Red Phoenix Burning (31 page)

“I see. Please excuse me.” Rhee saluted, then motioned to Little as he started walking away. The American was close behind him. As they passed by the corporal, he held out a tablet for Rhee. The colonel took it, looked at the display, and passed it to Kevin. Little raised the tablet and looked at a stock NIS photo of General Tae Seok-won.

“Same guy,” remarked Kevin as he handed the tablet back.

“I concur. He is who he says he is. That is an encouraging beginning.”

They stopped a short distance away, but well out of earshot of the North Koreans. Rhee radioed headquarters and urgently requested that he speak to General Kwon. It didn’t take long before the general was on the net.

Rhee explained the situation and confirmed the North Korean general’s identity. He then listed Tae’s conditions, and his justifications for them. Kwon listened quietly as Rhee concluded his report. “Finally, Tae claims that he has an ample supply of chemical weapons that he deliberately chose not to use against us.”

“Do you believe him?” Kwon asked.

“We both know how many empty depots my men found; I’d have to say I do.”

Rhee heard his general curse loudly. “This makes no damn sense, Colonel! No sense at all! Why fight so hard, and then offer to surrender? Is he trying to put us off guard so they can counterattack?”

“That would be hard to do without bridges, General,” argued Rhee. “As a barrier, the Taedong River works both ways. Honestly, sir, I think Tae is being truthful, as hard as that may be to imagine.”

“You mean to tell me that you actually believe this criminal? This filthy communist?”

Rhee had been expecting this. General Kwon was old school. He was famous for his fierce determination, and equally infamous for his hatred of the Kim regime.

“There wasn’t the usual communist bluster, sir. He never mentioned reestablishing party rule even once. In truth, General, I agree with his reasoning.”

“Colonel Rhee, the man has used chemical weapons on his own people!” objected Kwon.

“All three factions have used chemical weapons, sir,” Rhee countered. “If we’re going to reject the surrender of every senior North Korean officer that used WMDs during the civil war, then we should prepare for a long, costly fight, one we could very well lose.”

A soft laugh suddenly echoed in the earpiece. Once it stopped, there was a sharp sigh, followed by, “All right, Colonel, what do you recommend?”

“I recommend we accept his terms, sir,” Rhee stated frankly.

“You understand that this is a political hand grenade,” remarked Kwon. “How do you expect me to sell this up the chain of command?”

Rhee smiled. Kwon was at least listening. “Simply point out that we will achieve our goals. Pyongyang is taken ahead of schedule, and with far fewer casualties than we estimated. The Blue House will love that. And if the rest of the KPA units obey Tae, then the fighting between our armed forces will be over throughout the rest of the country. We get our hands on more WMDs—a lot more, since Tae almost certainly knows about caches that we didn’t even have a clue existed. Maybe that will be enough to get the Chinese to back off.

“But most importantly, sir, accepting Tae’s terms give us the best chance at achieving reunification in a reasonably peaceful fashion. Sir, we can’t throw this opportunity away because of decades-old hostility. The healing has to begin some time . . . why not now?”

Kwon was quiet at first; Rhee knew his boss was thinking over his subordinate’s words carefully. Finally, after another sigh, Kwon lamented, “You realize we could both be court-martialed for treason. Committing our government to an alliance with the enemy.”

“I see nothing treasonous about allying ourselves with other
Koreans
, sir. However, if we’re convicted, I’ll gladly take the upper bunk.”

The general burst out laughing; the quip was typical Rhee. “All right, you rogue, I’ll endorse your recommendation to General Yeon. You go and stop the civil war.”

Tae waited patiently as the South Korean colonel was obviously having an animated conversation with this superior. After several long minutes, the two colonels started walking back toward Tae and his men. The general’s anxiousness grew with each step, but he waited for Rhee to come to a stop. Then calmly, Tae asked, “Well, Colonel Rhee Han-gil, what will it be?”

Rhee stepped forward and offered his hand. “We accept your terms, General.”

31 August 2015, 0830 local time

US Forces Korea Headquarters, Yongsan Garrison

Seoul, South Korea

General Thomas Fascione sat silently at the head of the conference room table. The USFK chief of staff, Major General O’Rourke, and deputy, General Park Joon-ho, were seated next to him; both men fidgeted in discomfort as General Yeon Min-soo, the ROK Army chief of staff, ranted in a fierce tirade—the man was livid.

“How dare that man obligate us to a truce without proper consultation from the president! And Kwon—he should have known better! This is typical Special Forces behavior; they think they can operate outside the rules that apply to everyone else!”

Fascione stood up abruptly. His face betrayed his irritation. “I really don’t understand what the problem is, General Yeon. Based on everything I’ve been told, Colonel Rhee’s actions achieved what was in the best interests of the Republic of Korea—no, correction, the new unified Korea.”

