Red Phoenix (69 page)

“So, Colonel General Cho reports that his troops have crossed the Paekma River in no fewer than three places. Surely that is good news enough for you.”

“Indeed it is, Dear Leader. But…”

Kim frowned. He’d long suspected the speaker, the secretary of communications, of being a covert member of the party’s Chinese faction. He’d never been able to prove it, though. Not to his father’s satisfaction. Well, the old man was faltering. It wouldn’t be long before all the reins of power were firmly gathered in his hands. “But what? Come, come, Comrade Secretary, don’t be coy with us. What troubles you now?”

“Cho also reports that he has taken heavy casualties from imperialist air strikes, and that his supply lines are stretched to the limit. I question his ability to continue the advance until air superiority can be regained—”

“That would be extraordinarily foolish!” Kim snapped. “Obviously, as a civilian, you cannot be expected to remember the vital role momentum plays in achieving victory, but I have not forgotten it.” He watched the communications secretary flush at the unjustified gibe. As a teenager the man had fought in the first Fatherland Liberation War—winning several medals for his heroic devotion to duty.

“In any event,” Kim continued, “I have directed our ambassador in Moscow to press our Russian friends for additional combat aircraft and pilots. With them in hand we shall sweep the skies clear of imperialist aircraft.”

Several of the old men around the table looked openly skeptical, and Kim made a mental note to have each of them watched more carefully.

An aide entered and bent low to whisper something in the ear of the Research Department’s director. The director signaled for Kim’s attention. “Dear Leader, I have urgent news from our agent in Pusan. His findings confirm preliminary conclusions our best analysts had already drawn from Soviet satellite photographs. The Americans are preparing an amphibious force for a descent somewhere along our coast. They have assembled enough ships to carry at least thirty-five thousand men.”

Murmurs swept around the table. Many present remembered the catastrophe of Inchon and the subsequent UN drive deep into North Korea. They wanted no repetition of that nightmare.

Kim Jong-Il sat and glared. The panicky old fools! They wavered and
fretted at the first sign of difficulty. He turned to the admiral in charge of the Naval Command. “There should be no difficulty in any of this. Assemble your submarines and ambush the Yankees as they steam north. We’ll send their bandit Marines to a watery grave!”

A sudden silence greeted his words, broken at last only by the half-whispered words of the admiral. “I have no submarines left to send, Dear Leader. All the ones in the northern Yellow Sea have been sunk.”

Sunk? Every one of them? Kim grasped for words. “Why wasn’t I informed of this? Why didn’t you report it?”

“I have, Dear Leader.” The older man’s face was unreadable. “My reports on the current naval situation have been delivered to your headquarters daily.”

And probably held there by some underling fearful of his wrath, Kim knew. For the first time in months he felt unsure of his course. Events could be slipping out of his hands and that could be fatal. Most of these men bore him little love. With an effort he regained his composure. “I see. The road we must take is clear. We must acquire the naval forces we need from the Russians. They, at least, have plenty of submarines to spare.”

The oldest man at the table, a wizened old survivor of the guerrilla war against the Japanese, coughed delicately into a fragile, blue-veined hand. “First aircraft, and now ships as well. What will the Soviets demand of us in return for all these things? Do we risk handing over our Revolution and sovereignty for these pretty toys?”

“These ‘toys,’ Comrade Choi, are necessary to win this war.” Kim controlled his temper, though with great difficulty. Choi was close to his father. “And once we have won this war, we shall rule Korea. Not the Russians. Not the Chinese. Only the Party and its Great Leader!”

No one debated his assertion, but Kim sensed their continued fear and indecision. He closed his folder abruptly. Very well, then. Enough was enough. They wouldn’t accomplish any more this day. “This meeting is adjourned, comrades. We will reconvene tomorrow to review the measures necessary to deal with this seaborne enemy threat.”

He left the room without waiting for their reaction. There were urgent signals to be sent to Moscow.

THE MINISTRY OF DEFENSE—MOSCOW, R.S.F.S.R.

The two men sat close together in the vastness of the high-ceilinged office. Oil paintings depicting various triumphs of Russian arms—Borodino, Stalingrad, Kursk, and others—covered the walls in martial splendor. Thick curtains blocked any view of Moscow’s empty nighttime streets.

