Red Phoenix Burning

Chapter 9 — The Murder of Pyongyang

People unfamiliar with the military often thought that since Colonel Kevin Little commanded the headquarters of the Eighth Army in Korea, that meant he was in charge of the entire Eighth Army. They did not understand that although a colonel was a senior officer, a colonel typically commanded a battalion of maybe a thousand to two thousand people. Or they might not understand exactly how big an army is. The Eighth Army consisted of several divisions, which in turn were composed of several brigades, and each brigade contained several battalions, with each battalion commanded by a colonel.

The battalion that Kevin Little commanded was a special one in the Eighth Army’s organization. The headquarters battalion took care of Lieutenant General Robert Tracy’s command group, and all the headquarters’ communications, intelligence, and logistics staff. It provided security personnel, everyone’s transportation, and everything else they needed, from tents to printer paper. Although not a combat command, which was what every colonel wanted, a badly run headquarters battalion could disrupt the entire Eighth Army — not that Kevin would ever let such a horrible thing happen.

Little had seen his share of fighting in the Second Korean War and in Iraq and Afghanistan. He already had command experience as a lieutenant, captain, and major. Being assigned to command the headquarters battalion was not a bad thing. It meant that he was being groomed for larger responsibilities, and higher rank.

Because the headquarters revolved around the general’s schedule, and Kevin helped manage that schedule, he was able to carve out fifteen minutes when he knew the general would listen to his proposal. He just didn’t know if the general would agree.

General Tracy’s first intelligence brief of the day was at 0730, with his entire staff, and by promising to take over part of the usually half-hour presentation from the intelligence officer, Kevin got a chance to make his pitch. He was almost sure that raising the priority of certain supplies meant for the intelligence section wouldn’t get him in trouble with the IG. Probably. Besides, it was for a good cause.

Colonel Muñoz, the G2, or intelligence officer, covered the air and naval situation quickly, and then went on to detail what they knew of the different faction’s troop movements, which wasn’t very much. The only unusual addition was a section on the progress of ROK troops in their advance north.

It was an unusual advance, of rushes forward of ten or more kilometers, then pauses while a KPA unit was scouted, not only on its position and strength, but its allegiance, and whether it intended to fight or surrender. Belligerent Northern attitudes often changed as attack helicopters or fighter-bombers orbited nearby, waiting for the end of negotiations.

“Indeed, General, the real problem is proving to be logistics. Many of the roads are crowded with refugees, and prisoners coming south are taking up transport and security troops that are needed elsewhere.” Colonel Muñoz pointed to the map display, thick with arrows and unit symbols north of the now-moot DMZ. “Although the eastern part of the peninsula is weakly held, the terrain is so mountainous that the drain on the ROK logistics was too much, and they have shifted most of their effort over to the west.”

“That’s the real prize anyway,” General Tracy observed. “All the big fighting is around Pyongyang. The majority of the factions’ remaining strength is concentrated there. I’d encircle the whole area, then see who wanted to deal with me. The trick is to do it quickly, while the Chinese are still deciding what they want to do.”

It was now 0740, and Muñoz knew he was edging into Kevin’s allotted time. He looked over to Kevin Little, sitting to one side in the area usually reserved for briefers. The general followed his gaze, and spotted Kevin. “Colonel Little, are you giving our G2 a hand?” he asked, smiling.

“I’d like to give you a little more detail on the refugee and prisoner situation, sir, and propose something that would speed the ROK advance.” As he spoke, he walked toward the podium, and Muñoz gave him a controller like relay racers passing a baton.

Kevin pressed a button and a bar chart appeared. “These are the figures for the refugees already housed in the six camps the ROK government has established. They’re already overcrowded.” He pressed another control. “This map shows their locations, and the ROK Army units assigned to run them.”

The next slide was another bar chart, labeled “Projected Increase in Refugees.” Little started to speak, but Tracy cut him off. “You don’t have to convince me there’s a problem, Kevin. Give me the short answer. How bad is it going to get?”

“People are going to start dying soon, mostly from diseases they contract in the camps. They’re malnourished to start with, and weak from the trip south, and many are bringing sicknesses we haven’t seen in the South or the US in decades: tuberculosis, diphtheria, dysentery, and malaria. Most haven’t been vaccinated. And it could spread outside the camps, because so many Southerners are coming there looking for relatives.”