Yeon’s face became tighter as he restrained himself from looking up at the towering American general. “He’s a colonel, General Fascione, and he doesn’t have the authority to commit the Republic of Korea to a truce with the likes of that criminal Tae! Nor does General Kwon! The idea of integrating the KPA into our military structure, even if Tae is willing to place himself under our command, is simply unacceptable.”

“Perhaps I’m just an ‘Ugly American’ who doesn’t appreciate the Confucian hierarchy that your culture finds so endearing, General,” began Fascione, his nostrils flaring. “But from where I come from, the mission comes first! Your government is entitled to make its own decisions on how to deal with the former KPA troops, of course. But if I were you, I’d suggest not repeating the same mistakes we made in Iraq with the de-Baathification policy. We’re still paying for that bonehead maneuver.”

30 August 2015, 9:30 p.m.

CNN Headquarters

Atlanta, Georgia

The screen was filled with a sea of multicolored lanterns flowing down the street. In the background were several large floats depicting various images of Buddha. South Korean flags waved everywhere, and the sound of firecrackers could be heard echoing in the background. Given the size and festiveness of the throng, one could be forgiven thinking it was New Year’s Day, or even the Buddha birthday celebration. It was neither; the official announcement from the Blue House of Pyongyang’s capitulation had been made only thirty minutes earlier. The spontaneous rejoicing was the emotional outpouring of a people that had waited decades for this moment—the reunification of Korea.

Sitting at her news anchor desk, Catherine Donner watched in awe as thousands of Koreans sang, shouted, or chanted their joy in downtown Seoul. As soon as the video clip was done, she turned toward the camera and began reading her script.

“All of Seoul, a city of ten million, erupted into celebration immediately after President An Kye-nam announced that the North Korean capital of Pyongyang had been captured by ROK Army units during the early morning hours. YouTube and other social media outlets show similar celebrations throughout the Republic of Korea. In essence, the country is throwing one great big party, and not without justification.

“After nearly seventy years, and two wars, the divided halves of Korea are becoming one. And while the
beginning
of the reunification process is indeed a cause for festivities, it is only the start of what will undoubtedly be a lengthy, and arduous integration, particularly since these two countries have long harbored hostile feelings toward each other.

“While there will unquestionably be bumps along the road, President An’s opening remarks that the Republic of Korea will not make the same mistakes that America did in Iraq, was an encouraging and refreshing start. Still, there are reports of continued fighting between the former Korean People’s Army and Chinese army units to the north of Pyongyang. State Department officials declined to make any comments, stating that negotiations were continuing with Beijing.”

Chapter 16 - Reaction

2 September 2015, 1:00 p.m. local time

Munsan Refugee Camp

Outside Dongducheon, South Korea

“Are we prisoners here?” Ye Dong-soo didn’t waste any time. The big, weathered farmer had been appointed by the rapidly growing crowd outside Kary’s tent as their spokesman, not that they needed him to articulate their position. They all wanted to go home.

There was no way to answer Ye’s question directly. “Yes” was untrue, and “no” would be treated as a denial of what seemed obvious to him.

He was frustrated, heading for angry, but Kary tried her best to answer emotion with reason. “If you go north, the army will stop you at the border. The government has declared all of the former DPRK as a war zone. They have a huge problem taking care of the people that are still there, and deserting KPA soldiers are preying on civilians. And where there was fighting, there are damaged roads and unexploded shells . . .”

Ye hardly listened. “We heard all that yesterday, from the general in that long-winded speech! But Pyongyang has surrendered. There may be fighting in the north, but our village is well south of there. We are trapped here, while the Southern army loots and burns our homes!”

Kary was surprised at the accusation. “That’s simply—”

“We’ve seen the pictures on the broadcasts. Whole streets in Chorwon were on fire!”

“That’s from the fighting,” she insisted.

“Nobody’s putting out the fires. We have to get back to protect our homes. And my crops should be harvested.”

She persisted. “There’s no transport to take you back. Every truck in the army is taking soldiers or supplies north.”

“That’s a lie!’ he countered angrily. “There’s a whole row of trucks at the base, right next to the camp. Give them to us, if you don’t want to do it yourselves.” Ye was almost pleading now.

“The motor pool?” Kary asked. “They aren’t mine to give. Besides, how many can each one hold? Fifteen? Twenty? How many people are in this camp? When it’s finally time for you to return, the army will send hundreds of trucks.”

He didn’t look convinced. She tried a different tack. “Please, Ye Dong-soo-
ssi
, you know I’m helping people reunite with their relatives here in the South. Individuals and families are leaving the camps every day.”

“Yes, a handful at a time,” Ye argued. “The trucks would be quicker.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “Walking would be quicker.”

“It’s what I can do,” Kary insisted. “Colonel Little said my job was to care for you and your countrymen—food, shelter, better medical care than you’ve ever had. And I’ve added more: classes for the children, and any adults willing to go.”

