Red Phoenix Burning

by Larry Bond

  Kevin Little’s old comrade was busy observing the terrain with a set of tripod-mounted artillery scopes, dictating, while an enlisted man took notes. Another soldier operated a tripod-mounted video camera with a long lens pointed at the city, while another tripod held a laser rangefinder, ready for use. Behind them was a rack for their rifles, probably taken from a personnel carrier, and a map table. In the corner, two soldier-technicians were working on a complex communications center.

  The ridgeline they were perched on was the last high ground between the ROK forces and Pyongyang. The North Korean capital straddled the Taedong River, which twisted and snaked across a wide plain. Built-up areas were intermixed with cultivated fields right up to the city limits. Pyongyang itself still had a dramatic skyline, although Kevin knew at least a few of the taller buildings had collapsed from damage, or been deliberately brought down.

  Smoke enclosed the city in a dirty gray dome, fed by countless fires. Certainly nobody had tried to actually put any of them out, and Kevin could see whole blocks blackened, and others still burning, charred clusters adding to the overall haze.

  Lieutenant Bin handed Kevin a pair of binoculars, but the city limits were at least ten kilometers away. The magnified image gave him a little more detail, but the heat haze and smoke prevented him from seeing much. He spotted a burning tank in a crossroads near the outskirts, and what were probably entrenchments in some open ground. It was too far to see if the trenches were occupied.

  That made Kevin think of Rhee’s more powerful binoculars. He lowered the glasses and turned to see Rhee watching him, smiling broadly. The Korean colonel was happy, almost euphoric.

  “In at the finish? That’s great!” Rhee offered his hand and they shook hands warmly. “Welcome to the end of the Kim regime, Colonel Little!”

  Rhee pointed out toward the plain. “I’ve got eight teams spread out around the southern edge of the city, observing and reporting. They’ve encountered a few armed deserters, but all the organized military forces are inside the city.

  “And they’re still fighting each other!” Rhee grabbed Kevin’s shoulder in excitement. “All the observers report small-arms and artillery fire continuing inside the city.”

  “When will you take the city?” Kevin didn’t even use the word “attempt” in his question. Success was a foregone conclusion.

  Rhee frowned. “Tomorrow morning, maybe ten hundred by the time everyone regroups and reloads, but I don’t think we should wait. We should go now!”

  “Do you have the troops?” Kevin was more than surprised. He hadn’t seen any camps or staging areas on his flight north.

  Rhee nodded, still smiling. “Units are already moving through this ridgeline to jumping-off positions for tomorrow’s attack. Others are coming in from the open ground to our west. We have the lead elements of several battalions of mechanized infantry already in position; the rest of each unit is moving up. I say ‘don’t stop.’ Just keep moving forward.”

  “Without a plan?” Kevin asked. They couldn’t have had the time needed to develop a proper operations plan, especially to take a city. Urban fighting could destroy an army. Buildings, especially ruined ones, made excellent fortifications. Just ask the Germans about Stalingrad.

  “We divide the city into sectors using the street map. I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but I memorized the layout of this place years ago.” He pointed toward Pyongyang. “In my mind, I’ve spent as much time there as I have in Seoul.

  “We can have the troops in each sector deal with their own opposition, with helicopter gunships in support. They drive straight for the city center. I’ve already picked sector commanders, and as new units arrive, we use them as reinforcements, or send them into one of the empty sectors, always in strength. My teams have identified landing zones all over the outskirts of the city. We can bring in infantry units by helicopter right up to the edge of the battle.

  “And the US Air Force is in the fight now!” Rhee continued happily. “Combined with our own aircraft, we don’t have to wait for artillery. I know US Army gunships are flying north. They’ll be able to add their firepower soon as well.”

  Rhee gestured toward the city. “Look at them. They’re disorganized, and we know they’re understrength and badly supplied. Do you still think we should wait?”

  “What are you waiting for, then?” Kevin asked.

  “I submitted my plan to General Kwon earlier today. He’s taking it to headquarters right now, and he’s pretty persuasive.”