“So you want to send US medical units to assist the ROK forces?” Tracy asked. “I don’t see a problem with that. It’s a good idea, Kevin. I’ll make it happen.”

“It’s only the first step, sir,” Kevin continued. “We have a lot of troops over here that are at a high state of readiness, in case the Chinese come across the border, and we’ve got reinforcements arriving from the US all the time. If the Chinese don’t intervene, or until they do, our troops have little to do but wait.”

He paused, and clicked the controller several times. “This is a list of American units I recommend taking over the existing refugee camps from the ROKs. They’ll also set up more places for the ones still coming.”

Tracy was studying the list while his chief of staff took notes. Kevin pressed his point. “The switch frees up a lot of South Korean troops — military police, engineers, and additional infantry units — to go north. Our armor and artillery units won’t be involved in this, so they’re ready to move, and they are what the Southerners would need most if the Chinese intervened.”

The chief of staff, Colonel Page, asked, “What if the Chinese do come south? We’d have a lot of our people tied up taking care of civilians. I agree armor and artillery would be a priority, but if we’re dealing with the Chinese, one thing we will definitely need is numbers.”

General Tracy nodded. “And the ROK units in the north will be spread out all over creation trying to occupy the country.”

Kevin smiled. He’d thought about that question. “The ROKs are mobilizing reserve units as fast as they can and sending them north as garrison troops. If the Chinese attack, we let the reserve units take our place.”

Tracy smiled. “The Blue House should like this. They get more units for the advance, and if the balloon does go up, we still go north.”

Colonel Page wasn’t convinced. “We will be moving quite a few troops out of garrison to positions just below the border. What will the Chinese make of that?”

“We’ll let the press watch. Public affairs will have full access,” Kevin replied.

Tracy looked on approvingly, and picked up where Kevin had stopped. “And the troops will have something useful to do, helping people instead of waiting for something we hope doesn’t happen. And maybe all those war hawks who want to send us north right now, which would definitely cause the Chinese to jump in, will quit quarterbacking from the bleachers.”

The general smiled broadly. “Well done, Kevin. This gives a boost to the South Koreans, it’s good for our troops, and it will help the Korean civilians; heaven knows they can use it. We’ll call it Operation Backstop, and I know the perfect man to run it.”

Kevin felt a cold hand close around his heart. He didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t think of anything that would prevent the inevitable, and the general just nodded slowly. “Backstop is your baby, Colonel. You’re the man to run it. Turn the battalion over to your deputy. Tell Jane it’s her chance to shine.”

Sergeant Choi came by again that morning, he said on the orders of Mayor Song, to look for “deserters or other criminals.” Two militia soldiers, wearing red armbands and awkwardly carrying automatic rifles, had accompanied the sergeant, but Choi honored Kary’s request that they remain at the front gate while the sergeant made his inspection.

She recognized one of the soldiers as a local shopkeeper, and didn’t trust either one’s competency with firearms, or not to steal something if they could.

Choi made a point of looking everywhere. First the office building, which also had quarters for the CFK staff and a chapel, then the dining hall, with its kitchen and storehouse. The policeman had been polite, allowing the mission’s business to continue as he searched, sharing gossip and what rumors he thought were worth repeating. They were all local rumors, though. All state-controlled media were off the air, and if anybody had a bootleg radio, they weren’t advertising it.

There was no need to talk about the fighting in the city. The whole town could hear the near-constant rumble of artillery and tank cannon, which at irregular intervals would crescendo and then fall in volume, but remained thankfully distant.

The biggest news was still the mayor’s reaction to the fighting. The day after Kim died, Mayor Song had ordered, “that for security reasons Pyongyang residents fleeing the city are to be housed at the Greatness of Labor municipal hall.” The building was one of the largest in town, and served as a meeting place or a theater for socially uplifting entertainment. Officially, they were supposed to be fed and given medical care, but Kary had heard — not from Choi — that the refugees had nothing but bare floors and a thin soup, served once a day.