“Propaganda,” Ye grumbled. But he was calming down. “Everyone here took terrible risks to come south because a civil war is no place for a family. We are grateful for what you have given to us, but it’s time to go home!” His emotions boiled up again, and he slapped the table for emphasis.

“I will meet with the Korean army commander right away, and ask him what can be done to speed up the process.” Kary sighed. “At the very least, he can give me—and you—a timeline and progress reports. Maybe he could come back and explain exactly what they are doing.”

“No! No more speeches!” Ye insisted.

“When I find out, can I count on you to pass on what I do learn?”

Ye scowled. “You know where I’ll be,” he answered, and stalked out of Kary’s tent.

Others of her staff were waiting their turn to see her, but Kary told them to wait for half a moment while she stood and went over to the table where they kept a pot of coffee brewing. It was relatively fresh, and much better than the Chinese instant coffee most in the North drank.

The last two days had been an emotional roller coaster, and she could only hope that the ride was bottoming out. The victory in Pyongyang had been welcomed in Munsan, if not celebrated as wildly as nearby Dongducheon, or Seoul, or really every city in the South.

Alcoholic beverages were discouraged in the Munsan camp, and that may have also dampened the celebrations, but people from the North had a different context. They had been brought up being taught that South Korea was an enemy, and now its army had invaded and conquered their capital city. Even Northerners who hated the Kims felt conflicted. They certainly didn’t feel liberated.

The news media didn’t help her cause, describing the “collapse” of DPRK resistance and heavy KPA casualties, or announcing that the front lines were now north of the capital. Too many government officials, egged on by eager reporters, had already declared victory. Even when confronted with news about the Chinese invasion, they predicted that their all-powerful army would drive them out of “United Korea.”

Within hours, some people in the camps had simply left, walking out the same way that they walked in. They were inevitably picked up by ROK military police near the border and returned to Munsan; sometimes the worse for wear.

The same thing was happening to South Koreans who headed north to look for relatives, but Southern citizens were just told to go home, not taken to a camp where the disgruntled could gather and reinforce each other’s frustration.

Less than twenty-four hours after the fall of Pyongyang was announced, Kary’s tent had received a steady stream of people wanting to leave, and asking if she could please arrange transportation back north. There were so many helicopters and trucks and airplanes going in that direction. Certainly there was room for a few passengers.

Kary had appealed to Little’s deputy for help. In all the chaos it was hard to find a point of contact with the South Korean army, now once again in charge of Munsan and the other refugee camps. The new reserve colonel had been sympathetic and helpful. He’d even called a meeting to explain to everyone why they had to remain at Munsan, at least for the foreseeable future. Food supplies in the north were problematic, and he couldn’t guarantee their security. No, he couldn’t give them a definite date when they could go home.

It hadn’t gone well.

And today it was even worse. Munsan offered shelter, food, and many other positive things. But it was also crowded, uncomfortable, and smelly. People had to stand in long lines for anything worthwhile, and even with the classes Kary had organized, there was little to do. Those things were acceptable if the alternative was living in a war zone, but the war was almost over, wasn’t it?

She sat back down and one of the staff came over with a question. The children needed a playground. Could space be found? Kary was pretty sure she could get the city leaders in Dongducheon to contribute some equipment.

Another reported there were still incidents of food hoarding. It was understandable that people so used to scarcity would want to have some food reserved if the situation changed—or if they were planning to make a trip, Kary realized.

But there were few places in camp where food could be stored that were even close to being sanitary. Not only had there been incidents of food poisoning, but insects and even rats had appeared. How could she give people confidence in their food supply? And were the times of hardship really over?

As the afternoon progressed, she listened to the problems the staffers posed and either resolved them or, more usually, added them to a list, Kary watched the clock. Not only was her stomach complaining, the evening meal was only served until 1930.

She was missing Cho again. He spent a lot of time on errands for her, or the camp commander, who had found him useful. The South Korean officer openly admired someone who had worked against the Kim regime directly. There was no longer any talk of him being arrested.

Kary usually waited for Cho Ho-jin to appear before going together to dinner. She also often found him waiting near the ladies’ quarters when she came out in the morning. At meals, he asked questions about governments and laws, or life and work in the South and faraway America. In return, he fed her tidbits of camp gossip. Many made her laugh, while others helped her understand the life of a refugee.

By 1910, she gave up waiting for him and headed for the mess tent. She made it a point to eat what everyone else did. She needed to see that the camp’s residents were being properly fed.

The tent was full of people eating, and there were still a fair number waiting to be fed. She got in line, picking up a tray. Maybe it was good that she’d come in so late. The mess line had been open for over two hours, and the cooks weren’t keeping the serving area as clean as it should be. And they were running short . . .

