Red Phoenix (12 page)

McLaren leaned forward. “Look, General. I’m well aware that you want those men posted back in the cities to help you control these student demonstrations. And I’m sure you’re equally well aware that my country simply can’t countenance the use of regular military forces to put down civil unrest.”

“General McLaren.” Park’s anger was starting to show. “These riots are being sparked by terrorist agitators. My government is not facing simple
crowds of unruly students. These radicals are being led by a hard-core communist cadre.”

“Bullshit.” Damn. McLaren was glad there were no State Department flunkies around to hear his undiplomatic language. But that was what they got for sending a combat soldier on a diplomatic fishing expedition. “Cut the crap, General. I don’t doubt for a minute that the bastards up in Pyongyang are salivating over all the trouble down here. But don’t try to feed me that stuff about these students being controlled by the commies. It ain’t going to wash—here or in Washington.”

Surprisingly, General Park smiled. “Very well. If you can speak so bluntly, then so can I. But I shall deny ever having said this, you understand?”

McLaren nodded. Well, well, so Park hadn’t really expected him to buy the communist agitator line. Interesting.

“The truth is that my government must restore order in our cities … and we must do so quickly.” Park lowered his voice. “As you know, we have a … how do you say it? A tradition of military intervention to bring order out of chaos.”

McLaren nodded again. South Korea’s military had jumped into the political fray in 1961 and 1979. “Go on.”

“There are officers, junior-grade officers to be sure, but officers nonetheless, who are becoming unhappy with the way the government is handling this latest crisis. They believe we have been indecisive, even weak, in responding to these student provocations.”

“So. Have your Defense Security Command deal with these officers. Hell, that’s what you’ve got it for, isn’t it?” McLaren couldn’t see the problem. The Defense Security Command was a vast, shadowy organization maintained solely to protect the South Korean government from coup attempts by its own military. Security agents were attached to every significant armed forces command, with instructions to keep a close eye on all goings on. And all South Korean officers were subject to rapid and unexplained transfers whenever it seemed that they might be becoming too popular with their troops. It was a system that reduced military effectiveness, but it did provide the government with a powerful check on any overly ambitious officers.

But Park shook his head. “The grumbling is too widespread. If we took hasty action against just a few of these men, the others might be driven into an unfortunate decision.”

Uh huh, McLaren thought, an “unfortunate decision” that would end the careers of a certain number of government officials—like General Park, for example.

Park looked closely at him. “So you see, General McLaren, it is essential that we bring this rioting to an end. The Combat Police are having trouble doing that. You must allow us to use our soldiers to restore order. It is necessary.”

Cute. Very cute. McLaren knew full well that the government, if it simply wanted soldiers for riot duty, could use its “black beret” Special Forces troops—men who weren’t under the Combined Forces Command. But using regular units, units nominally under his orders, would send a signal throughout Korea and around the world that the United States gave its full backing to whatever measures the South Korean government used to quell student dissent. Well, he wasn’t going to play that game.

“No dice, General. If your government wants to end these demonstrations, I suggest you rely on the police to do it. And if I were you, I’d tread more carefully in the way you go about it. If you’ve been following events back in the States at all, you know the Congress is giving the administration hell right now about our involvement over here.”

Park sat rigid in his chair for a moment. Then he stood abruptly. McLaren followed suit. “Then, General McLaren, I believe we have nothing further to discuss today. I shall inform my colleagues of your decision.”

McLaren picked up his uniform cap and briefcase. “Okay, you do that.”

“They will not be pleased. Perhaps our President will want to discuss the matter with your President.”

So they were going to try going over his head on this one? That wasn’t much of a surprise. But McLaren doubted they’d get any further with Washington than they had with him. “Fine. I’m sure they’ll find a great deal to discuss. In the meantime, your colleagues don’t have to be happy with my decision. They just have to live with it.”

He returned Park’s salute and headed out to his staff car. He had an inspection to conduct. And with the mood he was in, he sure as hell hoped the commander of the 4th Battalion, 7th Cavalry had everything ready.

______________
CHAPTER
8

Intentions

SEPTEMBER 23—PARTY HEADQUARTERS, PYONGYANG, NORTH KOREA

The lights were out all over Pyongyang, leaving the city wrapped in a darkness broken only by the stars reflecting off the Taedong River. All its massive government buildings, monolithic statues, and towering apartment houses merged into simple patches of greater or lesser blackness—without feature, without clear line, without scale.

Kim Jong-Il smiled bitterly as he stood looking out over the city from his office. He knew that these periodic practice air raid alerts and blackouts had little military use. He’d seen the lowlight videotapes made by the American bombers striking Libya in 1986. Denying them the use of city lights as aiming points wouldn’t have much effect.

Still, the alerts served as an important instrument of political control. They demonstrated unity and discipline. They reminded the people of the sacrifices of the past and of the dangers as yet all around. After all, what significance could petty internal grievances have when compared to the threat of an aggressive, imperialist war machine?