The last building to inspect was the clinic and dispensary. Choi said, “I’m supposed to inquire about Cheon Ji-hyo and her family that arrived the other day. They must join the others in the Greatness of Labor hall when you think they are able to be moved.”

And which one does the mayor think is the greatest threat? The mother, grandmother, or the two children? But Kary didn’t say that aloud. “She’s still recovering from the first surgery. She needs at least one more operation, and then at least a week in bed.”

“And the man that brought them in, Cho?”

“I sewed up four deep lacerations in his back. He lost a lot of blood. He may be up tomorrow.”

“His papers are in order, but as soon as he’s mobile he’ll be required to volunteer for the local militia.”

Kary nodded. “I’m sure he will be happy to do his duty.”

The sergeant didn’t question her judgment, or press for too many details. The mayor suffered the mission’s existence because she provided medical care the town of Sinan couldn’t. And while he had ordered Choi to take any healthy outsiders to the municipal hall, every person she housed and fed was one less for him to deal with.

Choi ran down the list of other patients at the clinic. They had ten beds, and eight were occupied. Cheon, her family, and Cho were five of the eight who had fled the city, while the other three were locals. Cheon was the worst trauma patient, and the worst local citizen was Rang Gi-taek, in his fifties, who was fighting pneumonia and losing.

With the hospitals closed to all but the party and the army, Kary’s clinic offered the best medical care in the area, both for the locals and refugees from the city. She would have been swamped, but only people who knew about the mission came there.

But as proud as she was to be helping, she also seethed inside at the limits the regime had placed on her organization. She could have done so much more, for people who needed so much and asked for so little. And there were so many she’d lost. Kary had become very familiar with Korean funeral customs.

Standing by the front gate, ready to leave after his fifteen-minute tour, he said, “You are a good woman, Fowler- seonsaengnim, but you should get out of Korea.”

“I can’t leave,” she insisted in her best Korean.

Choi looked over at the two militiamen, and moved a few steps back into the compound, away from the gate. Lowering his voice, for a moment Kary thought he was going to give her another pistol. Instead, he said, “The mayor has declared that this place is not part of Sinan, and is not to be protected. He explicitly ordered me not to respond to any calls for help from here.” He nodded solemnly at her shocked expression, and added, “I will disobey that order if I can, but he actually thinks this place is one of the secret bases our enemies will use to launch the final attack on Pyongyang.” He smiled, but there was no humor in it.

As he walked away, the two soldiers following, she sighed. He probably was giving her good advice. She knew that. He had her best interests at heart. When he’d inspected their storeroom and its meager contents, tucked neatly in one corner, he’d just shaken his head and closed the door. He hadn’t even taken a tin of food.

With Choi’s thankfully short visit out of the way, she’d headed back to her office, via the clinic. She made the rounds as often as she could. Even if there was little she could give them, at least she could keep close tabs on their progress.

As she entered the long room, this time without the sergeant, volunteers and the patients’ family members greeted her quietly. Kary walked down the center aisle, between the double row of beds, speaking with any patients who were awake and checking everyone’s vitals. Few were as sick as she’d told Sergeant Choi, except possibly Cheon Ji-hyo.

The woman was mending slowly, getting by on minimal doses of the clinic’s painkillers and antibiotics. One or both of her kids were always on one side of the bed, her mother Gam Sook-ja on the other.

Kary couldn’t look at Cheon without feeling a little pride. She’d done more surgeries lately than she’d ever imagined, and Cheon Ji-hyo’s shoulder had been by far the most difficult. Bullet and bone fragments had torn through the muscles, but guided by divine hands, she’d repaired the torn muscles and stopped the bleeding. In a few days, Kary would have to go back in to see if she’d…

“Fowler-seonsaengnim.” Cho Ho-jin had left his bed and was standing politely nearby. “May we speak?”

Kary had done a fair amount of stitching on Cho’s back. She tried to remember the Korean word for “quilt.” He was pale, and obviously sore, but he’d been upright since yesterday.

“I haven’t examined you today yet. Do you feel well? If you laid down…”

“Perhaps in your office, or outside.”

She nodded. “Outside then. There’s a little breeze.” They walked to the “patio” and sat, shaded by the awning. Cho removed a T-shirt several sizes too large for him and turned in the chair so she could sit next to him and examine her stitching. He gave her a little while to work.

