Still, he understood the essence of the message.
The Defense Ministry's elite hackers failed in their attempt to remotely gather the data needed to copy the Soviet weapon. Instead, he must dispatch Kwon's team into Seoul today, before the enemy lab remediated their remaining vulnerabilities.
He grunted an acknowledgment. Slammed the handset onto its cradle; one of five colored phones built into the sleek red-stained teak of his desk.
Meon picked up the white phone.
Blue for RGB intelligence. Green for the General Staff. Black for the Ministry of People's Security.
Most importantly, red. His special line to the Supreme Leader's office.
White was the only line connected locally; it terminated at his receptionist's desk inside this People's Army base just north of the DMZ holding back the Imperialists.
The activated line triggered an immediate response from his secretary. "Yes, general?"
Interesting that she called him by his military title. Forced by circumstances to leave most of his mistresses in Pyongyang, he'd recently spotted her in his Special Operation Force's Peony Brigade and promoted her to intimate secretary.
Meon found her appropriately grateful for his attention.
Rising from within the Worker's Party, he preferred his governmental title. Of course, everyone on base knew exactly who he was, an essential survival skill in the People's Army.
"Get Lieutenant Kwon Chol into my office immediately."
He hung up, which rattled the other phones in their cradles.
A tanker chose that moment to rev his diesel engine. Right outside his lone window.
He needed an office farther from the base's dirt roads. The rules of the Juche society he'd been born into forced him to endure certain aggravations.
After all, man is the master of everything and decides everything. Only one man in the true Korea ruled as master of all, and it wasn't Meon, although he survived perilously close to the metaphorical Phoenix Throne.
Meon jabbed his fingers into his temples like they were acupuncture needles. Cursed the day the Defense Minister assigned him here.
His temporary office came equipped with concrete floors and bare walls, plus an intense portrait of Supreme Leader.
He'd had a bit of his own memorabilia, his custom desk, and his three-wheeled leather chair delivered from Pyongyang. Might as well be a little comfortable while stuck down south.
Now, he worried about their potential deterioration from the condensation put out by the steam radiator in the corner. Wood and leather were so sensitive to humidity levels in the air.
He missed his regular office at headquarters where, as one of the Party elite, he possessed one of the most advanced climate control systems in the country.
He sighed. Another few weeks and he'd complete his work here. Return to Pyongyang triumphant, with his furniture intact.
Or not at all.
Maybe an herbal infusion would help his headache.
Meon yanked open his right-hand desk drawer. Shook the telephones again.
The dozen dark brown plastic dropper bottles standing in the drawer wobbled and then lined up for his inspection like soldiers on parade for Supreme Leader. Ginseng, green tea extract, citrus oil.
All useless.
Chamomile?
Angelica extract perhaps, if he wanted to just knock himself out for the day. What happened to his peppermint oil?
If the conscript cleaning woman had touched his essential oils again, he'd have her shot out of a signal cannon.
Incompetent uniformed buffoons!
If Colonel Jong-rin's tanks didn't stop driving past his office in the middle of Friday afternoon, maybe he'd make an example of the cleaning woman anyway.
The Supreme Guard tankers should test their pokpung-ho tanks out in the fields until after Meon went home for the day. Last time he'd challenged them on their laziness in returning early, the Supreme Guard colonel used the excuse of Dear Leader's directive to save fuel.
Too bad the Supreme Guard were out of the Ministry's direct chain of command. One day soon, they'd need a favor from Meon. If not, he'd manufacture their need. Then they'd see the consequences of their lack of respect.
Watching them suffer would almost make the headaches from their tanks worth it.
The radiator in the corner popped. Hissed a white fog. A metal cap fragment rocketed through the air. Embedded into the thatched ceiling.
A steady stream of steam followed. Expanded into a billowing cloud formation. His office turned instantly humid.
He clapped his hands over his ears to block out the sound.
A poor omen.