  29 August 2015, 2:00 p.m. local time,

  August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

  Beijing, People’s Republic of China

  “Exactly what is the range of a Hwaseong-5 missile?” President Wen asked the defense minister. China’s Central Military Commission had quickly gathered for an urgent meeting after hearing the news about the missile attack on Seoul.

  Defense Minister Yu’s response was qualified. “It’s a copy of the old Soviet R-17. The Americans call it the Scud B, and Second Bureau’s always assumed the range was similar, about three hundred kilometers. But if the North Koreans have added decoys . . .”

  “Still, that barely crosses our border, if it was fired from the same position as they did today.” The PLAAF commander was dismissive. “And it was a conventional warhead.”

  “This time,” the defense minister countered. “One scenario the intelligence people have suggested was that this was a ‘live test.’ The DPRK has never fired a ballistic missile operationally. Previous missile firings were always carefully planned and rehearsed for weeks ahead of time. They were more for propaganda than training. Now that they’ve done it once in real-world conditions, they’ll go back and correct any problems before firing missiles with nuclear or chemical warheads.”

  That got their attention. The defense minister pressed his point. “And it’s not about just the old R-17. That’s relatively short-ranged. Their Nodong reaches over a thousand kilometers and can hit Beijing. The Musudan has a range four times that, and can reach almost every place in China except the westernmost parts of Xinjiang and Tibet. The Taepodong goes even further, to Tibet and India.

  “I wouldn’t waste a long-range missile on a test. They were able to pick Seoul because it was within range. And they missed. I imagine they’re working to fix that problem.”

  “Do we have any idea how many missiles or what types the North Koreans have left?” the air force commander asked.

  The defense minister started to answer, but the navy commander interjected, “More importantly, who controls the nuclear warheads? Have the South Koreans captured any?”

  President Wen cut in. “If they’d captured any, and especially if they thought they’d found all of them, we would have heard about it. The South Koreans would be thumping their chests and shouting the news.”

  Yu pressed a key on the controller. A map of Korea appeared. An irregular red line crossed the peninsula, and the map was dotted with symbols. “The line shows the farthest we know that South Korean units have advanced. It’s safe to assume that these sites behind that line have been captured and examined.” He used a light pointer to highlight different installations in the area north of Pyongyang.

  “The capital is the ROK’s current goal, and is certainly a major objective, but three-quarters of the country lies north of that, with dozens of sites that haven’t been touched. The circles mark known chemical weapons locations, the triangles nuclear sites. The Second Bureau says the confidence level of these locations is moderate to high.” The minister smiled. “But the head of the Second Bureau also took pains to remind me of the obvious fact that any of these weapons could be moved, so his confidence level is perhaps not as high as it once was.”

  The defense minister put the controller down and turned to face Wen. “This is why, Comrade Chairman, fifty kilometers across the border is not nearly enough! We have a responsibility to remove the threat these weapons pose to China. We have the forces already in p
osition, and now we have starting points across the Yalu.”

  “We’ve seen exactly one missile launched, and it was aimed at Seoul,” the navy commander insisted.

  “Can you promise that they will all be aimed at Seoul?” the defense minister retorted. “Until a few hours ago, a ballistic missile attack was only a possibility. Now it is a reality, and what’s left as a possibility? In this chaos, there is no guarantee that whoever controls those weapons, and we have no idea who they are,” he added, “will not lash out in many directions, including ours. Is our trust of North Korea strong enough to accept that risk?”

  Nobody had an answer for that. President Wen surveyed the group, but whether afraid to speak, or out of ideas, they were silent. Then he looked over at the army commander. He knew the general well. In his younger years, Wen had been a political commissar in the ground forces and they had served together several times. “General Shu, you’ve been silent. Your troops would be making the advance. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

  Shu didn’t answer right away, but after a moment, he shrugged and said, “I fervently hope the chance of some North Korean faction firing any kind of missile toward us is small, but right now, the risk is as high as it’s ever going to be. I’ve been trying to imagine our fate in the eyes of the nation if we let something as horrible as that occur.”