The four lacerations varied from one relatively deep puncture a centimeter across, to a ragged slash that had some width as well as depth. Bruising was already turning his back into a patchwork of blues and black, but thankfully none of the wounds showed signs of redness or swelling.

As she replaced the dressings, Kary said, “You are a genuine hero, Cho Ho-jin. Cheon Ji-hyo owes you her life.”

“As you said yesterday, but I just got her here. Your care saved her. But let this hero give you some advice. You must leave this place. Right away.”

“That isn’t the first time I’ve heard that advice, and not even the first time today.”

“It’s good advice.”

She spread her hands helplessly. “I can’t. People need us. If I had left, who would have treated you or Cheon?” After a pause, she added, “Besides, it’s over a hundred kilometers to the border with the South, and just as far to the northern border with China.”

“A hundred and thirty to the South and a hundred and eighty to China. I checked.”

“Should I walk? What about the patients? Their families? What would we—”

Cho cut her off. He spoke quietly, but with great intensity. “Questions can be answered, problems solved. The journey is long and perilous. Not everyone reaches their destination. But there are many who have set out, because to stay was even more dangerous. To sit here and hope puts too much trust in your god.”

“I cannot leave these people,” Kary said with such finality that Cho knew the matter was closed. She rose to leave, but Cho put his arm out to stop her, and winced at the motion.

“One other thing, Fowler-seonsaengnim. I am very grateful for your care. I have little to offer in payment, but…” He paused and removed his cell phone and offered it to her. “It’s much better than most of the phones around here. It has a satellite capability, and is hard for the authorities to trace.”

Surprised but intrigued, Kary took the device. Cho could see the wheels turning. She asked carefully, “Is this the type of phone an agricultural inspector needs for his work?”

He smiled. “No, it is not. But don’t ask me what I use it for. I don’t know if you’d like the answer. But I’m sure you’d like to call your family back in America…”

Her face lit up, and she said, “Yes! That would be amazing!” Excited, and unfamiliar with the device, she couldn’t dial it at first, and Cho entered the number for her. Surprisingly, it was a Korean phone number.

“My good friend Anita is in our mission in Sinanju. She has a satellite phone, too,” she explained to Cho, then focused her attention on the phone. “Hello, Anita, it’s Kary!”

Not wanting to listen in on her conversation, Cho nodded and decided to take a short walk. Yesterday he’d walked up and down three times inside the clinic, on Kary’s orders, and today he felt up to walking around the compound.

A low wall surrounded what used to be six buildings, but now was only three. Behind the office, clinic, and dining hall were the remains of three greenhouses. Wooden frames and plastic sheeting hadn’t been much of a barrier to looters. He couldn’t tell when it had happened, but it didn’t really matter. The three buildings, of light wooden construction, wouldn’t stop even a casual intruder. All that work lost. He could imagine her sadness at their destruction.

Cho realized he cared about these people and their foreign benefactor. Perhaps it was all the effort he’d expended getting Cheon Ji-hyo and her family here. He wanted them to be safe.

It was hot. He’d meant to circle all the way around the compound, but a wave of weakness overcame him, and his back started to complain, so halfway through his circuit, he turned toward the clinic. Once inside, he lay down carefully on his stomach. Exhausted, he fell asleep.

Sharp pain woke Cho when he tried to roll over in his sleep. Automatically, he felt for his one possession, the cell phone, and remembered he’d loaned it to Fowler. Standing gingerly, he discovered he actually felt rested, although still sore. He’d been asleep a little over an hour.

The patio was empty, and now in full sun in the middle afternoon. Listening, the sounds of battle to the east seemed louder, but still distant.

Walking slowly, he headed for the middle building. The first door in the long hall was labeled in both English and Hangul as “Office.” It stood half-open, and he could see her in a wooden chair, head cradled in her hands.

At the sound of his footsteps, she turned to face the door. She had been crying, a lot. Cho had meant to ask for the phone, but stopped with the first word half-formed. After a moment, he spoke softly, “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, no, there’s nothing,” she answered, forcing a cheerful tone. She reached to one side of her desk, retrieved the cell phone, and turned to hand it to him. It looked like she was ready to burst into tears again, at any minute.

