Red Phoenix Burning

Chapter 12 — Shock and Awe

Vice Admiral Gong Kyeong-pyo looked back at the dark silhouettes as his “armada” sailed in three long columns toward its objective. Never before had so many ships of the Korean People’s Army Navy sailed together in such a massive formation. He felt immense pride as more shadows became visible against the slowly brightening sky. Twilight was in full bloom, the eastern sky glowing a deep crimson. Dawn would peek over the horizon in another half hour, and then their attack would begin.

The admiral considered it a small piece of good fortune that all his ships were still together after their three-hour transit in the dark. It was the only good news he’d had for some time. Four days earlier, South Korean forces had bombed the submarine bases at Mayang-do and Chaho. Fourteen of the East Coast Fleet’s Type 033 Romeo-class submarines were either sunk or severely damaged, along with many of their infiltration midget submarines. The following day, the imperialist puppet’s ground troops seized the naval base at Changjon. What had initially started out as an internal revolution had now become a three-way fight — only the third party had much more weight to throw around. Both the General Staff and KWP factions’ strength had already been weakened, and would continue to do so with each passing day as the two sides engaged in vicious battles.

The fascists were taking advantage of the DPRK’s internal crisis to pick the meat off their bones. That was why the General Staff committee had approved the amphibious assault at Wonsan. They had to quickly defeat the Korean Workers’ Party forces there and then establish a strong defensive line against the approaching invaders. Given the last reported Southern rate of advance, the imperialists would reach Wonsan in only a few days.

The east coast’s mountainous terrain was slowing the Southern forces a little, but intelligence reports put ROK Army scouts at the outskirts of Tongchon and Hoeyang. Senior naval officers had pushed hard for the amphibious assault, even though they acknowledged it was a risky plan. If the General Staff followed their own more conservative approach, they would find themselves squeezed between the KWP and the fascists. The committee chose the lesser of the two evils.

“Comrade Vice Admiral,” announced Senior Captain Song Dong-shin as he walked on to the frigate’s bridge wing. “We are approaching the turn point. Distance to turn is five kilometers. The only contact we hold is a surface surveillance radar on the southeast coast of Ryo-do.”

Gong grunted. The radar on the large island outside the entrance to the harbor was expected. Reconnaissance Bureau sniper troops had watched as the radar, and its accompanying missile battery, were emplaced on the island — moved from one of the coast defense sites near Wonsan. It was the only seaborne defense that the KWP faction had; the patrol boats berthed at the Munchon naval base had all been scuttled by their crews.

“Very well, Song. Order the gunboats to proceed. Their orders are to support the sniper troops in neutralizing the missile battery. Then deploy the missile squadron to port, just in case the imperialists show up.”

“At once, Comrade Vice Admiral!”

Gong raised his binoculars and surveyed his fleet again — almost fifty ships. It would be more accurate to call them “boats,” as only a handful of the vessels displaced more than one hundred tons. Flashing lights began flickering astern. His orders were being sent out. Soon the Soju-class missile boats would peel off to port and screen the fleet from any enemy approaching from the south. At the same time, the two gunboats were to head straight for the missile battery.

Their small guns had little chance of silencing the battery, but they would provide the necessary diversion to allow the concealed sniper troops to attack and eliminate the radar, the missile launchers, and their crews. It was unfortunate that the two old veteran ships would likely be destroyed in the process, but their loss would not be in vain. A klaxon sounded behind him; the flagship was going to battle stations.

The battered man leaned on the silent radar repeater for support. His body ached every time he moved. He stared out the bridge window, still wishing he had died with his crew. The captain also felt ashamed that he hadn’t been able to carry out his orders to scuttle his ship. The newly modified missile patrol craft had been docked across the harbor, undergoing repairs to one of the diesel engines and other systems. He didn’t receive the order directly. Their communication system was down, but he did notice the other patrol boats starting to settle at their berths, and the smoke rising from the boats stored on shore. Before he could pass the word, KWP troops had stormed aboard and started shooting. Every last member of his crew was executed and he was severely beaten, but left alive. They needed him.

“So what do you think of our strategy, Comrade Captain?” asked the political commissar. He wore the rank of major, but Captain Hak had no idea what his name was.

“I’m not your comrade, Major,” Hak spat out defiantly.

