War Cry sts-9

by Keith Douglass

  "Mr. Vice President, it's good to meet you. I command the last American unit stationed inside the DMZ. I advised against this tour for you, but I was overruled. There is a danger here. We've had over seven hundred instances of North Korean commandos penetrating the DMZ and working into South Korea. These units have to be found and eliminated.

  "From time to time there is sniper fire across the line. I'll be sure to keep you and your party as safe as possible. I understand you did some Army time."

  "Yes, Colonel, I was in the Signal Corps." "Good. You remember when to keep your head down."

  The tour began at the camp, with the colonel's briefing: "Camp Bonifas is a quarter of a mile from the DMZ. This is the most northern base in Korea that's manned by Americans. This is the focal point of the whole defense system. Our troops here are the sharp blade of the spear aimed at North Korea.

  "If anything happens, we'll be the first to know, and then I grab the phone and call General Richard Reynolds, the commanding general of the U.S. Eighth Army. Let's get in the Humvees for a short demo drive into the DMZ. Right here the zone is two and a half miles wide. Down the center are yellow markers. Troops from each side are supposed to stay on their side of those yellow center markers. There have been a lot of incursions by North Korean commandos lately. We'll continue on and see one of our observation points."

  It took them five minutes of driving down Military Route 1, through minefields, next to boulder-piled tank traps, and over culverts the colonel said were stuffed with high explosives that could be set off in case of a tank attack.

  Colonel Lauderdale explained that he commanded a light infantry regiment of 250 Americans and three hundred South Korean troops. "This is the last of the one hundred and fourteen posts along the DMZ manned by American troops," he said. "Of course we have our backup tank battalion just to our rear."

  Observation Post Oullette stood thirty yards from the yellow and rusting centerline markers in the DMZ. It looked like a training tower or hose-drying building for a neighborhood fire station. The group trudged up wooden stairs to the third floor, which was open on all four sides. On a clear day observers there could see sixteen miles into North Korea. A number of swivel-mounted high-powered binoculars rested on a shelf around the OP.

  They went down the stairs and then down some ladders into the underground complex. There were concrete walls and openings. Each opening was a bunker that looked out on North Korea.

  "If things get dicey, this is where we'll fire the first shots from if the NKs invade us," Colonel Lauderdale said. "We fight from here and if it's a huge invasion, most of the men here will either die in these bunkers or be captured."

  Vice President Chambers looked out one port and noticed a series of switches on the side. "These for lights?" he asked.

  A sergeant shook his head. "Triggers for Claymore mines, sir," he said. The Vice President knew what Claymores were. A chunk of C-4 plastic explosive packed with three hundred ball bearings. The mine could be angled so it fired the balls out one direction and at tremendous speed. One Claymore could kill half a platoon of infantry.

  He saw a map on the wall with concentrations of machine gun killing zones. Then the tour was over and they headed back.

  "I'd like to see the tanks," The Vice President said. Colonel Lauderdale hesitated only a moment, but it was enough to stir the Vice President's curiosity.

  ''Are they off-limits, Colonel?"

  "No, sir, Mr. Vice President. Theirs is a special unit, highly trained and on a nervous edge most of the time. But for you we can disturb them for a few minutes."

  Ten minutes later, they had left the front part of the DMZ and moved to the rear of the American sector. The Humvee drove up to a heavy concentration of barbed-wire fences. There were three parallel ones. The outside fence had steel posts set in concrete, with barbed wire stretched at six-inch intervals up to eight feet. On top of that hung razor wire in circular coils. The next fence was ten feet tall, with concertina on both sides and razor wire stretched on the steel posts.

  The last fence was chain link, six feet high and full of caution signs that said in three languages that the fence was highly charged with electricity.

  Steel gates stopped them at the guard post. A lieutenant heading the guards insisted on seeing the colonel's ID and that of each of the men in the three vehicles. Then he opened the gate. It slid back on well-oiled rollers operated by electric motor.