She is carrying this entire place on her shoulders. Cho wanted to do something, anything for her. As he took the phone, he said, “Even if I can’t help, I can listen.” Cho gently lowered himself into the only other chair in the room. He tried to adopt a relaxed pose, but as his back touched the chair, he winced and quickly sat forward.

The motion bordered on the comic, and Kary smiled, which improved her appearance. She sighed, and explained sadly, “When I called Anita to ask about the mission there, she told me it was gone, stripped bare by refugees headed for the Chinese border — except very few are getting across. The Chinese have lined the border with soldiers. They’re shooting people who try to sneak across.” She sounded horrified and disgusted at the injustice of it.

“So now there are huge squatters’ camps all along the Chinese border, thousands of people with no food or water. They’ve already started to die of thirst and disease.

“And Anita is under house arrest! The local officials blame her for the deaths. They say her mission is supposed to be feeding the refugees — all of them!” She took a breath and tried to sound positive. “But she’s alive, and praying for help.”

It’s what Cho might have expected, if he’d taken time to think about it. But that didn’t make it any better. “I’m sorry that your friend—”

“But the news isn’t all bad,” Kary interrupted. “The South Korean army crossed the thirty eighth parallel two days ago, on the twenty-second, not even a full day after Kim died. They’re advancing quickly, and Pyongyang is their main objective. All we have to do is hang on a little bit longer.”

The news stunned Cho. He’d never really thought about a unified Korea. In his life, it had been enough to punish the Kim regime, to make them pay for what they’d done to his family. He’d never imagined the fatherland actually disappearing, being absorbed into a new whole.

He didn’t know what such a place would be like.

Cho found a quiet spot and used the phone to search the news reports. Media reports, especially in wartime, were unreliable, but it was clear that the Southerners were coming, and in strength. There were many photographs of them in Kaesong, a large DPRK city on the west coast, just north of the border, and fighting at the bridge over the Ryesong River, maybe ten kilometers to the north of that. Enemy scouts would be well forward of that.

But were they the enemy?

He didn’t trust the South Korean government any more than his Russian handlers or the Chinese. And as for the South’s American allies, he’d always thought of them as powerful enemies, as well as the South’s protectors. As far as his politics went, he wasn’t really for anything, but there were a lot of things he was against.

Helping Cheon Ji-hyo and her family had been one of the first positive things he’d done in a long time. This was something to work for.

The South’s goal was Pyongyang, of course. The Kaesong-Pyongyang highway would lead them straight here. Cho considered their progress. The Southerners would have — probably already had — complete air superiority. Any concentrations of KPA resistance would be pounded from the air and then smashed or bypassed. And the KPA was rotten, poorly equipped, and ineptly led. He had seen that with his own eyes. And now the North’s military was splintered and weakened by civil war. The real question was how long they’d last before collapsing completely.

At highway speeds, Southern troops could be here in half a day, but realistically, it might be less than a week, or much more. Or parachute troops might land here tonight.

He went to tell Kary Fowler what he’d discovered. They couldn’t tell anyone else, of course. There would be too many questions about how they’d found out. But he’d change his advice. In a few more days, everything might be very different. He couldn’t imagine what life in a unified Korea would be like, but for once there was cause for hope. Until then, he’d do whatever he could to keep this place, and the people here, safe.

For a brief moment, Cho thought about calling his Russian handler. Pavel Telitsyn was probably worried about him. The man had shown Cho some kindness, but either Telitsyn or his superiors had ordered him to Pyongyang — essentially a death sentence.

He was expendable in their eyes. If he called in now, they would only demand he go back and obtain the information they wanted or die trying. So be it. They had given him his final mission, and as far as he was concerned, he’d fulfilled it to the best of his ability. Now he had a new assignment, to do what he could to keep these people alive.

Contented, he went to see if Kwan, who was supposed to be keeping watch, had fallen asleep again.

The fighting in the city had been heavy all afternoon, if the rumbling was any indication. Even though they were outside the city proper, Cho could hear the difference between the deeper sound of artillery and the sharp crack of tank cannon. There was plenty of both. The other patients said it was the loudest and longest battle they’d heard.