“No, I suppose not,” retorted the short, scrawny young man. His arrogant smile grated the captain. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

“Hiding behind an island is for lesser vessels,” scoffed Hak. “This ship was built for speed and stealth. She was designed to dart in undetected, fire her missiles, and dart out. You waste her best attributes sitting here in the shallows behind a rock.”

Special Patrol Craft 1001 was one of three surface effect ships in the North Korean navy, a high-speed patrol craft that rode on a cushion of air, reducing her drag in the water. Her hull was shaped to reduce her radar cross-section, but the added guns and other equipment on her deck largely negated any benefit.

“Perhaps, Captain. But even a cheetah stays low, hiding in the tall grass, pouncing only when its prey is within reach. We’ll use your ship’s speed, but only when our targets are in sight.”

“And then you will die,” Hak observed confidently.

The political commissar was losing patience with this fool. The only reason Hak was alive was so he could direct the special patrol craft with its four Kh-35, or SS-N-25, antiship missiles into position and fire them. After that, the major had no further use for him.

“Comrade Major!” interrupted a sergeant. “The missile battery command post reports two contacts approaching at high speed.”

“See, Captain. Now it begins.” That irritating smile again. “Please get us ready to attack.”

Captain Park watched the large flat-panel display with amazement. If anyone had told him the Korean People’s Navy could put forty-seven ships into a single formation, and sail under full EMCON, he would have dismissed them as an imbecile. But there it was, right before him. Three long columns of ships moving, more or less, in a straight line and not a single radar was emitting. “Astounding,” he whispered quietly.

The video feed from the Super Lynx’s FLIR sensor turret allowed Park to keep a close eye on the enemy fleet while keeping himself radar silent. The North Korean ships had just finished executing a turn to starboard. It wasn’t pretty, but they all managed to stay in formation. There was no doubt now; they were heading for Wonsan. Judging by the infrared video, there were at least two dozen amphibious ships. The North Korean General Staff had apparently learned a thing or two from the US Navy; they were attempting to flank their opponent from the sea. Park found himself begrudgingly impressed.

“Captain, the four patrol craft that broke off from the main formation have been identified as Osa I — type missile boats. They’re establishing a screen approximately five nautical miles off the formation’s port side,” reported the tactical action officer.

Park glanced at the main plot; the SAG still had plenty of distance before coming into radar range of this new screen, should they begin transmitting. “Very well, TAO. We’ll remain on this course for a little longer. Have the other two ships gone to general quarters?”

“Yes, sir, all ships are at battle stations, with radars and weapons warmed up and in standby.”

The captain grunted his acknowledgment.

“Comrade Vice Admiral, all ships have completed the turn,” reported Song.

“Excellent, Senior Captain!” smiled Gong, pleased that everything seemed to be going as planned. “Have the bombardment squadron assume their position at the head of the formation. Stand by to execute the rocket barrage. Also alert the hovercraft and light landing craft to prepare to assault the beach.”

“Yes, sir.”

Within moments, the eight Chaho-class attack craft passed by the flagship to port and assumed a line-abreast formation ahead of the fleet. Each boat was armed with a BM-21 rocket launcher that would salvo forty 122mm rockets in a single burst. The concentrated barrage was to be launched just as the hovercraft reached the beach. The slower Nampo light landing craft would immediately follow, along with the six Chong-jin — class gunboats providing dedicated naval gunfire support. Three larger Hantae-class landing ships would bring up the rear, with half of the troops and the twelve main battle tanks.

The fifteen Kongbang hovercraft carried two battalions of Reconnaissance Bureau amphibious sniper troops, or North Korean special operations forces. The beach had a low grade and an unobstructed approach to the Wonsan airport. The hovercraft would be able to run right up to the closest buildings before discharging the sniper troops. Their first task would be to establish a beachhead for the slower light and medium landing craft that would follow. If all went well, over 2,100 troops and a dozen tanks would be dumped behind the KWP defensive positions. The amphibious troops would be in a perfect position to roll up the seaward flank, just as units from the First Corps conducted a general assault along the entire defensive perimeter on the landward side.

“Admiral! Missile alert!” shouted Song.

Gong burst through the bridge to the starboard wing and saw the four bright flashes in the early morning sky as the missiles were launched from Ryo-do. He hoped the two gunboats saw the flashes as well; otherwise they’d be dead in a little over two minutes. The admiral shook his head; there was nothing he could do to help them. He needed to concentrate on getting the troops ashore.

