Red Phoenix Burning

Chapter 6 — Whirlwind

Brigadier General Tony Christopher stared at the television screen, frozen by sheer surprise and the horror of what he’d just seen. The cameras were still working, one facing the podium, and two others covering the crowd. They continued to pan slowly across the room, or zoom in and out. There was one close-up of Kim Jong-un’s face that lasted at least a minute. He’d died in mid-spasm, and blood spattered his chin and the floor where he’d fell. Tony could not look away, or even close his eyes.

Everyone — the guards, the audience, and of course Kim — lay unmoving. In the back of his mind, Tony kept expecting the picture to go dark or turn to static. Did this mean the assassins controlled the television studio? That they were choosing to transmit these pictures as proof of their success? Or was there nobody left alive to hit the “off” switch? There certainly weren’t cameramen moving the cameras back and forth, not in that room full of poison.

The question was enough to kick-start his frontal lobe. Shaking off the images that crowded his mind, he turned to look around him.

News of Kim Jong-un’s survival had reached him yesterday, in the middle of a tour of the air bases and units in South Korea. As deputy commander of the Seventh Air Force, Tony Christopher was supposed to report to his boss on any problems that had surfaced because of the mobilization during the crisis. With the expectation that the DPRK announcement signaled the end of the crisis, he’d elected to continue the tour — the mobilization had been a good real-world test.

And he’d been especially reluctant to cancel the tour right then. The next stop on the schedule was the Eighth Fighter Wing, at Kunsan. He’d served and fought in the 35th Fighter Squadron, based at Kunsan, back in the day. He’d chosen to watch the speech in the squadron’s ready room.

They all knew him, of course, not only as deputy commander of the Seventh Air Force, but by his call sign, “Saint,” and his seventeen kills during his tours of duty in Korea and Iraq. As a distinguished alumnus of the squadron, a photo of a much younger Captain Christopher hung on the ready room’s wall, just to the right of the squadron’s emblem, a snarling black panther crouched and advancing. It showed him with one hand on the wing of his F-16, smiling, new major’s insignia on his uniform, after his fifteenth kill — a “triple ace.” The squadron still flew F-16s, although a much newer version than the “A” model he’d flown back then.

Standing up and turning, Tony faced the fighter pilots filling the ready room. Laid out like a small auditorium, rows of seats faced a large flat-screen display at the front, an unused podium pushed to one side. They sat, stunned, confused, and shocked by the wide-screen horror. Some didn’t seem to understand what they’d seen, and he could hear questions asked in quiet voices: “What was that? Did he really just die? Was that real?” The ones that weren’t talking to their comrades were looking at him or the other commanders in the front row.

Tony instinctively knew it was real. While they were all used to a stream of exaggerations and outright falsehoods from the North, a faked TV show of Kim’s death would only harm the regime, at a time when he needed to show strength. He accepted the fact that Kim and most of his cabal were dead. But what happens next?

Colonel Andrew Graves, CO of the Eighth Fighter Wing, had of course escorted Tony on his tour of the base, with the commanders of the 35th and 18th Fighter Squadrons in trail. The four senior officers had taken up the center of the front row. The colonel and his two squadron commanders were now looking at him, or more properly, to him.

Everybody in the room knew exactly as much as Tony did about the death of Kim Jong-un. In fact, most of South Korea had probably been watching, or at least listening on the radio. There would be no uncertainty this time.

Tony fought to shift his thinking. Kim’s survival and television appearance was supposed to restore his rule. Unwelcome as the regime was, the stability it offered was better than bloody civil war and a humanitarian crisis. Tony knew the Seventh Air Force was already planning to send units brought in as reinforcements back to their bases in CONUS and elsewhere, and to reduce operating tempos back to normal. He’d heard Colonel Benz, the Seventh’s operations officer, grumbling about the havoc their alert was raising with the training and maintenance schedules.

But that was ten minutes ago. He turned to the wing commander. “Andy, please find Captain Drew and my flight crew and tell them I’ll be flying back to Osan immediately.” Graves looked over at a lieutenant, who left the room at a dead run. Tony raised his voice just a little, so it could be heard throughout the room. “I won’t predict what orders my boss will send out, but ignore anything in the pipeline right now about standing down. Make sure everybody’s ready to fly.” He paused, and the wing commander and two squadron commanders all nodded solemnly. Graves gestured to his two squadron commanders, and they left, followed by the rest of the 35th’s pilots.

As the room emptied, Graves’ cell phone sounded, and after listening, the colonel reported, “Your aircraft crew is preflighting now. They’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“That gives us five to sit and think,” Tony replied.

“The ROKs will go north,” Graves stated flatly.

