Red Phoenix Burning (16 page)

The tank had stopped again. It was much closer than before. And then he heard voices. He searched his memory. In that fleeting glimpse of the tank firing at him, had there been infantry following behind it?

He looked around the room more carefully. It appeared to be an office, with a few old metal desks, filing cabinets, and obligatory posters on the wall. Paper and scraps of paper littered the floor. Everything was layered with dust and grime, which made it hard to see any detail in the dim light.

There. A door, in the center of the same wall they crouched against. He almost leapt over the woman in his haste, and began shifting the debris that blocked it. He tried to be quiet, but every piece of rubble he moved caused others to fall. To Cho, it sounded like an avalanche.

“What are you doing?” the older child, a girl of maybe ten, asked curiously. Her high, piping voice pierced the dark and dust.

Cho, struggling to free the door, hissed, “Quiet, child!” He gestured with his head toward the opening above. The girl didn’t understand, but the mother did, and told her daughter to hush. She then struggled to her feet and gathered her family. Moving must have been painful for her, but by the time Cho was through the half-open door, they hurried after him.

Cho’s only thought was to get away from the opening to the street. The door had led them into a basement hallway, pitch dark. He was still trying to choose which direction to go when a loud
WHAM
echoed from behind him, followed immediately by another
WHAM
a few moments later that staggered him. The family group let out small shrieks of surprise and fear, and Cho decided the direction he was facing would have to do.

The hallway was clear, and they all stumbled along. His outstretched hand felt a corner in the wall, and he followed it, the family close behind. He paused for a moment to listen for any sounds of pursuit, but there were none.

The mother asked in a whisper, “Are they following?”

After a long pause, Cho answered, “No.” And then after another pause, added, “They probably think two grenades are enough.”
They aren’t paying me enough for this.

“Thank you for saving us,” the mother said, and the older woman offered her thanks as well.

Cho shook his head—a silly gesture in the pitch dark—and replied, “I saved myself. You just followed.”

“A wise man shows his back,” the grandmother quoted. It was an old Korean folk saying that praised leading by example, with his followers behind.

Cho sighed, but they had common purpose, to survive and get out of this building. He took out his phone. The dim light from the screen was more than enough to navigate by, and he wanted to use the phone’s GPS to make sure they moved in the proper direction, but there was no signal this deep in the shattered building.

“What is that?” the girl asked curiously. Few North Koreans owned such elaborate cell phones.

“Something I stole.” Cho didn’t want her asking more questions, and in this chaos, stealing wasn’t necessarily a crime.

Cho used the phone’s light cautiously, illuminating a passage briefly and then hiding it before leading his small entourage forward to the next corner or junction in the hallway. The mother followed behind, supported by her daughter. The other child, a boy of five or six, clung silently to his grandmother’s skirt, ignoring a deep gash on one arm.

They followed one hallway that led to a larger passage, headed east–west. There were stairs at the west end leading up, but the steps were blocked by debris. East led back toward the street where he’d seen the tank. As he reluctantly turned to backtrack his route, the mother said one word, “Please,” and sank to her knees.

He heard the exhaustion and pain in her voice, and answered, “Rest. I’ll find a path out of here.”

“Thank you. What is your name?” Koreans were sticklers for proper introductions, and he automatically answered, “I am Cho Ho-jin,
ajumma
.” He used a form of address reserved for mothers and “mature” women. Calling a twenty something office girl “
ajumma
“ would have gotten him slapped.

Even though she was in pain, she said formally, “I am Cheon Ji-hyo. This is my mother, Gam Sook-ja, and my children, Go Shin-chang and Go Shin-ha,” pointing to the girl and the boy. The girl bowed. Cheon asked, “There was another couple in the room with us. Did you see what happened to them?”

Cho shrugged, and winced at the pain in his back. He’d had a rough day. “They didn’t come out behind you,” he answered. He left unspoken the conclusion that they’d been caught in the grenade blasts. “Did you know them?”

“No. We never learned their names.” She sighed sadly and settled herself more comfortably. “We will rest and wait for your return.” Her voice was weak.

Cho nodded and started to head east, but the girl, Go Shin-chang, began to follow him. He stopped and motioned for her to go back. “Stay here with your mother, child.”

“No. I’m quiet, and if something happens to you, we need to know.”
She’ll probably take the phone
, he thought,
but if I’m dead, who would I call?

He couldn’t argue with her logic. They would die in this place if they didn’t find an exit. “All right, but stay back some distance.” She nodded, and they set out. She did stay back, three or four meters, and her footsteps were light. They navigated by sound, using the light from his phone sparingly. Cho was beginning to worry about the battery charge. He’d been using it heavily.