“Senior Captain, signal the fleet, all ahead flank! Energize radars!”

Hak saw the bright glare from the missiles’ booster rockets as they rose from the island. Shaking his head he mumbled, “Idiots.” They’d just wasted half of their firepower by launching an attack on what were undoubtedly decoy ships. The politically reliable KWP soldiers didn’t seem to understand what was happening; at least he hoped that was the case.

“Ah, see Captain! My comrades have already begun the attack. It is time for us to move out,” squealed the major. Hak almost laughed at the man’s naïveté.

“Very well,” acknowledged the captain. “Helmsman, ahead two-thirds, steer course one zero zero.”

The young soldier looked down at the control panel, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to find the throttle. Grumbling, Hak walked over, followed closely by the political commissar. Pointing to a lever, Hak said, “This. Move it up two notches.”

As the ship began to move, the loudspeaker suddenly blared, “MULTIPLE RADAR EMISSIONS, BEARING IS TO THE LEFT, FIVE DEGREES.”

“There are our targets, Captain, as expected,” smirked the major.

“Captain! Missiles have been launched from Ryo-do. They are not heading in our direction! And we have numerous ESM hits on surface search radars, all coming from the DPRK fleet.”

Park looked up and saw the four missile icons as they moved slowly from the island. They were Russian Styx variants, or perhaps KN-01 cruise missiles. Either way, they were slow, high fliers, easy targets. But most importantly, they weren’t coming toward his ships. Still, someone had just launched missiles and the large formation had lit off all their sensors, and that changed everything. “Stand by to energize radars!”

As soon as the boosters cut out and fell away, Gong lost sight of the missiles in the darkness. Flashes from near the horizon meant the two gunboats were firing their guns and chaff launchers. Silently he urged them on. Thirty seconds later, two bright flashes suddenly bloomed. At least two missiles had hit, and flames could now be seen dancing along the darkened skyline. Turning back toward the island, Gong saw a glowing line of fire along the coast of Ryo-do. Raising his binoculars, he could see the launchers were burning furiously. An explosion or two later, and the command vehicle was engulfed as well. Satisfied, Gong watched as the hovercraft screamed by his frigate at forty-five knots.

“Energize the surface search radar,” ordered Hak. The KPW soldier looked at the major, awaiting confirmation of the order.

“Is that wise, Captain?” asked the commissar. His hand hovered near his holster.

“If you want to shoot missiles, then we don’t have a choice,” lied Hak.

“Very well. Energize the radar, Sergeant.” The soldier looked around for the transmit button. Completely frustrated, Hak walked over and pushed the man out of the way, turned on the radar, and put his face on the viewing hood.

After a few sweeps he barked, “Firing bearing, green one zero, range thirteen kilometers.”

“What kind of foolishness is this, Captain?” yelled the major as he pulled his pistol. “What do you mean by green?”

Hak rolled his eyes. The man was utterly clueless. He screamed, “Green! As in starboard! To your right!” The captain raised his right hand to emphasize his point. “The firing bearing is right one zero degrees, firing range is one three kilometers! Have your men enter that data in the fire control computer and quickly. You don’t have much time before they figure out what is going on and shoot missiles at us!”

The political commissar hesitated, then nodded curtly to the phone talker, who passed the firing data to the missile control console. Moments later the soldier reported, “Missile firing data entered.”

“Fire!” shouted Hak.

“Comrade Vice Admiral, we have a surface search radar close by, bearing green zero zero seven degrees” reported Song. The vice admiral marched over to the frigate’s radar repeater and looked along that bearing. A faint blob showed briefly. He knew exactly what he was looking at.

“Urgent missile attack!” commanded Gong. “Firing bearing, green zero zero seven degrees, range one zero kilometers. Fire four missiles!”

The two North Korean combatants fired almost simultaneously, with four missiles leaping from each ship’s launch tubes. The missiles climbed rapidly, jettisoned their boosters, and dropped just as quickly back down to low altitude, skimming the water’s surface. It took only forty seconds for the missiles to cover the distance between the two ships.

Gong watched with fascination as the four missiles launched from the hostile patrol craft passed just in front of the Najin-class frigate’s bow. The seekers soon activated, but not before they had passed — they never had a chance to see the target.

Hak eyed the major as the commissar watched the missiles fly off toward the fleet. The KWP commissar waited impatiently for the expected glorious result, but there were no explosions. Enraged, the major turned and roared, “How could we possibly miss all of those ships? You intentionally sent them off in the wrong direction!”