  The army general let that sink in, then added, “And if the land we occupy now will be used as a bargaining chip later, then I’d like as big a chip as possible.”

  Wen didn’t ask for a show of hands. He ordered the defense minister, “The fifty-kilometer limitation is removed. Advance as far into DPRK territory as necessary to ensure the safety of our citizens.”

  Chapter 14 – Second Battle of Pyongyang

  30 August 2015, 1430 local time

  Headquarters, IV Corps

  Pyongyang, North Korea

  Tae stared at the map in stark disbelief. The picture it presented was devastating. The general looked slowly over at his aide. Tae’s next orders would spell either survival or doom. He had to know if he was seeing an exact representation of their situation. With a low but steady voice, Tae demanded, “Is this information accurate, Major Ryeon?”

  The newly promoted North Korean officer was caked in dirt; a fresh wound on his forehead was covered with a field dressing. He looked worn out and hungry, but it was his crestfallen expression that drove home what he had to say. “I’m sorry, Comrade General, but the intelligence from our Second and Third Corps colleagues has been verified by our cyber warfare soldiers. The map is unfortunately accurate. Pyongyang is almost completely surrounded by imperialist forces.”

  Tae almost growled as he threw the map to the floor. He knew this was coming, but it didn’t make accepting the humiliating reality any easier. He paced around the bunker, rubbing his sore shoulder. Those blind KWP fools had ruined their best chance of organizing a proper defense of the city. Tae had very few options left to him, and none had even a poor chance of success. He knew what he had to do, but the soldier in him found it repulsive. The general suddenly felt very tired.

  “There is one more thing, General,” said Ryeon quietly. “I regret to inform you that Lieutenant General Yoo Ryang-ho is dead. He was killed in an artillery attack on his headquarters earlier this afternoon. Colonel Mok has taken command of the Third Corps.”

  Tae nodded silently, his stern face disguising the pain he felt. He couldn’t afford to lose Yoo, not now, not after the warring factions had finally pulled together.

  It was the day after the disastrous meeting with Lee and Jeup that a runner approached Tae’s position waving a white flag. The message was simple. A senior military member of the Korean Workers’ Party faction asked to meet Tae at the place and time of his choosing to discuss terms for a truce. Tae’s reply was equally simple—same location, one hour.

  When he arrived at the Taedongmun Park plaza, he saw a single man standing in the open. The man was wearing a Korean People’s Army uniform, an encouraging beginning. As Tae approached, he soon recognized the individual as a classmate and colleague: Lieutenant General Yoo Ryang-ho. Tae hid his surprise as he continued picking a path through the rubble his people had created only the day before. He was careful to scan the area as he walked, the botched double-cross still fresh in his mind. But Yoo was the closest thing to a good friend a senior North Korean military officer could hope to have. Tae hoped this was still the case.

  “Greetings, General Tae,” spoke Yoo as he rendered a snappy salute.

  “Greetings to you as well, Comrade Lieutenant General,” replied Tae. After returning the honor, he added, “I’m pleased to see you are still alive, Yoo-dongmu.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Yoo approached Tae slowly, arms up, hands open. “I regret the foolish actions of my political leaders yesterday. The military council was not consulted on their plan. I would have cautioned them not to underestimate you, and that you rarely do things in a small way.”

  Tae had to laugh; Yoo always had a way with words. “I suppose a battalion-level artillery barrage could be considered excessive by some.”

  “Perhaps,” Yoo smiled as he stopped less than a meter from Tae. “Nonetheless, it was quite effective. I am here to listen to your proposal.”

  General Tae was momentarily surprised. That Yoo was here didn’t change the fact that the KWP faction was fractured. Could this man speak for them? He had to know. “Do you have authority to negotiate, Comrade Lieutenant General? What about the Korean Workers’ Party leadership?”