Kim turned away from the windows, closed the heavy blackout drapes, and switched on his desk lamp. The small circle of light cast distorted shadows against the wood-paneled walls of his office—shadows he ignored. He’d wasted enough time in useless contemplation. Now was a time for action.

The agent Scorpion’s work had borne fruit beyond all his initial expectations. The bloody scenes in Seoul’s streets had shattered the South’s governing coalition, and they were driving the American Congress out of lockstep with its client state.

He had the wedge he’d sought. Now he had to make use of it.

Kim snapped open the sealed Defense Ministry folder sent over by special courier earlier that evening. It contained a thick sheaf of densely typed
papers and annotated maps. The title page bore a simple, boldfaced legend:

Draft Operations Plan:

RED PHOENIX

Most Secret

SEPTEMBER 24—II CORPS HQ, KAESONG, NORTH KOREA

The rumble and clatter of tank treads made it impossible to speak. Lieutenant General Cho Hyun-Jae glanced nervously at the guest beside him on the reviewing stand. Then he swung his eyes back front and allowed himself to relax minutely.

His guest didn’t seem angered or bored by the procession of battle-ready armored fighting vehicles Cho had arranged. On the contrary, Kim Jong-Il seemed pleased, almost excited. The hard, set lines around his mouth had softened somewhat, and Cho could see the momentary gleam of white teeth every time a T-62 thundered by the stand.

It was more a battle drill than a parade. A battalion’s worth of buttoned-up tanks pitched and rolled across the torn-up landscape at full throttle, spread out in platoon groups of four. The forty T-62s were followed by wave after wave of tracked BMPs and wheeled BTR personnel carriers, some towing mortars and light antitank guns. ZSU-23-4 Shilkas rolled along with this second echelon, their quad 23mm antiaircraft guns elevated and ready to fire into the black, threatening clouds that covered the sky.

Kim watched it all avidly, and Cho thanked the nonexistent gods that he’d arranged this realistic display of a motorized rifle regiment’s combat power instead of the traditional, lumbering military parade. Its effect on the Dear Leader was well worth the precious fuel it consumed.

As the last vehicles roared off the review ground and over a hill, Kim leaned closer and pitched his voice just high enough to carry over their fading engines. “Excellent, General. A most impressive display. Your men typify the five combat readiness guidelines enunciated by my father: tenacious revolutionary spirit; miraculous and elaborate tactics; strong physique; point-blank shooting; and ironbound regulations.”

Cho bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment. “Thank you, Dear Leader. I shall relay your approval to my troops.”

Kim nodded and half-turned to stare out again across the tread-torn ground. The silence seemed to stretch forever. Then, abruptly, without looking directly at Cho, he said, “Let’s take a walk together, General. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

For an awful moment the tall, broad-shouldered North Korean corps
commander felt his stomach twist in on itself, but he forced himself to appear calm and unruffled. Logically he should have nothing to fear from this man. His military record was distinguished, he kept his personal life carefully uncluttered of any suspicious bourgeois vices, and he’d made his personal loyalties clear years ago by siding with the pro-Soviet faction of the General Staff and the Politburo—a faction the younger Kim headed. Still, Cho knew fear in the presence of this man who had the power to wipe away careers, lives, with the stroke of a pen or a raised voice. Kim was not always logical.

He followed Kim out onto the open ground. The two men walked for several minutes without speaking, paced by a small cluster of uniformed aides and a phalanx of Kim’s heavily armed plainclothes bodyguards, all of whom stayed well out of earshot.

At last Kim stopped, his eyes fixed on the muddy remains of a small, grassy hillock that had been crushed flat by Cho’s tanks. “Such power,” he half-whispered to himself.

Then he swung round to face Cho squarely. “Such power, General. Tell me, as commander of our Second Corps, you most directly confront our enemies, true?”

“Indeed, Dear Leader.”

Kim stepped delicately over a patch of soft ground. “So you understand the danger they pose to our Revolution?”

“Of course.” What was all this about? It reminded Cho of the political instruction classes of his school days.

“Your wife is well? She finds your new apartment in Changwang Street to her liking?”

Cho looked at the shorter man in surprise. Why the sudden change of subject? “Yes, Dear Leader. But then she’s always been fond of Pyongyang. She’s a city girl at heart.”

Kim smiled, showing his teeth. “Good. Good.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Tell me what you think of Red Phoenix, Comrade General.”

Cho shrugged. “I helped draft the plan during my last tour on the General Staff, Dear Leader. It was a good plan then and it’s a good plan now. In fact, I believe that it offers our best hope for a successful liberation of the South.” He frowned as one of Kim’s boots splashed mud across his uniform trousers.

“I see.” Kim’s voice was flat, uninterested. “This plan calls for a surprise attack across the so-called DMZ—an attack launched right out of our barracks. Why?”

“Surprise is the handmaiden of victory,” the general quoted. “The South has larger reserves than we do. A sudden, unexpected attack would deny them the time needed to mobilize those reserves. It would also prevent the Americans from shipping in their own reinforcements.”

Kim nodded his understanding. They walked quietly across the torn-up field for several minutes more before he asked in a carefully casual tone, “How soon could you be ready to launch Red Phoenix? Two weeks? A month?”