“Concur, but we won’t unless our boss says so,” Tony agreed. “The best we can do is hold the fort while the South Koreans take the rest of their country back.”

The colonel asked, “Is there anything at headquarters saying the South won’t succeed?”

Tony shrugged. “The only thing that could stop them is China, and as long as we don’t go north, the Chinese may stay on their side of the Yalu.”

Graves checked his watch and gestured toward the door. They started walking, with Christopher setting a fast pace. “And the Seventh Air Force becomes a piece on the chessboard of international politics,” the colonel remarked, a few steps behind.

“An accurate, long-range, devastatingly powerful chess piece,” Tony declared, smiling. They stepped out of the squadron’s ops center into the bright, almost blinding heat. An air force jeep was waiting to take the general to his helicopter, and the two hopped in.

“General Carter and I have discussed what to do if the ROKs went north, with or without the US. In this case, the simplest plan is to take one hundred percent responsibility for air defense while the entire South Korean air force takes on the DPRK, which they are well qualified to do. Our AEW and other specialist aircraft provide support for their offensive from across the border, heavily escorted.”

Graves nodded his understanding. Christopher continued, “That is one possible course of action, not an operational order, but you might want to think about the Wolf Pack’s role in that scenario.”

They reached the flight line and headed for a gray-painted UH-1N Huey near one end. As soon as the jeep came into the helicopter’s view, Tony heard the engines whine and the rotors began to move.

The jeep stopped, and Graves came to attention and saluted. “Good luck, Saint.”

Tony returned the salute, and answered, “Fly safe, Digger. If we do go north, get some.” He had to speak up to be heard over the rising whine.

“Even if they’re Chinese?” Graves asked, smiling.

“Especially if they’re Chinese,” Tony answered, and headed for the helicopter.

Tammy Becker was tall and blonde, which made her a standout anywhere, but in Korea she towered over most citizens. They’d set her up against a backdrop of a cheering crowd. Although she was broadcasting from Seoul, it looked more like Mardi Gras, or a Super Bowl win. Lights on the camera created an illuminated circle of celebrating Koreans behind her, waving different-sized Korean flags.

“It’s been over six hours since the death of Kim Jong-un, and the citywide, no, nationwide party shows no sign of slowing down!” She held the microphone close to her face, but still had to speak up to be heard over the singing and drums beating.

“I came here earlier today, before Kim’s broadcast. I had planned to interview South Korean citizens on their impressions and hopes for the future right after the broadcast ended, but nobody here could have predicted how it did end.

“During the broadcast, the streets of this city of over ten million were virtually empty, and here downtown, every shop or business with a television had it on. Even outside, my crew and I could watch Kim’s speech on a video screen that normally carried advertising.

“No other shows were aired. It was extraordinary for the South Korean government to allow any video transmitted from the North to be broadcast live, but given the importance of the crisis to every citizen of this tightly knit nation, the government preempted all other programming.

“Earlier in the day, I spoke with government officials who said the North Korean broadcast, whatever its content, would be followed by a rebuttal speech from the president…”

The noise from the crowd suddenly swelled and crashed over the reporter. The cameraman shouted something to her, and she nodded. The image spun and faced the street to show a military convoy, a camouflaged stream of trucks, then massive battle tanks on transporter vehicles, then more trucks towing artillery. Soldiers in the open backs of the trucks waved and shouted to the crowd, who responded as if the troops were already heroes.

Becker was shouting into the microphone now. “This is one reason the party’s still going on. Within hours of Kim’s death, military police, with some effort, cleared this major thoroughfare, the Nonhyeon-dong, and the first convoy came through.”

She pointed off camera, in the direction the troops had gone. “Every convoy we’ve seen, and we’ve lost count, is headed the same way, toward the Cheongdam Bridge over the Han River, and then north.” She paused again, drowned out by diesel engines and crowd noise. The sound became less random until finally it seemed like all Seoul had joined in a single song. It enveloped the crowd, and even if her viewers didn’t speak Korean, they would recognize the joy and triumph in its tone.

“It’s the ‘Aegukga,’ the South Korean national anthem.” She paused, letting the music fill the microphone. As the song ended, she concluded, “The South Korean army is on the move, carrying the hearts of every citizen with them.”

Kary Fowler didn’t watch the broadcast. Her experience dealing with DPRK officials had been universally bad, and the last thing she wanted was to watch, or even hear over the ubiquitous loudspeakers, the dictator, the monster himself. She was a Christian woman, and would never wish for anyone’s death, but she’d felt a deep disappointment when Kim’s survival and upcoming speech were announced.

The news of his very public death found her outside, surveying the remains of their greenhouses and fields. One of Christian Friends’ core missions was growing nutritious food to restore the physical health of the sick. Only in a land as poor as this could wholesome vegetables serve as medicine.