  “I am authorized to conclude a truce with you, if I believe it is in our best interest. As for the ‘political leadership,’ those ignorant fools will no longer interfere with military matters.”

  Tae nodded. He understood Yoo’s explanation to mean the party’s leaders were either dead or imprisoned. He really didn’t care, as long as they were out of the way. “Very well, Yoo-dongmu. Here is my proposal.”

  Fighting a bad case of déjà vu, Tae described his plan to merge the military forces of the two factions and establish a defensive line against the South Koreans and the Americans to the south and the Chinese to the north. Initially, he skipped the part about negotiating a truce with the US and South Korea, and then together pushing the Chinese out. He decided that breaking the news slowly would have a better chance of success.

  Yoo listened without saying anything, but as soon as Tae finished, he asked, “Tell me, Comrade General. Do you truly believe we can hold out against the imperialists? I’m sure you’re aware that they are outside the city, just beyond those hills.” Yoo pointed southward.

  Alarm bells went off in Tae’s mind. Yoo’s question, under normal circumstances, would be considered treasonous, punishable by death. Tae didn’t know if Yoo was opening an avenue to discuss surrendering to the ROK and US forces, or verifying Tae’s suspected lack of commitment to the DPRK. The easily seen movements of Yoo’s arm could have been a signal. Was his “friend” about to end his life? Tae’s intuition fought back the fear and told him to stay put, so he stood his ground—there was no crack of a rifle, no explosion. He was still alive.

  He sighed deeply before answering Yoo. “No, my friend, I do not believe we can keep the imperialists at bay for more than a day or two. This is the terrible irony of a civil war; all casualties are doubled, all ammunition expenditure is doubled, all the damage to our country is doubled.

  “We have worn ourselves out to the point that we are now outnumbered and outgunned by a technologically superior foe. The best I can hope for is to put up enough resistance to get the fascists to think twice about trying to take the city. Then I’ll present our terms. If I’m successful, perhaps we will have help in defending against the Chinese.”

  Yoo nodded; he seemed resigned to Tae’s assessment. “Not exactly a recipe for victory, is it?”

  Tae chuckled again. “Only if you’re trying to make a bitter stew.”

  A pained look flashed on Yoo’s face. “I . . . I find it unbearable that I
failed to protect my country. That I had a role in its destruction.”

  “We can discuss who is to blame later, Yoo-dongmu,” countered Tae. “Right now, I need your help to save what is left of our home.”

  Coming to attention, Yoo saluted once again. “I accept your terms, Comrade General. What are your orders?”

  Amidst the rubble, the two men embraced.

  “Sir, what are your orders?” Ryeon’s question jerked Tae back to reality. He didn’t have the luxury to mourn the loss of a fine soldier and friend. That would have to wait. Grabbing the map off the floor, Tae motioned for his staff and unit commanders to assemble around him.

  “Unit status, Major,” barked Tae with confidence. His men were exhausted, at the edge of human endurance; they needed to draw strength from him for the coming battle.

  “Per your orders, sir, the remnants of the 815th Mechanized Infantry Corps and two understrength brigades from the 820th Armored Corps have moved north to shore up the badly damaged 425th. With the exception of one understrength armor battalion, most of the Pokpung-ho and Chonma-ho main battle tanks have been sent to defend against the Chinese advance.

  “The remaining units of the 820th have been distributed between the center and flanks to support each of the infantry divisions. All tanks are in prepared positions and camouflaged against aerial reconnaissance. We have five near full-strength infantry divisions, one at each front and one in reserve,” concluded Ryeon.

  Tae nodded as his aide pointed to the unit locations on the map. “What’s our tank strength?” he asked.

  Dejected, Major Ryeon looked downward and swallowed hard. The rest of the staff didn’t look much better. “We can only field 207 tanks, mostly older Chinese Type 88s and Type 69s. A great number of our armored vehicles are damaged or have broken down and require a repair facility. And we are extremely short on fuel and ammunition, sir. The unpleasant fact is that most of the tanks don’t have full fuel tanks or ammunition loads.”