Red Phoenix Burning

by Larry Bond

  “Two,” Park countered. “I may meet other policemen.”

  “Five,” the officer responded, but Cho could tell he was just going through the motions.

  “Three,” Park said, and handed the bills he’d been holding out the window. “And my daughters will go hungry tonight.”

  “Why should they be different than the rest of us?” the policeman answered philosophically, waving them on.

  Once over the bridge, they quickly came to a local road junction next to a canal, on the north side of town. Sinanju was a worker’s community for nearby Anju town. The main industry was coal mining; the dust darkened every surface and made every crevice black. It hung in the air so that even the light became gray. Following the farmer’s advice, Cho tied a cloth over his mouth, and virtually everyone Cho saw had done the same, as if they were all American Wild West bandits.

  Cho helped Park unload his vegetables, not only out of gratitude, but because the farmer was still telling stories about what he’d heard from the south. He finally took his leave, and explored the market.

  It wasn’t large, just two rows of a dozen or so stalls lining a dirt lane in an open field, but the vendors were doing business. The dusty paths were filled with pedestrians and bicyclists. Some booths were quite elaborate, and clearly permanent. Cho bought a bowl of bean sprout rice from a vendor for breakfast, and tried to listen to the conversations around him.

  More than a few were about politics and news from the capital. The shutdown of the state-controlled media had been very upsetting. Nobody listened to the official propaganda, but when it stopped, that meant something had changed. Cho had seen and studied gatherings like this a thousand times, and they were worried. The people faced uncertain times, and in the North, that meant hard times.

  His Russian masters, like the North Korean populace, wanted to know what was happening. If there was actual fighting, how bad was it? Who belonged to what faction? His original orders sending him from the Chinese border south had included a long list of very important, but hard-to-answer questions. Replies to his two progress reports since then had only added more questions, and demanded to know why he wasn’t already in Pyongyang.

  Cho headed for the Sinanju train station, hoping to speed his progress. Normal bus service had been suspended, and he’d been forced to hitchhike, taking days instead of hours just to get this far. No reason had been given for the suspension, but Cho was seeing more and more signs of the government ceasing to provide its normal functions. Some state-owned stores and offices were closed without notice, and in one town he’d passed through, the food rations had run out, again, with no explanation. Fuel supplies were spotty, which may have been a reason for the bus cancellation.

  He didn’t know whether it was the passage of time or the diminishing distance from the capital, but he could only expect things to get worse.

  The Sinanju train station was built to a plan common all over the North—a broad, once-white building with the obligatory portrait of the Supreme Leader at its peak. Two armed soldiers stood outside, but that was customary.

  As he neared the entrance, Cho had already taken out his identity papers, certain he’d be challenged before he could buy a ticket. As one of the soldiers approached, Cho offered his papers, with a one-yuan note folded underneath. That was the customary fee to make sure there weren’t any “irregularities” that might make a traveler miss his train.

  To his surprise, the soldier waved the papers away, a stern expression on his face. He barked, “Go away, the station is closed.”

  Cho, confused, momentarily considered increasing the size of the bribe, but then realized that although there were people on the street, nobody was entering or leaving the train station. He was tempted to just turn around and leave, but he needed to get a train ticket. He ventured, “Do you know when it will be open again?”

  The soldier opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a harsh “What’s going on here?” from behind Cho.

  He spun around to see a uniformed officer, which wasn’t unusual, but he didn’t expect it to be a major from the Korean People’s Internal Security Forces. They were a paramilitary organization, and usually handled things like civil defense and traffic control. Theoretically, they could be mobilized to assist other security forces in times of crisis—like now, Cho belatedly realized.

  The solder braced and saluted, and started to explain, but the major ignored him and instead simply said, “Papers,” almost spitting out the word.

  Cho still had his identity card and travel orders in his hand, but he palmed the one-yuan note as he gave everything else to the major. He didn’t speak, but waited for the inevitable questions.

  “Your business here?”

  “I am returning to headquarters at Sukchon. I wanted to buy a ticket for passage there.” Cho tried to keep his tone as respectful as possible. The major had a hard, almost angry expression, as if Cho’s mere existence was an offense.

  “This station has been closed to all civilian traffic until further notice.”

  “Civilian traffic? The army’s taken over the railroads?”

  “Why do you want to know?” the major demanded. He motioned to the soldier, who moved behind Cho. He was sure that there was an assault rifle leveled at his back.

  “If you’re a spy, you might try feigning ignorance to gather information useful to this country’s enemies about the railroads and troop movements.”

  Cho didn’t try to hide his fear. He didn’t want to be arrested by this man. It was not only the risk of discovery as a real spy, but the certainty of more delay, possibly permanently. He didn’t even have to be charged. They could simply throw him in prison for “suspicious activity” and leave him there to rot. Nobody in the North would ever come looking for him, and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe the Russians would do anything.

  The major was looking at him. “The announcement went out yesterday morning to all state organizations announcing the order. If you were really an agricultural inspector, you would have received word from your office.”

