Red Phoenix Burning

Chapter 11 — Exodus

They talked while they ate, her first decent meal in a day and a half, according to what he’d been told. Wearing a plain blouse and skirt, with her hair tied back, she looked tired, but spoke forcefully. “Cho Ho-jin should be released immediately. He has been detained without charges.” If she was enjoying the food, she didn’t say so.

“Miss Fowler, my deputy, Lieutenant Colonel Shin, says that Cho is on their intelligence watch list. Did you know he’s the son of the DPRK general who led their army in the last war? Shin’s recommendation was that Cho be turned over to their intelligence people until his status is resolved.”

“Colonel Little, I can ‘resolve his status’ right now.” She repeated the phrase as if it was as stupid as it was vague. “I know all about his father, who was shot for losing the war, by the way. Cho hated the Kim regime and worked as a spy for the Russians. Here.” She rummaged in her bag and removed an electronic device, handing it to the colonel.

Kevin, more than a little surprised, and absorbing the new information, studied what looked like a top-quality satellite smartphone.

Kary explained, “Cho gave it to me just before we arrived. He knew he would be searched if he was arrested, and the phone would have been taken from him. We used it to find out about the South Korean army’s advance, and to navigate our way here, and to call my father. According to Cho, it uses special encryption and is hard to track.”

“Why would a Russian spy help you?” Kevin asked.

“He’s not a spy anymore,” Kary asserted. “He quit after the Russians sent him on a suicide mission into Pyongyang.” The colonel did not look convinced, and she explained. “The Kim regime executed his father and seized his family’s possessions. His mother died penniless while he was still a child, and he had to live on the street until the Russians recruited him. He doesn’t love the Russians any more than the Kims, but they gave him the chance to strike back at the people who’d hurt his family. But Kim is gone now, so there’s no reason for him to continue.”

“Miss Fowler, people don’t just ‘quit’—”

“He saved a woman’s life after she was severely wounded, by bringing her to my clinic. That’s how we met. He was wounded himself.”

“That’s laudable, but the Russians —”

Adding another bargaining chip, she said, “He was the one who recognized the nerve gas attack, and told me the best way to treat the victims.”

“The South Korean security —”

“He was the one who got us out of Sinan before we were caught up in the fighting, and he was the one who convinced me to call my father. And I know my father wants me to report what I know about the gas attack. What I know, I learned from Mr. Cho. He knows much more than I do, and I doubt if he’ll want to talk while under arrest.” That was her final, and most valuable chip.

They’d eaten lunch in the colonel’s “conference room,” a tent with screened sides that provided shade and a little privacy, away from the busy headquarters tent. While staff cleared away their trays, Kevin used the time to consider her request.

Kevin had heard of Kary Fowler even before she’d arrived, from a message coming down through General Fascione’s headquarters, but originating much higher up the chain. It warned of gas victims arriving in a three-truck convoy and their desperate need for medical attention.

They’d been spotted by ROK scouts north of Kaesong and given an MP escort straight to the Munsan camp. Everyone in the convoy who required treatment was hospitalized immediately.

That’s where he had found Kary Fowler, in the hospital, a small but forceful woman in her mid-thirties, discussing her patients with the medical staff. She’d refused to speak with the colonel until she was satisfied with her patients’ care, and then had immediately turned to Kevin and demanded her companion Cho’s release.

She was an extraordinary woman. It wasn’t the largest single group of refugees that had arrived, but it was large enough, with some seriously injured, and she hadn’t lost anyone. And there were gas victims. And a spy. Or an ex-spy?

“Colonel, can you help me, or is there someone else I should be talking to? I’m grateful for lunch, but if they move Cho…”

Kevin realized he had been sitting silently for too long. “Miss Fowler, I’ll take your request up the chain of command, but the best I think we can do is get him transferred to our custody, here in the camp. Is that satisfactory?”

She answered “Yes!” gratefully, almost joyously, and watched while he contacted Shin and gave the necessary orders. “I’ve already told Eighth Army intelligence about your arrival. Please make sure Mr. Cho is willing to share what he’s seen in Pyongyang. We’re interviewing anyone who’s been near the capital, but I suspect his account will be especially valuable.”

“Will they bring him here?” she asked.

“Yes. He can stay here at Munsan, but I’ll need someone to monitor him on a frequent basis. I could place him in your custody, but that could make your return to the US complicated.”

