adopt China’s position on this mad North Korean adventure had been even more of a hidden wrestling match than such meetings usually were — with all the participants circling watchfully, waiting for that one opening that could lead to victory.

No one had found it. And the result had been an unsatisfactory compromise. A compromise he himself disliked despite having been its chief proponent.

It was, however, the only realistic policy China could follow at this stage in the renewed Korean War. The Politburo was just too evenly split among the conservatives, moderates, and Party liberals to adopt a less equivocal position.

The Premier nodded to himself as he emerged from a vast gateway topped by a stone-carved Imperial dragon. The policy he’d urged and won was the best of the immediate alternatives available to China. And it was the best precisely because it could be altered to match ebbs and flows in the complicated military and political game being played out in Korea.

China had been losing the competition with the Soviets for influence in North Korea for years. She simply did not have enough of the high-tech weaponry Kim Il-Sung and his son lusted after. And the Premier knew that the failed assassination attempt launched by his predecessor against the elder Kim had been the last straw. It had given the younger Kim the power he needed to throw North Korea firmly into the Soviet camp.

Given that, some of the more liberal and moderate members of the Politburo had argued for open opposition to North Korea’s aggression. They were openly contemptuous of Kim’s antiquated Stalinism and “cult of personality.” But the Premier had squelched that talk swiftly. The Party hard-liners still had more than enough power to successfully resist action they would see as a betrayal of their fellow communists in Pyongyang. Especially when the North Korean offensive seemed to be going so well. And China could not risk yet another internal power struggle in the midst of a serious international crisis.

At the same time, his nation could not afford to openly support North Korea’s actions. First, it wouldn’t gain them anything in Pyongyang — the Soviets were too firmly entrenched. More important, open support for the North while it was killing American soldiers in combat would almost certainly cost China its hard-won commercial links to the U.S. — trade agreements vital to the PRC’s continued economic growth. That was too bitter a pill for even the hard-liners to swallow.

Even the alternative of declared, open neutrality was unacceptable. In fact, perhaps the most unacceptable option of all. A declaration of disinterest in a war being waged in its own stated sphere of influence would make a mockery of China’s claims to status as a world power.

And that was why the Politburo had finally adopted his suggestion that it adopt no clear-cut position. Instead, it would ship Kim Il-Sung the weapons and supplies he’d requested while officially terming the war “an internal affair to be resolved by the Korean people.” And the Premier planned a quiet chat with the American ambassador to help the U.S. understand his position. Such behind-the-scenes diplomacy might help avert an American overreaction to China’s logistical support for Kim’s invasion. Or, at any rate, so he hoped.

The compromise, while unsatisfying, was at least susceptible to change should the battlefield situation itself change. And the Premier’s technically trained engineer’s mind regarded that flexibility as a virtue in and of itself.

He glanced at his watch. It was time to turn and head back to his office for his scheduled meeting with the Rural Electrification Committee. With an effort he shoved the considerations of war and international politics out of his consciousness — making way for thoughts about small hydroelectric dams and coal-fired power plants.

China had made its decision. Now it would await events in South Korea’s snow-covered hills and frozen rice paddies.

Major General Andrew Pittman, USMC, handed the FLASH message from Washington to his division ops officer, the J-3. A frown creased his weather-beaten face and crinkled the bushy, black eyebrows that were his trademark and most prominent feature. His Texas twang was even more pronounced than usual after a full night without sleep. “Well, what do you think, Brad? How much longer before we’re packed up and ready to ship out for Pohang?”

Tall, stick-thin Colonel Owen Bradley Strang scanned the priority message from the Joint Chiefs of Staff and handed it back to his boss. He ran a hand over his shaved scalp, absentmindedly ruffling long-gone hair. “Breaking every rule and shortcutting every procedure the way we’ve been doing it since the commandant called?”

Pittman nodded.