An opened bottle of vodka and a half-eaten loaf of black bread sat on a
silver tray next to the two men. Both liked to pretend that they were of simple peasant stock. In reality, both had risen to rank through the intertwined workings of favoritism and seniority, carried higher and higher within the Party—the Soviet Union’s version of the Czarist aristocracy.

“Then we are in agreement, comrade?” the minister of defense asked.

The head of the KGB locked his gaze on the other man. “Indeed, my friend, Kim Jong-Il’s requests must be met. The war is too evenly balanced for any other decision.”

“But the Politburo will vacillate. It may take days to make our ‘colleagues’ see reason on this matter. And such a delay could be fatal to our cause.”

The defense minister’s assertion hung unchallenged in the air. At last the KGB director nodded his agreement.

The minister smiled and directed his colleague’s attention to a single sheet of paper resting on the low table between them. “I am glad you see the need for swift action, Viktor Ivanovitch. I have prepared an order that should satisfy the most urgent of friend Kim’s needs. Read it.”

The other man did so and sat back in his chair, a faintly troubled look on his face. “You’re quite sure, comrade, that this order can be kept, ah, confidential?”

The defense minister laced his fingers across his stomach and nodded solemnly. “Without a doubt.” He reached across the table and tapped the piece of paper. “Should matters go awry, this can be denied. Whatever happens can be explained away as a tragic accident of positioning.”

“And the planes?”

“Unfortunately, we cannot hope to handle that so… discreetly. The movement of whole squadrons of our finest combat aircraft will be a much more, ah, public, matter. No, I fear the decision will have to be left in the full Politburo’s hands.”

“And this?” The KGB director’s beefy forefinger touched the sheet of paper.

“It will be transmitted to Fleet Headquarters in Vladivostok within the hour.”

Each man raised his glass to the other and then downed it with a single gulp.

THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Only the slide projector’s whirring fan cut through the silence. The two photographs shown side by side were remarkably sharp and full of detail, especially when one remembered that they had been taken by a satellite more than two hundred miles above the earth and moving at more than seventeen thousand miles an hour.

“All right, Blake. What’s your interpretation of these pictures?” The President’s voice sounded loud in the darkness. “Hell, I’ll admit that they just look like a couple of trains to me.”

Blake Fowler shook his head and then remembered that nobody could see the gesture. “Not a couple of trains, Mr. President. One train.”

“Explain.”

“The first slide, the one on the left, shows a loaded Chinese munitions train sitting in the railyards at Pyongyang. And the second slide, the one on the right shows that same train, still fully loaded, heading back across the border into Manchuria.”

“So what?” Putnam didn’t bother trying to hide the contempt in his voice. Blake’s growing intimacy with the President had rubbed his ego raw. “One lousy train goes back to China. Why bother showing us that?”

“Because, sir, that train crossed the border seven days ago. And we haven’t spotted a single shipment of Chinese arms or ammunition in North Korea since. My analysts and I believe that what we are seeing is a de facto withdrawal of the PRC’s covert support for the North Korean invasion.” Blake drew a breath. “And we believe that could offer us a chance to dramatically shift the balance of forces against the North Koreans.” He stopped.

The President’s voice showed more interest. “Go on, Blake.”

“If the Chinese have stopped their support, there must have been a falling out between them and the North Koreans, maybe temporary, maybe permanent. If the Chinese don’t regard Kim as their friend anymore, we may be able to move in.”

“What’ve you got in mind?”

“An overture to the Chinese, sir. An appeal for their aid in bringing this war to a close on acceptable terms.”

Putnam snorted derisively. “Jesus Christ, Fowler! You expect us to go begging hat in hand to the PRC? And then you expect them to just see the light and join the side of the angels?”

Blake felt himself flushing with anger. “No, I don’t. But I do expect the Chinese government to act in what it perceives as its own best interest. And I believe that we can convince them that lies in our corner.”

“How?”

“By offering them a free-trade agreement, loans, credits, and the kind of defensive military technologies they need—sophisticated surface-to-air missiles and antitank guided missiles.”

Several of the men and women in the darkened Situation Room tried to speak at the same time, but the President’s voice overrode the others. “Have you approached the South Koreans about this proposal?”