One of the student nurses, Moon Su-bin, found Kary inside a looted greenhouse, trying to see if it could somehow be repaired with materials from others also wrecked. “Fowler-seonsaengnim, the television—”

“You know I wasn’t planning to watch, Moon Su-bin,” Kary replied, a little sharply, but then she drew a breath and continued, “Is it over, then?”

“Over?” she exclaimed. “Fowler-seonsaengnim, the Supreme Leader is dead!” The young woman collapsed on the ground.

Moon Su-bin had volunteered at the clinic after her infant son died. With her husband in the army, she’d found friends and a home at the mission, and studied medicine and nutrition under Kary’s guidance.

Moon had brought her infant son to the clinic after he came down with a gastrointestinal infection. In spite of all their efforts, and even using precious formula, four-month-old Ye-jun had only lasted a week. Small and sickly to begin with, the child would have had health problems even in the West, but malnutrition made him vulnerable. And it was endemic. Although in her early twenties, Ye-jun’s mother would have been mistaken for a middle-schooler in the US.

Especially now, tearful and confused. Using Kim Jong-un’s title instead of his name did not surprise Kary. From birth, citizens of the DPRK were taught that the Kims, the Great Leader, Kim Il-sung, his son Kim Jong-il, the Dear Leader, and now the grandson and Supreme Leader, Kim Jong-un, were the source of all knowledge, all virtue, and all power. Hated or loved, feared or admired, the idea of life without them was incomprehensible.

Kary knelt down beside the weeping woman and lifted her, hugging her and smoothing her hair, as if comforting the child she’d never had. “Tell me what happened.”

It was hard for Moon to even describe what she had seen, watching on the clinic’s tiny television. The words themselves seemed treasonous. It was a cheap Chinese model, with a terrible picture, but it had been clear enough, and Moon Su-bin was not sophisticated enough to ask if it had been faked, or how the deed had been done. Along with virtually all the clinic’s patients and staff, she had watched their national leader die an agonizing death.

Kary struggled to understand Moon’s tearful Korean, but once it was clear there was no misunderstanding, Kary’s heart turned to ice. Disappointment at news of his survival did not become joy with confirmation of his death. She fought the fear that tried to fill her mind, and steadying herself, stood, and then pulled Moon to her feet. “Thank you for coming to tell me, Moon Su-bin. How is the laundry?”

“I was hanging it when the broadcast started…” She trailed off, and her gaze wandered as visions of Kim’s death replaced the rest of her answer.

“Moon, we need that laundry dry!” Kary shook her shoulder gently, and told her, “Get it hung up as quickly as you can, and then find Ok Min-seo. She’ll need help preparing dinner. Now go!” Nodding, the young woman hurried off.

Kary headed back toward her office, at one end of the clinic. She would have to keep them all busy, somehow, because she knew that most of them would be like Moon — confused and afraid. And keeping them busy would help keep her busy, too, because she was also afraid. She thought about the chaos she’d witnessed in the past week and shuddered. She hated anything to do with politics, but knew instinctively that North Korea had been rebuilt to Kim’s design, with him as the keystone. How many would be crushed when it tumbled down?

The mission compound was surrounded by a low fence, more marker than a barrier, and she saw someone waiting by their front gate. It was normally left open, but since the coup attempt they’d been closing and locking it. It was a futile gesture, but they did it anyway.

Now Sergeant Choi Sung-min was waving to her, and she quickened her pace a little. Sergeant Choi was the neighborhood supervisor for the Ministry of Public Security. The ministry was responsible for traffic and catching criminals, but was also charged with searching for hints of disloyalty. They were ubiquitous and did their best to be omniscient. No occurrence was too small for their interest. Since the coup attempt, Choi had replaced his customary slate-gray patrol uniform with drab green fatigues, and carried a rifle slung over his shoulder.

In spite of the masters he served, Kary still thought of him as the local policeman. He’d caught petty criminals stealing from their gardens, and if the price of his service was a bag of vegetables or a bottle of pills, that was necessary but acceptable. He wasn’t greedy, and since they’d treated his children on more than one occasion, the sergeant had come to see their usefulness.

As she unlocked the gate and opened it for him, he said, “You should leave Korea.” She started to smile, because that was his customary greeting. When she’d first come to Sinan years ago, it had been a sincere, almost hostile sentiment. Even after Choi’s children had recovered from whooping cough, he had persisted, almost a pro forma exhortation. She finally realized that he probably had to file weekly reports on his progress in “convincing the foreigner to leave.” As long as he went through the motions, he could answer yes, and his superiors would be satisfied. And it was clear he didn’t want the mission to close, not as long as she met him with a small parcel of food or medicine.