After about twenty-five meters, they came to a large cross-passage, equal in width to the one they were in. He turned south, and came into what looked like the main entrance. Although the doors could be opened from the inside, someone had chained them shut.

The two found a fire axe on the wall and tried to break the lock, without success, but searching the offices, they found a coat rack with an iron upright. Using it like a crowbar, Cho was able to twist the chain until the lock broke. Clearing the chain away, he cautiously opened the door, which led up to a small lobby and the main exit to the street. He didn’t open the outer door, but did look through the nearly opaque glass. He could see no movement, and it was quiet.

With the young girl in front, they hurried back to the other three. Gam Sook-ja, the grandmother, held the boy in her lap while the mother leaned against her shoulder, asleep. It took some care and effort to rouse her, and even a gentle shake on the uninjured shoulder caused her sharp pain. It took both Cho and the woman’s daughter to get her upright, and they moved at the best pace they could.

They had to half-lift the mother up the steps, and Cho had to stop the grandmother from just walking outside. Leaning Cheon against the wall, with Go Shin-chang keeping her from collapsing, Cho motioned the others into a corner, and after taking another look through the glass, opened the door just enough to look down the street, toward the street where the tank had passed.

With one direction clear, he opened the other door slightly and made sure that direction, to the west, was clear as well. He stepped outside.

The sunlight, even filtered by smoke and dust, was more than welcome. He watched and listened carefully while the others emerged, and reported to them, “There is fighting in the distance, but I can’t hear any nearby. Where will you go now?”

Go Shin-chang answered for them. “There is a foreigner living west of here, just outside the city. She runs a clinic. Our neighbors went there when they were sick. It’s a mission, with food and medicine. They can treat my mother and brother, and your back as well.”

“My back?” Cho’s back was sore, but that was understandable. A wall had fallen on him.

The girl took a step to his side and reached around to touch him, below his shoulder blade. She showed him a fingertip wet and red. “You’re bleeding in three places.” After a pause, she added, “Please come with us.”

Maybe that wall had some sharp corners. His orders took him south, but if west led to the chance of medical attention, that was an acceptable detour. Nodding agreement, Cho took the mother’s uninjured arm and put it over his shoulder, then faced west.

Besides, the mother wouldn’t last the day without some sort of medical care. She could die from blood loss and dehydration, and the boy needed stitches and antiseptic, or he would eventually lose the arm, and his life.

Cho’s hatred of North Korea did not extend to the general population. Only a fool blamed a farmer for the king’s crime. His father, Cho Hyun-jae, had been executed by the Kims for failing to win a war they started. Cho’s family had been punished beyond reason for this “offense,” as if losing his father wasn’t punishment enough. That was the first of many reasons that he had for hating the DPRK government.

Not that he was fond of his Russian employers. They’d fed and educated him, but only as a tool. He’d given good service, but now their orders were absurd. Were they ready to use him up?

Their slow progress had brought them close to a cross street, and rather than stop carrying the mother, he told Go Shin-chang to scout the intersection, and what to look for. The girl ran ahead.

He hoped the mission wasn’t far.

23 August 2015, 7:30 p.m. local time

Christian Friends of Korea Mission

Sinan, outside Pyongyang

Kary Fowler heard the shout from Kwan all the way in the kitchen. “Fowler-
seonsaengnim
, come quick!” Kwan, alert but hobbled with a broken ankle, had volunteered to watch the front gate and serve as general lookout.

Others outside repeated the call, and she motioned to some inside as she left the dining hall. Whatever was going on out there, it sounded like Kwan needed reinforcements.

Thank heaven she hadn’t heard any pistol shots. She’d loaned Kwan Sergeant Choi’s gun, not only because he had sentry duty, but because he’d served in the army and might actually use it, if need be.

She burst out the front door of the dining hall, but had to clear the office building to see the gate clearly. She rounded the corner at speed and, glancing back, was relieved to see two other women in her trail.

The gate was still closed, and Kwan was pointing down the road. In the twilight, she could see a knot of people trudging unsteadily toward the mission’s gate. She hadn’t slowed down, and he opened the gate before she reached it.

She turned onto the road and hurried toward the group. She could tell they needed help just from the way they walked—exhausted, barely lifting a foot before putting it down again. As she got closer, she could see darker patches in the dirt and grime that covered them.

She called behind, to people still in the compound. “Ok, get a stretcher!”

An older woman was in front, leading a glassy-eyed little boy. A few steps behind was a girl, and a young man with an older woman on his back in a fireman’s carry. The girl saw Kary come out the gate and ran to meet her, calling, “
Ajumma
, please help us, my mother, my brother . . .”

