Red Phoenix

by Larry Bond

  Chyong looked at his superior. “Maybe our enemies should read the Great Leader’s thoughts. These imperialists are too predictable.”

  “Or they are trying to put us to sleep. What’s our readiness?”

  “Excellent. All of our positions were manned within five minutes.”

  “Hold our troops there until dawn. Have them conduct subunit training in place on what their roles would be in case the imperialists attacked. Also, move the field commanders’ meeting up from oh seven hundred to oh five hundred. Since we’re all up anyway, let’s get an early start.”

  While Chyong hurried away with his order, Cho pondered the map. The first support units slated for Red Phoenix had just arrived in their new camps near the DMZ. Could the imperialists have gotten wind of the move? He dismissed the thought as irrational. They’d taken great care in scheduling the troop trains to avoid times when American spy satellites were over Korea. The Americans couldn’t know anything.

  But the worry returned to nag him as he prepared for the morning’s special meeting with his field commanders and other newly arrived senior officers. He fought it off, determined to avoid any thought that might shake his confidence and spoil the presentation he had planned. Kim Jong-Il still insisted that Red Phoenix be kept a closely guarded secret, but he had finally accepted Cho’s argument that he be allowed to begin molding the proper “aggressive” spirit in his officers and men. This meeting would be a first step in that direction.

  STAFF AUDITORIUM — II CORPS HQ, KAESONG, NORTH KOREA

  The small, spartan auditorium lay three stories underground, part of the massive complex that housed II Corps headquarters. Six division commanders, their deputies, the general commanding his corps artillery, and the 62nd Special Forces brigade commander sat stiffly in high-backed wooden chairs facing a podium flanked by four-foot portraits of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il.

  “Attention!” rang in the room as Cho entered. Round-faced and lean, he strode to the podium and nodded to the group.

  “I have just returned from a meeting of the General Staff, where we were addressed personally by the Dear Leader. What I have to tell you is welcome news.”

  Cho chose his words carefully, knowing that they would be taped, transcribed, and shipped to Pyongyang within hours. There they would be scrutinized by Kim for any hint of disloyalty or disbelief.

  “You are all aware of the disturbances in the South that have prompted certain ‘defensive’ measures on our part.” He nodded to the three second-echelon division commanders. “Now further developments require preparation for further action on our part.”

  Cho paused to let the small murmur of comment his words aroused fade away.

  “According to our intelligence network, the capitalist forces that occupy the southern half of Korea are preparing to withdraw. They have recognized the corrupt regime in the South for what it is, and like a thief who no longer trusts his partner, they are leaving. As their own economy collapses, drained by their adventurism, the fascist Americans are unwilling to pay the price of their occupation.

  “This is not generally known in our nation and must remain so. If the people find out, they may become impatient to liberate their brothers.” Cho paused again, studying the faces of his officers. Already alert, his words had caused them to sit up even straighter in anticipation of the orders that might follow.

  “The illegal regime in the South has been engaged in a massive military buildup, supported by the Americans. They buy the South’s goods, give it military aid, and help the regime when it suppresses legitimate protests against its excesses.

  “That buildup has now stopped, and over the next six months the American forces are expected to withdraw completely. It may be that, without its puppetmasters, the regime will collapse of its own weight.

  “During the period of withdrawal, moreover, the political situation will be unstable. At any time the oppressed peoples of the South may spontaneously rise up and try to overthrow their leaders. We must be ready to go to their aid. If they are too weak to rise up, we will assist them.”

  Cho stopped for emphasis. He could see the gleam in his officers’ eyes.

  They could sense that they were on the edge of carrying forward to completion the great work begun nearly forty years before during the Great Fatherland Liberation War. He spoke the next words slowly. “The need for such an undertaking may come upon us as suddenly as the north wind. Therefore, the General Staff has reiterated that it is the sworn duty of each and every soldier to be prepared for swift and decisive action.