If he didn't need to ensure everything went perfectly, he'd leave this place today. Even the radiator disrespected him.
The base could always burn wood or coal in the boiler, so there was plenty of steam available, despite the fuel shortage. He needed to revisit the policy of promoting all the competent men into special units.
Perhaps if he left a few to manage logistically important posts like steam room maintenance for the base's offices, he wouldn't boil to death. Probably one of the useless three-year conscripts.
Someone's cousin, given a cushy rear echelon job to collect a favor.
Meon lowered his hands. Searched his drawer one more time. Still no peppermint oil.
The white phone jangled in its cradle. He picked it up. Assumed the best, "Send in Kwon!" before he hung up.
Seconds later, Lieutenant Kwon Chol slid open his heavy wooden office door as if it were paper. Stepped inside. Closed it behind him.
Brought himself to attention. Rendered a respectful salute. "Reporting as ordered, Deputy Minister."
Meon gave him a half wave. Got straight to the point. "The lab mission is a go. In fact, it's now urgent. I've moved the timing up. Your team will depart immediately."
Kwon gulped.
"Immediately, sir? We planned for next week."
Naive puppy. "Don't tell me what I already know. What have you been doing? Why isn't your team ready to go?"
"Sir? I've been reviewing the mission with my team. We can of course depart as soon as ordered, if we need to move up the mission timeline. I'll finish briefing my team en route. May I ask why the sudden urgency, general?"
Meon took a long breath. Rubbed his temples.
"I shouldn't take my headache out on you. We'll start again. Relax, we can speak as adopted relatives."
Kwon's stiffness vanished from the shoulders down. "Yes, Uncle."
Better to give good news first.
"Supreme Leader personally emphasized the importance of this mission. Gaining this information is key to our plan to finally unify Korea again.
"I promised him by name you would be successful at the imperialist lab. Quite an honor for you; the opportunity to impress him yourself."
He'd known Kwon's family from before he was born. Even allowed them to keep the extra cooking grain ration each week after the boy's brother was killed.
Still, Meon detected a certain wariness in Kwon's face whenever he spoke to him.
Kwon smiled. "Thank you, gracious Uncle. I'm delighted to serve in any way I'm able."
Despite calling him Uncle when permitted familiarity, Meon supposed Kwon still thought of him as the powerful village political officer of his childhood.
The price of authority in the true Korea.
Meon glanced at the red phone on his desk. The Great Successor took a personal interest in anything bearing on their one opportunity for parity with the Imperialists, nuclear weapons.
"New intelligence has revealed the lab plans to tighten up security. Our agent inside the lab is stalling matters, but if we don't move today, we must rethink the entire mission, and then only after we discover what changes they make. Our best opportunity is for your team to go now, before any changes, while we can use the same plan."
"Thank you for your confidence, Uncle. My team is ready to go. I will never let you and Supreme Leader d
own." Kwon thrust out his chest.
Meon frowned at his cockiness. "This is your first time across the DMZ. Do not allow imperialist temptations to make you a fool."
Kwon patted his uniform's left breast pocket, where Meon knew he kept a photo of his dead older brother and sister-in-law. "We've lost enough to the enemy. The Imperialists have nothing to offer to force me to betray my family."
"Remember that and I'll have full confidence in your team. You know what happened to my predecessor who led the special projects office."
Strapped across the mouth of an anti-aircraft cannon just before it was fired.
"There is no need to stress how important this mission is, but the matter is urgent."
Kwon bowed his head slightly. "We will achieve a great victory!"
Meon paused for a moment to look Kwon over. Thin, but wiry with muscle from years of calisthenics and marches. He studiously ignored the steam in the air while a thin sheen formed on his broad forehead. His dark hair demonstrated his purity as a Korean.
Overall, an excellent specimen of the People's Special Operation Force, and even better, personally loyal to Meon.
"Don't forget your ancestors, but our glorious system is your family now. Don't forget that, either. You won't want for anything as long as you have me to call upon."
