"No need to reveal we created the puzzle in order to be seen to solve it. If this goes down as planned, we all look great for picking up the pieces. If not, you'll be finding the pieces of your career for decades."
Michelle's phone clicked loudly as the secure line disconnected. Suddenly, it was freezing out here.
She shuddered, no longer relaxed.
Her Agency career was now a throw of the dice. Win or lose, interesting times lay ahead.
Chapter Eight: Embrace the Suck
Lieutenant Kwon Chol careened down the muddy hill on his pack. Slid past Sergeant Stro and the other five special forces sergeants on their team. Ran up against a burnt-out stump at the bottom.
Looked back. Waved and laughed.
Showed his men he was physically intact, even if his dignity took a brief hit.
He opened his mouth to suck in some of the chilly rain. No reason to waste it on the production of additional treacherous mud north of the DMZ.
Already plenty for everyone to share.
They'd hiked from their drop-off point at the Kaesong Industrial Area along the mud paths leading toward the clandestine tunnel entrance. Despite the wet cold, his team hummed with excitement.
Real soldiers despised barracks duty. Professionals wanted to take the fight to the enemy. Preferred a mission to almost anything.
Besides, the food in the South was better. While preparing, Stro told Kwon stories of the street food. How they indulged each time they went South. The meat, especially. Not that they were there to eat, and certainly not to drink while on duty.
At least he'd escaped arranging for that boiler mechanic's demise.
He frowned. Kwon could be stealthy when required, but preferred a clean kill. Rather look into the face of his enemy.
Not that he'd ever actually killed anyone before. Despite their unending war with the ROK, begun decades before his birth, he'd never even seen the enemy in person. His team was vastly more experienced, especially Stro, second in command and their unarmed combat specialist.
He told bizarre stories about his kills, but from the glint in his eyes, the relish in his tone, Kwon could tell Stro enjoyed the visceral slaughter he described.
Not Kwon. He accepted it as part of their job; as something he'd have to do, but just wanted a normal career. An orderly life.
Even a regular family back.
The other five sergeants were also long time sniper reconnaissance brigade. Ready to infiltrate enemy positions.
One pair were demolition specialists. Another pair trained as backup medics. The odd man out carried the heavy weapons and doubled as a communications specialist; he possessed the least useful training for this stealth operation.
Between the six men of Team Goshawk, they'd completed dozens of missions south of the DMZ.
Stro was built similar to Kwon, both a couple of inches taller than average in the DPRK, so about 5'7". Dark hair, muscular runner's build from years of calisthenics and marches in the Army.
With better food than most under the oppression of America's attempts to cut off their country from world trade, their team could afford to hone themselves into a deadly blade poised at the throat of the dominationists.
Level 10,000 guys for sure. All with the right attitude.
Kwon's men, slower, but more sure-footed down the hillside, reached his prone position. Stro offered him an arm up. Failed to hide a grin.
He'd need better acting skills on the other side of the DMZ, pretending to be the enemy.
They spread out and continued their march into history.
Kwon joined the People's Special Operation Force three months ago. Team Goshawk's previous lieutenant received a medal for unspecified Services to the People.
Promoted to Captain, he now led a company of the Supreme Guard in Pyongyang, responsible for protecting his country's only Marshal, Dear Respected, the Great Successor, Chairman of the Worker's Party.
Kwon aspired to follow his predecessor's career example.
Perhaps if this mission went extremely well. After all, Uncle said he already had Supreme Leader's attention, and they hadn't even crossed under the DMZ yet.
Felt traitorous to wear the ROK Army's black and green camouflage uniforms with red, white and blue yin-yang patches, but their disguise would make Kwon's team almost invisible in Seoul, just another group of soldiers going about their business.
No need to look in the big black duffel bags.
Up ahead, along these shallow ridges covered in scrub brush, the border guards had buried a camouflaged observation post. If the Imperialists noticed it at all, they'd assume it's placement was to observe the DMZ.
The four soldiers in the post were actually tasked with guarding a hidden tunnel entrance. Conscripts carefully excavated the tunnel over the years, digging it just large enough for a standard 200-liter drum of chemical weapons to pass through horizontally, should the need arise.
They could've driven along the DMZ road to an even closer position, but then observers from the South might wonder about the unscheduled truck traffic. Might watch carefully when they stopped to disembark.
No, better to hike in, even if they had to follow a narrow mud trail. They were used to long marches with a ruck full of equipment.
For Kwon, this was his first true independent command. In addition to their standard tactical radios, they'd been issued a pre-paid mobile phone purchased in the South.
Their orders were to observe radio silence until they reached Seoul. Could hide communications amongst the many radio point sources within a large city. Every other mobile phone would mask their own transmissions.
Right now, he was in charge and on his own, with only his elite team to support him until they reached the other side of the DMZ.
Ruck marching four klicks from truck to tunnel mouth was like laying down and eating rice cake for Team Goshawk.
Kwon paused as he spotted the observation post.
Designed to blend into the top of the ridge, it'd been built from concrete and covered in dirt and scrub brush. Only a dark horizontal slit for visibility faced south.
