Red Phoenix (24 page)

Hansen nodded his understanding.

“Okay, then. Now I don’t want our South Korean officers to know I’ve tightened our reporting procedures because my relations with the government and the General Staff are damned tenuous at best. If they hear we’re ‘spying’ on them, it’d piss them off even more. And that’s something I really don’t need at this stage.”

McLaren finished. “All right, Captain, you have your orders. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay, dismissed. And good luck.”

Hansen saluted, wheeled, and left to hit the road. He had a lot of ground to cover in the next several days.

McLaren watched the door close behind his aide and turned back to stare out the window again. He had a feeling that there was something ugly out there just waiting to pounce. Something worse than the endless rioting he’d already seen. But what the hell was it?

______________
CHAPTER
17

Operation Purify

DECEMBER 8—HIGHWAY 37, SOUTH KOREA

As his armored personnel carrier clattered around a gentle curve, General Chang stood high in an open hatch to look back along the road. The hundreds of APCs, trucks, and tanks carrying three battalions of his division stretched behind him in a rumbling, four-kilometer-long column, their dimmed headlights casting dancing shadows across ice-covered rice paddies beside the highway.

He glanced at his watch and then over to the right at the dark, narrow band that marked the Imjin River. They were on schedule, just minutes away from the small town of Sonu. From there a short drive would take the column to the Main Supply Route, Highway 1. Once on the MSR, they would be just forty kilometers from the outskirts of Seoul—a distance he planned to cover in less than three hours.

Chang dropped back down into the APC’s red-lit interior. He wormed his way past the radioman and flak-vested bodyguards to a small, hinged table covered with maps showing their route to the capital. His aide had just penciled in a small dot to show the regiment’s position. They were almost up to the next security checkpoint.

Without looking up from the map Chang reached out and took the papers his aide offered. He thumbed through them, smiling slightly. So far at least, Hahn’s forged movement orders had held up beautifully. Then his smile disappeared. The papers were damp. Chang glanced at his aide and frowned as he saw that the man was sweating like a pig, with dark stains discoloring his tunic collar and underarms. It was warm inside the crowded APC, but not that warm. Was the man afraid? Chang’s nostrils wrinkled in disgust and he turned away toward the front of the troop compartment. He had no time for cowards now.

The general climbed back up through the hatch to let the cold night air
flow over him. Within four hours his troops would be fanning out across Seoul. And an hour after that, he, Chang Jae-Kyu, the son of a rice farmer, would be the new president of the Republic of Korea.

Chang smiled at the thought. Yes, he would be the president. And he would do precisely what had to be done to restore order to his nation’s troubled cities. Many of the rebellious students and workers would die, but their deaths would bring countless others to their senses. Then, with calm restored, he and his fellow officers would reform society—bolstering the sense of discipline, self-restraint, and respect for authority that had characterized Korea for countless generations.

He had no doubt that the foreign traders would return once all that had been accomplished. But they would trade on his terms, without arrogant demands that Korea surrender its sovereign right to govern itself as it pleased. Chang shook his head, cutting off that train of thought. It was pleasant to contemplate, but first he and his three thousand troops had more immediate work to do—work that would certainly require speed and determination, and work that might well require gunfire, grenades, bayonets, and blood.

Chang straightened as the APC came over a small rise a few hundred yards from Sonu. He could see barricades, and sandbagged machine gun nests blocking the road ahead. They’d reached the next security checkpoint.

He leaned down in through the hatch and signaled the driver to stop. His radioman was already ordering the rest of the regimental column to halt. Chang swung himself down off the APC and dropped lightly onto the road. He pulled his phony travel orders out of his pocket and strode resolutely forward to speak with the Special Forces lieutenant commanding the roadblock.

DECEMBER 8—YONGSAN ARMY BASE, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

The phone rang, jerking McLaren awake and upright in bed with a muttered curse. He’d been up late checking over plans for the next scheduled military exercise. He fumbled on the nightstand for the phone.

“McLaren.”

“Sorry to wake you, General.” It was Doug Hansen. “But I’m afraid we have a situation developing.”

McLaren looked at the luminous dial of his watch. It was past two
A.M.
“Go on.”