"I'm grateful for your patronage, general. I wouldn't be in my splendid position without your advice and interventions, especially after my family died."
Meon nodded. Grateful and respectful.
"Lieutenant, your team will resolutely foil the aggression and intervention of the dominationists. It's essential for peace that we can show weapons parity."
Kwon's back and shoulder muscles tightened up. He stared up at the antique Tommy Gun which Meon had taken from a prisoner and hung on his office wall.
"We will implement the behests of our great leaders, sir!"
After plenty of repetition, they both knew the latest comforting slogans from the Ministry.
"See that you do. On your way out, tell the Officer of the Day to shoot the boiler mechanic responsible for my office. Also, have my receptionist send a clerk to requisition earplugs."
Kwon sucked in a deep breath. "Are you sure you want the boiler fixed that way, Deputy Minister?"
Meon rested his chin on his thumb and first two fingers, elbow on his desk. He deliberately ignored the possibility Kwon questioned his orders. His protégé wasn't that stupid.
"I've reconsidered. Have the guards throw him alive into the steam furnace instead. That will be more suitable. Fuel for the fire."
"Alive?"
"A better lesson for his replacement. Supreme Leader ordered us to conserve ammunition. Don't forget the earplugs."
Kwon's eyes pointed at the exit door. "I'll need to hurry to get my team started toward the tunnel under the DMZ."
Meon always had to do everything himself to ensure it was done properly.
"I'll take care of the mechanic and the earplugs. Nothing can stand in the way of landing this blow against the Imperialists.
"Now, go!"
* * *
Like a middle school principal, no one wants the commanding officer to call you in. Sure, I might be here to receive congratulations on completing my initial primary tasking, except I hadn't had time to file an addendum about the success I'd had bypassing the retinal scanner at the gym.
After losing to Schnier, that victory felt like a massive wave I'd ridden as a teenage surfer, fun while it lasted, but a long time ago. Since arriving in Seoul, I'd had limited exposure to Major Williams, but I didn't believe the CO spent a lot of time congratulating lieutenants on doing their job.
He couldn't have already heard about the fight, could he?
I tried to rub the bruise out of my shoulder where Schnier had slammed me into the mat.
They'd headquartered our unit in a group of one-story red brick buildings surrounded by uniformly carved hedges, spiteful and comatose for the winter. I think the Japanese either used them for warehouses or stables.
Camp Kim had seen better days, inside and out.
In the SOCKOR hierarchy, and everything established via bureaucracy in the Army was a hierarchy, the ancient Special Mission Units formed from the Budweiser Frogmen and the Green Beanie Snake Eaters believed themselves above the rest.
As part of the 75th Ranger Regiment, more fashionably late to Special Operations Command, the Ranger Reconnaissance Company (RRC) ranked below the other "Special" groups, except maybe the flyboys who drove the trucks out at the Air Base.
SOCKOR had stuck my temporarily attached MI platoon in another building. In the RRC main HQ, our CO had the only private office.
Squeezed into the corner near the major's office door was a ratty red leather sofa next to a beat-up coffee table with a glass top.
Waiting for the major to call me in to report as ordered, I sat on the sofa and tried hard to think about anything else.
Like waiting for the dentist. I picked up an old copy of Stars and Stripes Korea advertising Namsan Seoul Tower as the premier romantic attraction.
A spiked tower on top of an unpopulated double-hill, the observation deck 500 meters above the city was open until midnight to view the cityscape at night. The tower was close enough to be visible from anywhere on base.
Great place to take a date, if I ever got one in Seoul.
After Michelle watched me attempt to defend her honor and then fail miserably, I wasn't sure any romantic towers were in my near future. At least this meeting gave me an excuse to skip out on our now awkward lunch plans.
I stared past the rest of the pages of the magazine without really seeing them.
The remaining area outside the CO's office was stuffed with light oak panel desks, all with the requisite glass top to protect the finish from Rangers who cared more about their hot beverages than the company's furniture budget.