  “My apologies, Major, I really didn’t know. Look at my travel orders. I’ve been up near Tongyang. I haven’t heard from my office in almost a week.” Luckily, that was all true, but would it be enough? Catching a spy, even a false one, might gain the major favor with his superiors. It would certainly be more interesting than patrolling an empty train station.

  Cho studied the man. There were only two ways to go: big or not at all. But not too big, or that might invite other attention. Fumbling with his papers, he pulled out a card with more information on the agency he supposedly worked for. Under the card, he tucked three bills, two ten-yuan notes and a precious American twenty-dollar bill. If the common people used the Chinese yuan, the elite used dollars, and there were things that only dollars could buy.

  “Here. This is my agency’s headquarters. If I can call them, they will vouch for me. I’ve worked there for many years.” He handed the card and the currency to the major, who took it, thankfully.

  Cho could see the man’s mind work again. The major now had the option of turning him in for attempted bribery, but that was extremely rare, and of course the major’s superiors would confiscate the money—all of it. And turning in somebody for bribery didn’t get you points in North Korea.

  The major paused for only a moment, then returned the document, neatly palming the bills. “That won’t be necessary. The buses are still running. You can use them to get to Sukchon.”

  Cho smiled and thanked the major for his help, then got away from the train station as quickly as possible. His masters would have to be patient, but he’d get to Pyongyang eventually.

  19 August 2015

  ROK Submarine Jung Woon

  North Korean West Coast, Yellow Sea

  They’d left Pyeongtaek the day before, timing their departure for a window when both Russian and Chinese satellites would be below the horizon. It wasn’t certain that the two nations’ intelligence services wou
ld inform the North of ROK naval activity, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t, either.

  Colonel Rhee had chafed at the three-hour delay imposed by fleet headquarters at Busan, in spite of the urgency, just as he now chafed at the sub’s ten-knot speed. Although the submarine was capable of twenty knots submerged, that speed would use up its battery too quickly, the captain had explained. High speed also increased the sub’s chance of being detected, especially in the shallow waters of the Yellow Sea.

  Even though the stealthy approach made sense, Rhee wanted to hurry. Things were falling apart up north. They all needed to find out what was actually occurring, for many reasons.

  The government’s reasons were obvious. The North was a dangerous neighbor and a possible opponent, but the ROK leadership had precious little information about the current state of affairs. Rhee’s mission might give them vital clues about what was happening, or about to happen. The country could then take steps to counter any harmful actions, or at least prepare.

  The military needed information on the KPA’s readiness. Reports of deserted outposts and unusual operating patterns left the generals and admirals in the dark. Unstable political situations often bred military adventures, ill-advised but still destructive. And then there was the WMD issue. What was their status? While Rhee’s team couldn’t answer all the questions, much could be deduced from the information they brought back.

  There was also the personal angle. Like almost everyone in the south, Rhee had distant relatives in North Korea, ones he’d never met, but still felt connected to. There were still many alive who’d been separated from parents and siblings in the First Korean War. The older generation was now gone, but that made the ties to those left just that much more important.

  Family mattered in Korea—a lot. Even though they’d been taught all their lives that the North was an enemy, bent on their destruction or enslavement, that only applied to the regime, to the Kims and their minions. To the average South Korean, the average North Korean was a prisoner in his own country—starved and mistreated. Unification would not just end an evil regime, but liberate their families from lifetimes of suffering.

  Rhee could see the impatience in the rest of his team, even in the sub’s thirty three-man crew. Speculation and discussions about what might be happening had taken on a life of its own, and finally the captain had forbidden all discussion of the topic unless it related to Rhee’s mission.

  Rhee kept his team busy, distracting them with quizzes about the local geography or other details of the mission, with weapons drills, and even language practice. Aside from regional accents, the language in the North had changed, with slightly different pronunciations and different terms. Rhee and his men would be wearing KPA uniforms, but the game would be over if someone spoke like they’d come from Seoul.

  It was a small team, just four men. Rhee had chosen Lieutenant Guk Yong-soo, the platoon leader who’d brought his men across the finish line in under an hour and forty-five minutes. The other two men, Master Sergeant Oh and Corporal Ma, were out of Guk’s platoon. Oh had served two tours in Afghanistan, but the lieutenant and corporal had no combat experience.

  General Kwon had first insisted that Rhee have someone else lead the mission, but when he’d realized that his colonel intended to go, and announced the rest of his team, he’d argued against any new men. “Not this first time, Colonel.”

  “Especially this first time, sir,” Rhee had countered. “It’s only going to get worse later. It always does. They’re good, and they’ll come back veterans.”

  “Make sure you come back with them, Colonel,” Kwon insisted.

  Guk and Ma were both thrilled to be chosen for the mission, maybe a little too thrilled in Rhee’s opinion, but Master Sergeant Oh had simply nodded and gone to prepare his gear. Of course, the entire platoon helped them get ready, and they’d flown out for Pyeongtaek naval base later that day.

