Red Phoenix Burning (10 page)

After Guk confirmed it was quiet, Rhee joined him and the two studied the scene ahead.

It was indeed a gun emplacement. Inside an earthen berm, Rhee could see the mass of an artillery piece. The long barrel made him think it was an antiaircraft weapon. There was no sign of its crew, presumably still asleep. The pair low-crawled forward slowly, watching for any movement, and angled a little to one side.

As the angle changed, the gun came into clearer profile, and Rhee identified it as a KS-30, a heavy 130mm antiaircraft gun. They were usually operated in batteries of four or six, and about fifty meters past the first he saw another emplacement. But still no movement.

Rhee didn’t like the idea of a gun emplacement so close to where they were going to set up for the day, but the hill he’d chosen on the map was an ideal spot, and he was reluctant to give it up.

But where were the sentries? An AA battery had almost a hundred personnel, and in the field, even in friendly territory, they’d post at least one or two sentries per gun. They couldn’t all be slacking off somewhere, could they?

They were falling farther behind schedule. They couldn’t waste any more time on this, or the morning twilight would catch them still setting up. Maybe if they’re that sloppy, they could still use the preselected location.

Rhee and Guk hurried back to the other two as quickly as stealth allowed, and with Guk keeping a dedicated watch on the battery, Rhee led them east toward the hill, a kilometer away. He relaxed a little once they were on its wooded slopes, and they quickly reached the crest. Rhee told the lieutenant to pick a spot and set up a hide, and while the other three did that, the colonel took out a night vision telescope and tripod and found a spot to study the gun emplacement.

With the elevation, he could look down and see the ring of six guns, with the fire control van in the center. Tents and ammunition storage were laid out, with the gun’s prime movers and other transport parked off to the side. There were no lights, or signs of movement. The lack of any illumination could be due to proper light discipline. But no movement at all?

Guk reported the camouflaged hide was completed, and Rhee inspected their handiwork, making a few suggestions as if this was just another training exercise. The telescope was brought back to the hide and trained on the nearest cantonment, which held one of the three regiments that made up the 425th. It was farther away, but it was getting lighter, and almost to their relief, Guk reported seeing vehicles and personnel moving about.

While Guk studied the garrison, Rhee had Ma transmit another signal that they’d reached their first night’s objective. He told the master sergeant to find a good spot and keep a close watch on the nearby emplacement. He was sure they’d only been lucky so far.

Ma reported “Message received,” and Rhee told him to take a nap while he kept watch. It had been a long night, and he’d learned to pace himself. It was another skill to teach these men, and . . .

Master Sergeant Oh’s voice came over the headset. “Sir, you need to see this.”

That didn’t sound good. After telling Ma to delay his nap until he returned, Rhee carefully made his way to Oh’s position. It was fully light now, and any movement, even among the trees, could be seen at some distance.

As he approached, Oh handed him a pair of binoculars and simply pointed down the slope, a strange expression on his face.

There was nobody in the emplacement. Not only no movement, but no soldiers. At this hour, the battery should be lining up for breakfast, and crews should be servicing their weapons. But it appeared to be completely deserted.

There was certainly no risk of being spotted, but what was going on? Rhee didn’t like surprises, especially in the middle of the DPRK, and he felt a chill. He told Oh, “Come with me.”

Trying to balance speed with caution, they hurried down the slope and approached the nearest gun emplacement. At this point, Rhee had to abandon concealment, and hope that any North Korean solder he met would be below the rank of major. After that he’d find out what he could and talk his way out. But he had to know more.

The nearest of the six AA emplacements was empty. The gun appeared functional, with ready ammunition stacked nearby, but no crew. Standing on the berm surrounding the gun, Rhee scanned the emplacements to either side. They were deserted as well. Oh, his shotgun at the ready, seemed ready to shoot anything that moved, but nothing provided a target.

The fire control radar van was empty, its generator off. A few papers were scattered about, and the two collected them for any intelligence they might provide. There was still no movement. The bivouac area was about a hundred meters from the guns, centered on the mess tent. Rhee headed for the headquarters tent, set a little off from the others. Alert as they were, they didn’t notice the smell until they were only a few meters away. Rhee looked over at Oh, who had the same expression on his face.

They knew what was inside, but still took care approaching the door, weapons level, then glancing inside before entering. On one side of the tent, maybe five meters on a side, was a pile of bodies, all in uniform. Bloodstains marked bullet wounds. Powder burns showed that many had been shot at close range.

Rhee ordered, “Watch the door.” While Oh kept a lookout, Rhee searched the bodies. Their sidearms were gone, but he collected some documents. He counted five bodies: a captain, a staff sergeant, two sergeants, and a corporal. By rights, a captain would command this battery, with a senior lieutenant as his deputy.