Army issue maps and plaques dotted the walls. On each desk rested a chunky milspec laptop, monitor, keyboard and mouse.
All that glass and electronics would create plenty of shrapnel if a terrorist detonated a bomb nearby.
Bishop's desk was closest to the major's door.
Besides the obligatory picture of his wife and kids, on his desk rested a small walnut stained plaque, the back smooth from those passing by rubbing it for luck, There are no dangerous weapons; there are only dangerous men. - Heinlein engraved into it.
With my Red Team, my desk, and the other support analysts in another building, I held no territory in HQ.
Instead, I sat rigidly on the front of the sofa. Ignored the clatter of sergeants and clerks who waited to get away from the base on a Friday.
Why did I fight Schnier? Losing wasn't going to impress the shooters in the RRC.
Schnier was good. I knew that.
Even Bishop didn't think I'd have a chance to win, and he'd seen us all train. I know I could've done better in a real fight, like those I'd grown up with. Wasn't used to the restrictions of a formal match.
My strengths are adapting to the environment, using what's available against my opponent, out-thinking my opponent, not following rules.
I rubbed my forehead, knuckles white.
Who was I kidding? Even with all my training, I'm still like one of those college freshmen from UC San Diego.
They'd show up late Saturday morning on the beach, carrying a brand-new surfboard without a coat of wax. I'd never been in a real fight to the death with the Army.
My military training was good, but mostly theoretical.
Sure, I'd learned to hold my own against bigger foster kids and even bigger drunken foster parents growing up, but a trained enemy who wanted to kill you was different.
Had no business fighting Schnier.
Should've tried to make friends with the operators. Figured out what they needed. Made sure they had it; not tried to impress them with my martial prowess.
Bishop slipped in through the front door to the office space, back in the uniform o
f the day. He wore his tan beret cooler than anyone else in the company. I watched as he chatted with the staff on a ricochet course toward me.
To the casual observer, he just made small talk, but I could tell by the way every new conversation led him in my direction that he hunted bigger prey.
Obviously, the humiliation at the gym wasn't enough; he wanted to talk about it even more. Good thing I wasn't already stressing about my imminent wipe out in front of the Commanding Officer.
Bishop sat on the edge of the desk closest to the CO's door. "Lieutenant Harper. Good to see you're healthy, sir."
"Yeah, you tried to warn me. Lesson learned."
"What lesson would that be, sir?"
Dude, no need to rub it in. "To listen when your first sergeant suggests your current course of action may not be ideal."
Bishop blew out a huge breath. "Always knew you were one of the smart ones, El-Tee. May live through this yet."
At least I hadn't turned the senior NCO in the company against me by a refusal to listen to him. Now I just needed to figure out how I'd impress the shooters in the RRC. Or at least, let them know I could contribute to the mission.
Michelle was probably a lost cause for now. I'd known her long enough to believe this wasn't the end, but it certainly wasn't a way out of the friend zone with her, either.
Bishop was usually tuned into the local private news network. "Any idea what the CO wants with me?"
He pulled a bottle of his famous Cherry 7-UP out of a desk drawer. Popped the cap on the edge of his desk. "Not my position to say, sir. Maybe you should've taken a shower. Too late now, I suppose. A little extra formality when you report won't hurt, though."
I ran my fingers through my buzzed hair, then around my neck and across my chin, rubbing off dried sweat from the gym.
Bishop wasn't going to razz me about being worried enough to ask an NCO to comment on the doings of officers? I knew he'd talked to the rest of the HQ crew on his way in, so he must have some idea. Not a good sign.
Bishop took a sip. His desk phone rang. He turned away to answer the call.
I looked around the room. The other staff NCOs casually pretended I didn't exist.
At times like these, I didn't feel particularly wanted around the 75th RRC. The shooters didn't wear glasses. Instead, tended to walk around as if muscles and swagger determined the hierarchy of life.
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