Kary ran past the girl, then the woman and boy, and reached up for the mother. She could only hope the wound wasn’t as bad as it looked, because the upper part of her garment on that side was dark with blood. Even in the sunset’s light, the woman, perhaps a little over thirty, was dangerously pale. The man, his face streaked with dirt and perspiration, kept walking as Kary examined his passenger.

She was still alive, although her pulse was fast and weak. Lifting the corner of her bloody garment, Kary could see a round hole. She’d seen enough bullet wounds in the past few days, and could only guess what it had done to the bones in her shoulder. There would be a much messier wound in the front, although resting on her savior’s shoulder may have staunched the bleeding somewhat.

Two of her helpers arrived with the stretcher, and positioning it behind the pair, they gently leaned the woman back, and then level, before setting off at speed for the dispensary. The man nodded and wearily said “Thank you” before falling, first to his knees, and then face-first onto the road. His back was bloodstained as well, and the girl, pointing, said, “His name is Cho. He’s hurt, too.”

Kary called for another stretcher, then told the girl to follow the others with her mother. Taking Cho’s hand, she knelt down next to him and waited for help.

Chapter 8 - Unleashed

23 August 2015

Special Warfare Command, ROK Army Headquarters

Seoul, South Korea

Rhee paused briefly to adjust his uniform and made sure his black beret was snug under his belt. His right shoulder protested the quick movements, but he ignored the pain, and once satisfied, strode into the outer office. Marching to the aide’s desk, Rhee snapped to attention and barked, “Colonel Rhee, Commander, Ninth Special Forces Brigade, reporting as ordered.”

There was no need for the aide to use the intercom; everyone in the office heard Rhee, including Major General Kwon.

“Ah, excellent, Colonel, come in,” Kwon remarked as he stepped out of his office. Rhee attempted to render a snappy sharp salute as soon as his superior appeared, but he wasn’t able to get his shoulder to fully comply, nor mask the slight twinge on his face. The general looked intently at Rhee as he returned the salute. He’d seen the subtle facial expression and the favored right shoulder. Pointing to the offending limb, he asked, “What did you do to yourself this time?”

Embarrassed, Rhee stretched his shoulder out as he replied. “It was a bumpy transfer to the helicopter, sir. The seas were rough and I was unceremoniously jerked off the submarine’s deck. I much prefer jumping into the ocean from a helicopter. Being reeled in felt too much like being a fish—very disconcerting.”

Kwon laughed at Rhee’s explanation. The colonel had a well-earned reputation for a dry, eccentric sense of humor. “Well, I’ll try not to have you dangle on a line like some halibut in the future,” teased Kwon. Then more seriously, “But it couldn’t be helped this time. We have a momentous task on our hands, Colonel, and I have a special job for your Ghosts. Please, come in to my office.”

Rhee followed the general, who gestured to one of the large chairs in a back corner of the room, away from the desk. An enlisted steward brought up the rear with a beverage tray, offering a cup of tea, first to Kwon, then Rhee. “Would you care for some tea or coffee, Colonel?” asked the sergeant.

“Tea would be splendid. Thank you.”

Kwon sat down and sipped his tea, waiting for the sergeant to depart and close the door. “I read your preliminary report, Colonel, several times, in fact. I found it . . . difficult to believe.”

Rhee nodded. “I’m sympathetic to your doubts, sir. I was there, I witnessed the regiments of the 425th Mechanized Corps fighting each other, and I’m still struggling to grasp what I saw. It was most bizarre.”

“I think we’d better get used to the bizarre, Colonel Rhee. It will be with us for some time. I assume you saw a recording of the Supreme Leader’s death?”

“Yes, sir. I watched it on the submarine. The beast got only what he deserved.”

“Be that as it may, that well-executed assassination caught us completely off guard. We had already started to stand units down after Kim’s radio announcement, and we have to undo all that, and quickly.” Kwon rose abruptly and started pacing. “Any further information from your prisoners? Particularly this Pung Jin-Ho?”

“No, sir. Pung is a low-level party official, assigned to the Korean Workers’ Party municipal staff at Chongju. He knows nothing of military value. The only insight of any importance is his knowledge that there are three main factions involved in the fighting: the Kim family, the Korean Workers’ Party, and the General Staff.

“He believes the Kim family’s assets are the weakest of the three, but they are more concentrated around Pyongyang and that makes them still dangerous. From what the American intelligence reports indicate, the KWP and General Staff factions are doing most of the fighting right now. According to our other guest, Corporal Bak, the 425th was split between the KWP and General Staff factions. I think it’s safe to say that the entire North is in complete chaos right now.”