A less-well disguised rusty steel door faced down the north side of the ridge, opposite the DMZ. The border guards hid the tunnel mouth to prevent detection from both observers across the DMZ and overhead satellites and aerial reconnaissance.
After picking his way through the frozen mud to the observation post, Kwon motioned Stro forward to join him.
Stro slung his K2 rifle. Grasped the U-shaped steel door handle with both hands. Yanked it open.
The door's hinges protested their rusty state. The open doorway exposed the inside of the bunker to what little sunlight filtered through the dreary clouds.
Two border guards jumped to their feet.
Kwon noted their positions on the floor. No way to watch the DMZ from there. Likely asleep. The Party selected border guards for their loyalty to their families, not for their effectiveness.
Kwon's team possessed both.
Still, the guards reacted fast when prompted. Kwon's team could only have shot them a few times each before the two guards aimed their newer Type 88-1 assault rifles. They even thought to unfold the side stock on their rifles as they stood and exited the bunker to confront Kwon in the small clearing outside.
Clearly boiler mechanic material.
Kwon held his Pyongyang resident identification card and the typewritten sheet containing his orders out like a knife.
Only a select and trusted few could boast regular access to the capital, Pyongyang. Kwon's prized residency card should ensure immediate respect.
Stro took a position to the guards' side.
The more senior guard, wearing the wide and narrow bands of a sergeant on his uniform tabs, seemed relieved for Kwon to present documents rather than a demand for surrender. What, did he take their ROKA uniforms seriously, as if a patrol from the South had appeared here on the other side of the DMZ?
"We're here to use the tunnel, sergeant. Pleas
e review my orders."
Politely, the sergeant nodded. Took the documents. Read them over.
No one saluted near the DMZ, except during formal ceremonies.
Kwon's remaining men casually took up positions which kept them below the top of the ridgeline, but allowed them to surround the two guards in a wide semi-circle.
Well trained.
The sergeant handed Kwon his Pyongyang resident card back. "Thank you, sir. No one advised us of your planned arrival. Will your team be staying with us in the post here for the full week?"
Great, he'd encountered a boiler mechanic trainee. Had to be able to read to pass the sergeant's examination, but bribery or connections wasn't unheard of. "What week? We're to use the tunnel immediately to cross to the South."
"Sir, respectfully, your orders state your team is to traverse under the DMZ in a week, not today." He pointed at the date in the document. "Perhaps there has been confusion in your mission timing?"
"There wasn't time for revised orders."
The two border guards stood there like stumps, unwilling to talk back to a superior office when not absolutely required.
Truthfully, Kwon hadn't even considered that with the change in plans he'd need to get revised orders typed up and signed. He'd only been in command of the team for 90 days, not nearly long enough to learn the required bureaucracy for his new position.
"Supreme Leader has deemed our mission critical. We leave now."
"Sir, I'm afraid I can't allow your team to pass through the tunnel without proper documentation. Our standing order is that anyone not authorized who attempts to cross the DMZ is to be shot.
"You may of course wait here for my superior when the relief truck comes past, or return and have your orders updated with today's date."
The sergeant left unspoken how border guards and their families were punished if they allowed anyone unauthorized to cross the DMZ.
Kwon knew the guard's predicament. He'd normally even sympathize a little, but that same punishment would await him and perhaps his whole team if he failed to even begin their mission.
"Call your headquarters. Ask them to connect you to Deputy Defense Minister General Meon Lon-chun. We're here now at his personal direct order to me. You can see he signed my paperwork."
"I'm sorry, sir, but the field telephones in this area haven't been functional for the last three days. Something to do with this nasty weather, I'm told. Our only method of communication is via flare gun in case of an invasion. Otherwise, we wait for our relief cycle to pass on our report."
Stalemate.
Kwon looked at Stro to see if he had any suggestions.
Stro glanced at the rest of the team surrounding the two guards, then gave Kwon a wink.
Kwon nodded to Stro. "I'm sorry as well."
With that, four members of his team stepped forward in unison and each grabbed a guard's arm. The other two stood warily by, ready to intervene if the guards fought back.
"What? You can't do this!"
Kwon reached out and took their rifles from unresisting hands.
"We have a mission to complete. I'm sure it won't reflect poorly on you, but we'll need to leave you bound until your relief arrives. We'll leave you a copy of our orders to show your superior.
"He can inquire with the Deputy Minister, who will clear everything up for you."
His team made quick work of securing the guards within their bunker with four of the tactical vinylon ratcheting cable ties they all carried. Light-weight, but they'd last long enough restraining the guard's legs and arms that it wouldn't matter.
They'd be through the tunnel quickly enough.
The tunnel opened just to the side of and three meters lower than the guard post door on the backside of the ridge.
Icicles stabbed down from the edge.
Looking at the outside it could've been a small animal cave, but Kwon remembered from the maps he'd reviewed that it reached much farther than a den, all the way to the other side of the DMZ.
He bent over. Inspected the tunnel's internals. About the diameter of a large outdoor trash can.