She heard a commotion over at the far end of the mess tent, and then a gunshot. Her heart froze. She dropped her tray and headed in that direction.

Or tried to. Most of the people in the tent were running away from the source of the noise. Only her height allowed her to dodge and push upstream against a river of humanity. As she got closer, she could see some sort of fight had broken out, a dozen or more men, young and old, punching and wrestling. It wasn’t clear what they were fighting about, and she couldn’t see anyone with a pistol, or any other weapons.

She had to stop it, somehow, and was trying to figure out how when a phalanx of soldiers, in body armor and carrying batons instead of rifles, ran in the front gate of the camp. In wedge formation, they pushed their way through anyone that didn’t get out of their way fast enough, and drove straight into the center of the scuffle.

Teams of soldiers began pulling individuals out of the fight. While two men immobilized a combatant, another zip-tied his hands, blindfolded him, and turned the now helpless prisoner over to other soldiers, who had roared up in a truck.

It was brutal, but efficient. Kary wondered how long they had trained . . .

Something pricked the back of her neck. As she automatically tried to step forward, away from the irritation, a callused hand materialized around her throat. It firmly held her against the sharpness, and squeezed just hard enough to threaten her windpipe without preventing her from breathing.

“Don’t speak.” She tried to pull away and the hand tightened more. It felt like it was made of stone. Her movements also jostled her assailant’s other arm, and she felt a sharp pain on the back of her neck. “This knife is very sharp. Turn around.”

To reinforce the order, the hand slid out to her shoulder and spun her a half circle. It pushed her roughly forward. “We’re going out the front gate.” Still in shock, and hardly given time to understand, she complied, or more accurately, didn’t resist.

She half stumbled and began walking. The knife and the hand holding it dropped down to her upper back, while the other hand relaxed its grip, but stayed firmly on her shoulder.

Frightened, almost numb, she looked at the people around her, but their attention was on the fight and the soldiers breaking it up. The knife, if that’s what it was, enforced her silence. A few people glanced in her direction, and presumably saw whoever was close behind her, but had no reaction.

After a few steps, she asked, “Why . . .”

The hand pinched her shoulder, hard. He pushed her roughly and they began walking more quickly. “I said, do not speak!” the voice said harshly. “Save it for the motor pool. You are going to sign out all four trucks for this evening.”

It was Ye Dong-soo. She’d spoken to him long enough that afternoon to recognize his voice. They were walking quickly, almost to the front gate and the Korean army base outside. Other people were nearby, but almost everyone’s attention was still drawn to the fight. It was starting to get dark, too.

“They’re stopping civilians at the border.” She’d said as much that morning. Wasn’t he listening? The shock and paralysis of the surprise was passing, but fueled by adrenaline, her mind was racing. Could she persuade him to let her go? Could she yell for help somehow without getting stabbed? People were passing by them all the time. Why didn’t they notice?

At least he didn’t squeeze her throat this time. “You are coming with us. If we are stopped, you’re going to tell them that the army has given us permission to return home. I’m sure you will be able to convince them,” he added almost brightly.

She looked at the people walking by. Everyone was heading toward the altercation in the mess tent. She thought about winking or making some sort of weird expression. After all, Ye was behind her. He wouldn’t see it. But their first reaction would be to ask her what was wrong. That wouldn’t help her at all, and would just involve someone else.

Then she saw Cho Ho-jin. He’d just turned the corner and was heading toward them, walking quickly. He was some distance ahead, but they were still close to the camp. He had to pass by her to go in the front gate.

But what could she say? Did he have the pistol with him? No. She remembered it was back in her footlocker.

“We don’t have any paperwork to take the trucks, or to cross the border.” Cho was only meters away.

“I’m sure you can talk us through. The people at the motor pool will listen to you.” She tried to look straight ahead, and not at Cho.

Then he passed them without even looking in her direction, heading toward the commotion with everyone else. How many tall American women were in this camp, anyway? Was he too distracted to notice them?

Her heart sank and her legs seemed to lose their strength. His sudden appearance had meant salvation, but he’d passed by. More afraid now, she thought furiously.
Keep Ye talking
.

“What about drivers?” she asked, trying a practical approach.

“They’re already waiting near the motor pool,” Ye answered. “We’ll be moving in minutes, and loaded...”

Ye’s reply ended with a strangled “Gurk!” His hand on her shoulder tightened, then was torn loose. The motion pulled her around, and she saw Cho standing behind and to one side of the farmer. He had one hand on the front of Ye’s throat, pulling him back hard, so that he fell backwards over Cho’s outstretched leg. Cho was twisting his upper body as he pulled Ye down, literally throwing all his weight into the movement.

Her kidnapper, surprised and wide-eyed, landed hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Cho then delivered a vicious kick to the side of Ye’s head, and the farmer went limp.