“A chaos that could spread and consume the entire peninsula if we don’t handle this correctly,” remarked Kwon. Rhee watched as his general paced in silence. He had never seen him this somber before. Kwon walked as if there were a heavy load on his shoulders. Suddenly, Rhee felt excitement building within him. Were they actually going to do what he had only dared dream about? He shifted his weight in the chair, struggling to keep his composure, to contain the hope that was welling inside him.

“Yes, Colonel,” Kwon answered without even looking in Rhee’s direction. “President An authorized Operation Unity this morning. We are going to reunite our people. After nearly seven decades, we will be whole once more.”

Rhee felt like shouting, but he managed to restrain himself, simply asking, “What do you want me to do, sir?”

“You can begin by stuffing that unbridled optimism of yours back into your rucksack, Colonel,” chided Kwon with a smug grin on his face. “This operation, even under the most favorable of circumstances, isn’t going to be quick, easy, or inexpensive. Our nation is embarking on a task that is going to take us decades to complete. But . . . if we fail at the onset, it will take far longer and cost us dearly.”

“They’re our kin, sir,” Rhee replied firmly. “Held hostage by criminals. Liberating them is worth every drop of blood spilled, every won spent.”

“Hmmm, I’m not so sure the younger generation shares your burning conviction, Colonel. But still, the majority of our people believe as you do. That is why we’re moving forward. Come over to the map.”

Rhee jumped out of the chair and joined Kwon by the large map of the Korean Peninsula on the wall.

The general pointed toward several areas along the thirty-eighth parallel as he spoke. “Elements of the First and Third Armies have already crossed the DMZ along the three major avenues of approach and are heading north. We moved slowly at first, but it soon became obvious that the KPA Forward Army corps have all pulled back. To assist in picking up the pace, I’ve assigned the First, Seventh, and Thirteenth Special Forces Brigades to scout ahead and clear the way of any left-behind obstacles.”

Rhee looked at the map and saw unit markers some twenty kilometers past the DMZ along the Kaesong-Munsan approach to the west, the Chorwon approach down the middle, and the east coast approach along the eastern seaboard. It was very strange, looking at the map and seeing markers for ROK Army units streaming into the DPRK. The general was right; Rhee better get used to the bizarre.

“I’m keeping the special mission units behind to guard against infiltration by DPRK Reconnaissance Bureau teams and to pick up any high-ranking officials if they attempt to escape the fighting to the north,” Kwon continued. “Needless to say, we are going to have a colossal humanitarian problem on our hands, the refugees will be flowing like water over a falls. As for you, Colonel, I’ve saved the really hard job for your Ghosts.”

Rhee’s left eyebrow cocked up with curiosity, nothing the general had described thus far sounded particularly easy. There was a lot of territory to cover, and very few men to do it. None of the special forces units had even a thousand men in them, and their area of responsibility would only grow as the ROK army pushed northward. Rhee wasn’t sure if he should feel honored or concerned.

“We’ve been ordered to initiate Operation Gangrim—the securing of as much of the DPRK weapons of mass destruction inventory as possible. The Third, Ninth, and Eleventh brigades will take this task on,” ordered Kwon. Operation Gangrim was named after the Korean mythological hero, Gangrim Doryeong, who captured the king of the underworld. Capturing the North’s WMDs would be at least as difficult, if not more so.

Rhee frowned. He was very familiar with the Gangrim plan, but the units the general had listed were less than adequate. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kwon beat him to it. “Yes, Colonel, I’m well aware the OPLAN calls for at least four brigades to execute this mission, but we didn’t anticipate the Kim regime would come crashing down so fast, nor that we would be able move so quickly. Our plans needed to be adjusted.”

The Korean colonel heard the sharp edge in Kwon’s voice and realized that the man had had a similar conversation before . . . and lost. It was time for Rhee to salute smartly and do the best he could, with what he had. “Understood, sir. What are my orders?”

The professional response helped to ease the general’s manner. Kwon may have been expecting an argument. “I’ve had the target list thinned out, since we’ll be shorthanded for this mission. All the known and suspected facilities near the DMZ will be handled by the advancing First and Third Army units. Your Ninth Special Forces Brigade will tackle the big facilities on the west coast. The Third will go up the center, and the Eleventh will cover the facilities on the east coast.”

Rhee whistled softly. He now understood what Kwon had meant when he said he was saving the “really hard job” for the Ninth Ghost Brigade. Circling the area to the north of Pyongyang with his finger, Rhee half stated, half asked, “So, my unit will be responsible for the major nuclear facilities as well as the chemical weapons depots to the south of the capital.”