  “Accordingly, this Army corps will engage in a strenuous series of offensive battle drills over the coming months. Your men and equipment are to be held at a high state of readiness — available to carry out any orders the Great Leader sees fit to issue.”

  Cho stepped back from the podium to survey his audience. “Questions?”

  There were none, and Cho carefully studied the reactions he saw emblazoned on his commanders’ faces — eagerness, determination, excitement, and curiosity. Very well. He had momentarily lifted the curtain on Red Phoenix, and his generals liked what they saw.

  They would be ready when the time came.

  CHAPTER 11

  Signals

  OCTOBER 3 — COMBINED FORCES HQ, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

  “Crap!” McLaren crumpled the piece of paper and threw it across the room toward a wastebasket. It missed. He shook his head. He must be getting old.

  His aide nodded toward the paper. “Bad news, General?”

  “Yeah, Doug.” He felt himself wanting to pace and willed himself to keep still. “That goddamned sanctions legislation is still moving through Congress.”

  McLaren had been following the Barnes bill in the Pentagon’s daily news summary ever since it had been introduced. He didn’t pretend to understand all the ins and outs of the legislative process, but any good soldier could recognize a steady advance when he saw one.

  What the hell was the matter with Congress anyway? Couldn’t they see that there was a big, dangerous world out beyond the bounds of their congressional districts? He didn’t like what was happening in South Korea any more than the next American, but you couldn’t go around threatening to throw away a vital strategic position without having something to replace it. And that was just what Congress was threatening to do.

  He’d seen the studies. The sanctions contained in Barnes’s harebrained legislation could wreck the South Korean economy if they went into effect — and economic growth was pretty much the sole underpinning for South Korea’s political stability right now. Without it, there’d be nothing left to hold the country together. What happened next could make the Seoul massacre look like a tea party. Kim Il-Sung would be licking his chops, ready to exploit any weakness across the DMZ.

  Didn’t these guys ever look at a map? The Korean peninsula was a dagger pointed right at the heart of Japan. At least that was how the Japanese saw it, and the Japanese were a pragmatic people. Let the Soviets or Chinese get a bigger foothold here and just watch how fast Japan’s industrial giants would start selling even more high technology to them — and any export control treaties be damned. The thought was chilling. Take the enormous Soviet edge in sheer numbers of planes, tanks, guns, ships, and submarines. Mix it with a liberal dose of Japanese-supplied high-tech weaponry and sensors, and what did you have? A goddamned nightmare, that’s what.

  McLaren grimaced. There had better be some people left in Washington with some brains and guts.

  “General, do you still want those reports on this week’s alert?”

  McLaren started. He must be getting feebleminded, standing around worrying about the Washington hive. He had work to do right here. “Hell, yes, Doug. Lay ’em on me.”

  He walked back around his desk and sat down to start poring through the tangle of reports that, together, would give him a picture of just what had happened up at the Z the last time he’d called a snap alert. What was it they called them — McLaren Specials? He
smiled to himself. He knew his officers hated those alerts, but it was good practice for them. You never knew just what those crazy bastards up in Pyongyang had up their sleeves. You had to be ready for the unexpected when you were stationed in South Korea.

  His phone buzzed. It was the Signals Room. “Sir, we’ve got a priority, scrambled call for you. It’s Admiral Simpson.” McLaren’s eyebrows went up. It must be past midnight, Washington time. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was working late.

  “Put him on.” He heard a series of clicks and then a faint wash of static. “McLaren here.”

  “Hello, Jack, how’s tricks?”

  “Phil! You old son of a bitch. What’s up?” There was a barely perceptible lag as the microwave signal raced twenty-four thousand miles up to a communications satellite in geosynchronous orbit and then back down to the chairman in Washington.

  ‘It’s this Barnes sanctions bill. The White House still says it isn’t going anywhere this year, but my gut tells me that it just might. Both the House and Senate are getting a case of the electoral willies, and you know how screwed up things can get when they start looking for a foreign policy ‘accomplishment’ to show the voters.”