  "The gate here weighs a little over two tons,"' the colonel said. "It would take a tank to break through it."

  Just inside, Major Donovan Kitts met them. He commanded the 91st Armored Battalion. Kitts was slight, five eight, and looked like a marathon runner. His keen blue eyes missed nothing. He saluted his colonel, said hello, then turned to Chambers.

  "Mr. Vice President. It's an honor to have you visit our unit. Is there anything in particular you'd like to see?"

  "Just your normal routine. I understand you do some training, maneuvers, preparations for defensive combat, that sort of thing."

  "Yes, sir. I could move some tanks around and show you some of your tax dollars at work."

  "Thank you, Major Kitts. I'd appreciate that."

  They drove a mile away to where six tanks worked back and forth in a barren section of plowed-up dirt just behind the DMZ. The tanks wheeled and charged forward toward the line, then turned, set up a line of defense, pulled out, and each tank drove into a bunker so only the muzzle of the big cannon and the top of the turret showed.

  Major Kitts was in the lead tank. When the maneuvering was over, the major climbed out of his tank and came back to where the Vice President and his group stood.

  "Major, could I see your outfit's living quarters?" the Vice President asked. "I understand a certain number of you are on alert twenty-four hours a day, and some are sleeping and eating. Where do your men do this?"

  Five minutes later they went into a concealed underground complex that looked like a military office, barracks, and kitchen, only it was under the Korean soil. It was a self contained unit that fed, housed, and supplied the tankers.

  Vice President Chambers looked at the facility and smiled. "Major, how would you like to have twelve guests tonight? I want to stay this close to the DMZ and get a notion of what it feels like. We won't be any trouble to you, and we don't eat much. I'm sure the colonel and the general will have no objections."

  Colonel Lauderdale built some frown lines on his forehead. "Sir, this is in an extreme danger zone, twice the target that the observation tower is. We usually allow no civilians to be in this area, let alone overnight. Your visit here is most unusual. I don't see how your being here would make that much difference." The Vice President held up his hand. "Colonel, we appreciate your concern. All but one of this group has been under enemy fire during wartime. You don't need to worry about our safety. We won't need any baggage. We can live in these clothes until we get back to your camp tomorrow morning. It's settled. We'll all stay here tonight." He turned to the other eleven civilians.

  "Unless any of you want to chicken out on me and run for the camp."

  There was some nervous laughter, but nobody held up a hand.

  "Good, it's settled. I'd guess that some of this underground facility leads to the bunkers with weapons pointed toward the DMZ. I'd like to see those areas as well."

  Major Kitts looked at his commanding officer, who gave the barest of nods, and the tanker led the way to the rest of the underground complex that held the fire-forward areas.

  Vice President Chambers settled into position behind a .50-caliber machine gun and grinned. A belt of ammo hung off the gun with one round in the chamber ready to fire. He looked out at the DMZ.

  "Damn, but this is tight. Weapons, tanks, and infantry all over the place. I don't see how the NKs could possibly get through the DMZ and even this far into South Korea."

  Then the Vice President remembered the angry words of the NK general and the expression on his face as he stood to walk out. For a moment Cha
mbers decided that he would put nothing past this number-two man in the North Korean Army. Absolutely nothing.

  3

  42nd Tank Battalion

  Demilitarized Zone North Korea

  Major Yim Pak Lee frowned as he saw one of his tanks take a slow turn and get bumped by the tank behind.

  He used his radio. "No, no, stupid ass in number six. Keep up your speed. You'll get pushed into the gully you keep driving like that. Now. Do it again, all fifteen of you. Back to the starting point, go."

  He watched from the turret of his tank on a high piece of ground less than a mile behind the DMZ. It was his maneuver land, where he could put his sixteen tanks through their paces and keep the crews sharp.

  He watched the tanks back half a mile, turn, and come into line. Three tanks formed a spearhead in front of five behind them in a line.

