Red Phoenix Burning

by Larry Bond

  “Energize all radars! Weapons are released! Engage surface and air targets.”

  Great Leader

  “Comrade Vice Admiral,” Song cried. “Multiple hostile radars bearing red one six one!”

  Gong raced to the port bridge wing and stared aft. On the horizon he could see one glowing flash after another. Missiles were being launched. “No!” he growled.

  Spinning about he yelled at Song, “Order the missile squadron to engage! All ships, missile alert to port!” As Song began repeating the orders over the radio, Gong looked back to see the Soju missile boats already peeling away. He could only hope there weren’t many ships in the imperialist’s formation, otherwise they would all be dead.

  The Soju missile boats began shooting their elderly Russian Styx missiles. One after another, each missile leapt from the launcher and arced skyward. There was nothing else to do but wait. It could be several minutes before the missiles would appear over the horizon.

  Choi Young, DDG 981

  “Missile alert! The Osa missile boats have launched,” yelled the TAO. There was fear in the man’s voice.

  Park saw the sixteen new radar tracks, the icons showing the missiles’ location as they sped toward his ships. They had somehow walked right into a trap. Park knew his SAG was in real trouble. Even though the Styx missiles were less capable, there were more of them and they were closer. “Engage Styx missiles with SM-2! Have Yangmanchun prepare to engage with Sea Sparrow! All ships stand by with countermeasures!”

  The KDX-II destroyer’s forward vertical launcher erupted in flames as SM-2 surface-to-air missiles thundered out of their launch cells and raced toward their targets. Moments later, two explosions marked the deaths of a Styx missile. More SM-2s were launched, but this time the intercept was a lot closer.

  Park watched as his flagship downed six Styx missiles in rapid succession. Now, Yangmanchun began firing her shorter-ranged Sea Sparrows. Confident that the threat from the older antiship missiles was being dealt with, Park turned his attention back to the newer SS-N-25 Switchblade missiles that had been fired earlier, but from further away. His formation was in an optimum position to deal with the Styx attack, but not so well against the more modern threat. Specifically, the least capable ship, Masan, an Ulsan-class frigate, was the closest to the incoming attack. She had no missile defenses and most of her guns were manually aimed. They would be next to useless against a small sea-skimming target.

  “Bridge, CIC, signal hard left rudder, new course two four five. All ahead flank. Execute immediately,” barked Park over the intercom. By changing course to the left, he hoped to unmask his aft director in time to get a shot off. If not, he needed to bring his point defense gun to bear, just in case. It was going to be close.

  As the three ships started their turn, the SS-N-25 missiles cleared the horizon, their seekers looking for a target. Choi Young fired another two SM-2s, but only her forward director had a clear line of sight. Yangmanchun was out of the fight, her directors blocked by the flagship, but the KDX-I destroyer began popping chaff to try and lure the missiles away from the formation.

  One of the SM-2s faithfully guided in and destroyed an antiship missile—splash one. But by this time, one of them was now heading directly to Choi Young; the other two had locked onto Masan. Park ordered the RAM operator to fire two rolling airframe missiles at Masan‘s assailants, then engage the one missile homing in on his ship. At a distance of half a mile, one of the RAM missiles locked onto the Switchblade’s infrared signature, homed in, and exploded—splash two.

  Masan was not so fortunate. The point defense missiles couldn’t turn fast enough to catch the crossing targets as they flew by. The frigate’s guns had opened up, and tracers were streaming from all along the hull. One of the SS-N-25s was hit and detonated a hundred meters from the ship, pelting the hull and superstructure with high-speed fragments—splash three. But it was the fourth missile that killed her. It hit the frigate right at the waterline, burrowed deep inside her, and detonated. The force of the blast ripped the hull apart and broke the ship’s back. Masan was split in two. With both parts engulfed in fire, she slowly began to sink.