This time, instead of a near-joke, she could see he was deadly serious. After he stepped inside and she closed and locked the gate, they began walking toward one side of the compound. “Kary Fowler-yang, you have to leave. Mayor Song ordered me to arrest you and your entire staff yesterday, but I managed to dissuade him.”

She was too shocked to reply immediately, and the sergeant explained, “Song-dongji received an urgent order from the party that special efforts were to be made to find and apprehend the foreign influences that were corrupting the country. There would be penalties for those who were lax.”

Kary didn’t try to protest her innocence. The word had no meaning here. “How did you talk him out of it?” By now they’d reached one end of the main clinic building. A canopy and a few old chairs offered rest and shade from the August sun.

Choi sat gratefully, unslinging his rifle and laying it across his knees. “I reminded him of the generous subsidy that your organization makes to the community. If your mission closed, those subsidies would stop. I also promised to redouble my surveillance of your subversive activities.”

She almost laughed, but caught herself in time. The sergeant had been joking, of course, but open laughter could be a dangerous thing. “I’m very grateful, of course.”

His face hardened. “But that was yesterday. The situation has now changed. There is no way to tell if your organization,”—Choi refused to say ‘Christian Friends’—”will be able to continue to provide support, for you, or him.”

She heard the implied question, and replied, “We’ve had no contact with home, or most of the other missions, since the fifteenth of August.” She was referring to the first attempt on Kim’s life, but officialdom had quickly prohibited the use of words like “coup” or “assassination,” as if they could define them out of existence. If the heinous deed needed to be referred to at all, it was by the date.

“We did receive a note from our clinic near Kaechon,” she said hopefully. “They’ve had some problems, but are coping and waiting for the crisis to pass.”

“Is that your plan?” Choi asked skeptically. His tone was kind, but it still sounded like a criticism. “Wait for it to go away?”

“What else can we do?” Kary protested. “People are still sick, and now we’re even treating trauma patients, like that robbery victim you brought us the other day.”

“I had to. The hospital will only treat soldiers and party officials now.” Choi made a face. “Bandits, of all things, robbing people in the fields as they work. It was the first time I’ve ever fired my weapon, other than the target range. One burst in the air, and they scattered like crows.”

“I’m glad you stopped them, but I’m glad you didn’t shoot them, either,” she added. “Maybe they’ll rethink their behavior.”

Choi shook his head. “Fowler-yang, they weren’t the first ones I’ve seen, and I hear reports of more all the time. And you can’t depend on the protection of the party or the army anymore.” He lowered his voice. “I watched the broadcast in the mayor’s office, along with many others.” Choi spoke even more softly, barely a whisper. “Song-dongji panicked, and others as well. He ordered our captain to mobilize the reserves, and form a militia for defense of the community. He had received word of army units mutinying. The Supreme Leader’s death will only make it worse.”

Reaching into a pocket of his fatigue pants, Choi showed Kary a small automatic pistol. “One of the bandits dropped this. It’s a Makarov, just like my service pistol. Nine shots.” He pulled the magazine out of the grip and locked the slide back, clearing the weapon. “Here.” He offered it to her.

“No, I can’t take it. I wouldn’t know how to use it. My Christian faith…”

“The people you’re responsible for don’t share your faith, and I hope you’re not planning to convert the bandits. Proselytizing without state permission is a serious offense.” He smiled.

“Most of them will turn and run if you show any teeth.” He paused for a moment, but could see she wasn’t convinced. “Think of it as a noisemaker.”

Reluctantly, she took the pistol and the magazine. Of course, he’d broken any number of laws in giving it to her, but that didn’t matter much now.

And actually, she’d lied to Choi. Her father, Blake Fowler, had several guns in their home, and had encouraged his children, including young Kary, to learn how to use them. That didn’t mean she liked them, and definitely didn’t want to shoot anyone. There was too much killing in North Korea already.

Choi showed her how to use the safety and load and unload the pistol. He sighed with relief. “This eases my mind somewhat. And don’t be afraid to put a few shots in the air. I or one of my men will come.”

Rhee and his team were on schedule, but just barely. They’d reached a good spot for their hide, where they could overlook the third and last regiment of the 425th Mechanized Corps. They’d successfully snooped one regiment near the abandoned antiaircraft battery, then snuck in closer to Chongju town to have a look at the corps’ headquarters, checked the second regiment’s cantonment at the same time, and arrived at their last planned lookout before dawn that morning.

Over the past three nights and two days, they’d seen a land in chaos. The antiaircraft battery had been an early warning, as had the civilians moving at night.