“Only at the staff level, Mr. President. Nothing higher than that.”

“I see.” Blake could see the outline of the President’s face in the ghostly
glow given off by the slide projector, but he couldn’t read the Chief Executive’s expression. “What about the timing on this thing? We can’t go to Beijing while we’re still losing. George is right on that. It would look like we’re begging.”

“Agreed, sir. That’s why we’re suggesting that State, Treasury, Commerce, and Defense all develop the specifics necessary while we await results from Thunderbolt. If General McLaren’s plan succeeds, we’ve got the base we need to approach the Chinese.”

The President nodded and shifted slightly in his seat, turning to face the secretary of state. “Okay, Paul. What’s your reading on Blake’s idea? Go or no go?”

Bannerman looked carefully from one man to the other, ignoring Putnam’s insistent tug on his sleeve. He’d seen the signs of the shifting power base in the White House long ago. The secretary of state cleared his throat and spoke. “I fully concur with Dr. Fowler’s plan, Mr. President. I think it offers the best chance we’re going to get to keep this war from escalating beyond our control.”

The President nodded abruptly. “Okay, then. Blake, put your proposal in writing and have it on my desk by tomorrow morning. Then we can kick it around a little while we wait to see whether or not this Thunderbolt works.” He looked at his watch. “Now, you’ll have to forgive me, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve go to run. Got a photo opportunity with the Boy Scout of the Year to take care of.” He paused, a cynical grin twisted on his face. “As you know, the business of government never ends.”

The NSC Crisis Team rose with him and remained standing while he left the room.

JANUARY 12—ECHO COMPANY, NEAR THE CENTER OF TAEJON

Kevin coughed and felt the thick, acrid smoke eddying through the room burn deep into his lungs. He rubbed his watering eyes and cursed softly. There wasn’t anywhere you could go to escape the smoke—not when the whole damned city was on fire. He scuttled over to where Montoya squatted, keeping low to avoid showing himself through the sandbagged window.

“India One Two, this is Echo Five Six, India One Two, this is Echo Five Six. Over.” The RTO took his finger off the transmit button and shrugged helplessly. “Nothing. I can’t get nothing, L-T Probably too many buildings in the way.”

Kevin nodded his understanding. Snarled communications were the rule when fighting in a city. Or so the manual said. The low-powered FM tactical sets issued for battalion, company, and platoon use needed good lines of sight to work, and good lines of sight were impossible to come by in Taejon’s
concrete jungle of apartment complexes, department stores, and other high-rise buildings.

He spread the tourist map of the city he’d picked up at Battalion HQ only hours before and started reviewing his company’s defensive positions. He had minutes at most to make sure there wasn’t anything he’d overlooked—some fatal weakness that the North Koreans could exploit. The last word from Major Donaldson had been that the South Korean Reserve units holding on Taejon’s outskirts had been overrun. The NKs were on their way and could be expected at any moment. Kevin concentrated on the symbols sketched on the map.

Echo Company held a cluster of buildings on the southern side of Chungang-ro—Chungang Street—Taejon’s main east-west boulevard. Corporal McIntyre and 1st Platoon anchored the company’s right flank from a three-story apartment building with a view north along Inhyo Street. Kevin had put his CP there since it offered the best view. The three half-strength squads of Sergeant Geary’s 2nd Platoon were stationed in small shops along the center of the position. And Rhee’s 3rd Platoon, the KATUSAs, occupied buildings looking northwest—out over an open plaza built across the frozen Taejonchon River. Kevin frowned. He’d hoped to occupy the Chungang Department Store, right across the street from Rhee’s position, but he hadn’t had enough troops. Now it stood empty, available as a fire base for the first North Korean infantry to come along. In the limited time available, his men had only been able to liberally scatter a selection of explosive booby traps throughout the department store. That would slow the NKs, but it sure wouldn’t stop them.

Two of the battalion’s remaining companies were also on the line. Matuchek’s Alpha Company held the left flank, dug in from the river to past some place called the Dabinchi Night Club. Bravo Company held the right, in a position centered on the Taejon Railway Station. The other provisional unit, Foxtrot Company, was stationed to the rear as the battalion reserve and quick-reaction force.