“Yes, sir,” another man replied.
The Lieutenant Commander unscrewed the top of an aluminum thermos and poured coffee, wrapping his hands around the steaming cup. Icy mist numbed his face. The fluorescent green dot marking their position inched toward the maritime border with the South while his men rigged the ship’s steering for remote control. When they finished, he downed his last sip of brew and replaced the lid. “Let’s go.”
The men climbed down a rope ladder to a four-man, semi-rigid inflatable boat and detached it from the larger ship. The cargo vessel churned onward, disappearing into the predawn fog.
Burn the Ship
Thick, low clouds obscured the first rays of sunlight over South Korea. The cargo ship altered course, turning east toward Seoul’s South Port cargo facility. Ports in Seoul were unusually challenged by tides up to thirty feet. The Inner Port was fitted with an advanced lock, allowing ships to enter a zone of stable water level regardless of the prevailing tide. The harbormaster directed the ship toward this Inner Port, his message relayed to the distant commandos in their rubber raft.
“Bassant, this is Inchon Operations. Good morning. Come to heading zero-three-zero. Bassant, please respond.”
“This is the Bassant,” a commando radioed, his message rebroadcast by the cargo ship. “Repeat your last.”
“Bassant, this is Inchon Operations. Come to heading zero-three-zero.”
“Bassant here. Heading zero-six-zero.”
“No, no. Bassant, come to heading zero-three-zero. Zero-three-zero.”
“Oh, copy. Zero-three-zero. Bassant out.”
The hulking vessel stayed on its original course.
“Bassant, we still track you off course. Set new course, zero-two-five. I repeat, set new course, zero-two-five. Confirm.”
The Bassant passed a loading dock south of the terminal at full cruising speed, a hundred feet offshore. Stunned dock workers turned to stare. One foreman ran after the ship, waving his arms, shouting for it to stop. The ship ran aground, its incredible momentum dropping it on a waterfront street. For a surreal moment, a woman selling smoked fish from a cart gaped up at the listing steel hulk.
There was an infernal flash. The ocean around the ship vaporized. A supersonic shock wave of super-heated air and salt water rushed over the docks and into the city, blowing the workers away like leaves in a hurricane. The third atomic weapon ever used against a civilian population obliterated everything within a mile. Out to three miles, the fierce wind swept buildings away, erasing tens of thousands of lives in the blink of an eye.
#
Ji-min and Maddie rode the escalator up from Incheon’s subway, chatting like lifelong friends.
“I hope you enjoy the Korean breakfast I selected for us this morning,” Ji-min said.
“I trust your-” Maddie started.
The sky scintillated brilliant white. They were blinded. Terrified. A raging wind threw them, like frail umbrellas in an impossible storm, back down the escalator.
Maddie smashed against a handrail, her ribs snapping like dry tinder. Searing pain exploded on her right side. A massive gong seemed to resonate inside her skull. Her battered body came to rest on a staircase adjacent the escalator. She was blind, deaf and in intolerable pain.
Ji-min flew much further, landing squarely in the chest of a powerfully built man. Both tumbled backward. The man cried out in pain. The world fell silent.
“Mädchen! Hörst du mich? Mädchen!” A muscular man sporting a massive, curled mustache caressed Ji-min’s brow.
His words were distant and muffled. Ji-min saw a geometric pattern, in shades of teal, surrounding him. The color meant he was concerned, and the shape showed her what his question was. “Yes. I hear you.” She managed a meager smile. Heavy dust hung in the air and the pungent smell of ozone overwhelmed her olfactory sense. Her vision returned though a brilliant afterimage still obscured details. The ringing almost drowned out the agonizing screams of the wounded and dying. Almost.
“Ich bin Hans,” the man said, checking her head. “Bist du verwundet?”
The pattern surrounding the man shifted. He wants to know if I’m hurt. “I… I think I’m alright,” she said in English. Her eyes shot into focus and she sat up with a grimace. “Maddie!”