  Beside that formation was a similar lineup of the other seven tanks. The machines were in top condition. Their crews were hardworking and just reaching the peak of their skills. Each of the sixteen units had a 105mm howitzer and a load of sixty rounds. They could pack a devastating punch.

  Major Yim knew his mission. When the orders came down to attack, it would be at dawn, and his tanks would charge ahead through the DMZ, past the centerline, and smash and blow up all the defenders they could find.

  His battalion had won the right to be directly across from the only sector of the DMZ manned by Americans. His men were ready. They would follow orders, and charge into the midst of the sleeping American tankers before they knew it was morning. An attacking force always had the advantage in any kind of battle.

  Major Yim smiled. Yes, when the orders came, his sharp battalion would be ready, more than ready, anxious to show its ability to wipe out the sixteen American tanks before they knew there was a war going on.

  The major watched the new run-through on the maneuver. Yes, better. The ability to move, take advantage of any cover, and then come out shooting was what his battalion had won honors for. He saw a military sedan drive into the edge of the tanks' maneuvering range. At once Major Yim ordered his own tank to turn and charge toward the sedan. The rig had stopped just inside the plowed-up ground where the treads punished the land. He brought the big tank to a stop a dozen feet away, lifted out of the turret, and dropped to the ground.

  A full colonel stood by the side of the sedan smoking a cigar. Major Yim marched up and saluted smartly.

  "Major Yim at your service, Colonel."

  The colonel returned the salute, then pointed at the tanks.

  "Sixteen still in operation, I see, Major. That's good. You have utilized your spare tank to good advantage. Spare parts is the call I hear from other commanders, but never from you. How do you manage that?"

  "Skill and three top-flight mechanics, Colonel."

  "Good, good. When your exercise ends here. I need to talk to all of your men. Have your crews and all your battalion support people in your enlisted mess in two hours. I'll see you there." Major Yim saluted as the colonel stepped back inside the car and it drove away.

  Two hours. Plenty of time. The major worked his crews for another hour, then told them to move the tanks back into their battle stations. Each tank had a carefully built and camouflaged attack position a hundred yards from the centerline of the DMZ. Each position was dug in with ten feet of packed earth in front of the tank, and walls of earth higher than the tank on each side.

  It would take a direct hit by a mortar or tank round to hurt any of the tanks. That was the defensive mode. With three minutes of warning, the tankers could be in their rigs, then backed out of the emplacements and sent charging across the centerline fence. It was an order that he prayed for each night.

  He used his radio and notified the tankers of the schedule, then warned the support team that even the cooks were to be at the mee ting at 1700 in the mess hall. Every man in his command would be there under severe penalty.

  Major Yim had worked hard to get into this position. He wanted to be in the very forefront of any attack southward. It was his personal payback.

  The major had never known his father. He was born in 1953 after the war was over and the cease-fire had been signed. Now he was one of the oldest tank commanders in North Korea's forces. He had fought to keep his position.

  His father had been captured by the Americans late in the war and turned over to the South Korean Army terrorists, who had tortured him for three days. They had used every form of torture that had been devised by man to inflict pain without death. At last, after the third horrific day, his father had died while enduring the torture of a thousand slices. No one knife cut into his flesh would kill him, but the accumulation of blood loss from hundreds of such slices on his body had led to his bleeding to death.

  Yim blamed the Americans for turning his father over to the sadistic South. They knew what his fate would be. They didn't care. They wanted the military information about the division across the line from them.

  They never got it.

  His father had not said a word after he had been captured.

  After the war, Yim had grown up without a father. In the highly family oriented society of North Korea, that put him at a terrific disadvantage. He had no strong male to support him. He had no older brothers to fight for him.

  He remembered that when he was ten, he came home almost every day with new cuts or bruises after the older boys had caught him and beat him with their fists.