From their perch overlooking the first regiment’s base, they’d studied the unit and its activities. The 425th, one of the best-armed units in the DPRK army, was at war. Groups of armored vehicles headed in different directions, while trucks carried soldiers to man defensive positions visible in the distance. These were not simple roadblocks, but entrenchments that included machine guns and heavy weapons. The team could see mortar positions supporting the main defensive line. Who were they fighting?

Throughout the day, they’d taken turns, with one pair observing and recording the regiment’s activities, while the other two kept watch and rested. Even in the field, Rhee had taken the opportunity to school the new men on their technique. He reminded Guk, “On the next mission, you’ll be in the lead, with new men to train.”

There was no sign of patrols or aerial surveillance, but the regiment was at full alert. Late in the day, a large column of armored fighting vehicles left in the direction of Chongju, but its purpose was unknown. It had not returned by the time they left.

The commandos hadn’t seen much activity in the farms or businesses during that first day, and only light traffic on the road, except for military vehicles. Rhee knew anyone using them for travel could expect to be stopped and questioned more than a few times, with uncertain results.

During the second night, they’d spotted and avoided more civilians, once the point man confirmed that’s what they were, but it all cost time. The team heard gunfire once, so far away it was hard to hear distinct shots. It had lasted some little while, though. Either a prolonged skirmish or short battle.

During the second day, at their new hide, they’d surveyed the 425th’s headquarters and another of its regiments, located nearby. This regiment was sending out patrols, as well as manning defensive positions. Groups of DPRK soldiers passed as close as five meters to them as the scouts lay camouflaged and completely silent. The patrols never spotted them. Rhee blessed their luck, not only for remaining undetected, but for the confidence it gave his team.

Rhee’s report via SATCOM had included not only the strength and composition of the units, but that his team had witnessed several executions by firing squad inside the headquarters compound. The rifle volleys could be heard at a distance.

The third night, their second move, was a repeat of the first. The team didn’t hear any more fighting that night, and reached their third and last planned hideout in good order. After making sure they were well concealed, Rhee had allowed them a little sleep. He was pleased with the team’s performance. Lieutenant Guk and Corporal Ma had been nervous, almost hyperalert at first, but had quickly settled down. They demonstrated good field skills and followed Rhee’s orders intelligently.

But even success presented challenges. After three nights and two days of creeping and watching, fatigue had begun to creep in. Soldiers were trained to recognize the signs, and also how to cope, but the field was never the same as training.

Even as they dug in and concealed themselves, it was clear that this regiment’s base was different from the other two. Signs of a fight surrounded it, including shell craters and wrecked vehicles. The emplacements surrounding the cantonment, as well as the structures inside, were damaged, and some showed signs of fire. This regiment had been attacked.

There were no bodies visible, and the wrecks were burnt out. Rhee concluded that the fight had happened several days ago, likely before his team had arrived in the North.

The wrecked vehicles all appeared to have North Korean markings. A quick excursion to one of the outlying wrecks in morning twilight had confirmed them as belonging to the 425th. This one regiment was in revolt against the rest of its corps. So far, it appeared to be holding out.

Shortly after noon, Rhee recognized the sound of an artillery shell, but the new men were only half a beat behind the veterans in hugging the ground. The whoosh of the incoming shell was a fraction of a second long, ending in a distant, dull boom from the direction of the regiment’s cantonment.

Other rounds followed, in clusters of four. Raising their heads, the team saw explosions inside the regiment’s base. Rhee asked, “What size do you think, Lieutenant?”

“One two-twos, probably,” Guk answered quickly.

“I agree. Do some map work and see if you can figure out where they’re firing from.” As he spoke, Rhee was watching the base. It was a random barrage, which was good, because it meant no artillery observer, tucked away in the hills with binoculars. There was no telling what else someone like that might see.

For about fifteen minutes, the base was hammered by medium artillery. Most landed inside the base, which occupied several square kilometers. It wasn’t a hard target to hit. To Rhee, it showed incompetence in either not using an observer, or in using more than a few rounds for what was harassing fire. As a rule, after the first few salvos, everyone’s either in a hole or dead.

Ma, the radio operator, reached over and tapped Rhee’s shoulder as he watched the artillery barrage. “It’s headquarters, sir. It’s a recall.” When Rhee didn’t respond immediately, Ma said, “They’re ordering us out.”

Rhee shook his head. That didn’t make sense. “You must have heard them wrong.” He reached for the handset and Ma handed it to him. Automatically, the two switched places, with Ma on lookout while Rhee used the radio.

“We need you to get out now, Colonel.” He recognized General Kwon’s voice.

“Sir, there’s a civil war going on between units of the 425th.”

“That’s not important anymore, Colonel.”

Shocked, Rhee tried to form a question that didn’t sound like insubordination. The general quickly explained what had happened an hour ago, and what was happening now. “The army is moving north. We are already across the border in several places, and you have a brigade to run. The sub will be waiting for you, beginning at sundown.” He broke the connection before Rhee could even confirm.