The angry man lunged toward Hak and struck him across the face with his pistol grip. The captain was thrown to the floor, dazed.

“You shall die for your treason!” snarled the major.

The North Korean captain struggled to regain his senses from the blow. Once his vision came back into focus, he saw the crimson-hued face of the political commissar. Then Hak started laughing. It was the last thing the major heard.

Gong looked on with smug satisfaction. Two of the missiles had slammed into the surface effect ship, essentially disintegrating it. Looking through his binoculars, all that remained was a pool of burning fuel on the water, dotted with bits of floating debris. Now there would be nothing to stop him from putting the troops ashore.

“Missile alert! Active seekers bearing two nine zero. Missiles identified as SS-N-25s,” shouted the ESM operator.

Park’s head snapped back toward the master display; four bearing lines pointed in the direction of the incoming weapons. “How did…” The captain shook his head; there would be time to ask questions later, assuming they survived. For now, he had to act.

“Energize all radars! Weapons are released! Engage surface and air targets.”

“Comrade Vice Admiral,” Song cried. “Multiple hostile radars bearing red one six one!”

Gong raced to the port bridge wing and stared aft. On the horizon he could see one glowing flash after another. Missiles were being launched. “No!” he growled.

Spinning about he yelled at Song, “Order the missile squadron to engage! All ships, missile alert to port!” As Song began repeating the orders over the radio, Gong looked back to see the Soju missile boats already peeling away. He could only hope there weren’t many ships in the imperialist’s formation, otherwise they would all be dead.

The Soju missile boats began shooting their elderly Russian Styx missiles. One after another, each missile leapt from the launcher and arced skyward. There was nothing else to do but wait. It could be several minutes before the missiles would appear over the horizon.

“Missile alert! The Osa missile boats have launched,” yelled the TAO. There was fear in the man’s voice.

Park saw the sixteen new radar tracks, the icons showing the missiles’ location as they sped toward his ships. They had somehow walked right into a trap. Park knew his SAG was in real trouble. Even though the Styx missiles were less capable, there were more of them and they were closer. “Engage Styx missiles with SM-2! Have Yangmanchun prepare to engage with Sea Sparrow! All ships stand by with countermeasures!”

The KDX–II destroyer’s forward vertical launcher erupted in flames as SM-2 surface-to-air missiles thundered out of their launch cells and raced toward their targets. Moments later, two explosions marked the deaths of a Styx missile. More SM-2s were launched, but this time the intercept was a lot closer.

Park watched as his flagship downed six Styx missiles in rapid succession. Now, Yangmanchun began firing her shorter-ranged Sea Sparrows. Confident that the threat from the older antiship missiles was being dealt with, Park turned his attention back to the newer SS-N-25 Switchblade missiles that had been fired earlier, but from further away. His formation was in an optimum position to deal with the Styx attack, but not so well against the more modern threat. Specifically, the least capable ship, Masan, an Ulsan-class frigate, was the closest to the incoming attack. She had no missile defenses and most of her guns were manually aimed. They would be next to useless against a small sea-skimming target.

“Bridge, CIC, signal hard left rudder, new course two four five. All ahead flank. Execute immediately,” barked Park over the intercom. By changing course to the left, he hoped to unmask his aft director in time to get a shot off. If not, he needed to bring his point defense gun to bear, just in case. It was going to be close.

As the three ships started their turn, the SS-N-25 missiles cleared the horizon, their seekers looking for a target. Choi Young fired another two SM-2s, but only her forward director had a clear line of sight. Yangmanchun was out of the fight, her directors blocked by the flagship, but the KDX–I destroyer began popping chaff to try and lure the missiles away from the formation.

One of the SM-2s faithfully guided in and destroyed an antiship missile — splash one. But by this time, one of them was now heading directly to Choi Young; the other two had locked onto Masan. Park ordered the RAM operator to fire two rolling airframe missiles at Masan‘s assailants, then engage the one missile homing in on his ship. At a distance of half a mile, one of the RAM missiles locked onto the Switchblade’s infrared signature, homed in, and exploded — splash two.