Ji-min and Hans searched the rubble-strewn platform. The lights flickered then went out. Emergency lighting cast inadequate beams through the murky air. They found Maddie in a crumpled heap, covered with gray debris. Her breathing was shallow and slow.
“Maddie! Thank goodness, you live.” Ji-min saw shades of red and of yellow-green, organic lumps all but obscuring her friend’s face. Red indicated great physical pain. The yellow-green was something else. Self-pity. “Maddie, look at me. Look…at…me! Yes. Look at my eyes. You’re injured, but you will persevere. You will survive.”
“What… what happened? I…” Maddie said.
“I'm not sure.” Ji-min touched Maddie’s cheek. “There was a city-shattering explosion, an unthinkable wind. We were thrown back down into the subway station.”
Maddie tried to push herself up on an elbow.
“Be still for now. Rest while I tend to your wounds.”
Shadows danced at the top of the escalator. A middle-aged Korean man in a torn, gray-dusted Armani suit, hobbled down. He shouted something in Korean.
“Ji-min, what did he say?” Maddie asked.
How can I explain without panicking her? Ji-min sighed. I can’t. “The gentleman says much of the city has been destroyed. All buildings are damaged and nobody’s on the street. He sees no aid coming.”
The crowd absorbed the meaning of his words. A short, wiry man said in Korean, “Nobody will save us. We must save ourselves.” He limped up the escalator steps, walking over the wounded. Others followed as best they could.
Ji-min’s jaw dropped as people left, ignoring the pleas of the badly injured. How can they abandon the wounded? How can I make them stay? Her eyes fell on Hans, who was moving around the platform, tending to the most grievous wounds. “Sir, are you a doctor?”
“Little one, no. I study sports medicine. I have some idea how to help.” He directed her, and together they did what they could. It was not enough.
Maddie’s breathing became heavy, labored.
Ji-min grasped her hand.
Maddie whispered, “Come closer. Closer.” She winced. “Nobody is coming for us. Ji-min, save yourself. Leave and walk to safety.” Her eyes turned away. “I won’t survive the night.”
A new pattern flooded Ji-min’s vision, a sickly yellow-green laced with deep purple. How could Maddie feel this way? She had resolved not to fight for survival. Fury welled up. No. I won’t lose another friend to evil. She breathed out the anger and breathed in passionate resolve. “Listen! You listen to me! You will survive. I will not leave you.”
Maddie said, “You’re so innocent, so endearing. I admire you for wanting to stay. Sometimes, you find yourself in a situation you just cannot win. One you must accept. We both must accept I’m dying, and you must save yourself.”
“Accept? Accept! If I would accept, I would not be here today. Let me tell you about survival. About refusing to curl up and die. My birthplace is North Korea, in a farming village. The past winter was harsh. I… I was orphaned, forced to live with other children in the woods.” Ji-min blinked back a tear. “We begged for scraps each day to survive and prayed the police would not come. We ate grass and worms, huddled for warmth. Warmth is the wrong word. We huddled not to freeze to ice.” She blinked again, but the tears broke free. “Some of us died.”
Maddie grasped her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean for you to re-live that.” The heavy air unleashed a coughing fit. Maddie was ashen when it subsided. “All the more reason for you to live. Look at me. I’m broken. Those that can, left already. I’m old and useless. Your life lies ahead of you. You must-”
“That’s not all!” Ji-min said. “Listen to my words.” She wipe
d sweat from Maddie’s brow. “At the height of winter, with one blizzard after another battering my will to survive, I became ill. Fever took me, and delirium. I wandered town like an empty ghost until I could no more, then fell over on the icy road where I lay, in a hell of fire and ice, for days as freezing rain and snow covered me. I tried to curl my fingers and toes, just to know I was still alive. It would have been easy to let go, to become another rotting corpse in a forgotten street. My choice was to live. I was sure the end was near when an angelic figure reached down to me. She pulled me up and put me over her shoulders. She showed me grace, and she was my salvation. I live today because I refused to die and because good people helped me. I hope you understand why I will not leave you now.”