Rhee meant to put the handset away, but paused, motionless, his mind filled with the general’s news. Kim dead. The armed forces of the Republic of Korea crossing the border. Could it be true… unification?

Everyone in the South had hoped for this day. He’d seen the army’s plans for exactly this scenario — an invasion if the northern regime imploded. It was like D-Day and Christmas at once. He should feel happy, or excited, but decided there was just too much to do.

The artillery barrage had stopped, but while Rhee was telling the others about their new orders, Ma, still on lookout, reported, “Column approaching from the southeast.” He said it softly, but Rhee could still hear the excitement.

Rhee ordered Ma and Oh to start packing while he and Guk studied the approaching troops. It was a classic armored attack, with a wedge of tanks in front, followed by armored troop carriers. All right, Rhee realized. The barrage hadn’t been badly planned harassing fire. It was a badly timed preparatory barrage. It should have lasted longer, until the advancing troops were much closer to their objective. It was supposed to keep the defenders’ heads down.

But the defenders were definitely not suppressed. Antitank emplacements with 130mm guns were firing at the armored spearhead, while antitank missiles leapt out toward the lead vehicles. The tanks started to take hits, while somewhere behind the attackers, artillery — heavy mortars from the sound — began dropping smoke and high-explosive shells onto the defenders.

Although Rhee had been ordered to leave, he found it almost impossible to look away from the fight before him. They had a perfect vantage point from which to watch the attack. Both sides were using outdated equipment, all of Russian design, then either copied by the Chinese and sold to North Korea, or made by North Korea herself. North Korean copies of Sagger antitank missiles were blowing up Chinese copies of T-55 tanks, while Russian M-46 field guns from the Cold War blew up equally old Russian-built BTR-60 armored personnel carriers. He thought about the slaughter that would happen when his army met its antiquated, poorly trained opponent.

That’s right, tear yourself apart, he thought grimly. Fewer DPRK soldiers for us to deal with. He took one last look, trying to note losses, and turned to help Ma and Oh with the packing. He told Guk, “Keep a sharp lookout all round.”

Even as he packed, his mind tried to find a solution to their impossible orders. It was a little more than thirty kilometers to the spot on the coast where they’d cached their swim gear. He’d planned to use twilight and all night to cover that distance, swimming out to the submarine just before dawn. It would have been a hard march, but possible.

Now, they had to cover that same distance in seven hours, in full daylight, and the clock was already ticking. Softly but triumphantly, Master Sergeant Oh announced, “Finished!” He looked expectantly at the colonel.

By rights, Rhee should have huddled with the team to go over the plan. Instead, he asked Guk, “Anything moving to the northwest?” That was the direction they’d come in from earlier that morning. The battle raged to the east. Guk answered, “It’s clear.”

“Then let’s go. I’ll lead.” The grove from where they’d observed the battle extended around the side of the hill and touched a gully on the other side. Moving in daylight without the night vision gear was easier and faster, but they had to pause more frequently to check for observers. Their North Korean uniforms might prevent them from getting shot at on sight, but it was better not to be seen at all.

A road behind the hill they’d used forked both north and west. They’d come in along the north fork last night. This time they’d head west, toward the coast.

It had taken fifteen minutes to get down the hill, and behind him, he could almost watch the others doing the math. This was taking too long. They reached the edge of a copse of trees, and Rhee knelt to check the terrain ahead. Master Sergeant Oh knelt close behind him and whispered, “Sir, what’s the plan?”

“Don’t get seen, don’t get shot,” Rhee answered, and scanned the road ahead with binoculars. There. That’s the plan. “There’s a vehicle at the crossroads ahead. That’s our ride. Pistols ready.”

Rhee stood, straightened his uniform and cap, and walked out of the copse toward the crossroads. The others followed in column, rifles slung.

The junction between the northern and western roads was garrisoned by three soldiers and a political commissar, a lieutenant, who spotted the approaching party and saluted crisply.

“Report,” ordered Rhee in his best command voice, as he returned the lieutenant’s salute.

“Lieutenant Kang Yong-suk, on post as ordered at 1100, no traffic, one deserter captured.” The lieutenant gestured with an expression of disgust toward the back of the vehicle. A single corporal, dirty and bruised, sat in the back of a UAZ-469 utility truck, gagged, with his hands tied. “He’s from the Second,” the lieutenant explained, indicating the regiment that was attacking. “He was trying to slip past the checkpoint.”