Just inside the entrance a pair of wooden tracks held wheeled wooden carts. Each cart attached to the next with strong vinylon rope. The final cart's rope connected through a pulley hanging from the concrete ceiling. Each cart rested on four small polyurethane wheels with a groove to fit loosely around the wooden rails.
Crude, but effective.
The concrete portion of the ceiling ended before the line of five carts did. Gave way to more natural materials.
No large amounts of metal were allowed a permanent place in the tunnel. The Imperialists could find many things with their almost magical instruments for peering into the ground, but organic material within a small tunnel was the most difficult for them to sense. Ground penetrating radar might be able to detect them, but not this deep, and not from a distance.
Kwon checked his Moranbong wristwatch. Good Korean steel. Removed his pack from his back. Brushed off the mud.
Removed a black duffel from the pack.
Their packs would stay behind. He pulled black fingerless gloves and a chrome miner's light out of the duffel. The small LED light attached to a flexible band, which he slid around his forehead. Drew the gloves over his hands.
He'd once again lead the team from the front. Lying on his back on the closest cart, he clipped his duffel to his belt to keep it on his waist and chest.
Used his legs to slide on his back to the lead cart in the line.
The others copied his example, transporting their tactical gear, weapons, and explosives, with Stro in place on the final cart. They all shuffled around a bit, listening to the creaking of the wooden cart joints, until comfortable.
Resting on his back, Kwon gripped the other strand of vinylon rope suspended overhead, both hands reaching forward into the darkness. "Goshawk One set. Count off." His team was named after their national bird, the true hawk.
"Three set."
"Four set."
"Five set."
"Six set."
"Seven set."
"Two set. All prepared, sir." Stro added.
"Let's go." With that, Kwon pulled with his right hand.
As each hand reached the duffel on his waist, he began pulling with the other. Like an easy rope climb, but horizontal instead of vertical.
With seven strong soldiers pulling, the carts quickly reached a speed they could physically maintain for hours with little effort. Kwon intended to give the team a break every twenty minutes.
No reason to arrive worn out.
First, one klick to the turn. They'd built the gradual turn to line the tunnel up with the restored Gyeongui railway line. Following the line would confuse any seismic sensors, just as the construction to restore the only railway connection between the true Korea and the South provided cover to build the tunnel they sped through.
Four klicks under the railway to cross the DMZ and reach Dorasan metro station.
Kwon's gloved hands picked up a slimy coating of mud from the rope. It passed through periodic pulleys to keep it off the ground.
With only darkness beyond the short reach of his light, the hum of the wheels and the earthen ceiling sliding rapidly past were the best indicators of their continued speed.
Kwon found it odd Defense Minister Meon focused so much on temptation during their last meeting. Did Meon believe his team weak?
Then why did he choose them to infiltrate Seoul? Kwon took a moment during the rhythm of pulling to tap his breast pocket for luck.
In the end, it was the Imperialists' fault his team was in this tunnel.
Kwon tilted his head back even farther. Caught the flow of earthy tunnel air across his face.
The slight damp helped to wake up. He needed to focus, but he kept just pointing the light up ahead, hoping to see the end of the mud slurping at the darkness.
Time to Achieve a Great Victory and Smash the American Bastards, as posters regularly reminded
them in their barracks.
Sliding through this tunnel in the dark was too much like death; kilometers of nothingness. Not enough to think about. Just the eternal sameness of earth propped up by periodic flashes of wooden supports.
The supports held the ceiling above and the rope below. At least underground was slightly warmer than above.
Kwon reviewed their planning in his head. Anything to keep his mind occupied. "Always advance straight ahead, following the Party!"
At the end of this tunnel following the railway, his team would leave the wooden carts.
There would be a left turn into a 50 meter tunnel. Long crawl to an abandoned greenhouse, 400 meters from Dorasan Peace Park.
Well south of the DMZ.
Team Goshawk would stage out of the paddy-field farm with the greenhouses.
A farm prepared as this tunnel was, thanks to the foresight of the Stout Fighters in the Korean People's Internal Security Forces. Unlike the older kilometers of larger tunnels built with cement, suitable for infiltrating entire battalions in a long stream of men and trucks.
Instead, the Security Forces switched to smaller tunnels.
Just large enough to fit special forces teams and their equipment, the better to infiltrate and prepare the South for eventual unification.
The Imperialist's blood money couldn't purchase equipment to detect these smaller tunnels.
Staged and armed, his elite commandos would travel by borrowed military truck through Seoul to the lab. The truck would blend in with the other traffic near the DMZ.
Once at the lab, he would lead his team to "Resolutely foil the aggression and intervention of the dominationists!"
After more than a decade spent memorizing orders and official slogans, Kwon derived great comfort and focus from remembering Minister Meon's exact inspiring words.
For now, it was enough to be reborn from the end of the tunnel.
The sword of the dictatorship of the proletariat was coming.
There was nothing the Imperialist Bastards at the South's top secret metallurgical lab could do to stop them.
* * *
I was tombstoning my mental board. Sinking into the depths. Getting relieved of duty is a total bummer.
Techno Ranger Page 9