Maddie’s eyes brightened. She squeezed Ji-min’s hand and nodded. “I’ll make it through. For you.” Her breathing eased. “Wait.” Maddie’s brow furrowed. “You lived in North Korea until recently, as a peasant? How do you speak English so well?”
“Your scientist mind at work?” Ji-min smiled. “The sickness changed me. Something happened, something in my brain.” Ji-min averted her gaze.
“Go on,” Maddie said. “Please. Tell me.”
“When people speak, I see the words. Not exactly words, but colors and patterns that match what is spoken. I think they call it synes, eh…”
“Synesthesia?” Maddie said.
“Yes. It’s like synesthesia. Except for me, it’s more. I see the sound and also the meaning. I don’t understand the spoken words, but I understand what is meant. The patterns are universal. Most people, the doctors here in the South, don’t believe me.”
“You see the meaning of words?” Maddie said.
Ji-min nodded. “That makes it easy for me to learn the spoken words.”
Maddie forced herself to her elbows and let out a gasp of pain. “Abel. And my daughter, Sara. We must-”
“Shh,” Ji-min said. “Rest. Lie down. We can discuss this later.”
Maddie did not die in the night but willed each painful breath into her lungs as her new friend cared for her, watched over her.
In the pre-dawn hours, searchlights flooded the escalator. Korean voices called down. “Is anyone here?”
Hans was first to respond, shouting in German, “Wir sind hier! Hier!”
Two dozen men wearing military uniforms rushed down to the platform. Ji-min froze, terror in her eyes.
The uniforms were North Korean.
#
Dear Leader’s face was cherry red. This was not the anger he portrayed to intimidate his ministers. It was pure rage, fueled by the horrifying thought that he may have lost control. “Who. Did. This…?” His fist, white knuckles grasping a chrome-plated M1911 pistol, slammed down on the table. “Who!”
Minister Pak was half-amazed that the forty-five-caliber handgun didn’t discharge and was glad to be seated next to Dear Leader rather than across from him.
“Do you understand what this means?” Dear Leader’s eyes bulged like a pig ready to pop. “The Chinese will cross the border. The Americans will attack with their smart bombs if the Chinese don’t get to us first. We must understand what happened to survive this.”
All key ministers were gathered in the heavily reinforced chambers under Ryongsong Residence. Steel doors, now sealed tight, could withstand all but a direct hit from a bunker buster. Air scrubbers and ample rations ensured survival for weeks or months. The room was a significant feat of engineering, a creation Minister Pak was glad to have overseen.
The ministers all speculated at once. Accusations were leveled, and the frenzied discussion blossomed into a heated debate.
Minister Pak stood and stepped toward a buffet where fragrant green tea had been placed. His fingers searched under the table and located a hidden switch. He flipped it, throwing the room into complete darkness. Emergency lights were supposed to activate. This switch was designed to prevent that. He smashed a false wood panel in the wall, located a mask, and fitted it over his head. Minister Pak found two cylinders, pulled a pin from each, and lobbed them toward the conference table. Though he could see nothing, the tortured gasps of his soon-to-be-former colleagues told him the VG nerve gas was working. VX would have been far more effective but was harder to obtain.
“What… is… this…?” a voice gasped. Dear Leader’s voice.
“Painful, isn’t it?” Minister Pak said in a measured tone from under his gas mask.
“Stop… I command…”
“Do you remember the last man you had executed? Jang Yeon-Chol? He was a friend. My oldest friend.” He pulled a pair of metal-and-glass disks from his pocket and held them to the gas mask’s eyepiece. A magnetic tug snapped them in place. Through the infrared lenses, he could see the dictator doubled over on hands and knees. Minister Pak took Dear Leader’s pistol from the table. Careful, not too hard. No early out for you, Dear Leader. He smacked the dictator upside the head.
“Stop… Stop…”
“How does it feel, knowing your death is moments away?” He brought the weapon down again. “I know. The death I chose for you isn’t as creative as feeding the condemned to famished dogs or blowing them up with anti-aircraft weapons. I can’t match your ingenuity there.”