Masan was not so fortunate. The point defense missiles couldn’t turn fast enough to catch the crossing targets as they flew by. The frigate’s guns had opened up, and tracers were streaming from all along the hull. One of the SS-N-25s was hit and detonated a hundred meters from the ship, pelting the hull and superstructure with high-speed fragments — splash three. But it was the fourth missile that killed her. It hit the frigate right at the waterline, burrowed deep inside her, and detonated. The force of the blast ripped the hull apart and broke the ship’s back. Masan was split in two. With both parts engulfed in fire, she slowly began to sink.

Gong knew the missiles were close when all four Soju missile boats suddenly exploded, bursting into flames. The fleet began firing all its guns in the general direction of the attacking wave, but there was little hope they’d do much good. Then explosions started dotting the port and center columns. The smaller gunboats simply disappeared after the massive blast, vaporized.

The 30mm Gatling guns on the frigate began roaring as they spewed projectiles toward the oncoming Harpoon missiles. One was hit and pitched into the sea, but another plowed into the hull amidships. The shock threw Gong to the deck. The lights flashed and then went out, as all electrical power was lost. The mortally wounded ship began leaning to port. The sound of fire raging below decks could be heard on the bridge. Great Leader was dying.

The admiral pulled himself up and struggled to the port bridge wing. Many of his ships were on fire, sinking; some were just gone, burning fuel marking their last known position. Then Gong saw the three Hantae-class landing ships. All had been hit. One had already capsized and another was being consumed by a firestorm. The South Korean onslaught of twenty-four Harpoons had ripped the heart out of his fleet.

The eleven members of the Central Military Commission sat in complete silence, awestruck by what they were hearing. An army senior colonel from the Second General Staff Department’s Second Bureau was wrapping up the intelligence assessment on the North Korea situation. The news was all bad.

“Late this morning, elements of the ROK Third Army overran the General Staff faction’s defenses at Sariwon,” said the senior colonel as he pointed to the large map display. “Resistance was limited, as the South Koreans had an overwhelming advantage in numbers and airpower. As of noon today, South Korean forces had penetrated over one hundred kilometers into DPRK territory in the west, and nearly seventy kilometers along the eastern coast. At their current rate of advance, both Pyongyang and Wonsan will fall in the next two to three days.”

President Wen sat quietly while the other members debated amongst themselves. This was the CMC’s sixth meeting in the last four days, and there was a growing consensus that China had to do something — but exactly what still eluded them.

“Senior Colonel,” injected the PLAN commander. “You say Wonsan could be taken by the South Koreans rather quickly. What about that General Staff amphibious attack force you told us about yesterday? Were they successful in landing and flanking the KWP positions?”

The senior army officer took a deep breath. What he was about to say wouldn’t go over well. “Admiral, the intelligence information is only a few hours old, and there is still considerable analysis to be done, but the initial estimate is that the General Staff faction landed only about half of their troops. The rest were lost when a ROK Navy missile strike inflicted severe casualties on the attack force.

“Of the four dozen ships and small craft in the fleet, approximately one-third was sunk outright. Some of the larger ships suffered heavy damage, and may have sunk as well. And while the DPRK special forces were landed and inflicted considerable casualties on the KWP units, neither the General Staff nor the KWP has a strong hold on Wonsan. Neither will be able to stop the ROK First Army from taking the port. As for the East Coast Fleet, it has sustained excessive losses and has ceased to be a viable force.”

“What about the North Korean air force?” demanded the PLAAF’s top general.

“The ROK Air Force has near complete command of the skies,” answered the senior colonel. “Any DPRK aircraft that manages to get airborne is soon intercepted and shot down. The South Koreans appear to have an extremely good knowledge of the airspace. A Y-8 electronic intelligence aircraft that we sent to collect tactical radio traffic off of Pyongyang was intercepted by six ROK F-16s and escorted to the border. The intercept was very professional. The lead pilot even asked our aircraft to leave politely, in passable Mandarin.”

“They’re acting like it’s their airspace!” complained the air force commander.

“And the Americans must be helping them. Their E-3 aircraft are orbiting just across the DMZ,” added the minister of national defense. The debate was going nowhere. Wen had had enough.

“Yes, Comrades,” he interrupted. “The Americans are providing support to the ROK forces, support that is in full compliance with their defense pact. Have you even bothered to notice that every single last American unit is south of the DMZ?”

“But, Comrade Chairman, the Americans have been bringing in a steady stream of reinforcements for the last four days. They are merely buying time,” protested the commander of the Rocket Forces, China’s missile force.