“What return? I’m not going anywhere. Those are my patients, and…”

“I think the doctors can properly supervise their care.”

“These people won’t trust the doctors. They won’t even understand that they’re getting proper care. They’ve never had it before.”

That got Kevin’s attention. The senior medical officer had briefed him on “cultural differences” between the staff and the refugees, and had already mentioned the same issue.

Fowler continued, “You wouldn’t believe the state of public health in the North. One of the first things I had to do was organize classes in basic health practices and nutrition. None of them have been vaccinated—”

“Miss Fowler, would you like a job?” interrupted Little.

Surprised, she remained silent for half a moment, and gave the colonel a look that said that as far as she was concerned, the jury was still out. “What kind of a job?” she asked cautiously.

“My assistant. Ombudsman for the refugees. Health educator. I’ll give you a dozen blank badges and you can make up a new title every day. I need help, Miss Fowler, if I want to do these people any good. You know what needs to be done, and you speak fluent Korean.”

“I sound like a Northerner,” she complained.

“All the better. The refugees will listen to you, and the Southerners will listen because you’re helping their new countrymen. You can start by organizing those health classes you talked about. We’ve got six camps right—”

“Six!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, six, and all are badly overcrowded. Three new camps are being set up, and they should begin taking some of our overflow in a few days, as well as new arrivals.”

Fowler sat back in her chair, looking like she’d been poleaxed. “You really do need help,” she said.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ I’ll get you quarters with the female officers and some clean fatigues…”

“No.” She said firmly. “No uniforms.”

“No offense, Miss Fowler…”

“Please, call me Kary.”

“Wouldn’t you like a change of clothes?”

She smiled, imagining her bedraggled appearance, but insisted. “You’re right, but no military clothing. I’ll get some scrubs from the hospital.”

“Whatever you want,” Kevin replied cheerfully. “It’s my custom to tour the camp at 1700. Would you like to accompany me?”

It had been a big operation. Hwangju Air Base housed a regiment of Russian-built MiG-21 Fishbed interceptors. The type first entered Soviet service in 1959, and had been out of the Russian inventory for almost thirty years, but they were still flying in the Korean People’s Air Force.

Or had been, before the air base had been hit hard by the ROK Air Force. The antiaircraft defenses — outdated radars, guns, and missiles — had been ruthlessly flattened before a second wave of attackers used smart bombs on the concrete shelters and open revetments that housed the fighters themselves. The strikers had also destroyed the control tower, the maintenance hangars, the fuel system, and anything else to do with airfield operations.

Hwangju existed to protect another nearby installation, nestled against a low mountain some thirty kilometers to the northeast. Sangwon housed a brigade of the North Korean Strategic Rocket Forces, equipped with Rodong-1 ballistic missiles. They were capable of reaching any part of South Korea, and even parts of Japan.

The sounds of the explosions at the air base were still echoing when Surion helicopters, carrying a full company of SOF troopers, stormed the Sangwon base. Gunships covered them, and fighters orbiting high overhead covered the gunships.

Although the garrison, maintenance, and other parts of the brigade were housed in ordinary structures, the brigade’s reason for existence, its six missile launchers, were sheltered in tunnels that had been driven into the rocky slope. Farther back, in caverns blasted inside the mountain, were the missile magazines, with possibly thirty or more missiles. Some of them might be fitted with nuclear warheads.

The missile base had been hit on the first day of the Southern advance, but only enough to collapse the doors that led to the tunnels, and of course destroy the garrison and its antiaircraft defenses. If the launchers couldn’t leave the tunnels, they were not an immediate danger. And even if the missiles weren’t protected by their rocky stronghold, the South couldn’t risk destroying them until they were sure of what was in there. That’s why Rhee’s men were needed.

Only one ten-man team had landed by helicopter near the base, and had noisily attacked, still causing a fair amount of damage. Meanwhile, the platoon’s three other teams landed some distance away before dawn and, approaching on foot, had come in from the other side, achieving total surprise.

Their targets were the entrances to several smaller tunnels used by the missile brigade’s personnel to enter the tunnel complex. Once inside, the teams would have to fight their way down narrow rock tunnels against an unknown number of defenders, while doing as little damage as possible to the facility. And they had virtually no information on the layout of the chambers beyond the entrances.

