Red Phoenix Burning

by Larry Bond

  Wen sighed. “Then I won’t pursue this option any further—for now.” He paused for a moment, as if steeling himself, then continued. “In that case, given the increased level of the threat,” nodding toward the defense minister, “and the lack of progress by our ground forces, I believe we must consider a new strategy. Even as I summoned you all to this meeting, I received a message from the president of the United States. I will read the Mandarin version provided by the Americans, which our translators say is a faithful interpretation of their president’s text.

  “To President Wen, of the People’s Republic of China: Our countries’ armed forces face each other only inches apart, in grave danger of starting a war that will benefit neither, and distracting us from the far greater hazard posed by a cruel regime’s dying struggles. I suggest that instead of fighting each other, we work together to put a swift end to the threat that endangers us all.

  “I urge you also to cease your operations against South Korean forces, who are already fighting our common opponent. We will do everything in our power to encourage our ally to work with Chinese forces, as well as American military forces, for the express purpose of erasing every remaining trace of the Kims from the Korean Peninsula.

  “Finally, I must remind you, President Wen, that America’s guarantee of Korea’s territorial integrity is absolute, and if China has any goal other than the removal of the threat posed by the holdouts of a disgraced dynasty, we will not hesitate to defend Korea as vigorously as we would our own homeland.”

  Wen passed the message to others at the table. Some read it completely, while others barely glanced at it. Several minutes passed in silence before the Second Bureau minister said reluctantly, “It pains me to agree with any American, but he’s right. If the intervention expands beyond our stated goal, we face almost certain war with America, which could make our losses so far trivial in comparison.”

  They all knew he was referring to Scarborough Shoal, now firmly under the Philippines’ control, its security guaranteed by the Americans. China could win on the Korean Peninsula and still suffer.

  Several heads nodded, and the president asked, “Then how shall we proceed?”

  6 September 2015, 1100 local time

  Gyeonggi Military Camp

  Outside Paju, South Korea

  “He’s got to be the oldest private I’ve ever seen,” Cho asserted.

  “I don’t disbelieve you,” Kary insisted. “I just don’t know enough to agree or disagree.”

  They were standing outside the headquarters tent, located near the front gate of the Gyeonggi Military Camp.

  Kary Fowler was now responsible for five refugee and two military camps, all holding former North Korean citizens. The Korean army ran all the camps, but was more than willing to let her minister to the needs of their residents. Even the military camps filled with ex-KPA soldiers came under her purview, since there was no longer an army for them to be soldiers of, and they had many of the same needs as the civilians. Beyond basic necessities like food and shelter, they usually needed at least some medical attention. There was an amazing demand for dentists. She’d arranged for many of the same classes to be taught as well, since the DPRK army’s worldview was even more skewed than the civilians.

  Using a helicopter provided by the ROK Army, and with Cho as her escort, she toured one or two camps every few days, being seen and dealing with problems that could only be solved in person.

  Kary always walked through the camp first, accompanied by Cho, who wore army fatigues with a sergeant’s rank insignia. Then, while Kary met with the camp’s officials, Cho wandered about, listening and watching without the distraction of civilian higher-ups.

  The military camps held a mixture of DPRK soldiers that had surrendered to South Korean troops or had been wounded and captured in a fight, army deserters that had reached the South or been found and collected in Northern territory, and in a few cases, entire units that had surrendered without a fight, after negotiations with the advancing Southerners.

  Any soldier who wished was given a chance to serve, under General Tae, in the new United Han Army. While a fair number had done so, many did not.

  Because national service was mandatory under the Kim regime, for many this was the first choice they had ever been allowed to make. With better food than they ever had before, and no longer being shot at, the camp seemed like a great place to be. They still lived under military discipline, including calisthenics, and that’s where Cho first noticed him.

  The man was in the rear rank of four, falling behind during jumping jacks, and failing completely at push-ups. While Cho had seen few DPRK soldiers that he could call impressive physical specimens, the rest of the group was performing satisfactorily.

  The soldier’s physical incompetence was almost comical, and Cho had moved closer, intending to see if he was sick or somehow injured. The first detail he noticed was the man’s age, easily in his early forties. The second was his rank—a private? That didn’t make much sense. Then he noticed the insignia on the shoulder of his fatigues. It marked the wearer as a member of a Light Infantry unit, one of the many former DPRK’s special operations forces. Whoever he was, that man was not a special operations soldier.

  After the exercises ended and the formation was dismissed, the corporal leading the calisthenics had taken care to inform Private Chun Ho-park that he was “a disgrace to not only both Koreas, but your Han heritage, and how did he . . .”

  Cho had other questions. Why was this person attempting, and rather poorly, to disguise himself as a soldier? It was easy to imagine someone using the chaos of a civil war to lose himself—to change identity and make a fresh start somewhere else. There were many in the North who wanted to leave behind an inconvenient, or perhaps criminal past. Who had this person been before he chose to be a very bad soldier? A party official? Cho was certain he was probably running from something more serious than an unhappy marriage.