  Great Leader

  Gong knew the missiles were close when all four Soju missile boats suddenly exploded, bursting into flames. The fleet began firing all its guns in the general direction of the attacking wave, but there was little hope they’d do much good. Then explosions started dotting the port and center columns. The smaller gunboats simply disappeared after the massive blast, vaporized.

  The 30mm Gatling guns on the frigate began roaring as they spewed projectiles toward the oncoming Harpoon missiles. One was hit and pitched into the sea, but another plowed into the hull amidships. The shock threw Gong to the deck. The lights flashed and then went out, as all electrical power was lost. The mortally wounded ship began leaning to port. The sound of fire raging below decks could be heard on the bridge. Great Leader was dying.

  The admiral pulled himself up and struggled to the port bridge wing. Many of his ships were on fire, sinking; some were just gone, burning fuel marking their last known position. Then Gong saw the three Hantae-class landing ships. All had been hit. One had already capsized and another was being consumed by a firestorm. The South Korean onslaught of twenty-four Harpoons had ripped the heart out of his fleet.

  27 August 2015, 1:00 p.m. local time

  August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

  Beijing, People’s Republic of China

  The eleven members of the Central Military Commission sat in complete silence, awestruck by what they were hearing. An army senior colonel from the Second General Staff Department’s Second Bureau was wrapping up the intelligence assessment on the North Korea situation. The news was all bad.

  “Late this morning, elements of the ROK Third Army overran the General Staff faction’s defenses at Sariwon,” said the senior colonel as he pointed to the large map display. “Resistance was limited, as the South Koreans had an overwhelming advantage in numbers and airpower. As of noon today, South Korean forces had penetrated over one hundred kilometers into DPRK territory in the west, and nearly seventy kilometers along the eastern coast. At their current rate of advance, both Pyongyang and Wonsan will fall in the next two to three days.”

  President Wen sat quietly while the other members debated amongst themselves. This was the CMC’s sixth meeting in the last four days, and there was a growing consensus that China had to do something—but exactly what still eluded them.

  “Senior Colonel,” injected the PLAN commander. “You say Wonsan could be taken by the South Koreans rather quickly. What about that General Staff amphibious attack force you told us about yesterday? Were they successful in landing and flanking the KWP positions?”

  The senior army officer took a deep breath. What he was about to say wouldn’t go over well. “Admiral, the intelligence information is only a few hours old, and there is still considerable analysis to be done, but the initial estimate is that the General Staff faction landed only about half of their troops. The rest were lost when a ROK Navy missile strike inflicted severe casualties on the attack force.

  “Of the four dozen ships and small craft in the fleet, approximately one-third was sunk outright. Some of the larger ships suffered heavy damage, and may have sunk as well. And while the DPRK special forces were landed and inflicted considerable casualties on the KWP units, neither the General Staff nor the KWP has a strong hold on Wonsan. Neither will be able to stop the ROK First Army from taking the port. As for the East Coast Fleet, it has sustained excessive losses and has ceased to be a viable force.”

  “What about the North Korean air force?” demanded the PLAAF’s top general.

  “The ROK Air Force has near complete command of the skies,” answered the senior colonel. “Any DPRK aircraft that manages to get airborne is soon intercepted and shot down. The South Koreans appear to have an extremely good knowledge of the airspace. A Y-8 electronic intelligence aircra
ft that we sent to collect tactical radio traffic off of Pyongyang was intercepted by six ROK F-16s and escorted to the border. The intercept was very professional. The lead pilot even asked our aircraft to leave politely, in passable Mandarin.”

  “They’re acting like it’s their airspace!” complained the air force commander.

  “And the Americans must be helping them. Their E-3 aircraft are orbiting just across the DMZ,” added the minister of national defense. The debate was going nowhere. Wen had had enough.

  “Yes, Comrades,” he interrupted. “The Americans are providing support to the ROK forces, support that is in full compliance with their defense pact. Have you even bothered to notice that every single last American unit is south of the DMZ?”

  “But, Comrade Chairman, the Americans have been bringing in a steady stream of reinforcements for the last four days. They are merely buying time,” protested the commander of the Rocket Forces, China’s missile force.