In addition to the risks associated with armed defenders in tight spaces, any conventionally armed missiles would have seven-hundred-kilogram explosive warheads, and all the missiles were fueled with two corrosive chemicals: red fuming nitric acid and hydrazine. Since the missiles were not filled with fuel until just before launch, large quantities of those deadly chemicals had to be stored somewhere inside.

Every officer in the Ghost Brigade had begged to be given the assignment. General Kwon had personally forbidden Rhee from leading the attack. The colonel satisfied himself with riding in his command helicopter, coordinating with the air force units supporting the attack, while Captain Ji, one of his best company commanders, ran the actual assault. Rhee’s other job was to keep General Kwon and the rest of the brass happy with situation reports. Captain Ji had other things to do.

Rhee’s men quickly secured the parts of Sangwon that were outside the mountain. His helicopter landed, along with more machines carrying a reserve infantry company. They would gather prisoners and search the smoking ruins for anything of intelligence value. He could expect no word from Ji’s force while they were deep inside the mountain. The rock blocked all radio communications from inside.

After fifteen minutes had passed with no word from inside the mountain, Rhee sent the rest of his SOF troopers inside as reinforcements, and prevented himself from worrying by supervising the eager but inexperienced reserve company commander.

After another ten minutes, a runner emerged and reported, “All secure, sir. Captain Ji reports no sign of special weapons.”

Shaking his head, Rhee reported to Kwon, then ordered, “Take me to Captain Ji.”

The personnel access into the mountain was two meters wide, with armored doors that were scarred where Ji’s men had burned the locks away. Rhee followed the hurrying trooper down a pale green tunnel deep into the rock. Florescent fixtures provided enough illumination, but also highlighted a layer of haze near the ceiling.

It stung Rhee’s eyes, and he could taste gun smoke and the acrid tang of flash-bang grenades. Ji’s men had gone in with a triple load of flash-bangs, and tactics for clearing a confined area devoid of friendlies encouraged their use.

He could have traced Ji’s progress by the trail he’d left. Scorch marks, bullet scars, and KPA corpses punctuated the tunnels, and they passed several doors and passages leading in other directions, labeled but still mysterious and still a little threatening. Master Sergeant Oh had returned to his own team, and Rhee missed having someone watching his back.

It took almost ten minutes to reach Ji, who was in a very wide, industrial-looking tunnel with tracks running along the center of the floor. Ji saluted when Rhee appeared. “All parts of the facility secured. Nine wounded, two seriously.”

Nearly thirty percent wounded, Rhee thought. A hard fight. Rhee returned the salute, and responded, “But no WMDs?”

Captain Ji motioned to a sergeant. “Here’s my specialist.”

The sergeant came to attention. “Sergeant Sin Soo-ro, Colonel.” He pointed behind him to a large door in the tunnel side. It was open, with rails from the main tunnel curving inside. “Our first count is thirteen missiles.” He pointed to the opposite side of the tunnel and another open door. “The warheads are stored there, and we count nine. Their markings and configuration are consistent with conventional high explosives. No sign of chemical warheads or nuclear devices.”

Rhee took the time to look into both storage areas. The missile magazine was a vast space, especially considering it had been painfully hollowed out at enormous cost. It could hold twice as many missiles as they’d found. Steel supports networked the walls and ceiling. A crane system overhead allowed the missiles to be moved. Even without their warheads, and without fuel, they still weighed several tons and were fourteen meters long.

The empty missiles could be placed on platforms and then moved on rails. They would be taken to the other space and joined to a warhead, then moved again to a launcher and fueled. To Rhee’s immense relief, none of the missiles had been mated to a warhead, much less moved to a launcher.

But he could hear the disappointment in Captain Ji’s report, and felt it himself. Outside again, he gave a more complete report to General Kwon. “We’re still collecting documents, and intelligence can tell us if they ever were here, but I can confirm there are none here now.”

“This was the last potential nuclear site in your zone of operations, Colonel. So far, Gangrim has found none. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Do you have any recommendations?”

“I’m going with the ‘worried’ option, General. They could all be in a single location, under tight control,” Rhee suggested. “We just haven’t found it yet. There are still more facilities north of Pyongyang, but it is assumed there will be considerably more resistance.”

“That’s possible, but it’s also equally possible that weapons have been dispersed, so they can’t be captured all at once.” The general paused, and added, “We won’t gain insight hashing over old arguments. At this point, intelligence becomes even more important. We have to become detectives as well as soldiers.”