“And what are they doing with those reinforcements, General Zhao?” demanded Wen. His irritation was growing. “The Americans have taken over managing the humanitarian crisis for the ROK government! So not only are they abiding meticulously to their defensive agreement, but they are also providing an incredibly useful service to the Korean people. If you don’t realize the incredibly awkward position this puts us in, then you need to wake up!”

“Comrade Chairman, it has always been our policy that we wouldn’t accept a unified Korea allied with the United States on our border,” said General Fang, one of the CMC’s two vice chairmen.

“Yes, General, that policy has served us well while there was a North Korea. It was designed to prevent the South Koreans and the Americans from attacking an allied, sovereign state.” Wen stood up, looking intently at the general officers seated around the table. “But that state has collapsed, by its peoples’ own actions, so where does that leave us?

“Many of you have recommended we invade North Korea to stabilize the country. But which faction do we align with to justify our entry into this civil war? Or is it your intention to merely annex the territory? Wouldn’t this defeat the purpose of our policy? We’d be sharing a border with an extremely hostile South Korea that would be even more closely aligned with the United States, as well as every other Asian nation. And then there is the inevitable and dangerous outcome to us becoming involved: once our forces head south, the Americans will come north.

“My point is simply this, comrades. Do we really intend to risk a war with the United States over that dung heap that was North Korea? At the very least we put our economic future at considerable peril; at worse, we put the very existence of China as we know it on the chopping block.”

Wen saw a number of the senior officers at the table nodding their agreement. The minister of national defense saw it as well. Sighing, he asked, “What is your intention, Comrade Chairman?”

“We will send our army in, but under the guise of humanitarian assistance. We’ll set up refugee camps, bring in food and medical supplies and personnel, but the camps will be on Korean territory. To establish a proper defensive perimeter, we’ll advance fifty kilometers across the border. We may have to move further to ensure a safe operating environment for aid workers, but we’ll limit our advance for now.

“I expect the Americans will surge northward the moment they realize we’ve crossed the Yalu. We must exercise due caution to not provoke them, or the South Koreans if possible.”

“What about the North Koreans?” inquired Defense Minister Yu.

A cynical smile popped on the president’s face. “We retain the right of self-defense, Comrade Minister. If they fire on us, we will eliminate the threat.”

“I understand your wisdom now. Thank you, Comrade Chairman,” said the relieved general.

“One last thing,” added Wen. “Any territory we take will be used as a bargaining chip when this unpleasant crisis is over. We will be part of the discussion about what transpires on the Korean Peninsula.”

It was easy to stay concealed. The grassy path was filled with “tent-to-tent” people. Cho had no problem keeping his target in sight, while at the same time blending in with the throng of humanity that had filled the refugee camp. Besides, he was confident he knew where the individual was going.

When Cho first saw him two days earlier, an itch started between his shoulder blades. Nothing seemed right about the way the middle-aged man walked and talked, and he seemed very well supplied with American bills. Then yesterday, Cho had watched as the man bullied a young Korean girl. A passing military police patrol caused him to release her and disappear behind the tents. Cho discretely followed the young woman and listened in to her complaints to her father and mother. As he suspected, the man was “recruiting” for a prostitution ring. Then he heard the name: Jeon Yong-ha.

Finding where Jeon spent his time was elementary tradecraft for a seasoned spy. Now that Cho had verified the information he’d obtained was accurate, he spent the rest of the afternoon reconnoitering the area. Looking for avenues of escape, personal guards, and possible traps. By the time Cho finished, he was almost late for dinner with Fowler-nim. He found being around her refreshing; her concern for others was so unlike everything he’d experienced in his life. Being around her gave him purpose and hope. He’d discovered that he would do anything to make her happy.

It was well past ten at night when a darkly dressed and masked Cho crept back to Jeon’s tent. As he expected, there was only a single guard outside. The man was an amateur, a simple-minded thug. A small group of young women walked past the tent, catching the guard’s eye; he stared at them with desire. The man stared a little too long; he never knew what hit him.

Cho pulled the unconscious body into the tent and bound his hands and feet with duct tape. A strip wrapped around his head a couple of times and covering his mouth would keep him quiet. Cho then adjusted the bandana covering his face and took the guard’s position out front, intentionally staying in the dark shadows. Half an hour later Jeon came swaggering back with another guard and a young woman in tow. She didn’t look very happy, probably because Jeon was being rather rough. He didn’t even bother greeting his “guard,” and signaled for the other man to hold open the flap while Jeon threw the young woman inside.