The tent’s contents, two cots, a camp desk, and other items, were scattered and broken. Two personal lockers lay open, their contents tumbled out. Rhee found a few more documents, then said, “Mess tent next.”

They covered the distance in seconds, as if under fire, and paused for only the briefest check before going inside. It was larger than the officer’s tent, designed to feed the battery in shifts. The inside showed some signs of disorder, but Rhee ignored that, instead heading back to the cooking area while Oh watched the door again. A truck was parked alongside the tent, and it confirmed Rhee’s hypothesis.

He walked back toward Oh, the master sergeant’s gaze firmly outside. “Most of the food is gone. Only the heaviest items are left. They shot those that didn’t want to join them, and deserted.”

Oh muttered an expletive, shaking his head in disbelief, then said, “Those crazy bastards. An entire unit mutiny?” Such a thing was inconceivable in the ROK Army, much less a police state like the DPRK. “Where will they go?”

Rhee shrugged. “They could have scattered, back to their homes, but it’s more likely they’re headed for the Chinese border. It’s only eighty kilometers from here. I’ll bet there are a few trucks missing. Those bodies haven’t been dead more than twelve hours. If they did this last night, maybe about the same time we landed, they could be at the border now. And who’s going to stop a couple of army trucks?”

Oh’s eyebrow’s went up at the idea. “I pity any checkpoints they reach.”

“Let’s get out of here. I want to find out what’s going in that garrison.”

The master sergeant added, “And sooner or later, they’re going to wonder why nobody here is answering phone calls. We shouldn’t be here.”

They almost sprinted back to the hillside. As they reached the wood line, Rhee used his tactical radio. “Pack up. We need to move away from here. I’ll explain why later, but KPA units are likely to come and search this area any time now. And tell Ma to prepare the radio. I’ll want to sent a message.”

Guk replied immediately. “Understood. I was about to call you. You won’t believe what’s going on in that cantonment.”

“I will now,” Rhee answered.

Chapter 5 - Breeze

20 August 2015

Pyongyang, North Korea

Cho Ho-jin had scouted out the spot before darkness fell across the city. It was a government building, officially part of the Education Ministry, but now it lay in ruins after being battered by tanks and heavy artillery. It was hard to believe that the educational apparatus represented a target for either loyalists or rebels. Then again, he thought sourly, in Kim’s regime there was no guarantee that the building had ever been remotely connected to education. It was just as likely to have been a state security prison or a special weapons laboratory.

The gutted concrete shell had burned out, but the ashes were still smoking. There were dozens of such ruins across Pyongyang, some much more extensive. Since reaching the capital yesterday, Cho had heard tank fire and the rattle of small arms almost constantly.

On reaching Pyongyang, he’d changed his identity from that of an agricultural inspector to a factory executive. He needn’t have bothered. Government offices were closed or outright abandoned, and official commerce had virtually ceased.

He’d made a report to his handlers in Directorate S while still outside the city, describing what he could make out of the ruined structures, and even taking pictures of the smoking skyline with his Chinese cell phone. The device had been modified by the Russians with a better antenna and an encryption chip that was triggered by a special prefix when he sent a text message. It was also untraceable. Its location couldn’t be fixed, even by his Russian masters, and the phone did not store messages or photos. If it was taken from him, it would tell his captors nothing of what he’d sent or received.

At Telitsyn’s prompting, and with reluctance, Cho had entered Pyongyang proper, trying to scout the situation without drawing attention to himself. Fortunately, the fighting between the warring factions was such a huge distraction that nobody had questioned his coming and goings, and many citizens had eagerly shared information in the hopes he’d do the same. Slowly, Cho had built up a picture of the battle and its effects.

Every part of Pyongyang had seen fighting, with regular army, internal security, and police units fighting each other, attacking government and commercial buildings that either served as centers of political power or had been turned into military strongpoints. Casualties could only be estimated, but he was certain they were easily in the thousands—and more likely in the tens of thousands. No attempt had been made to count the dead. No one had even bothered to put out most of the fires, treat any of the wounded, or rescue those certainly buried in the shattered buildings.

Then had come Kim’s broadcast.

Cho had been waiting in a food store near the edge of town, withdrawing from the danger near the city center. The proprietor was openly selling his goods at wartime prices, accepting only yuan or dollars, but he had food to sell, and he had plenty of customers. Like everyone else, Cho had come for the chance of a meal, and to learn what he could.

While he waited, the speaker mounted on the wall of the store, silent for several days, suddenly crackled to life. There was one like it in every factory, commercial establishment, and school, as well as most homes. In ordinary times these speakers played patriotic music, culturally uplifting plays, and carefully regulated news, especially about Kim Jong-un’s many accomplishments.