“Understood, sir.”

“One other thing I can tell you about, now that Sangwon is secure. I’ve chosen a commander for the Bongmu garrison, Colonel Ham Seung-min. You won’t know him. He’s been recalled from retirement. He’s in excellent health, and has command experience.”

Rhee was both delighted and a little dismayed. He’d essentially been commanding two bases, with two very different missions. The operation at Bongmu was still going on, of course. It would take weeks for the investigators and forensic scientists to remove the bodies and attempt to identify them.

Lieutenant Gung and his team, except for the badly wounded Corporal Park, had asked to stay and help provide security for the site.

Rhee had agreed. They were out of the fight anyway, and the colonel understood why they wanted to remain. But they weren’t going to do the job by themselves. A company of reserve infantry had arrived yesterday evening, and another was due to arrive soon.

Rhee had insisted that Gung remain in command, especially of reserve troops still shaking the rust off. But that situation was uncomfortable, especially in rank-conscious Korean society. Then they’d received new orders about the refugees: Don’t ship them south anymore. Feed them and keep them there. A mission of that size was beyond even Gung’s capabilities.

But Rhee couldn’t suppress his misgivings. The general had made it a point to tell Rhee that Colonel Ham was in “excellent health.” He asked, “Exactly how old is the colonel?”

“Sixty-seven,” General Kwon answered.” “He’s not the only officer being recalled, either. If we want to take our country back, we will need everyone’s help. And his last assignment was in the supply corps. The colonel will arrive at Bongmu by noon, along with another company of infantry.”

“And a lot of rations,” Rhee added. “Last night, they already had civilians gathering nearby. More will come.”

“It’s easier to ship the food up there than bring them south, feed them, and eventually send them back north. If you can spare enough time to be relieved, that will be his problem, not yours.”

Cho Ho-jin found Kary back at her “office” in the headquarters tent. Although there were always people working, it was quieter after the dinner hour, and it gave her time to think and plan for the next day.

Kary’s office consisted of a table with two folding chairs. A cardboard box under the table held a few items she worked with and several hard-copy printouts she still had to read more carefully. Her badge of authority, a cell phone with Kevin Little’s number already loaded, lay on the corner of the desk. As sparse as her workspace was, it was prime real estate. Colonel Little’s office was just a few feet away.

She sat with two pads of paper on her lap. One had a list of tasks that needed to be done right away, and the second listed things that had to be done before the first list could be dealt with. She was tired, overstimulated, and wrung out. It was a different kind of tired than her recent all-night drive south with Cho.

But she also felt happy, and relaxed in a way she hadn’t felt since the coup in the North had begun. Barring stray missiles or rogue dinosaurs, she was physically safe, the people she was taking care of were safe, and she could work to make things better.

And her latest phone call with her father had gone very well. It was her third or fourth, and while she was telling him about the camp and her work, he was telling her about her cousin’s wedding plans. It was several months off, and she might be able to attend.

She knew other people talked to their families like that all the time, but her anger at her father, turned sideways, had kept her away from the family member closest to her. Kary could be stubborn. She understood that part of her personality. She had Cho to thank for breaking the logjam.

The words on the paper swam, and she shook her head to clear it. At some point, she’d have to go back to the tent she shared with three other women and sleep, but her mind whirled with thoughts that needed to be captured before they flew away. Then she could rest.

Cho came into the tent. She waved and offered him the other chair. Sitting, he reported, “Cheon Ji-hyo just came out of surgery. I spoke with the doctors, and they said there was very little work left for them to do.” His smile broadened. “Gam Sook-ja and the children said to thank Fowler-seonsangnim for saving their mother’s life again.”

Kary sniffed. “And of course, you had nothing to do with that.”

Cho ignored her. “I helped Gam put the kids to bed, and came to find you.”

“I wish I could have been in the surgery. Did they have to…”

Cho held out a hand. “I deliberately did not ask for details. The surgeon is looking forward to speaking with you tomorrow, and he will tell you everything, using words I would not understand. He was impressed. He thinks you are wasted as the camp’s ombudsman.”

Kary laughed and swept one arm around her. “And give up all this?” She added, “It’s a shock, coming from one small clinic, but we can do so much to help these people.”

“And I want to help. Which I won’t be able to do if I have to take that civics class you’re setting up.”

“It’s not all day, and they need it. You need it. The North Koreans have lived three generations surrounded by lies. Plus you can tell me how well it’s working.”