Cho had coped with his worries by joining Kwan on lookout duty. Even with the meager rations, his strength was returning, although it would be weeks before his back was completely healed. Fowler said she’d take the stiches out in a few days, as long as he promised to take it easy. Laughing, Cho had promised to stay away from any battles.

Now, Cho tried to gauge not only the intensity of the fighting, but whether it was getting any closer. It was impossible to tell. Then he saw someone with a rifle running toward the mission. He tensed for a moment, but he spotted the red armband of a militiaman.

Cho found Kary in the kitchen. She had started preparing the evening meal with Ok Min-seo. “Fowler-seonsaengnim, a messenger has brought word that several people from the city are being sent here. He says they are very sick.”

She furrowed her brow. “I thought people from the city were supposed to be taken to the municipal hall.”

“The messenger also said that the mayor won’t let them into the hall, because they might spread disease, and ordered them brought here.”

She put down the knife and wiped her hands. “I’ll be there in a moment. I’ll examine them outside. Please make sure everyone else stays inside. And don’t you touch them either,” she said sharply.

Cho hurried out of the kitchen, shooing a few curious folk inside. He was still telling them it was “Fowler-seonsaengnim‘s orders” when he spotted six militiamen carrying loaded stretchers. Kary came out of the dispensary gloved and masked, and told Cho to bring several spare pallets from the beds to the east side of the dispensary, in the shade. Moon Su-bin helped him find and carry them outside, and by the time the stretcher-bearers arrived, the two had set up places for the patients to lie down.

There were three of them, a man and woman in their twenties or early thirties, and an older man, all in civilian clothes. The young man lay quietly, but the woman was coughing and retching. The older man was unconscious, and his breathing was shallow.

Kary tossed a pair of gloves to Moon, and to Cho as well, then knelt down to examine the woman. She was struggling to breathe, and Cho could see her eyes were watering, and mucous was streaming from her nose.

They didn’t have a portable respirator, but Kary sent Moon back inside for their oxygen bottle. She spoke to the woman, who was wide-eyed with confusion or fear. As she spoke, she placed her hand on the patient’s forehead. “No fever,” she remarked out loud, “but she’s soaked with sweat.”

Moon returned with the oxygen bottle. Kary placed the mask over the woman’s mouth. The woman calmed, but couldn’t lie still. Her arms and legs spasmed and twitched, even as her expression softened.

While Moon held the mask, Kary examined the woman for other symptoms or wounds, but announced “No trauma,” with a combination of relief and curiosity.

“How are her pupils?” Cho asked.

Surprised by the question, Kary answered, “Both pinpoint and unresponsive.”

Cho’s insides tightened, and chills ran through him. “Look for inflammation in her nose and mouth,” he instructed.

Kary used a penlight, then confirmed his suspicion. “Bright red, almost like a burn.” She stood quickly and turned to face Cho. “What is this?” she demanded.

“Nerve gas, probably sarin,” Cho answered. “Absorbed through the skin or inhaled,” he gestured to the female victim, “which is likely what she did.”

Cho could see the diagnosis shocked Kary, but she stayed focused, probably because she had patients to take care of. She asked, “Is there any treatment that you know of, other than atropine, administered immediately?”

Cho shook his head sadly. “No, at this point it’s just supportive care. But they probably still have the chemical on their clothes or skin. If so, they’re still absorbing the toxin, increasing their dosage. They have to be decontaminated immediately, along with anything they have touched.” He held up a gloved hand. “Your instincts were good. We can’t touch them directly. The good news is soap and water — lots of both — breaks the chemical down. Their outer clothing should be buried.”

Moon reported, “Fowler-seonsaengnim, this one is dead.” She was pointing to the younger man.

Kary nodded sadly. “We’ll decontaminate him as well.” For a Korean funeral, bathing the deceased was the first step in preparing the body anyway. She turned to Cho. “Will you please instruct the militia soldiers while I tend to my patients?”

While Kary gave orders to her helpers, Cho explained to the militiamen how to decontaminate the stretchers and anything else the patients had touched, and what symptoms to watch for.