But now they heard the Supreme Leader’s voice. Instantly, silence had fallen across the little store. Everyone had stood motionless, staring at the speaker in disbelief.

Kim’s short speech had been followed by a standard song, “Labor toward Self-Sufficiency”—just as if there’d been no four-day interruption. The reactions in that little store had been very strange, Cho remembered. Before Kim declared himself alive, the people waiting in line for their turn at the counter had chatted, sharing concerns and gossip and news. Afterward, they had stood in complete silence.

Later, he’d joined the others outside, sitting quietly and wolfing down his tiny portion of rice and pickled vegetables. Listening for any scraps of conversation, he noticed that the gunfire was much reduced, more an occasional staccato burst than a constant drumbeat. And by the time he finished, the sounds of combat had almost vanished entirely.

That had to have been the result of Kim’s speech.

Was the military standing down, he wondered? Would the fighting in Pyongyang end?

But the people around him hadn’t looked relieved. Surely, for most of them, a cease-fire was good news. And yet they had still looked troubled. Finishing their own small meals, they had drifted off in ones and twos, as though afraid of attracting attention.

Now, in the gathering dusk, Cho watched the street carefully, but Pyongyang’s residents were already at home or hiding in shelters. The reactivated loudspeakers had proclaimed a nighttime curfew, but that was unnecessary. Several days of civil war had taught civilians caught up in the fighting harsh lessons. Anyone moving after dark, or worse yet, showing a light, risked becoming a target. None of the combatants had shown any concern for collateral damage.

The streets were clear and quiet. In the fading twilight, Cho picked his way into the ruined government building, choosing his path carefully, until he was in a part of the structure that was only scorched, and didn’t seem in danger of collapsing.

Sitting down, safely away from observing eyes, he began composing a very long e-mail to Moscow. He had a lot of information to send Telitsyn and Malikov—the identities of some of the army and security units involved in fratricidal combat, what he’d learned about the extent of the destruction, and most importantly, Kim’s speech and the reaction to it by ordinary North Koreans.

That, he thought grimly, was the key.

Before Kim spoke, Pyongyang’s inhabitants had been worried about the war raging around them. Now they were worried about what came next.

CNN Special Report

“The Pyongyang Crisis”

The news anchor’s image shared the screen with file video of Kim Jong-un inspecting a military unit. A brightly colored banner across the bottom read “Breaking News.”

“A little over two hours ago, the Voice of Korea, North Korea’s official news station, transmitted a short speech claimed to be by North Korean leader Kim Jong-un. Lasting just a little over five minutes, the speaker claimed to have been nearly caught by a ‘cowardly attempt’ on his life, but escaped with only minor injuries. He claimed that criminals and foreign sympathizers were attempting to disrupt the government, but that they were now being arrested, having done little damage. He called on the army and all loyal North Koreans to obey the orders of all lawful officials. He also promised another broadcast in the near future.”

The image of the dictator was replaced by a bearded man in his fifties, sitting across from the anchor. “We are joined by Dr. Russell Hayes of the Brookings Institution. Doctor, you’ve heard the recording. Do you think it’s authentic?”

Hayes nodded. “It sounded authentic. I’m sure our intelligence agencies are analyzing the voice. But I’ve listened to dozens of his speeches. And he’s been much more public than his father or grandfather. The phraseology, the inflection, all sounded correct to me. Deception always remains a possibility with the North Koreans, but the timing also supports this broadcast’s authenticity.”

The anchor looked confused. “In what way?”

“If someone was going to air a fake, they could have done it much sooner, before the situation had degraded so badly. It’s been five days since the bombing, and my hypothesis is that it’s taken this long for Kim to recover from his ‘minor’ injuries and be able to speak.”

“Is this the end of the coup, Doctor?”

Haynes nodded again. “Most likely, unless his security organizations are too badly damaged. The biggest question for the last five days has been whether or not Kim was dead. That has now been answered. For three generations, North Korea’s people have been conditioned to follow the Kims. And now that he’s made his appearance, the plotters will have to admit they’ve failed.”

“You’ve been following the reports of bloodshed in the capital and elsewhere. Will this broadcast put an end to that?”

Hayes sighed. “End the bloodshed? No, unfortunately not. It will only change its nature. I believe we’ll see the rebel versus loyalist and army versus army fighting replaced by a massive wave of arrests and executions, including anyone even remotely connected to the plotters. That may go on for months.”

The anchor looked genuinely shocked. “What’s your estimate of the casualties so far?”