Rhee nodded and turned, but instead of approaching the prisoner, used the movement to conceal drawing a knife. He suddenly turned back and buried it in the lieutenant’s side, just under the rib cage, and angled up. The young officer collapsed. The other scouts were farther away from their targets, and fired their silenced pistols almost simultaneously. None of the North Koreans even had a chance to ready their weapons, much less get a shot off.

After they’d searched the corpses for documents, Rhee ordered, “Put the bodies in the back.” All four then climbed aboard, and with Guk at the wheel, drove over to a clump of trees and dumped the bodies.

With the evidence of their crime concealed, Guk turned the vehicle around and took the western fork in the road. Rhee navigated, while Corporal Ma and Master Sergeant Oh sat on one side in the open back of the truck, facing the astonished prisoner. They’d ignored the deserter the entire time; still bound and gagged, he had watched the team’s actions with horror and fascination. He stared wide-eyed at the commandos.

Oh finished checking his pistol and met the prisoner’s gaze. “Shut up.”

“There’s probably another checkpoint at the next junction, about seven kilometers ahead,” Rhee said. “Be ready to shoot, but I’ll use the lieutenant’s orders and see if we can bluff our way through.” After Guk nodded his understanding, Rhee repeated his instructions to the two in the back.

Rhee sat in the cab, feeling the warm air flow past him, and compared it to their covert progress before. They were covering much more ground, although at greater risk. He’d hoped to find a checkpoint and hijack a vehicle. He just hadn’t expected to do it so quickly. But that had created a new question. What to do with the deserter? To Rhee, the answer was obvious.

“We’re taking the prisoner with us,” Rhee announced suddenly. Surprised, Guk let up on the accelerator pedal for an instant, then refocused on his task. The lieutenant paused for a moment before saying anything, which Rhee thought showed both wisdom and self-control. Rhee added, “We use the same flotation bladders we had on the equipment when we brought that ashore. We don’t even have to untie his hands.” Although they probably would, Rhee thought.

“And there’s room on the submarine,” Guk added, tacitly concurring. The vessel that had brought them to the coast, and would be waiting for them tonight, had room for over a dozen commandos, although a dozen would find it cramped. Five instead of four would not be a problem.

The local road, a two-lane graveled track, headed west. It was rough enough to keep their speed down, perhaps forty kilometers and hour, but it was much, much faster than walking. It crossed another road where Rhee had predicted they might run into trouble, but the junction was unoccupied, and they sped on. The next junction did have a checkpoint, but when they spotted Rhee’s uniform and rank, the soldiers braced and saluted, then waved them through.

They were almost halfway to their objective. The next road junction was near the coast, and Rhee enjoyed a quiet moment as they drove. The fields in this area were tilled, and the crop of potato plants was nearing maturity. Rhee couldn’t see anyone working them, though. He wondered if the farmers had fled or had been killed. He couldn’t believe the crop would be wasted in this starving country. But by the time it’s ready to harvest, Rhee reminded himself, the South will be able to help. Things were about to change.

A thump on the cab’s roof was followed by Master Sergeant Oh’s warning. “Movement on the left ahead. In the field.”

“Keep up your speed,” Rhee ordered, and scanned the low plants. There. He saw long shapes that might be soldiers lying in the rows of green leaves. Guk faced straight ahead as Rhee used binoculars, not only to check the left side of the road, but the right as well. Were they driving into an ambush?

He knew Oh and Ma in the back were ready for anything, but was also conscious of how exposed those two were, although the sheet metal cab offered little protection. Rhee searched the right side again. Nothing. “Be ready to floor it,” he ordered.

“Understood,” Guk answered. He had both hands on the wheel and was braced. They entered what Rhee thought was the kill zone, fifty meters away, and then they were past the spot.

The lieutenant had started to relax, breathing out in a long whoosh, when Rhee ordered, “Stop the truck!”

Guk stood on the brake pedal and Rhee bailed out the right-side door, shouting, “Ma, Oh!” He’d seen a flash of color and made a snap decision. As he came around the back of the truck, Rhee saw figures in the field spring up and run toward a distant wood line. Oh and Ma were already vaulting out of the truck and sprinting after them. Rhee called, “No weapons! Take them alive!”

Now behind the truck with a clear view, he could see two adults, towing a child as they ran. The man swung the boy, five or six, up into his arms and their speed increased.

The chase ended halfway across the field, where Ma tackled the slower woman. The husband hesitated, and Oh reached him, pistol drawn. He raised his hands as Ma pulled the woman to her feet. The adults were quickly searched, and their hands were bound behind them with zip ties. Oh got them started back toward the road, with Ma carrying the struggling child.

The adults were both in their late twenties. The man wore a white shirt and tie, and it was the white color in the field that had caught Rhee’s eye. The woman wore a skirt and drab green blouse, and heels, which certainly had not helped her cross-country performance. As the group passed the spot where the family had lay hiding, Oh picked up a cloth bundle.

