Red Phoenix (27 page)

Rhee hung his head in shame again.

Kevin softened his voice. “C’mon, Rhee. Everybody screws up once or twice. But you can’t let it grind you down.”

The South Korean slowly lifted his head. He stared back at Kevin for a moment in silence and then answered, “You are right, Lieutenant Little, I should concentrate my energies on the things that I can affect. On the platoon and on my own preparedness.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve been indulging in nothing more than weak self-pity. That was foolish and wrong.”

Rhee stood abruptly.

Kevin followed suit.

“If you’ll allow it, I’ll get cleaned up and join you for the rest of the day’s schedule.” Rhee suddenly bowed slightly to him. “I must apologize for my behavior today, Lieutenant. And I must thank you for your kindness.”

Embarrassed now, Kevin awkwardly sketched a return bob of the head. “Ah hell, Rhee. No need for that.”

He turned toward the door and then turned back with a sudden grin. “After all, I didn’t want to get left facing Sergeant Pierce and Captain Matuchek on my own.”

Slowly Rhee returned his smile. “I see. Well, that is understandable. They are indeed a formidable pair. But perhaps they will meet their match in us.” He reached out and recapped the bottle of Soju.

The South Korean lieutenant was a soldier once again.

DECEMBER 13—THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Blake Fowler slid General McLaren’s telex across the desk to the President and sat back in his chair. He waited while the President skimmed through it.

“You’re sure this general knows what he’s talking about?”

Admiral Simpson answered, “I’ve known Jack for a long time, Mr. President. He’s not a genius at spotting political trends, but he’s a damned fine soldier. And if he says that South Korea’s turning its army into mush, well, I believe him.”

The President turned to Fowler. “What do you think, Blake?

“I’ve got to concur with the general’s assessment. The reports we’ve picked up show a complete government overreaction to this coup attempt. They’ve already arrested everyone fingered by some internal security chief who was in on it, and now it seems that they’re hauling off any officer who’s shown any signs of competence—just on general principles.

“The results out in the field aren’t good. Morale in most units has hit rock bottom. There are even unconfirmed reports that some battalions have refused to obey orders from their new officers. The government’s Special Forces are supposed to have come down very hard on them.”

The President shook his head. “Why are they doing this? Hasn’t the South Korean government got enough trouble in its streets without looking for even more by wrecking its armed forces?”

“That’s just it, Mr. President. That’s exactly why they’ve reacted so badly. The government has always counted on the military as its bulwark against the mobs. Now that’s gone. I’d say that South Korea’s leaders are feeling increasingly isolated and increasingly paranoid—with some justification, of course, because there are people out to get them.”

Simpson nodded. “That’s why I agree with General McLaren that we’ve got to find a way to calm the government over there down. Maybe it’s time we sent someone over there to assure them that we’re not pulling out anytime soon.”

“Damn.” The President picked up a letter from his desk and flipped it so that Blake and the admiral could see the congressional seal embossed at the top. “I got this from our fine friend, the Speaker, this morning.” His tone
made it clear that he considered the Speaker of the House anything but a friend.

“He writes that the congressional leadership is, quote, gravely concerned by the continuing turmoil in South Korea, unquote. He goes on to say that they’re most concerned that American troops still in the country might get caught up in this ‘cycle of violence.’ And they’re asking for an immediate troop pull-out, with every last American soldier to be out of South Korea by the end of January.”

“That’s impossible.” Blake looked at the admiral for confirmation of what he’d said.

“Blake’s right, Mr. President. Even if we hadn’t been holding things up, there’d be no way to meet that kind of timetable. It’ll take months alone just to ship our heavy equipment back across the Pacific.”

The President nodded. “They know that. The letter goes on to propose leaving the equipment there in storage until it can be moved. But they want our people out as fast as possible.” He tossed the letter back onto his desk. “Naturally this ‘private’ letter has already been released to the press.”

Goddamn all congressmen. Blake knew that the Speaker’s letter had probably been dreamed up by some congressional staffer as the ideal way to exploit South Korea’s troubles to get some TV time for the Speaker and his favorites. Congressmen were always looking for a way to stay in the public eye when the House and Senate weren’t in session. All right, that was understandable. But their publicity stunt had just drastically narrowed the President’s options.