  They left the sub via the lockout chamber, one at a time, first the lieutenant, then Oh, Corporal Ma, and finally Rhee. Because of the sub’s moderate size, and the captain’s considerable skill, they’d managed to close to the ten-fathom line, which would save them a lot of swimming. Rhee shook hands with the captain, thanked him for the smooth trip, and promised to be back at the rendezvous in three days. The sub would loiter along the northern coast, eavesdropping electronically and keeping her batteries topped off.

  The Yellow Sea was relatively warm in August. To Rhee, it was almost like bath water, and he surfaced in total darkness. The other three were within meters, and linked up as soon as he appeared. The sub’s captain had put them exactly where he was supposed to. A scan of the surface and the shoreline showed no movement and few lights. Fuel in the North was scarce, and the dark coastline beckoned.

  With their bearings established, they submerged again and swam east, into enemy territory. Rhee automatically counted his kicks as he swam, checking the time, depth, and especially direction. He swam through a cool black void, with no up or down, no light except the faint glow of the watch and compass on his wrist when he uncovered them. At times, he thought he felt an eddy or surge of water from one of the other nearby swimmers, but probably not. They tried to move through the water with as little disturbance as possible. Not only did it reduce the chance of being spotted; it saved energy.

  It was still over a mile to the shoreline. The seafloor shallowed very slowly, so they’d chosen to come in at high tide, to get as much cover from the water as possible. A half hour into the trip, Rhee was starting to watch the remaining time more frequently. He told himself it was to make sure he didn’t overshoot, and he was mostly right.

  The four came up within seconds of each other; four black bumps a hundred meters offshore. His night vision gear showed no activity on the beach, in fact, no sign of human presence at all. Guk, next to him, was making a similar scan, and gave Rhee the “all clear” sign as well. Oh and Ma, on either side, were scanning the sea, and also saw nothing untoward.

  The water was only a meter and a half deep here, and they water-crawled about half the distance before stripping off their swim fins and dashing to the shore. The beach surface was loose rock, and it was hard to move silently. The good news was that there were plenty of larger stones and boulders for cover. They quickly removed their swim gear and cached it in a rocky hollow and camouflaged it. They’d need it in a few days, but they couldn’t carry scuba gear all over North Korea.

  They were all in North Korean People’s Army uniforms, matching their real ranks, except for Rhee, who wore a major’s insignia on a commissar’s uniform. If challenged, they were a patrol searching for defectors from their unit, which given the situation in the North, seemed likely. Three carried standard-issue North Korean Type 88 rifles, while Master Sergeant Oh had a KS-23 combat shotgun. They all carried a North Korean Type 66 pistol, a copy of a Russian 9mm Makarov weapon. Rhee and Guk wore theirs openly, the others had them concealed but accessible. Ma carried a SATCOM radio, and at Rhee’s instruction, sent the signal reporting that they had arrived safely.

  The team also carried an electronic listening station broken down into several subcomponents. After their mission was finished, they would assemble and leave the device behind. It could eavesdrop on short-range communications that usually could not be picked up by sensors in the South. Planners had selected several potential spots along their path where it could be placed. While it would almost certainly be found eventually, it would not be found quickly, and not until long after the team had left.

  The beach, really a small cove, had a stream in the center leading inland. Hurrying the other three a little, Rhee led them along it. They’d landed right after evening twilight and had a lot of ground to cover during the short summer night. After making sure everyone’s night vision gear was functioning, the colonel checked his watch and started east with Lieutenant Guk leading the way. They were a few minutes behind schedule, and Rhee told him to set a fast pace.

  Although Rhee was confident of h
is choices, the four had not had a chance to train together as a team. Normally they would have practiced the entire mission in the South, or at least the critical parts of it. Instead, Rhee had kept the plan simple, using the basic skills that anyone in the Ghost Brigade was expected to have mastered—like crossing an enemy landscape at night without being detected. As they walked, Rhee listened carefully, checking their noise discipline.

  The land rose smoothly and quickly became rolling wooded farmland, dotted with orchards and clumps of pine forest. Given the perennial food shortage in North Korea, every hectare of arable land was tilled, but many of these fields were idle this season, either by design or circumstance. Rhee could see hills rising in front of them. That would slow them down, but the hills would also help screen their movements, and give them a good place to observe their target.

  Their goal was Chongju, fifteen kilometers to the east, a relatively short distance, but of course, they would not be following a straight path. Chongju was headquarters for the 425th Mechanized Corps, roughly equivalent to a South Korean division. His orders were to observe the corps for any unusual activity. He was to be especially alert for any signs of general mobilization, and to get a definite count of the units present. The division had several cantonments scattered around the Chongju City proper. His team would have to check each one, then be back at the beach in slightly less than seventy-two hours.

  They followed the stream inland for a few kilometers. Farmland lay on either side, although there were lighted houses to the south. The stream led toward the north side of a farming village, and after checking his bearings, Guk led the team east.

  They quickly reached a two-lane road and followed it to the northwest, bypassing a larger town, Choyang-ni, to the south. There was absolutely no traffic on the road, and Rhee felt like he was back in the water, moving through empty darkness. The sound of the summer insects kept it from being completely silent, but Rhee had to work at remembering this wasn’t just a midnight stroll through a peaceful rural countryside.