  Cho had told Kary about him, along with his other observations, after Kary finished her meetings. After some discussion, she decided to trust Cho’s judgment. The camp’s security officer promised to review the file for “Private Chun” right away.

  They hadn’t even made it back to Camp Munsan before Kary and Cho received a radio call to return to Gyeonggi as quickly as they could. With her concurrence, the pilots reversed course and increased speed. Half an hour later, the machine landed, not at Camp Gyeonggi, but the 31st Homeland Defense Infantry Division’s base next to it.

  They were met by Lieutenant Hak, the division security officer, at the landing pad. Hak had noted Cho’s observations and promised to investigate the matter. He greeted Kary respectfully as they got out of the helicopter, but then almost embraced Cho in his enthusiasm. He didn’t even wait for Cho, still in a noncom’s uniform, to salute.

  He pumped Cho’s hand, and led them toward a waiting jeep. “Sergeant Cho, you’ve done your country a great service! We can’t talk here, but we need to interview you further, and we’ll need some information about your parent unit. I’m sure you’ll be getting a commendation, and if they don’t promote you, I’ll want to know why!”

  Hak refused to explain further until they reached the division’s intelligence section, a cluster of low structures, and were ushered inside the headquarters building. Once through the doors, the lieutenant almost ran down the hall to the commander’s office. “Colonel Gyo, they are here!”

  Cho was ready this time, and after letting Kary go in first, he stepped into the colonel’s office and saluted crisply. “Sergeant Cho Ho-jin, reporting.”

  The colonel not only returned Cho’s salute just as smartly, but stood as he did so, before bowing to Kary and introducing himself. “Colonel Gyo Hwi-soon. I am head of the division’s intelligence section. Is Sergeant Cho attached to your office?”

  Puzzled, Kary answered, “Yes, Colonel, as my orderly.” It was the standard story that avoided lengthy explanations. Cho was more intrigued than confused by Gyo’s behavior
, although he still felt a little edgy around ROK intelligence types.

  “Then we’d like to ask him a few more questions about ‘Private Chun.’ You may remain, if you like.”

  Kary did, and for several minutes the two intelligence officers quizzed Cho about how he’d first noticed the impersonator, and exactly what had led him to suspect the man wasn’t really a private.

  Cho did his best to keep his answers short and specific. The sooner the interview was over and they were done, the better. That also matched his persona as a noncom being questioned by two intelligence officers. But he could tell Kary was curious. Finally, she couldn’t stand it.

  “Please tell me what you’ve found out. Whoever Chun really is, he’s a resident of the camp, so he’s also my responsibility,” she argued.

  Lieutenant Hak could only look to the colonel, who shrugged. “That’s true enough. You’ll find out through channels eventually. His real name is Ga Seung-ho. He’s a civilian, and an expert in ballistic missiles. He was being escorted by three Light Infantry special forces soldiers from a safe house near Pyongyang to somewhere in the north, probably in the area the regime holdouts are occupying.”

  Cho was surprised, but managed to remain silent. Kary looked over at her “orderly” and said, “Well done, Sergeant!”

  “We’d barely started to question Ga when he broke down completely. He told us who he really was, where he’d been hiding, about the special operators that were escorting him north, everything. The vehicle they were riding in was attacked from the air, and his escorts were killed or wounded. He was on the road for about two days after that before our scouts collected him.”

  Ban added, “The uniform was his escorts’ idea, to make him less conspicuous. He wants nothing to do with the Kim faction or any other part of the DPRK. He tried to pass himself off as a regular soldier because he was afraid of being imprisoned and tortured by our intelligence people. Once he understood we weren’t going to put him on the rack, he was willing to tell us everything he knew.”

  “Except where he was headed,” the colonel interrupted. “The only person who knew their final destination was the officer in charge of the escort detail, and he was killed in the air attack. Not that Ga wanted to go there. He immediately headed south, and surrendered to the first ROK soldiers he could find.”

  The colonel was almost jovial. “We’ve already sent word to Second Operations Command headquarters and they are on their way here now, to question him further. Even if he doesn’t know exactly where he was going, they’ll try to gather what clues they can—offhand remarks by his escorts, any maps he may have seen, even how much gas was in the vehicle. Getting answers from him has the highest priority possible.”

  Kary asked, “A missile expert can probably tell you a lot, but how will it help? The Kim holdouts are already launching missiles. I was watching the news about that attack on Guam earlier today.”

  “His specialty is guidance systems,” Colonel Gyo explained. “He’d been trained in both Russia and China. Their missiles haven’t been very accurate so far, and he was told that it would be his task to make them more accurate. It sounds like he knew how to do it, too.”

  “And then they’d launch a lot more missiles,” Kary concluded.

  Gyo nodded. “Yes, exactly. Your orderly may have saved many lives. Now if we can just find out where they were taking Ga, we’ll know where to look for the missiles themselves. Then we can end this once and for all.”

  Suddenly the target of everyone’s gaze, Cho tried to find somewhere to look. Kary was smiling proudly. Gyo and Ban were grinning at him as well. Cho suspected it was not only at the thought of frustrating the holdouts’ plans, but at the praise they’d receive for discovering the missile expert.