  “And what are they doing with those reinforcements, General Zhao?” demanded Wen. His irritation was growing. “The Americans have taken over managing the humanitarian crisis for the ROK government! So not only are they abiding meticulously to their defensive agreement, but they are also providing an incredibly useful service to the Korean people. If you don’t realize the incredibly awkward position this puts us in, then you need to wake up!”

  “Comrade Chairman, it has always been our policy that we wouldn’t accept a unified Korea allied with the United States on our border,” said General Fang, one of the CMC’s two vice chairmen.

  “Yes, General, that policy has served us well while there was a North Korea. It was designed to prevent the South Koreans and the Americans from attacking an allied, sovereign state.” Wen stood up, looking intently at the general officers seated around the table. “But that state has collapsed, by its peoples’ own actions, so where does that leave us?

  “Many of you have recommended we invade North Korea to stabilize the country. But which faction do we align with to justify our entry into this civil war? Or is it your intention to merely annex the territory? Wouldn’t this defeat the purpose of our policy? We’d be sharing a border with an extremely hostile South Korea that would be even more closely aligned with the United States, as well as every other Asian nation. And then there is the inevitable and dangerous outcome to us becoming involved: once our forces head south, the Americans will come north.

  “My point is simply this, comrades. Do we really intend to risk a war with the United States over that dung heap that was North Korea? At the very least we put our economic future at considerable peril; at worse, we put the very existence of China as we know it on the chopping block.”

  Wen saw a number of the senior officers at the table nodding their agreement. The minister of national defense saw it as well. Sighing, he asked, “What is your intention, Comrade Chairman?”

  “We will send our army in, but under the guise of humanitarian assistance. We’ll set up refugee camps, bring in food and medical supplies and personnel, but the camps will be on Korean territory. To establish a proper defensive perimeter, we’ll advance fifty kilometers across the border. We may have to move further to ensure a safe operating environment for aid workers, but we’ll limit our advance for now.

  “I expect the Americans will surge northward the moment they realize we’ve crossed the Yalu. We must exercise due caution to not provoke them, or the South Koreans if possible.”

  “What about the North Koreans?” inquired Defense Minister Yu.

  A cynical smile popped on the president’s face. “We retain the right of self-defense, Comrade Minister. If they fire on us, we will eliminate the threat.”

  “I understand your wisdom now. Thank you, Comrade Chairman,” said the relieved general.

  “One last thing,” added Wen. “Any territory we take will be used as a bargaining chip when this unpleasant crisis is over. We will be part of the discussion about what transpires on the Korean Peninsula.”

  27 August 2015

  Munsan Refugee Camp

  Outside Dongducheon, South Korea

  It was easy to stay concealed. The grassy path was filled with “tent-to-tent” people. Cho had no problem keeping his target in sight, while at the same time blending in with the throng of humanity that had filled the refugee camp. Besides, he was confident he knew where the individual was going.

  When Cho first saw him two days earlier, an itch started between his shoulder blades. Nothing seemed right about the way the middle-aged man walked and talked, and he seemed very well supplied with American bills. Then yesterday, Cho had watched as the man bullied a young Korean girl. A passing military police patrol caused him to release her and disappear behind the tents. Cho discretely followed the young woman and listened in to her complaints to her father and mother. As he suspected, the man was “recruiting” for a prostitution ring. Then he heard the name: Jeon Yong-ha.

  Finding where Jeon spent his time was elementary tradecraft for a seasoned spy. Now that Cho had verified the information he’d obtained was accurate, he spent the rest of the afternoon reconnoitering the area. Looking for avenues of escape, personal guards, and possible traps. By the time Cho finished, he was almost late for dinner with Fowler-nim. He found being around her refreshing; her concern for others was so unlike everything he’d experienced in his life. Being around her gave him purpose and hope. He’d discovered that he would do anything to make her happy.

