Red Phoenix Burning

by Larry Bond

  “Little! Kevin Little!” he exclaimed.

  Little turned to face the enthusiastic greeter. Confused, he had no time to react before a lithe Korean Special Forces officer plowed into him. When the man finally looked up, Little saw that Cheshire cat–like grin.

  “Rhee! Rhee, you son of a bitch! How the hell are you?” Little cried with excitement as he gave his friend a bear of a hug and slapped him repeatedly on the back.

  “I am well, my friend, very well. When did you get back in country?”

  “I arrived about three weeks ago. I haven’t been in country even a month, and the DPRK goes nuts! I think Korea is trying to tell me something,” joked Little.

  “Nonsense, Little-ssi! My motherland will always welcome you warmly.” Looking around the office, Rhee saw many confused faces; some glared on with disapproval. He’d certainly overstepped the bounds of normal military etiquette, but they didn’t understand. The bond between him and Little had been forged in combat during the last war. The American officer was closer to him than his own brother. Still, Rhee’s senior rank required him to display the requisite discipline and decorum while in the presence of more junior Korean soldiers.

  “Do you have a moment for tea? Or coffee?” he asked.

  “I’m as busy as a one-armed paper hanger right now, but for you, I’ll make the time,” replied Little.

  Rhee and Little quickly adjourned to the cafeteria to begin catching up on nearly a quarter of a century of absence. Little had transferred out of South Korea in late 1990 as things were heating up in Iraq. Small-unit leaders with combat experience were in high demand, and with the People’s Republic of China keeping the lid on the DPRK, the US presence in South Korea was drawn down to deal with the new threat. And like so many other military members from different countries, duty always got in the way of staying in touch, and the two drifted apart.

  Kevin pulled out a chair and plopped down, tossing his cover onto the table. Rhee was doing the same when Little pointed to the black beret. “So when did you get drawn into the Special Forces?”

  “Soon after the war,” Rhee replied, and then took a sip of tea. “I was told that I had shown promise and was encouraged to join.”

  “Encouraged? Or drafted?” winked Little with a smile.

  “Technically, drafting is a form of encouragement, Colonel Little. I merely showed good judgment by accepting their offer.” Both men laughed heartily. God, how Little had missed talking to this man.

  “How’s your Korean? Is your grammar still terrible?”

  “I’m brushing up,” Kevin admitted, a little defensively, “but who taught me grammar in the first place?”

  “I’m a soldier, not a language teacher,” Rhee joked.

  “You certainly seem to have done well for yourself,” said Kevin, pointing to Rhee’s collar devices.

  “Yes, indeed. I’m a commanding officer of a Special Forces brigade. The Ninth, the Ghosts.” There was a note of pride in Rhee’s voice as he brandished his unit’s patch. “And what about you, my friend, what have you been up to all these years?”

  Little shrugged. “Three tours in Iraq, two in Afghanistan; you know, the usual for a career officer.”

  “That’s a lot of time in war zones, and presumably in combat,” remarked Rhee carefully. “I don’t mean to offend you, my friend, but why are you still a colonel? When you left Korea you were already a captain.”

  The American smiled weakly and shrugged again. “Some of the higher-ups felt I had been promoted a little too quickly during the last Korean crisis, that I needed to have more time in grade. I lacked the normal experience of a well-rounded army officer, or so I was told. Those battlefield promotions put a serious damper on my career during peacetime. I almost didn’t make colonel.”

  “That is absurd and unjustified!” growled Rhee. “You earned those promotions by your deeds. You did very well during that war.”

  “We did very well, Rhee. It wasn’t just me,” countered Little. “Besides, my new job will hopefully make the necessary course correction, I’m the new commanding officer of the Eighth Army’s headquarters battalion.”

  Rhee winced. “Being exiled to ‘admin hell’ is not my idea of a get-well tour. You deserve better, Kevin.”

  “Well, in this current situation, I may be more helpful as an admin weenie.” Little looked around the room to see if anyone was paying attention to them, then leaning forward said, “I’m sure you’re aware that we aren’t going north with the ROK Army.”

  “Yes, I was just informed by my general. I can appreciate your country’s concern about China, but I don’t think it will matter in the end. They’ll come south as soon as they see us making appreciable gains.”

  Little nodded his agreement. “You aren’t the only one who thinks that, but our government doesn’t want to give the Chinese an excuse. As it is, I have to bring the reinforcements USFK wants in batches. That’s why I’m here today, on a Sunday, to get the paperwork squared away for the lead units of the Twenty-Fifth Infantry Division to arrive in country by midweek.”

  Rhee took a deep breath. The North Korean civil war was the long-awaited opportunity for reunification that he and others had yearned for, and now their longtime ally was getting cold feet. Frustration swelled in him, an emotion that his friend was sympathetic to. Looking at his watch, Rhee knew he had to get going. There was a lot of planning that still needed doing before they began Operation Gangrim. Grabbing his black beret, Rhee stood, paused, and then leaned over the table.