He could hear Hansen suppressing a yawn. “I just got a call from one of our battalion COs up near the Z. One of his observation posts has reported seeing South Korean troops leaving their base and heading south. The Twelfth Mechanized Infantry Regiment. They’re part of the 4th Infantry
Division, commanded by a General Chang. And that’s not an authorized movement, General.”

McLaren threw the covers aside and swung out of bed, reaching for his pants. “How long ago did they leave, Doug?”

“About two hours ago. It took some time for the report to get passed through channels.” Hansen’s voice was apologetic.

“Shit.” McLaren cradled the phone with his shoulder while bending over to tie his shoes. “Hell, they could be halfway to Seoul by now.”

“Yes, sir.”

McLaren started buttoning up his shirt. “Okay, Doug. I’ll be down in the Operations Room in two minutes, and I want all the details you can dig up on that regiment and this Chang character. If I’m going to get on the horn and ream that bastard General Park out properly, I want to know what I’m talking about.” He hung up.

Goddamnit. He’d warned the South Korean government not to try using their military to fight the rioters. But it looked like they’d gone ahead and decided to try it anyway. He’d just have to hope that an early-morning phone call to the chairman of the South Korean Joint Chiefs of Staff would be enough to persuade them to pull the troops back to base before any shooting started.

McLaren snapped his bedside lamp on and leaned over to stare into the mirror. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble. Well, there wasn’t time to shave. He threw on his uniform jacket and headed for the door.

The Eighth Army Operations Room was already crowded with half-asleep staff officers getting in each other’s way. McLaren paused in the door, looking for Hansen. Christ, what a zoo.

There. He saw his aide on the phone at a desk across the room. He plunged into the room, working his way past his officers and nodding as they greeted him.

Hansen saw him and put the phone down. “Good morning, General.” He handed McLaren a file folder. “That’s what we’ve got on this General Chang, and the switchboard is waiting to put your call through on General Park’s private line. He’s not at his headquarters.”

Not at his headquarters? That was strange. If the South Korean government was conducting a major military move, you’d expect its JCS chairman to be at his post—even if it was in the middle of the night. McLaren filed that away mentally as something to wonder about later. There were more immediate concerns.

He leafed through Chang’s personnel record. “Give me a quick rundown on this guy. What’s he like?”

“He’s a good soldier, sir. Very tough, even for a Korean. Saw combat as a captain during the Vietnam War.”

McLaren nodded. He’d seen the Koreans fighting in Vietnam at first hand. They had been good. Very good.

“What about his politics, Doug?”

“Real hard-line, General. Just the kind of guy they’d pick to shoot up some demonstrators.”

Friggin’ great. “Okay, patch me in to Park’s line. I’ll come on after you’ve got him on the phone. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around waiting for him to roll out of bed.”

McLaren headed for his office. He didn’t want the whole world to hear the kind of language he was going to use while speaking to a four-star South Korean general.

It took three minutes to get Park on the phone.

“Good morning, General McLaren. I assume there’s an important reason for this call.” Park sounded both tired and irate.

“There certainly is, General.” McLaren clenched his teeth, trying to control his own anger. “I’m calling to see just what the hell you and your government are trying to pull.”

Park was puzzled. “What? What are you talking about, General McLaren?”

“I’m talking about the mechanized infantry regiment you’ve got on the road to Seoul right now, General Park. The regiment that’s moving without my authorization. That’s what I’m talking about.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for several seconds. Then Park spoke again. “General McLaren, please believe me. I do not know anything about this movement.”

Damn. It sounded as if he were telling the truth, and it explained what he was doing at his home instead of his headquarters. “Could these troops have been given their orders by somebody else in your government?”

Park was firm. “No one else has the authority to move troops away from the DMZ. And I would have cleared such a move with you first, General.”

“Then just what the hell are General Chang and his men up to, General Park?”

“Chang?” Park said slowly. “General Chang? I know this man. They call him the Iron Man. He is one of those officers we have been concerned about. If he is moving toward Seoul, it is without the government’s knowledge or consent.”

Suddenly it was clear to McLaren. “Oh, Christ. He’s launching a coup.”

“Yes. I think you are right.” McLaren could hear shuffling noises as Park got dressed. “If you will excuse me, General McLaren, I must look to the safety of my country. I must alert the President and my Special Forces commanders. I’ll call you back when that is done.”