Rhee could imagine their thoughts. They had been spotted and captured by the army. Their fate was sealed. Both the woman and child were crying, fearful. The husband’s expression shifted from fear to worry to anger and then fierce control.

As they reached the truck, Rhee gestured to Oh and Ma to load them in the back. The civilians’ eyes widened first at the sign of the battered soldier, gagged and bound, and then gasped at the bloodstains on the truck bed. The mother, barely coherent, begged for mercy, while the man offered unspecified valuables if the woman and child were released.

Taking their cue from Rhee, the soldiers said nothing, but were as gentle as they could be getting the civilians into the truck. Rhee got in the back with them and Master Sergeant Oh. He told Ma to ride in front.

In an attempt to lower the noise level, Rhee drew his knife and cut the woman’s bonds, then gestured to Oh to give her the child. The pair clung to each other, still tearful, but silent. Rhee uncapped his canteen and offered it to the woman. With only a moment’s hesitation, she took a sip herself, testing it, then helped her son take a drink, then a longer one, before taking another herself. She passed it back to Rhee with an expression that combined gratitude and fear.

The truck was moving again, and Oh passed their identity documents to Rhee. They were indeed a family, and the husband was a municipal official in Chongju. They lived in town. While Rhee checked their papers, Oh searched the small bundle. He opened it for Rhee’s inspection to reveal a sheaf of North Korean won, some Chinese yuan notes, a few rings, and a GPS device.

The man, silent until now, tried again to bargain with the commissar officer, almost pleading as he tried to explain why they were hiding in the field as the army vehicle passed. Rhee remained silent, and kept his expression unsympathetic. Finally, the child, exhausted, fell asleep.

The major, with his truck full of prisoners, was passed through the next and last checkpoint with a salute, and they headed toward the coast. He’d been expecting to arrive here on foot, and Rhee had to consult the map to find places where they could hide a large vehicle. A farm building a few kilometers from the shore was the most likely spot, so Rhee had Guk drive the truck as close to the shore as possible. After it was unloaded. Guk would take it alone to the chosen location, conceal it, and then come back as fast as he could.

By now it was late afternoon, but there was still time for Guk to make the trip and be back before sundown. The truck stopped and Guk and the others quickly unloaded, while Rhee kept watch and checked the map one last time. Oh and Ma led the prisoners, in single file, down toward the beach, while Rhee handed the map to Guk and said, “I’ll see you soon.”

Guk saluted and smiled, then jumped into the cab and roared off. Rhee hurried to join the fearful but confused captives as they picked their way across the uneven ground. While Ma and Oh watched the prisoners, Rhee kept watch toward the road. There was no traffic, and it soon disappeared from view as they descended into a gully that led to their cache.

While the two enlisted men recovered the swim gear, Rhee studied his captives, sitting on the ground. He imagined the thoughts going through their minds, but derived no pleasure from sustaining the mystery. Until Guk returned, which wouldn’t be soon enough, the prisoners could not know the team’s true identity.

They took turns keeping watch out to sea, as well as landward. It was almost an hour later that Ma, on lookout near the crest of a grass-covered dune, whistled and held up a thumb. Five minutes later, a winded but cheerful Lieutenant Guk tumbled down the slope and saluted, reporting, “Done.”

With a sigh of relief, Rhee drew his knife and cut the ties on the now thoroughly confused prisoners. Dropping to one knee and facing the group, he said, “In spite of these uniforms, my men and I are soldiers from the South. We will be leaving soon,” he pointed out to sea, “on a submarine that will meet us offshore. If you come with us, you will be safe, although you will be questioned.” He didn’t bother mentioning that if they didn’t want to come, they couldn’t be allowed to live. In the corner of his eye, he saw Guk, standing casually with his weapon at rest, but angled toward the prisoners, just in case.

Rhee could see the captives trying to reason it out. The tale sounded fantastic, but their captors were clearly not KPA soldiers. The corporal spoke up first. He’d seen these men kill North Korean troops, so it was easier for him to believe their story. “I want to go to the South.” He was already marked for death, so if this was some sort of elaborate ruse, he had nothing to lose.

The woman stared at the swim gear lying on the sand. “Will this submarine take us all the way to the South?” She said it as if their destination was the moon.

Rhee nodded. “It will take about a day.”

She looked over to Guk, standing nearby, who shrugged and nodded, then to her husband, who looked as befuddled as her, but he also nodded. She started crying again, but weakly, and clinging to the child in her lap. Speaking for both of them, the husband said firmly, “Yes. Please take us with you. What must we do?”

Rhee smiled. “Let’s fit you all with some flotation gear, and then we’ll take a swim.”