“Exactly.”

Rhee swept his hand over the area on the map. “These sites are the ones we know about or suspect, sir. How are we to deal with the estimated numerous unknown sites? My resources will be limited. I certainly won’t be able to go hunting for them.”

“Once we have command of the skies, we’ll be able to send in reconnaissance aircraft to begin large area searches. They will provide likely locations for your men to investigate and secure as necessary. We have no illusions about getting all of the WMDs, Colonel. Our goal is to secure as much as we can.”

Taking a deep breath, Rhee nodded and said, “We will do our best, sir.”

“I’m hoping elements of the Third Brigade will be able to link up with you before you get to the nuclear facilities, but I’d be lying if I said that was a likely prospect.”

Staring at the map, Rhee barely heard the general’s last sentence. He looked at his diverse and, unfortunately, spread-out target set. This was going to be a bastard of a job. Turning back toward Kwon, he asked, “I’m assuming we’ll be inserted by air?”

“Yes, Colonel. But it will have to be a phased deployment; the Fifth Tactical Airlift Wing only has sufficient lift capacity to deploy one brigade at a time. Yours will be first, followed by the Eleventh, and then the Third. Unfortunately, the insertion won’t be quite as covert as you’re normally accustomed to.

“Due to the size of the units involved, the deployment schedule, and the urgency of the situation, we’re just going to blast on in. Given the confusion and degradation to the North’s air defense network, we believe we can deliver you before they can react. However, there will be a fighter and SAM sweep just ahead of the C-130s. Just in case,” Kwon concluded.

The general’s last statement did not encourage Rhee one bit. Intentionally giving up the element of surprise ran counter to everything he’d been taught. He knew the ROK Air Force was short of tactical transports, but this was more than a mere inconvenience. If the insertion was challenged, Rhee could lose hundreds of his men before they even hit the ground. The operation was getting uglier and more complex with each passing moment.

Grasping for straws, Rhee asked, “What about asking the Americans for help?”

Kwon shook his head sternly. “General Fascione and the American ambassador briefed the president, defense minister, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff yesterday. The US has publicly declared this to be an internal Korean issue. They won’t deploy any forces north of the DMZ, or violate DPRK territorial waters.”

“China,” Rhee stated bluntly.

“Of course,” answered Kwon. “The Americans are hoping that by keeping their forces south of the DMZ, and dropping broad hints, the Chinese will stay north of the Yalu.”

“An interesting theory,” observed Rhee with growing frustration. “I don’t think it’s very likely, given the refugee buildup on the Chinese border, but I can appreciate the Americans’ caution.”

“Don’t be too hard on General Fascione. He’s a soldier like us and has to follow orders. From what I saw, he didn’t appear pleased with the idea, either. He will move as many units as he can forward to the DMZ to take over the defensive positions, allowing our troops to head north. He’s also requested additional units to reinforce the current standing US force. With luck, a strong US presence will deter the Chinese, or at least force them to think about it first. We can use that time. This is a meaningful compromise, Colonel.”

Rhee nodded slightly, feeling a little ashamed. He’d served with many US military personnel over his career and the vast majority had been honorable people, willing to help defend the Republic of Korea. And in the last war, many American comrades died during those cold battles. Soldiers he could trust—politicians, not so much. “When do we leave, sir?”

“I need your brigade ready to move out by 1700 tomorrow. You’ll be dropped just after nightfall. This is, by far, the most difficult assignment I’ve given anyone in my career. I’m giving it to you because your brigade is the best. I’m confident you’ll get the job done.”

“Nothing is impossible, sir,” replied Rhee, quoting the ROK Special Forces motto. He then snapped to attention and rendered honors before departing.

Personnel Support Office, ROK Army Headquarters

Seoul, South Korea

Rhee walked the halls of the army headquarters building on autopilot, his mind preoccupied with all the preparations that he and his men had to make, and quickly. Drop zone locations, unit deployments, weapons fit, logistics, and numerous other operational considerations all fought for attention in his brain. The size of the operation alone would strain his limited staff; the severe time constraint would only complicate the process. They had just over a day to pull everything together and execute. “Nothing is impossible,” he muttered to himself.

The Korean colonel was just passing an open office door when his thought processes were abruptly derailed by the sound of a voice. He stopped suddenly and spun around looking for whoever was talking. The man was speaking in English. He
knew
that voice. Peeking into the office, he saw an American army officer talking to one of the admin clerks. The man turned his head sideways—Rhee lunged toward him.