“Stop…”
“I would like to stay with you,” he said, grabbing Dear Leader by the hair and yanking his head back, “until the end. But I have a war to avert.” He released his grip. “Think of me in your final moments.” Minister Pak unlocked the steel doors and cracked them open. “Dear Leader is wounded! Come quickly!” The guards raced inside, and he shut and jammed the door.
“Predictable,” he muttered as he ascended stairs to the garden above.
He checked the reception on his cell phone. Satisfied, he began placing calls.
#
“White House operator, how may I direct your call?”
“This is Pak Song-san, Minister of Finance of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. North Korea. My country has just nuked South Korea. I must speak with the President. I shall hold while you trace and verify this call.”
The operator told her colleague, “This is the most elaborate prank call this month.” Once the trace showed the call’s origin, mild irritation was replaced with urgency. She dialed the Secret Service.
After minutes of waiting, another voice came on the line. “This is the President. Am I speaking with Minister Pak?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“The intelligence reports are just coming in. Is this accurate? You nuked South Korea?”
“Mr. President, I did not nuke South Korea. Dear Leader ordered the attack. I share your outrage. Upon learning of this dishonorable and abhorrent act, I seized control of the government. Dear Leader is dead as are the ministers loyal to him. China has dispatched a special envoy to Pyongyang, accompanied by Special Forces, to monitor the situation and help ensure a stable transition of power to a new, representative government.”
“North Korea nukes its neighbor, and you expect the consequence to be that you get a new government? This is outrageous. It will not stand.”
“Mr. President, I’m ashamed my country committed this atrocity. I offer my humble apology that I could not prevent it. But who do you want to punish? I'm sure you know the citizens of North Korea are innocent in this. Would you punish them? Dear Leader and those close to him are dead, thanks to my prompt action. Do you want to punish their corpses? Do you want to punish me, the man who ended the conflict? Ended Dear Leader? I assure you, Mr. President, the people and the new leadership of North Korea abhor what has happened. We mobilized everything we can to help our brothers in the South.”
The line was quiet for an uncomfortable time. “Mr. Pak, I expect you will receive my envoy in addition to the Chinese one. We will not include Special Forces. At this time. The team will include FBI investigators. They excel at getting to the truth.”
“Yes Mr. President, I understand. Thank you for your measured response. I look forward to workin
g with you rebuilding both the North and the South.”
Minister Pak glanced at the phone and thought how much easier it was to persuade the American president than to convince the South Koreans. In the end, though, the South agreed to receive emergency aid. The vast scale of devastation left them little choice, and the prospect of peaceful reunification offset deep-seeded mistrust. The cell phone photos of Dear Leader’s corpse helped, too.
Soldiers
A dozen soldiers flooded the subway platform, their flashlights casting brilliant beams on the injured people.
“We’re here to help,” one of them said.
Ji-min wrapped herself around Maddie. Soldiers don’t help.
The men worked their way among the wounded, offering food and water but no medical aid. They lifted a man who had deep cuts on his face and carried him up the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked, his voice apprehensive.
“The UN set up a triage center around half a kilometer from here,” a young officer said. He seemed to lead the group.
“A prison camp, more likely!” an older gentleman said from across the platform.
“Why did you invade us?” a middle-aged woman asked. “We were no threat to you.”
“There was no invasion,” the officer said. “We’re here at the invitation of your government to provide humanitarian assistance.”
Golden spheres looped around the man’s head. Truth. He speaks the truth. Ji-min stood and took an apprehensive step forward. In the boldest voice she could muster, she said, “My friend Maddie needs help. She can't walk.”
Doubtful eyes turned to her.
“Do you see weapons?” she said. “Do you want to stay down here?”
Heads shook.
The middle-aged woman looked from Ji-min, to the officer, to Ji-min. “Well then, let’s go see about that triage center.”
Those that could hobbled into the daylight, those that could not were carried. The rescuers loaded them into a four-truck convoy of other injured civilians. A woman moved among the wounded, inspecting each in turn. She wore North Korean battle fatigues with a white-and-red band around her left arm. Her brow furrowed when she reached Maddie.
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