  “Hell, Phil. When did you get to be such a big political panjandrum?”

  Simpson chuckled. “Goes with the turf. I’ve sat in front of so many congressional committees since last year that I’m even starting to talk like one of them.”

  “God save us.”

  “Yeah. Well, my wife says she likes it. Says it makes me sound more civilized.”

  McLaren’s grip on the phone tightened for a moment. His wife, Elly, would probably have agreed with Caroline Simpson.

  But she wouldn’t ever have the chance. Not anymore. He cleared his throat. There wasn’t time for sorrow. Not now. “Go on, Phil.”

  “Anyway, I need ammo to give the President a reason to kick this Barnes bill in the head while it’s still young. And what I need from you, Jack, is your best analysis of the situation up North. I need your best guess as to what’s going on up there across the wire.”

  “Hell, a guess is all you’ll be able to get.” McLaren reached across his desk for a pencil. “Don’t you Pentagon boys already get copies of all my intel reports?”

  “I want a new assessment drawn up. I know it might not be much different from the last one, but I want something hot off the presses to take in to the President.”

  “Okay. You’ve got it. I’ll get my J-2 to send an update over the wire ASAP” McLaren made a note. Colonel Logan, his intelligence officer, was going to be busy today.

  “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it. Look, I’ve gotta run. It’s nearly one in the A.M. back here, and Caroline’s going to have my butt for breakfast if I stay much longer.”

  McLaren smiled to himself. He couldn’t imagine anyone, even the admiral’s formidable wife, putting the fear of God into Phil Simpson. He doubted if the thickset little man with the jutting jaw and impish grin had ever truly been afraid of anything or anyone. McLaren and the admiral had been friends since Nam. His battalion had been stationed down near the Mekong Delta, right beside Simpson’s detachment of river gunboats and patrol craft. They’d fought together against the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars, and then they’d moved on to some truly mind-bending carouses in the back-alley bars of both Saigon and Hong Kong. Somewhere along the way they’d formed a friendship that had lasted through years of peacetime, promotions, and duty assignments around the globe. Each man appreciated the other’s guts and willingness to buck the conventional wisdom to get results.

  “No problem, Phil. I’ll talk to you later. And that intel report will be sitting on your desk when you get there in the morning.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Simpson asked cautiously, “Look, are you planning on visiting Washington anytime soon?”

  “No, why?” His daughter was supposed to come out to Seoul for Christmas this year. And his son would be at sea over the holidays.

  “Well, it’s just that this might be a good time to keep out of the States. If you’re in town, some smart-ass congressional aide would probably call you to testify in some public hearing on the ROK. And Jack, don’t take this wrong, but you come across kinda raw on camera. Know what I mean?”

  McLaren laughed, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I flunked Public Diplomacy 101 at the Point years ago, and I haven’t ever bothered to take a refresher course.”

  “No kidding. I wouldn’t ever have guessed,” Simpson said dryly. “Later, Jack.”

  “Give my best to Caroline.” McLaren hung up and pressed the intercom button. “Doug, get Charlie Logan over here, pronto. I’ve got work for him.”

  Logan, his J-2, was a good officer, but he was a little too inclined to slack off if he thought no one was paying attention. McLaren had noticed a tendency to recycle old, approved intelligence reports if the situation hadn’t changed much. Logan’s laziness wouldn’t put his career at risk, but it would probably keep him from getting his star. Well, Charlie wouldn’t have a lot of time to goof off today. If the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs wanted a new North Korea intel assessment by breakfast Washington time, McLaren would make damned sure he got one.

  OCTOBER 3 — THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Combined Forces Korea Intelligence Report: Update

  Top Secret

  Warning: Includes Sensitive Intelligence

  SUMMARY: Recent political and diplomatic maneuvering by North Korea could significantly increase the military threat Pyongyang’s communist regime poses to regional and U.S. security…

  Admiral Philip Simpson nodded to himself. McLaren’s J-2 knew how to write a good report. He’d have Carlson pass it on to the NSC staffer, Fowler, for inclusion into the Interagency Working Group’s final report to the President. The admiral skimmed through the document, looking for anything new that should be highlighted. He found it on page four.