  As he got older, the beatings became worse. He started carrying a knife that opened its five-inch blade with a quick flip of the wrist. He used it the first day he carried it. Three boys two years older than he caught him in an alley a short way from his home. He warned them. Then he flipped open the knife and cut two of them so quickly they had no chance to escape. The third boy ran away screaming. The two he'd cut had minor wounds on their hands and arms.

  The next day the same three boys caught him again. This time they had knives as well, longer ones than his. His back was to the wall of a house. The three drove in all at once, and he couldn't stop all of them. He took a stab wound to his right leg and a slash on his left arm, but his right hand thrust hard with his blade and one of the boys took it full in the chest. He died minutes later in the alley.

  After that the boys left him alone, for a time.

  The other two remembered that he had killed their friend.

  When Yim was sixteen, the two trapped him at the edge of the schoolyard. By this time he had grown to almost five feet ten, taller than any of his classmates. He had also studied Taste Kwon Do, unarmed combat. He was ready.

  Chung Sik had come at him from one side and his smaller friend from the other. Each had a knife. Yim had left his knife home that day.

  He decided the larger Chung Sik was the more dangerous, and turned and with a side kick stopped him, then turned to the smaller man, who hesitated.

  Yim took advantage of the pause and executed a classic spinning round kick to the head, slamming the kid to the ground unconscious.

  Then Chung Sik charged in from the side and the battle was on. Neither had the advantage now, but Yim's kicks and vicious elbow and hand slashes kept the knife from drawing any blood. When Chung Sik realized that he couldn't harm Yim, he waved to two policemen who had been watching the fight from across the street. Chung Sik talked to the policemen, who promptly grabbed Yim and hauled him to the police station.

  "Why am I here?" he shouted at them. They beat him with bamboo batons.

  "What have I done to be arrested?"

  They beat him again.

  Three hours later, Chung Sik came to the door and watched the officers beat him again. A policeman behind him watched as well. He wore captain's bars. He looked at Yim.

  "You are not greatly injured. You are sentenced to three months in the mountain work camp building roads. Take him away."

  It was much later that Yim found out that the police captain was Chung Sik's father.

  Yim came back from the labor camp thin, b
ut stronger than he had ever been and angrier. A week later he caught Chung Sik without his friends, and beat him into unconsciousness. Then he broke both the young man's arms over his knee and left him in the gutter.

  Yim blamed it all, everything that happened to him, on the devil Americans. They had caused it. They had caught and let the criminal South Koreans torture his father to death.

  He would never sleep well until he had repaid the devil Americans in gallons and gallons of their blood spilled on South Korean soil.

  The meeting in the mess hall was brief. The colonel was kind in his remarks to the men about their maneuvers in the field that afternoon.

  Then he paced in front of them. "You men are here for a glorious purpose. When the attack comes, when we smash across the DMZ into the south, you men will be our spearhead. You will charge through the American tanks like a knife through a ripe melon and you will prevail. Then you will charge south with Seoul in your sights.

  "We are counting on you men to be at the very peak of your readiness, to kill the enemy, to slaughter his tanks, and to crash through every South Korean Army unit you find like it was a paper tiger."

  The men stood and cheered, chanting: "We are ready! We are ready! We are ready!"

  The colonel nodded and headed for the door.

  "Attention." The major barked. Every man in the room shot to his feet and stood at a braced attention. Major Yim smiled and followed the colonel out the door.

  Yes, his men were ready. They could charge across the border in ten minutes if the order came. He was proud of them.

  The colonel stopped at his car. He motioned the major to come closer.

  "Major Yim, you're doing a good job. When the order comes, your men look ready." He paused.

  "That order to charge into the DMZ could come before you expect it. Good hunting, Major."

  The colonel stepped into the car with a sly smile, and the sedan pulled away and out of the battalion's rear area.

  Major Yim frowned. The order could come before he expected it? What did that mean? This week? This month? Did he mean that they might get into war with the South soon?