He also told them to note any shells or rockets that did not explode with their customary force, or that seemed to give off smoke or vapor. They were so rattled by the words “nerve gas” that he had to repeat his instructions twice, and he wasn’t sure they would remember any of it.

She was waiting for him after he sent the militiamen off. “Those men are afraid,” she observed.

“They have every right to be,” Cho answered. “They have neither the knowledge nor the materials to protect themselves, or this town.”

“How long does nerve gas last?” she asked.

“Sarin is ‘nonpersistent.’ It breaks down after several hours, although pockets in sheltered areas can remain dangerous longer. Sunlight and water causes the gas molecule to break up. It’s hot today, which will speed the process, but it also makes the chemical more active, more lethal, until it does. Other types of nerve gas are ‘persistent.’ Their effects can last for weeks or months. If someone has used chemical weapons in the fighting, then part of Pyongyang, probably a large part of the city, is poisoned.”

“Why a large part?” she asked.

“Because nerve gas is an area weapon. Using only a few shells or rockets accomplishes nothing.”

“Someday I hope you will tell me how you know so much about sarin, and about your phone.”

“When we have the time, Fowler-seonsaengnim, you may ask me any question you wish, and I will tell you the truth.”

They were almost at the entrance to the clinic when Cho suddenly stopped walking. “Fowler-seonsaengnim,” he said firmly, “we must leave this place. Now. Immediately.” Cho’s tone was urgent, almost frantic.

“Are we in danger here? Can the gas drift that far?” she asked.

“Not from the center of the city,” Cho answered, “but from western edge, yes. And the fighting will spread,” he added. “Parts of Pyongyang are now impassible. The combatants will have to fight elsewhere.”

The look of fear on Kary’s face told Cho she understood the threat. Like the other horrors of war, civilians always suffered far more than the soldiers.

“But my patients, the staff…”

“Anyone who breathes is at risk. The whole town should get as far away from the city as possible.”

“Then go,” she said. “You’re recovered enough. The stiches can come out…”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not without Cheon Ji-hyo and her family. I can’t leave them after all the effort to get them here. And I won’t leave without Moon Su-bin, or you.”

“But they need me here.”

“You have to be alive to help them. And we might meet one or two people on our way that could use your skills.”

Cho could see that she was weakening, and felt a surge of hope. Cho pressed his point, mind racing as he proposed a plan. “We do it right away — this instant. Tell your staff and patients to gather their families here.”

“But the neighborhood monitors will find out. They’ll never allow it.”

Cho shook his head in disagreement. “Didn’t you say Sergeant Choi was in charge of this neighborhood? Considering what you’ve told me, he’ll probably help us load the trucks.”

“What trucks?” she asked.

“The ones I’m going to get from the town’s collective, ‘on the orders of Song-dongji‘”

“But…”

“Right now, those panicked militiamen are spreading news of the nerve gas through the town. The mayor and his officials will be so terrified that by the time he understands what’s going on, we will be gone.”

She remained silent, considering his plan. Her face was a mask, and his fears grew that she’d say no. Finally, Kary reluctantly nodded. “All right. I’ll get us organized here, but I’m sending Moon Su-bin with you. Her cousin Ja Joon-ho works at the collective’s motor pool, and he can drive.”

Cho walked off at a brisk pace with Moon in tow. Kary had placed her trust in a surprisingly knowledgeable stranger with a mysterious background. She said a quick prayer for their success and ran into the clinic. It only took a few minutes to tell everyone what they were doing. It really wasn’t a detailed plan. Most nodded, willing to trust her — in fact, willing to trust her with their lives.

Messengers ran off to gather families. By now, word of the desperately sick patients that had just arrived was spreading through the town, overlapping with the stories about the nerve gas. She proposed that, if questioned, people were coming to the clinic “to check on their family members.”

Once the staff was moving, Kary took the time to speak with each of her patients. Gam Sook-ja, Cheon Ji-hyo, and the other patients from Pyongang were eager to leave. They had no ties to Sinan, and had already suffered in the fighting. Now their home was poisoned. They couldn’t go back for some time.