The colonel shrugged. “We’ll have the two infantry regiments, the First Amphib battalion, the Headquarters battalion, and the Third Recon aboard ship with all their gear within the next twenty-four hours. The artillery, Divisional Support Group, and the Seventh Commo battalion will take longer. Peleliu has been rerouted from Subic Bay, and once she’s in, we’ll have more space for the heavy equipment.”

“Best guess, Brad.”

Strang looked out down the truck-choked road leading to the harbor. Storm clouds had rolled in on Okinawa toward midnight, bringing with them gusting winds and periodic rain squalls. Even with the sun up, the Navy’s harbormaster had been forced by poor visibility to keep the furnace-white arc lights along the quays burning. And in their glare, Strang could see more than a score of gray-painted Navy amphibious ships pitching and tossing in heavy, gray-green seas.

As the trucks carrying troops or equipment crawled through the traffic up to the harbor’s main gate, Marine and Navy officers in rain slickers and camouflage ponchos assigned their cargos to specific ships. The division would sail from Okinawa combat-loaded, with vital stores and gear dispersed so that losing any given ship to enemy air or sub attack wouldn’t cripple the Marines before they could reach the battlefield.

Strang turned back to his commander. “With the weather playing up like this, it’s going to take us at least seventy-two hours to get everything saddled up.” Even that was a miracle made possible only by constant practice and detailed prewar planning. Strang thanked God for the annual Team Spirit exercises they’d held in South Korea.

Both men fell silent as a rain-laden burst of wind rattled against the window.

Then Strang cleared his throat. “Of course, we could always break the division up. Sail now with most of the troops and let the heavies follow on afterward.”

But Pittman shook his head. “That’s a no go, Brad. I talked to the admiral earlier this morning. The Navy’s classified the whole Korea Straits a high-threat area, and he doesn’t have enough escorts available to adequately guard two convoys.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, beating out a martial-sounding tattoo. Then the general looked up. “Okay. Seventy-two hours it is.”

He scribbled a hasty reply to the Joint Chiefs’ message and handed it to Strang for coding and transmission.

The colonel had his hand on the doorknob when he heard Pittman’s voice from behind him. “One thing, Brad.”

Strang turned. “Yes, General?”

“No screw-ups. Anything not aboard in seventy-two hours is gonna get left on the beach. And I don’t want to leave anything on the beach, clear?”

The colonel nodded. “Aye, aye, sir. I hear you loud and clear.” The Marines were going to war, and Pittman wanted every rifle, every grenade, and every piece of equipment in there with them.

Northern California’s low, rolling hills were also being soaked by cold winter rains — rains thrown by a Pacific storm moving inland to dump snow on the High Sierras.

The rain puddled on Travis Air Force Base’s extra-long, reinforced runways, taking on an oily sheen in the flood-lit night.

One puddle on the main runway vaporized, cast into a million infinitesimal droplets by the backblast from the four mammoth jet engines of a Military Air Command C-5 transport plane. The C-5 rolled on in a thundering roar as its engines reached full thrust and it picked up flying speed, lumbered heavily into the air, and arced gently over onto a westward course.

The plane’s engine noises faded, their place taken by the howling, high-pitched screams of other C-5s and C-141s, as they taxied onto the slick tarmac for takeoff or waited motionless while troops and gear of the Army’s 7th Light Infantry Division were loaded on board. A ceaseless flow of buses and trucks from Fort Ord — the 7th’s stateside base — rolled off Highway 80, through the main gates, and onto the field to add to the long lines of combat-ready soldiers waiting their turn to clamber aboard a troop carrier.

The airlift to South Korea had gotten underway as soon as a significant number of the division’s scattered troops and the MAC plane crews could be recalled from their Christmas leaves. Many men were still enroute, caught by the crisis at home in cities and towns all across the U. S. As they trickled in, haggard and wan, already sapped by jet lag and family worries, the nonstop cycle of loadings, takeoffs, and landings continued. It would go on without respite for another ninety-six hours.