A strange question. So strange that Cho answered honestly, without thinking of possible consequences. He shook his head. “Impossible. We couldn’t possibly be ready for several months at least.”

Kim pounced on that. “Why not? Have you and your fellow generals been shirking? Where is all this readiness for instant action you’ve always promised.”

The look in the smaller man’s eyes made Cho picture an ice-cold bayonet poised at his vitals.

It was a time to be cautious. “We are ready for most contingencies, Dear Leader. You have my word on that. But Red Phoenix has not been our official strategy. Launching it successfully would require moving most of our own second echelon troops closer to the front—all without the fascists noticing. That takes time. There are only so many railroads and only so many hours in the day that imperialist spy satellites aren’t overhead watching.”

The general gestured at the muddy, ripped-up ground around them. “And that is the other reason, Dear Leader. An armored assault into the South now would quickly bog down in the rice paddies. We wouldn’t have the mobility required to carry it out successfully. Red Phoenix calls for a winter war—a war when the fields are frozen and can support our tanks.” He stopped talking, conscious that his palms were wet.

Kim dug a boot heel into the soft ground, mounding dirt and torn grass behind it. Then he nodded sharply. “Very well, General. I accept your explanation.”

Cho bowed.

Kim looked carefully at him for several heartbeats and seemed to come to some sort of decision. “What I am about to tell you, General, is a matter of the highest State security. You are not to reveal anything to anyone without my express permission. Understood?”

Wordlessly Cho nodded.

“Should you disobey that instruction, you will suffer. And your suffering will extend to all those who bear your name. Is that clear?”

Cho shivered. Now he understood Kim’s questions about his wife. “Yes, Dear Leader.”

“Excellent.” The shorter man turned away from him while still speaking. “General Cho, I am authorizing you to begin the initial preparations for Red Phoenix.”

For a moment the general stared at Kim, transfixed by a flood of contradictory emotions—shocked by Kim’s bald, calm, assured words, elated at the thought of the People’s Army being unleashed on its enemies after
nearly forty years of seemingly endless waiting, and dismayed by the prospect of possible defeat. He carefully studied the man waiting for his answer, swallowed hard, and found his voice. “I shall obey your orders willingly, Dear Leader. But there are … practical difficulties. I am—”

Kim cut him off with an impatient gesture. “Yes, yes, Cho. I see them far more clearly than you think I do. As a corps commander, you can’t order the second echelon troops forward to a full war footing without the General Staff’s approval. Or make any of the other needed preparations for that matter.”

Kim reached into his tunic and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Cho. “Within forty-eight hours the General Staff will unanimously approve the order contained on that piece of paper. It declares that the recent unrest in the South constitutes a possible security threat to the People’s Republic, and it authorizes any or all troop transfers necessary to meet that threat. I have a similar order for your counterpart at Fifth Corps.”

Kim smiled ironically. “You will, of course, ensure that these ‘defensive’ troop movements mirror the dispositions needed to launch Red Phoenix.”

Cho couldn’t think of anything to say. Launch Red Phoenix? Prepare for war against the South and against the United States without the formal approval of the Great Leader, the Administration Council, the Central Committee? This was unthinkable. Unbelievable. Unbidden, another word crept into his mind—
daring.

Kim Jong-Il seemed to read his thoughts. “You find my orders surprising? Dangerous, perhaps?”

“No, Dear Leader. It just seems so …”

“Adventuristic?” Kim finished for him. “Perhaps. But why is that bad, my dear Cho? Old men fear adventures. We are not old men, are we?”

Cho shook his head.

Kim smiled. “Of course not.” He leaned forward to peer directly up into the general’s eyes. “Believe me, Cho. There is an opportunity rising in the South—an opportunity for the reunification of our sacred homeland.” Kim clenched a fist. “It must not be wasted. It will not be wasted.” Cho could hear the iron determination in the man’s voice.

Kim’s voice became soft and earnest. “General, forces are at work—military, political, economic factors—that make it imperative that we strike as soon as possible. The imperialists are withdrawing, and until the puppets in the south realign themselves, they will be vulnerable.”

He paused. “Also, comrade, I must tell you, in strict secrecy, that even our socialist allies are not to be entirely trusted. Southern gold is making inroads in both Russia and China, and as they slide closer to the South, they lose the revolutionary spirit. We must move now, while they still have the will to support our cause.”

Kim stopped talking and let his words sink in. Then he leaned forward
again and said, “Ride with me, Cho, and in six months’ time you will be a colonel general commanding the First Shock Army. Your future will be assured. You will be a hero of the fatherland.” The man’s dark eyes flashed. “Reject me and you will fall unnoticed in the mud.”

Cho stared into Kim’s eyes. Into the eyes of the sons of the Great Leader. Into the eyes of the heir to the man who had replaced God in North Korea. He had no choice. Wanted no choice. Lieutenant General Cho Hyun-Jae came to attention and saluted.

A thin-lipped smile spread slowly across Kim Jong-Il’s face. He had his general. Red Phoenix was underway.