The other patients were also willing, except for Rang Gi-taek. He was barely conscious, and one of his grandchildren spoke on his behalf. “We were preparing to take him home anyway. We will do it now.” If it was possible, Koreans near death were brought home, not only for comfort in their last hours, but so that their spirits would be rooted to the place where they had lived, and not become lost.

There was precious little food and medical supplies to take, and Kary knew that eventually they would have lost it to looters, or seen it destroyed when her mission was engulfed in fighting. It might be enough to keep them alive until they reached the advancing Southern army.

Thoughts about armies caused her to step outside and listen to the sounds of the fighting. To her newly experienced ears, the shelling and gunfire seemed no closer, but intense. She often compared it with the sounds of a summer thunderstorm. She prayed it would remain distant.

Families began arriving in ones and twos and threes, and they were told to wait in the clinic. Some of them were telling wild tales about the fighting in the capital, or what was happening elsewhere in Sinan. None of the news was good, and Kary saw justifiable fear start to become unreasonable panic, to the point where she told Ok Min-seo, the cook, to put every able-bodied soul to work at anything she could think of.

With no immediate crises apparent, Kary took a few minutes to gather a few personal items from her quarters and the office. She wanted to take the Bible from the chapel. It had been a gift from her family, but she weighed its worth against the danger of being discovered with “religious items.” Standing in the chapel, considering, she heard the sound of truck engines.

She ran outside to see two, then three trucks turn off the road into the mission. She waved them around back, behind the dining hall, and ran in between the buildings to meet them there. Cho and Moon were in the first one, a blue stake truck that had been fitted with wooden sides, then a military-looking flatbed, and then another stake truck that might have been white, a long time ago.

She ran up to the cab as Cho stopped with a screech that hinted at badly needed brake work. As he climbed down, she said “Three? How…”

“There was almost nobody there. Ja”—Cho pointed to a young man getting out of the second cab—”was the senior person at the motor pool. The city government is in chaos. They’ve received orders that Sinan is to become a ‘fortress against the counterrevolutionaries,’ whoever they are.”

“Most of the city officials have fled.” The different but familiar voice belonged to Sergeant Choi, getting out of the passenger’s side of the second truck. He ignored her surprised expression. “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking my advice, Kary Fowler- seonsaengnim.”

Dumbstruck, Kary could only nod, and Choi continued. “Song Kwang-sik,” the sergeant almost spat out the mayor’s name, “has taken his family and six of the militia as an escort and headed for the Chinese border. Most of the town officials are following his example.” Kary noted that Choi hadn’t used the customary “ dongji “ title when referring to the mayor, which made the use of his name almost an insult.

People had come out of the clinic and the other buildings to look at the new arrivals, and Choi said, “Military units are en route to occupy the town and set up defensive works. We don’t have any time to spare. Any civilians left here will be drafted either as militia or laborers. Come on, I’ll help you get loaded.”

The patients and supplies were put on first, split between the three vehicles, and then the others began to board, to find the trucks already had some passengers. Choi explained, “My niece and her husband and children are on the last truck. Other citizens of Sinan also want to go with you. You should have enough space for everyone; in fact you have to, because as far as I know, these are the last three working vehicles in town.”

He saw her start to ask a question, and held out a hand, forestalling her. “I’m not coming. I have family here that can’t be moved, and with the mayor and the others gone, I’m now the senior official. I’ll do what I can to keep everyone still here safe. But I have a parting gift.”

He handed Kary an official-looking form. “One of the mayor’s last official acts was to issue himself travel orders allowing him and his companions to travel freely anywhere in the country.” He smiled. “My niece’s husband was in charge of drafting the document and accidentally made a second copy, which, in his haste, the mayor also signed.”

Almost in tears, Kary reached to hug Choi but he stepped quickly back. “The mayor and I have been trying to get you to leave since the day you arrived. I’m sure he’d approve. Now get out of here, as quickly as you can.”

The convoy pulled out, heading west, away from both Sinan and Pyongyang. Cho drove the lead truck with Kary on the passenger’s side, and she leaned as far as she could out the window, keeping the now-empty mission in sight for as long as she could. As familiar as it had been to her, she was now terrified of forgetting what it looked like, and she studied and memorized everything she could, until it passed behind a hill and out of sight. Once it was gone, she finally let the tears come.