“Now, bitch, we’ll see if you’re any good. And if you so much as squeak, the first person to die will be your mother!” he growled menacingly.

Suddenly there was a loud thud behind him as the guard who came back with Jeon fell face-first to the floor. “You fool! What kind of imbecile are you? Now get up—”

The sharp clack of a round being racked into a gun’s chamber interrupted Jeon’s tirade. He turned slowly to see a disguised Cho leveling a pistol squarely between his eyes. “Now, Jeon Yong-ha, I suggest you sit down, quietly. If you so much as squeak, well, I don’t think I need to tell you who will be the first person to die, do I?”

The stunned Jeon staggered back to a camp chair and sat down. His eyes were wide as saucers. Cho threw the roll of duct tape to the woman. “Bind his hands and legs to the chair. Make sure he is secured firmly, his right hand first.”

Confused, the woman took the tape and began wrapping Jeon’s wrists and forearms. She used a lot of tape. Jeon slowly shifted his eyes toward the woman, but Cho immediately snapped his fingers to regain his undivided attention. “I wouldn’t recommend doing something so foolish, Jeon Yong-ha. I wouldn’t miss at this range.” Cho emphasized his point by assuming a marksman’s stance. Jeon swallowed hard. The unknown intruder had foreseen his move.

It wasn’t long before the woman stood and said, “I’m finished.” Then more fearfully, “What will you do to me?”

“Excellent,” said Cho as he quickly inspected her work. Jeon was completely immobilized. Reaching for the tape, Cho finally answered her question as he put a strip over Jeon’s mouth. “I won’t do anything to you, miss.” Cho used the proper Korean word for a younger woman, but spoke with a Southerner’s accent. No need to make it easy for Jeon, in case he tried to identify Cho later. “But I would greatly appreciate it if you would go and find an American military police patrol and bring them here. I’m sure they would be most interested in Jeon’s activities.”

The woman’s expression was one of surprise. Cho’s answer was completely unexpected. She carefully made her way to the exit, but before departing whispered, “Thank you, sir.” Cho nodded slightly, acknowledging her gratitude. As soon as the woman disappeared, Cho bound and gagged the other unconscious guard with duct tape and then went over to Jeon’s locked footlocker. He shook his head with disapproval. The padlock was a joke. He had it open in seconds. Cho dumped the contents onto the cot. There were several weapons, a couple of ledger books, and lots of American money.

“You really should be more careful with your important business documents, “ Cho teased as he looked through one of the ledger books. It contained a lists of his prostitutes and patrons, as well as transactions with several drug dealers. “Yes, the Americans will be most interested in all this.” Jeon grunted in frustration as Cho looked on with distain.

The young woman soon returned leading a squad of MPs. Cho observed them from a distance as the Americans went in and discovered all the gifts he had left out. He was particularly pleased when he heard the sharp yelp from Jeon as an MP peeled the tape off his mouth. Moments later the Americans escorted the ringleader and his two guards away. Cho doubted he’d be seeing Jeon Yong-ha any time in the near future.

It was nearly midnight when Cho returned to Kary’s office. She was still there, typing away on her laptop, trying to figure out how to order medical supplies with the US Army logistics system. Her frustrated muttering told him the system was still winning — for the moment.

Quietly he entered and placed the pistol on the desk. His stealthy approach startled her. “Oh! You’re back!”

“Of course, mission accomplished. Here’s your pistol.”

Kary eyed first the handgun, then Cho. “You… you didn’t shoot anyone, did you?”

“Absolutely not! I know you’d frown on such a thing,” replied Cho with feigned injury. “I merely used the weapon as my culminating argument in a moral debate. That’s all.” He took the pistol and wrapped it in a scarf she’d brought, and tucked it out of sight.

“Uh-huh,” she responded. The skeptical look on her face showed she wasn’t buying his explanation.

“I can assure you, Fowler-seonsaengnim, no one was physically injured in tonight’s activities. Although, several egos were completely crushed,” remarked Cho with a broad grin. Teasing Kary was a newly acquired pleasure for him; he found that he liked the way her nose wrinkled when she was slightly annoyed.

Kary frowned and raised her finger preparing to deliver a reprimand, when she was interrupted by a large yawn. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was.

Cho looked on with concern. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? You’ve been struggling with this program since before I left, and you’ve already had several very late nights this week. You need to rest.”