  “Kevin, there is one issue that I think your country could be of great service to us. Your people have far more experience dealing with mass refugee situations than the Republic of Korea; you have the knowledge and resources to deal with the wave of humanity that is coming. Do you think it would be possible for the United States to take on the responsibility of handling the humanitarian crisis? That would allow my country to send more combat units north.”

  Little hesitated, considering the Korean’s request. Yeah, the US could do it, but would the government buy off on it? There was only one way to find out. Rising, he answered, “Yeah, Rhee, we could help handle the refugee issue. We’d need to get General Fascione on board, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Getting both our governments to agree to this, well, that may take some doing. But I can easily tweak the arrival schedule to get military police, medical, and engineering units here first. Let me bring it up with my boss and see what I can do. In the meantime, be careful my friend, and don’t get all shot up like last time.”

  Rhee, feigning bewilderment, smiled, and said, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel Little.”

  23 August 2015

  Presidential Office

  Beijing, People’s Republic of China

  It had already been a long day for President Wen Kun, and the Ministry of State Security, Second Bureau’s depressing report on the disaster in the DPRK was making it even longer. The idiotic North Koreans had flung themselves headlong into a gruesome civil war, and China had little ability to influence the outcome. That is, of course, unless the People’s Republic of China wanted to interfere militarily.

  The People’s Liberation Army had presented an invasion plan to the Central Military Commission earlier that afternoon, but it had been received coolly. Many remembered the last time the country got involved with a war on the Korean Peninsula. Did China really want to put that millstone back around its neck?

  When the tide of the Second Korean War had turned decisively against the DPRK, the United States approached China to assist in bringing the conflict to an end. The Chinese Communist Party leadership was hesitant at first, but the economic and technological concessions offered by the US and South Korea were enticing. And it didn’t hurt that the dragon would get a chance to poke the Russian bear in the nose...hard. In the end, the politburo decided to accept the role of peacekeepers, and with the help of the US Air Force, moved the first troops into North Korea.

  At f
irst, the mission proceeded as planned. The KPA was disarmed and its units withdrew north of the DMZ. For the first year, everyone’s focus was on the basic humanitarian needs of the North Korean people. Preventing mass starvation proved to be an expensive proposition. As time wore on, China found itself committing more troops and money to help maintain the peace and to rebuild the basic infrastructure damaged during the war. Repairs consistently took longer and cost more than expected. The US and South Korea kept their word, but the economic benefits of the open markets was soon outweighed by the costs of their “occupation.”

  After five years, China had become weary of babysitting the grotesquely inefficient and needy Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. The United Nations and several humanitarian organizations had provided some assistance, but China found itself paying the majority of the bill overseeing a demanding and ungrateful charge. Desperate to get the burden off its back, but wanting to maintain the status quo, the CCP decided to put another Kim back on the throne.

  In 1995, China announced that the twelve-year-old Kim Jong-un would be the next “Great Successor,” when he attained the age of twenty-eight. Until then, his aunt, Kim Jong-il’s younger sister, Kim Kyong-hui, and her husband, Jang Song-thaek, would act as regents and guide the young Kim as he was groomed for the top leadership position.

  Jang was a known quantity in China; he was a dependable ally and wasn’t too expensive. As the vice chairman of the National Defense Commission, he held considerable influence in the Korean Workers’ Party, in addition to his new position as regent. Still, there was some tension with other senior KWP members who felt he had sold his country out for a cushy Chinese job.

  To maintain their position, Jang and his wife literally bought the military’s loyalty by rebuilding the KPA with Chinese materiel. They then secretly poured massive resources into ballistic missile development and research into weapons of mass destruction. After witnessing the results of Operation Desert Storm, Jang knew that even a rebuilt People’s Army would be no match for the high-tech ground and air forces of the US and Republic of Korea. The DPRK would need an ace in the hole to prevent them from losing yet another war. They needed an effective deterrence. They needed nuclear weapons.

  North Korea’s failed nuclear test in 2006 was a rude awakening for the Chinese. They were just as surprised as everyone else. Jang quietly reassured his allies that the weapons were defensive only, to keep the imperialists at bay while he hoped to mold North Korea’s economy along the lines of the Chinese model. Placated, the Chinese offered lukewarm support to Jang while warning him to slow the pace of development—the threat of nuclear weapons alone would be enough to keep the US south of the DMZ. By the time of the successful nuclear test in 2009, the genie was out of the bottle. There was little China could do then.

  In the fall of 2010, Kim Jong-un took his initial steps toward succession when he was appointed the vice chairman of the Central Military Commission. At the end of 2011, he was declared the “Supreme Leader” and commander of the KPA. Finally, in April 2012, Kim was elevated to the ultimate position as First Secretary of the Workers’ Party of Korea—twenty-two years after the Second Korean War had ended, another Kim had come to power.

  Initially, everything seemed to proceed smoothly. Kim talked about altering North Korea’s economy along Chinese lines, he seemed open to negotiations with the South, and he wasn’t quite the blowhard that his father had been. The Chinese initially thought Jang had done a good job preparing the boy for his role, and that he would be easy to manipulate. China would be able to influence the DPRK’s future without having to foot the bill. Then the wheels fell off the apple cart.