  But they were all missing something. The other three hadn’t done the math properly. Once the holdouts realized that their expert was a no-show, they might just start lobbing their missiles anyway, and to hell with accuracy. Chemical warheads didn’t need to be very accurate. Neither did nuclear weapons.

  He could have simply nodded and accepted the credit, but he couldn’t remain silent. Not any more. “Colonel, I might be able to help with that problem.”

  6 September 2015, 1900 local time

  Thirty-First Homeland Defense Infantry Division Headquarters

  Outside Paju, South Korea

  Cho had a small audience now. After his revelation, Colonel Gyo had organized a meal while they waited for the representatives from Second Operations Command. They included the deputy commander, a two-star general, as well as military intelligence people and two civilians who simply gave their names as “Park.” Given that Park was the one of the most common surnames in Korea, they might as well have given no name at all, but not giving a name would have been considered very rude.

  Kary had insisted on staying with Cho, first asking politely, then pulling rank and insisting that she be party to any interrogations. Naturally distrustful of the military, she was doubly suspicious of anyone involved with espionage or counterintelligence. What she had learned from Cho only reinforced her impression.

  After the Second Operations Command officers arrived, it had taken some time, and a few phone calls, to explain Cho’s exact status and his wearing of a Republic of Korea Army sergeant’s uniform. The general was quite unhappy, and was almost ready to arrest Cho for the offense, but the intelligence people were more philosophical.

  In the end, Cho Ho-jin found himself facing a division commander, the command’s deputy commander, their intelligence staffs, and other unnamed intelligence types. Kary, wearing civilian clothes, was a splash of bright color on one end of a wall of camouflage battledress. For someone who’d spent his life avoiding attention, it was near torture.

  Cho drew strength from Kary’s presence. By nature and profession, he was a private person, his life a closed book that was never meant to be read. But they needed to know what he knew, and that they could trust that what he said was true.

  “I was eight when my father was killed. I still remember clearly the house we lived in. It was on Taesong Lake, a little outside Pyongyang. It sat on a hill facing the lake, and I didn’t understand until later how luxurious it was. We had plenty to eat, and I even had toys.

  “My father was often gone, and I had no brothers or sisters, but my mother had servants, and a military orderly that I played with. I was spoiled and told that because of our family, I could look forward to a life of privilege and accomplishment, in return for our absolute loyalty to the Kims.

  “When the last war began, I remember my mother worrying about my father, as all women worry about their men when they go off to war. Although he’d be away from the fighting, any headquarters was a valuable target, so it was not unjustified. As far as I know, she never imagined that his own leaders would kill him.

  “We didn’t get a lot of news about the fighting while it was going on. Even I was old enough to recognize that we weren’t being told the truth about what was happening, but my mother justified it, because of security, she said. Spies were everywhere.” Cho smiled at the irony, but there was no humor in his expression.

  “The first time we knew the war was over, or that the war was lost, was when they came for us. It was late morning, and an officer pounded on our door. When my mother opened it, the man loudly read a proclamation that my father had committed treason, betrayed the state, and paid for his crimes with his life.

  “They almost dragged the two of us into a waiting car. My mother was in tears, but neither the officer nor the driver would answer her questions. We were driven to a small village northwest of the capital, and almost dumped in front of an empty house. The officer informed us that if either of us were ever discovered outside the village, we would be shot. He took the time to read the proclamation aloud again, so that the citizens of the village would be ‘properly warned,’ and then drove off.

  “We had nothing, or even less than nothing. The house was a ruin, a derelict nobody wanted. With on
ly a few things she had managed to snatch before we’d been taken away, she had to barter the clothes on her back for our first meal. I did what I could to help, finding work a child could do, but the villagers knew they could prey on us at will. I quickly learned how to fight, and how to read people. Who was trying to trick you, who would help, who would wait for the best moment and attack you unaware.

  “My mother only lasted a few months. Early in the fall, she became sick, and died on a pallet of rags, the only bed we had. I left the village, almost daring the authorities to come after me and just try to kill me, but they didn’t care.”

  Cho sighed. “After that, I lived by working and stealing until I was twelve. I was in Najin, a port city far in the north, looking for work, when the Russians recruited me. They first offered me food, then an education, and eventually the chance to strike back at the regime that had murdered my family and made my life hardship.

  “I returned to the DPRK from Russia when I was twenty-two. I spied on the North’s military, its political structure, and its economy, whatever my handlers wanted to know. I usually used money, because loyalty was cheap under the Kims. Even when money didn’t work directly, it could usually buy what my target wanted: drugs, sex, sometimes a favor from an official that they couldn’t normally approach.

  “I mapped military bases for the Russians, including many that were underground. I learned to ask the locals, because local labor was often pressed into service. Injuries and deaths were common, so I listened to widows and those maimed in accidents. Often, all I needed was bottle of good alcohol. A basket of food, or some Chinese medicine, was more than enough, and I would follow up with some good detective work. I had to be careful, of course, but even the organs of state security have their price.” He smiled grimly.