“And you’re trying to change the subject,” Kary protested, but her thin smile betrayed her appreciation. “But whoever came up with this program is a sadist!”

“I believe that is a mandatory trait for all computer programmers, everywhere,” declared Cho while stretching. “Anyway, I’m going to bed, and I hope you will too… soon.”

“I won’t be long. And thank you, Ho-jin oppa.”

Cho bowed slightly, gratified by Kary’s use of the term of endearment, oppa. It could be translated as “big brother.” She trusted him, and that simple acknowledgment warmed his heart.

General Fascione struggled not to yawn while he briefed the president. It wasn’t that the information he was providing was inconsequential or boring; it was just that the last several days had been very long, and he was running out of gas. “And even though the ROK Army is starting to face more organized resistance from KPA units, they still anticipate securing Pyongyang within the next three days — five at the most.”

“What about China, General? Is there any indication from your end that the PRC intends to intervene?” President James Wyman was a worried man. The sudden collapse of the Kim regime had caught America unprepared, and the reduced US military presence wouldn’t be able to do much about a full-blown Chinese invasion.

“So far, Mr. President, they are staying massed on the border. They’ve sent in a reconnaissance flight or two, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of their SOF people are in North Korea, but they’ve largely stuck to their side of the Yalu. The CMC is probably still trying to figure out what the best course of action is. This crisis took them by surprise as well, perhaps more so, since they had senior contacts in country.”

Wyman nodded. “I’ve spoken with President Wen, General, and he didn’t sound like a happy man. He was uncomfortable with our movement of troops and aircraft to the Republic of Korea. I reassured him that our reinforcements have been tailored toward helping South Koreans manage the huge inflow of refugees. I suspect the success of the ROK Army is not sitting well in Beijing.”

“Understandable. We’d be just as uneasy if there were a civil war in Mexico and a foreign country was sending in military forces. I know it’s not a great analogy, but it does capture how the Chinese feel about this. Do you have any other questions, Mr. President?”

“Just one, General. You mentioned the ROK Army has started an Operation Gang… Gang…” Wyman started thumbing through his notes

“Gangrim, sir. It’s a contingency plan by their special operations forces to locate and seize as much of the North Korean WMD stockpile as they can. So far they’ve done pretty well with the forward chemical weapons storage bunkers. The North had a lot of gas hanging around, not that this is a surprise.”

“I’m more concerned with Kim’s nuclear weapons, General.”

“Yes, Mr. President, I thought you would be.” Fascione smiled politely. He could understand the president’s higher priority about the nukes; chemical weapons would only affect those on the Korean Peninsula. “From what little I’ve heard, the ROK commandos haven’t found anything yet.”

“I see,” stated Wyman. His expression showed his displeasure. “General, I’m not very happy with this arrangement. I’d like to have a US observer as part of this Operation Gangrim.”

Fascione took a deep breath. He’d have to word his answer carefully. A US general just didn’t say no to his commander in chief lightly. “That may be difficult to arrange, Mr. President.”

“I understand it’s a sensitive topic, General. Give the South Koreans as much latitude as you can in approving our observer. Suggest someone they know and trust, and then do some light arm-twisting. It’s in both our best interests to find those nuclear weapons, and we can lend more ‘quiet’ assistance if we have someone on the ground, as it were.”

The general nodded. “I understand, sir. I’ll do my best to get someone directly involved.” Suddenly, the general’s face changed from uneasiness to confidence. “And I think I know just the soldier for the job.”

Kary laid dozing on her desk. Her stamina had all but vanished. She was abruptly jarred to consciousness when Cho’s cell phone started buzzing in her back pocket. Initially she thought it was her father, given the time difference, but a quick look at the number showed it was her friend Anita. “Hello,” Kary answered.

“Kary… Kary, it’s me, Anita.” Kary heard the excitement and fear in her friend’s voice. She was now fully awake.

“Anita, what’s wrong?”

“Kary, there are Chinese soldiers everywhere. They started coming through our camp a few minutes ago. There are hundreds of them, Kary, on the Korean side of the border.”

“What?” exclaimed Kary. “Anita, are you sure?”

“Absolutely, Kary. There are tanks, trucks, and other vehicles pouring through our camp right —”

“Anita? Anita?” Kary shouted. She looked at the phone’s screen. “Signal Lost” it said. The connection had been broken.