The analyst shook his head in frustration. “We’ve got information on Pyongyang, mostly from foreign embassies, and the dead are easily in the thousands. Several times that are wounded, but given the dismal state of North Korean hospitals, their chance of survival is based more on luck than receiving decent medical care.

“And we’ve got nothing from the countryside at all,” Hayes continued. “Returning Western aid workers were a good source, but even though the State Department has recommended that all US citizens leave the DPRK immediately, few have, mostly because they can’t. The airports and train stations are closed.

“All we can hope is that with someone in charge, the situation will stabilize, and the danger of the fighting spreading outside the North’s borders will be much reduced.”

The anchor summarized, “So we’re likely to see a bloodbath, then a return to business as usual.”

Haynes scowled but reluctantly agreed. “If Kim really is in charge, yes.”

21 August 2015

Myohyang-san, North Korea

The thickly forested granite slopes of Myohyang-san, “the Mountain of Mysterious Fragrances,” rose sharply in multiple peaks one hundred and twenty kilometers northwest of Pyongyang. Famous for its roaring waterfalls and the ancient Buddhist temples and hermitages built into its sheer cliffs and slopes, in more peaceful times the mountain was a magnet for travelers and hikers. In the narrow river valley below, the Kim dynasty kept its vast treasure trove of precious gifts from foreign leaders in the one hundred fifty rooms of the International Friendship Exhibition.

But there were no travelers or hikers on the mountain now. Nor were there any chattering bands of tourists snapping pictures of the armored train car given to Kim Il-sung by Mao Tse-tung, or the limousine presented by Stalin, or the gem-encrusted silver sword from Yasser Arafat.

Instead, hurriedly dug trenches and rolls of razor-edged barbed wire ringed the base of each peak. North Korean soldiers in full combat gear lined these new fortifications, manning machine guns, mortars, and carefully sited antitank missile launchers and guns. Tanks and heavier artillery pieces were concealed in the surrounding forests under camouflage netting. SAM teams were deployed on the upper balconies of the pyramidal Hyangsan Hotel.

From time to time, the officers and enlisted men laboring to turn the mountain and its environs into a fortified camp turned nervous glances on the looming spire of Piro Peak. Climbing nearly two thousand meters up the Chilsong Valley, it was the highest point on Myohyang-san.

These men knew they were under constant observation from that peak. The slightest misstep, the smallest mistake, was taken as proof of treason. The firing squads were kept busy around Myohyang-san. And every day, the heaped mounds of earth marking mass graves spread wider.

Buried deep within Piro Peak’s layers of rock lay North Korea’s National Command Redoubt, a labyrinth of concrete- and steel-lined tunnels, bunkers, storehouses, armories, and living quarters—sealed off from the world and danger by gigantic blast doors. Built over more than a decade at enormous cost and in great secrecy, the redoubt was designed as a nuclear bomb–proof shelter and command post for the Kims and their favored retainers in time of war or unrest. It contained an array of electronics, surveillance, and defense equipment that surpassed anything else in the Democratic People’s Republic.

And now it was being put to the test.

Audience Chamber, National Command Redoubt

Carved out of granite six hundred meters below the summit, the Audience Chamber, already quite large, was given the illusion of even greater size by a massive mural that filled the entirety of one wall. Larger-than-life figures of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il were depicted on the slopes of the mountain, exhorting vast masses of joyful, cheering soldiers and peasants. Floor-to-ceiling red silk hangings lined the other walls, covering cold gray concrete surfaces and steel doors. Ventilators on the ceiling pumped in cool, fresh-tasting air.

Kim Jong-un stood stiffly behind a podium, facing two television cameras. He wore a long black overcoat. It hid both the metal brace being used to prop him up and the thick bandages wrapped around his chest and stomach. A wig concealed the shaved patches and wound dressings on his skull. Skillfully applied makeup added color to his sallow, fleshy face.

He ignored the low murmurs from the generals and marshals in full dress uniform lined up behind him. They were nothing more than window dressing for the live, televised broadcast he planned to make—a visible sign of the control he claimed over the nation’s armed forces. Most of them were new faces, a cast of less senior general officers rapidly promoted to fill the gaps torn in his inner circle by the same bomb that had almost killed him.

Kim gripped the podium as a wave of pain rippled through his body. Those who had betrayed him had come close to success. Believing him dead in the rubble of Pyongyang, the traitors and those they had duped were locked in battle with loyal troops across the whole of North Korea. Soon, though, they would learn the bitter truth. Once the people and the armed forces saw him alive and in command, the rebellion would collapse, dissolving from within in the revelation of its own lies and folly.

And then there would come a reckoning
, he thought coldly. He would cleanse the nation of the traitors, their families, and other vermin. His nets would be cast widely. It was better that a million should die rather than risk leaving alive anyone who might challenge him.