Blake looked across the desk. “So I suppose we can’t take the chance that our reassurances to the South Korean government might leak?”

The President nodded again. “Dead on, Dr. Fowler. If the leadership hears that I’m delaying the pull-out after they’ve publicly asked me to expedite it, they’ll have no choice but to seek legislation setting an explicit timetable. And that’s something we can’t risk, true?”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t anything else Blake could say.

“Okay, then. We’ll just have to hope that the government over there comes to its senses soon. Maybe the North Koreans will do us a favor and try some kind of commando raid—something that’d bring the military back into favor.”

Admiral Simpson shrugged. “Anything’s possible with those sons of bitches, Mr. President. I know Jack’s got his boys on rotating alert just in case something like that happens.”

“Good.” The President rolled his chair back a few inches and opened a drawer. He pulled out a folder and laid it open on his desk. With a quick flourish he signed the bottom of one of the papers in the folder. “There. That’s the one other thing I can do, gentlemen.”

He smiled at their puzzled looks. “I’ve just taken one of your earlier
suggestions, Phil.” He handed the paper to the admiral. “That’s an order putting MAC on standby alert. Ostensibly I’m doing this to boost our ability to evacuate speedily should the situation in South Korea deteriorate further. Ostensibly.” He emphasized the last word.

Both Blake and the admiral knew what he meant. Putting the lumbering C-5 and C-141 troop transports of the Air Force’s Military Airlift Command on alert would also increase their ability to reinforce South Korea during a crisis. It wasn’t much, but it was probably the best they could hope for given the current political situation.

Blake just hoped they weren’t sending the wrong signals overseas.

DECEMBER 14—PYONGYANG, NORTH KOREA

Lieutenant General Cho Hyun-Jae was puzzled.

At the last meeting between Kim Jong-Il and the forward army corps commanders in late November, intelligence reports had made it clear that the Americans weren’t planning to pull their forces out of the South until at least the next spring. Given that, Kim had agreed that Red Phoenix should be postponed until the next year. As a result, orders had been issued to slow down the troop redeployments, munitions stockpiling, and training exercises associated with the plan. They would continue, but at a slower, more relaxed pace less likely to unnecessarily alert the South’s puppet government.

Now, just two weeks later, came Kim Jong-Il’s urgent middle-of-the-night summons to Pyongyang, compelling Cho to take a hair-raising, mountain-hopping flight north strapped into the back seat of a MiG-19UTI trainer.

He had been met at the Pyongyang East military airfield by a plainclothes security detail and driven through the capital’s empty streets in a motorcycle-escorted black sedan. The quiet around him had made no impression on Cho. There were few vehicles, even in the daytime, for Pyongyang’s broad four-lane boulevards.

But the car hadn’t deposited him at Kim Jong-Il’s offices at Party Headquarters as usual. Instead it had turned into the underground garage beneath the Presidential Palace—a building reserved largely for ceremonial purposes. Cho’s disquiet had been increased by the sight of other parked staff cars in the garage, cars carrying the flags of almost every major military command in the Korean People’s Army. He’d wondered what the devil was going on. Some briefing connected with the attempted coup in the South?

Now, looking around the huge, marble-walled room at the other grim-faced men seated nearby, Cho began to doubt that initial assessment. The room was filled with top-ranking officers from every service, and entire General Staff, the National Defense Commission, and even the drab-suited members of the Party’s Central Committee and its Military Commission. It
seemed unlikely that the nation’s entire top-level political-military apparatus would have been assembled at such short notice for a simple briefing.

He caught the eye of his counterpart at the V Army Corps and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. The man shrugged back, his face carefully expressionless beneath the savage scar left by an American bomb four decades before.