“So now I’m spying for you,” he smiled. “I suppose I can do that.”

She shook her head and gestured vigorously. “No, don’t even joke like that.”

He nodded. “My apologies. Force of habit.” Then his expression became serious. “I do need to speak with you about something else, but not here.”

Standing, Kary tossed the two writing pads on the desk, then reconsidered and retrieved them, along with the cell phone. “Lead on.”

Outside, the area was lit by overhead lights that reminded her of the streetlights back home. They followed a bare earth path that served as Main Street for the Backstop headquarters area, walking from one pool of light to the next.

Beyond one row of tents, they could see the Munsan camp proper. Over twelve thousand people were crammed in an area meant originally for eight. Even some distance from the camp, the many voices blended into a constant hum that might fade at night, but never went away.

It had cooled, although the air remained humid, so it was only warm instead of sweltering. Other Backstop personnel sat outside or walked and chatted. The serenity of it was still novel to Kary, removing a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying.

Curiosity made her want to ask what he needed to talk about, but she trusted Cho to tell her when the time came.

The Munsan camp had been set up in what had been farmland, and the pair quickly came to the edge of what was bare earth and turned into cultivated crops. It was some sort of grain, but she couldn’t tell what type in the dark. Clouds blocked the moon and much of the starlight, and in the rural darkness, she could barely see his face.

He continued to walk, leading her along a two-lane road for some time, until she could see that they were truly alone.

“Do you still have the pistol?”

Surprised, she answered “Yes” automatically. While Cho had of course been searched after his arrest, she and the other refugees and their belongings had not been searched. “It’s in my footlocker in my quarters tent. It’s locked, of course.”

“Could I please have it?”

“What for?” It was a stupid question, and before Cho could answer, she quickly added, “Why do you need it? Do you think the Russians will try to kill you? Here?”

“No, not the Russians, or the South Korean NIS. This is not about espionage.” He sighed, and explained, “Walking around, I’ve seen some things in the camp that… concern me.”

He pointed back toward the camp. “All those people have been thrown together, and they are busy setting up a new society modeled after the only one they know. While you want to help, others want to prey on them. A lot of people left the North, all kinds, and some of them are undoubtedly criminals.”

“But why do this?” she asked. “Tell the South Korean authorities what you saw. It might put you in a better light.”

Cho disagreed. “If the authorities listen. And it’s only hints and suspicions, but I believe there are some in Munsan who were used to living off the work of others. Many will see this as a chance to make a fresh start. Others will keep to their old ways.”

Kary nodded, understanding. “This is a fresh start for you, isn’t it? You’ve done what you wanted. Cheon and her family and the others from Sinan are safe. I don’t know what ex-spies are supposed to do. Shouldn’t you be getting plastic surgery or new fingerprints or something?”

Cho laughed at the idea. “I don’t think that’s what happens. I wish I knew. I don’t know what the North will become, or what it’s like to live in the South. Besides, I don’t want to go anywhere. Here is where I’m needed the most.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” she responded.

“You’re a good teacher,” he replied. “I’ll stay and help you, as long as you’ll have me.”

Cho had said that with some feeling, and Kary thought about that as they turned around and headed back.

It took about fifteen minutes or so to reach the cluster of tents used by female personnel. It was roped off and clearly marked with signs in several different languages, all saying “No men after 2200!” Below that, somebody had written in marker “How about 2215?”

While Cho waited, she hurried to her tent. Two women, both army officers, were reading, while her fourth roommate was absent. Squatting down and unlocking the footlocker next to her bed, Kary rummaged under her few clothes and other possessions for the pistol. Wrapping it in a spare pair of scrub pants, she closed and locked the lid, then hurried out.

Even though she’d agreed to give him the weapon, she was still troubled. If someone was shot by Cho, that was her responsibility. Cho wasn’t a violent person, but she knew he was capable of shooting someone if he had to. And should she even have a weapon, or allow Cho to have it? She was sure the army would discourage civilians from having them, but she also believed that if she’d asked the colonel for permission, he might have allowed her to keep it — reluctantly — but certainly not a North Korean civilian, who had been a spy for the Russians.

It wasn’t a long trip back to where Cho was waiting, and her worries must have shown in her expression, because as she passed him the bundle, he asked, “Please, trust me.”

“I do,” she said, and her worries vanished.