  North Korean Air Order of Battle (continued):

  Accumulated evidence shows that an additional North Korean MiG-23 fighter squadron is now fully operational. Analysis of latest satellite photos (see Tab V-1) indicates they are based at the Wonsan airfield. However, recent data indicate that the MiG-23s may not be the only advanced Soviet aircraft now being delivered to the North Korean Air Force Command. Reconnaissance photos in Tab V-9 to 11 show the Soviet freighter Valentin Zolotarev at anchor in the top security zone of Wonsan harbor. Three crates (marked A, B, and C on the photos) appear to be the type commonly used to ship aircraft fuselages and other parts. While the precise type of aircraft being shipped cannot be identified, the crates are large enough to contain any of the current-generation Soviet fighter or ground-attack aircraft.

  In addition, South Korean National Security Planning Agency (NSP) listening posts on random scan have picked up airborne Russian language transmissions that can be interpreted as showing that a new cadre of Soviet instructor pilots are now operating inside North Korea. Since North Korea’s MiG-23 squadrons are now operational, our conclusion is that the new Soviet instructors are training North Korean pilots to fly a new type of aircraft. (See attached transcript).”

  Simpson flipped to the back of the report, looking for the radio intercept transcript.

  Attachment C — NSP Monitoring Station 3, INT/A/R/4537 — 1235 Hours, 25 September:

  Unidentified Airborne Transmitter (Pilot): “Tell that blundering idiot to keep his wings level! And to adjust his throttle. He’s wallowing all over the sky like a drunken cow.”

  Unidentified Ground Control (Control): “(static)… Alpha Two reports… (unintelligible)… starboard engine … (static)”

  Pilot: Nonsense. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Tell him to pull his nose up before he … (static)”

  Control: “(unintelligible)… fuel feed… (static)”

  Pilot: “Better. Nose level. Tell him to bank left twenty-five degrees and go to full power … (static) … What’s his airspeed now … (unintelligible)”


  Control: “Switching now …”

  — Transmission Frequency Changed, End of Intercept —

  NOTE: US E-3 Sentry Delta five niner five on patrol over the Sea of Japan confirms aircraft at 20–30,000 feet at transmission origin coordinates.

  Simpson marked the section for Captain Carlson’s attention and sat back in his chair. North Korea and the Soviet Union were getting entirely too chummy for his taste. Not that he could do much about it.

  His intercom buzzed. “Admiral, your car is here to take you up to the Hill.”

  Simpson tossed the report into his out box and stood up, reaching for his briefcase. It was time to go to Capitol Hill and jabber at the Senate Armed Services committee about manpower retention rates. He looked at his calendar. This was his fourth congressional appearance of the week. He often thought it was a goddamned wonder that he ever got any work done.

  OCTOBER 4 — CNN HEADLINE NEWS

  The CNN reporter, a pretty brunette, stood in the marble-lined corridor outside a hearing room in the Rayburn House Office Building.

  “This is Connie Marlowe for CNN Headline News. In a surprise development here today, House Armed Services Committee Chairman Stephen Nicholson announced that his committee would not seek jurisdiction over the South Korea sanctions bill. The move, which caught most Capitol Hill observers off guard, clears the way for the bill to go to the House Rules Committee. From there it would move to the full House of Representatives.

  “The bill’s chief sponsor, Congressman Ben Barnes of Michigan, was understandably pleased when I spoke with him earlier.”

  The film cut to taped footage of a smiling Ben Barnes in the same corridor.

  “Naturally I’m delighted that my distinguished colleague Congressman Nicholson has seen the importance of swift and decisive action by the House in this matter. America’s roads and stores cannot continue to be flooded with shoddy South Korean imports while students are murdered in Seoul’s streets. We must send a clear message to the South Korean government. No more violence. No more repression. No more free ride.”