Martial music suddenly sounded over hidden loudspeakers, pulling Cho’s attention back to the small, raised dais flanked by giant-sized portraits of Kim Il-Sung and his son. The assembled officers and party leaders snapped to attention as the room’s main doors opened and Kim Jong-Il strode in to stand near the platform. He inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the salute and stood stiffly waiting, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

The blaring military march continued, and the Great Leader himself, Kim Il-Sung, came through the doors, moving slowly, haltingly. Cho stifled a gasp. The elder Kim had aged dramatically since his last appearance at the Party Congress. The news photos taken in recent months must have been retouched to conceal the new, deeply etched lines on the Leader’s face, his thinning white hair, and dark, shadowed eyes. Kim moved cautiously down the center aisle, stopping briefly to clasp hands with some of the men in the room. Always the old men, Cho noted.

When he reached the platform, Kim Jong-Il stepped forward to help his father up the low stairs to the microphone, the perfect picture of a devoted son. The elder Kim motioned his generals and party colleagues to their seats before speaking.

“Comrades!” The Great Leader’s voice was low, rasping as he read a prepared text without looking at his audience. “Comrades! The forces of history have created an opportunity for greatness. An opportunity for liberation. An opportunity we cannot afford to lose.”

Liberation? Cho glanced sharply at Kim Jong-Il. The man’s cold eyes were shielded by his thick glasses, but the general could sense the younger Kim’s smug sense of triumph.

“The corrupt puppet regime of the South is starting to crumble and its bandit military is crumbling with it. The people of the South are ready to rise against their oppressors. Accordingly, after careful consultation with the Military Commission of the Central Committee, I have decided to commit the armed might of the Democratic People’s Republic to a renewed revolutionary struggle to liberate the southern half of our beloved fatherland.”

Officers and party officials around the room stirred in their seats, thrown into consternation by the Great Leader’s words.

“To assure the unity of purpose and direction required by this historic decision, I am appointing the beloved Dear Leader, Kim Jong-Il, as acting chairman of the Military Commission. His authority is my authority. His voice
is my voice.…” The elder Kim’s own voice trailed off into silence as he came to the end of his script. He stepped back from the microphones and glanced uncertainly at his son, who bowed and moved forward to take center stage.

“Comrades!” Kim Jong-Il’s voice was vibrant, assured, full of confidence. “I assure you that our Great Leader’s trust in me is not misplaced. Final victory is within our grasp. We have but to seize it.”

The younger Kim stopped, letting the silence build tension. Then he broke it. “Military operations against the South will commence at oh two hundred hours on the twenty-fifth of December. The plan will be Red Phoenix.

The excitement Cho had felt as Kim Jong-Il spoke suddenly flowed down his throat into an icy-cold spot in the pit of his stomach. A hasty attack? Eleven days to complete the planning and preparation for an operation recently postponed for at least a year? He stared at the younger Kim in shock. It could not be done.

Kim’s eyes met his briefly and roved on across the confounded leadership. “Comrades! Now is the time to strike hard and strike fast. Delay could be fatal. The puppet armies of the South are in disarray—torn by faction and mutiny. Their American masters are abandoning them. Already America’s air transports have been mobilized to speed their evacuation.”

Kim paused again, his eyes bright behind his lenses. “Comrades! The South is ours for the taking!”

Or so it appeared, he cautioned himself.

At first, the opportunity provided by this renegade fascist general and his attempted coup had seemed almost too good to be true. He’d been prepared to ignore the opening, preferring to wait until the American evacuation was complete. But then, as intelligence report after intelligence report showed confusion and dismay spreading throughout the South’s military, Kim Jong-Il had changed his mind. Such a chance might never come again in his lifetime. The enemy army would recover its morale in a few short months, and even without its American backers, it would remain a dangerous foe. Better to strike now, while the opening existed, than to wait for another chance that might never come.

Kim was all too aware that time was not on his side. His father was aging rapidly, and with each stage of the old man’s decline, Kim Jong-Il stood more exposed to his political enemies. Every instinct in him screamed for immediate action. The military situation was as good as it would ever get. The South’s puppet government was reeling, hammered hard by its supposed friends. And most importantly, his own survival might rest on a successful war that would bolster his authority as North Korea’s absolute ruler. It was enough. He had always been something of a gambler.