  It was well past ten at night when a darkly dressed and masked Cho crept back to Jeon’s tent. As he expected, there was only a single guard outside. The man was an amateur, a simple-minded thug. A small group of young women walked past the tent, catching the guard’s eye; he stared at them with desire. The man stared a little too long; he never knew what hit him.

  Cho pulled the unconscious body into the tent and bound his hands and feet with duct tape. A strip wrapped around his head a couple of times and covering his mouth would keep him quiet. Cho then adjusted the bandana covering his face and took the guard’s position out front, intentionally staying in the dark shadows. Half an hour later Jeon came swaggering back with another guard and a young woman in tow. She didn’t look very happy, probably because Jeon was being rather rough. He didn’t even bother greeting his “guard,” and signaled for the other man to hold open the flap while Jeon threw the young woman inside.

  “Now, bitch, we’ll see if you’re any good. And if you so much as squeak, the first person to die will be your mother!” he growled menacingly.

  Suddenly there was a loud thud behind him as the guard who came back with Jeon fell face-first to the floor. “You fool! What kind of imbecile are you? Now get up—”

  The sharp clack of a round being racked into a gun’s chamber interrupted Jeon’s tirade. He turned slowly to see a disguised Cho leveling a pistol squarely between his eyes. “Now, Jeon Yong-ha, I suggest you sit down, quietly. If you so much as squeak, well, I don’t think I need to tell you who will be the first person to die, do I?”

  The stunned Jeon staggered back to a camp chair and sat down. His eyes were wide as saucers. Cho threw the roll of duct tape to the woman. “Bind his hands and legs to the chair. Make sure he is secured firmly, his right hand first.”

  Confused, the woman took the tape and began wrapping Jeon’s wrists and forearms. She used a lot of tape. Jeon slowly shifted his eyes toward the woman, but Cho immediately snapped his fingers to regain his undivided attention. “I wouldn’t recommend doing something so foolish, Jeon Yong-ha. I wouldn’t miss at this range.” Cho emphasized his point by assuming a marksman’s stance. Jeon swallowed hard. The unknown intruder had foreseen his move.

  It wasn’t long before the woman stood and said, “I’m finished.” Then more fearfully, “What will you do to me?”

  “Excellent,” said Cho as he quickly inspected her work. Jeon was completely immobilized. Reaching for the tape, Cho finally answered her question as he put a strip over Jeon’s mouth. “I won’t
do anything to you, miss.” Cho used the proper Korean word for a younger woman, but spoke with a Southerner’s accent. No need to make it easy for Jeon, in case he tried to identify Cho later. “But I would greatly appreciate it if you would go and find an American military police patrol and bring them here. I’m sure they would be most interested in Jeon’s activities.”

  The woman’s expression was one of surprise. Cho’s answer was completely unexpected. She carefully made her way to the exit, but before departing whispered, “Thank you, sir.” Cho nodded slightly, acknowledging her gratitude. As soon as the woman disappeared, Cho bound and gagged the other unconscious guard with duct tape and then went over to Jeon’s locked footlocker. He shook his head with disapproval. The padlock was a joke. He had it open in seconds. Cho dumped the contents onto the cot. There were several weapons, a couple of ledger books, and lots of American money.

  “You really should be more careful with your important business documents, “ Cho teased as he looked through one of the ledger books. It contained a lists of his prostitutes and patrons, as well as transactions with several drug dealers. “Yes, the Americans will be most interested in all this.” Jeon grunted in frustration as Cho looked on with distain.

  The young woman soon returned leading a squad of MPs. Cho observed them from a distance as the Americans went in and discovered all the gifts he had left out. He was particularly pleased when he heard the sharp yelp from Jeon as an MP peeled the tape off his mouth. Moments later the Americans escorted the ringleader and his two guards away. Cho doubted he’d be seeing Jeon Yong-ha any time in the near future.

  It was nearly midnight when Cho returned to Kary’s office. She was still there, typing away on her laptop, trying to figure out how to order medical supplies with the US Army logistics system. Her frustrated muttering told him the system was still winning—for the moment.