Park hung up, leaving McLaren holding a dead phone. He put it down and headed out the door back to the Ops Room at a run. “Doug! Tell the J-3 I want all American commands on full alert, pronto!”

Hansen looked up from a road map of the area around Seoul. “What about the ROK troops, General? Do we alert them, too?”

“No, just our own men. At least for right now.” There wasn’t any way of telling how many other units were involved in this coup attempt. And McLaren didn’t want to let Chang and his fellow conspirators know the cat was out of the bag.

He looked at the wall clock. Park had maybe an hour and a half to organize a reception for Chang’s regiment before it reached Seoul. He hoped that would be long enough.

DECEMBER 8—SPECIAL FORCES BARRACKS, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

As the black staff car slowed for a stoplight, General Hahn pulled his pistol out of his shoulder holster, checked the magazine, and slid it back into place. He glanced at his deputy, Major Yi. “You have the papers?”

Yi tapped the briefcase lying between them on the seat. “They’re all here, sir. The arrest orders, authorizations, everything.”

Hahn nodded. He twisted in his seat to look out the back window as the car accelerated away from the light. The truck loaded with his DSC troopers was still right behind them, rolling along Seoul’s empty streets. They were just minutes away from the main Special Forces barracks for the Capital Corps.

Once there, he and his men would arrest all the Special Forces senior officers for allegedly plotting against the government. And with the barrack switchboards manned by “loyal” DSC soldiers, the government’s frantic calls for help wouldn’t be heard until it was too late.

Hahn smiled. Chang’s plan had a brilliant simplicity to it. While Hahn’s DSC troopers eliminated pro-government officers for supposedly plotting a coup, the real rebels would be pouring into Seoul unmolested. Under the cover of a phony coup attempt, Chang would launch a real one.

But as they rounded the last corner, Hahn’s smile faded. The Special Forces Barracks was ablaze with lights. Trucks loaded with armed Black Berets were pulling out through the main gate and turning north toward the city outskirts. They were too late. Someone or something had alerted the government.

Hahn briefly considered aborting his mission, but he knew he was already in too deep to extricate himself. Better to carry on in the hope that he and his men could still grab enough of the Special Forces officers to cripple their command and control before Chang’s troops reached the city.

Two sentries in full combat dress waved the staff car to a halt at the gate. One covered the driver with his M16 while the other, a sergeant, walked back to Hahn’s rolled-down window and saluted.

“Papers, sir.” The sentry had to shout to raise his voice above the roar as another heavily laden truck careened out through the gate.

Hahn fished in his tunic and came up with his identity card. The sergeant took it and studied it under a flashlight. He handed the ID back and then leaned half in through the window to sweep his light around the car’s interior. Yi flinched as the beam caught him right in the eyes. Hahn sat impassively, his eyes closed against the glare.

The sergeant stepped back and saluted. “Very good, sir. You may proceed.”

Hahn tried to look disinterested. “What the hell’s going on, Sergeant? Some kind of exercise?”

“Don’t know, sir. Orders. Maybe there’s another riot building.” The man nervously fingered his slung assault rifle and looked back at the truck now stopped right behind Hahn’s staff car.

Hahn followed his gaze. “You can clear them, Sergeant. They’re with me.”

The Special Forces trooper licked his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. Only our own people are allowed into the compound tonight. Your men will have to wait here until someone changes my orders.”

“Sergeant, I’m a general in the Defense Security Command and I’m changing your orders. Right now.”

“With respect, sir, that’s not good enough. Not tonight. You’ll have to speak with someone up at the HQ.” The sergeant jerked a thumb at a building across the barracks courtyard.

Hahn stared at him for a moment. Was it worth trying to bull ahead through the gate? He glanced quickly at the other sentry. The man hadn’t moved an inch during the whole exchange, and he still had his rifle pointed straight at Hahn’s driver. No go. And every minute he wasted out here was another minute that let more of these Special Forces fish slip through his nets.

He nodded. “All right, Sergeant. I’ll get you your precious authorization.”

Hahn turned back to Major Yi. “Stay here with the men until I send for you.”

Yi bobbed his head in understanding and got out of the car. The sentries stepped back, clearing the way, and as they did, Hahn leaned forward and tapped the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.”