  In December 2013, Kim Jong-un had his uncle arrested and executed for treason. Kim’s aunt then suddenly disappeared from the pubic view and was rumored to be either dead or in a vegetative state following a stroke after she learned of her husband’s fate. Scores of senior party officials were then purged, executed for high treason. Most were either related to Jang or to the traitors who had betrayed Kim Jong-un’s father. The young Kim then proceeded to put those loyal to him in positions of power.

  Now, Kim Jong-un was dead, and the DPRK had plunged headfirst into a vicious civil war.

  A knock at the door pulled Wen from his gloomy recollections. An aide entered the room and marched quickly toward the Chinese leader, carrying a folder. “Comrade President, I have the PLA intelligence report you requested on the Republic of Korea Army’s movements.”

  “And?”

  “The initial reports have been verified. South Korean troops have crossed the Demilitarized Zone and are proceeding north.”

  Wen let out an exasperated sigh; he knew this would happen. Damn those stupid North Korean fools! “What about the American army units?” he asked.

  “Elements of the Eighth Army have advanced to the DMZ, but they have not crossed. They appear to be replacing the ROK Army units that have entered the DPRK.”

  “A wise move,” Wen replied cynically. “By keeping to their long-held view that this is an internal Korean problem, they make it more difficult for us to become involved.”

  “But, Comrade President, we can’t have a unified Korea allied with the Americans on our borders,” objected the aide.

  “I am well aware of our stated position!” snapped Wen. “But have you considered the damage comprehensive economic sanctions will have on us if we intervene militarily? Or what that black hole to our south will cost us to invade and hold? Not just for five years like last time, but possibly decades!”

  Wen paused to compose himself. Ranting at a junior aide would not accomplish anything. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the stunned young man and said, “Inform the commanders of the rocket forces, army, air force, and navy to put their units on alert. Then schedule an emergency CMC meeting for this evening. We have much to consider.”

  23 August 2015

  Foreign Intelligence Service Headquarters

  Moscow, Russia

  Pavel Telitsyn closed the anonymous e-mail account with an angry stab of his finger. Nothing! Cho Ho-jin was well past due on his next scheduled report. The last one was now nearly two days old, and it had been very alarming. The factions struggling for control were indiscriminately shooting anything that moved. Civilian casualties were horrendous and the damage Cho described in Pyongyang was reminiscent of the battle histories from the Great Patriotic War that Telitsyn had read in school. But there the comparison ended. There was no clear understanding as to what faction a particular military unit was allied with, or even if a unit’s loyalty was all that firm—Telitsyn suspected some military leaders traded their unit’s services to the highest bidder.

  The picture Cho had painted was one of unmitigated chaos, with no direction or strategy behind the fighting—attrition of the enemy’s forces appeared to be the only discernable goal. He had also warned his superior that it was getting harder and harder to find the information Moscow wanted. Cho doubted many in North Korea could truly be sure who was ultimately in charge of the various factions.

  Anger bubbled within Telitsyn. He had to resign himself to the fact that he had probably lost an extremely valuable asset. And for what? He wanted to lash out at those fools on the security council. They had to know there was virtually no chance of obtaining the information they said they so desperately needed.

  And if by some miracle the Foreign Intelligence Service had managed to obtain the information, what could they have done with it? There were very few combat units in the Eastern Military District that could be mobilized and moved quickly. With only one railway line leading up to the Tumannaya River, the Russian army couldn’t hope to transport anything more than a token force to the nineteen-kilometer-long border. Idiots!

  The spymaster took a deep breath; there was no point in delaying this any longer. He grabbed his secure phone and dialed his superior’s direct line. The phone was picked up on the second ring.

  “Deputy Director Malikov.”

  “Sir
, it’s Telitsyn. I regret to inform you that our North Korean agent has missed another scheduled communications period. This makes two days with no contact. It is my belief that he has probably been killed in the line of duty.”

  “Really? And what makes you so confident that he has given his life for Mother Russia? Couldn’t he have just as well deserted, comrade?” Malikov’s voice was cold, uncaring.

  Telitsyn was furious, but he bit his tongue. He wouldn’t get anywhere by screaming at his boss. “Sir, Cho went to Pyongyang as ordered. He made several reports and each time the navigation function on his satellite phone put him within one hundred meters of where he said he was. We sent him into a damn Stalingrad! The odds were very much against him surviving for long in that hellhole!”

  Malikov audibly sighed on the other end. “Calm yourself, Pavel Ramonovich. I understand your frustration over losing a valuable asset, but our duty is to follow orders—whether we agree with those orders or not is irrelevant. Regardless, it appears that we no longer have direct human insight into what is happening in the DPRK. I will inform the director. And Pavel, my condolences on the loss of your agent.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Telitsyn tersely. He knew the deputy director’s sympathies were without sentiment, merely a pro forma response. The click in the receiver announced the end of the phone call.

  Hanging up, Telitsyn opened one of the bottom desk drawers and took out a bottle of vodka. Pouring a small shot, the Russian raised the glass, a salute to a fallen comrade, and gulped the fiery liquid down. Returning the bottle to the drawer, Telitsyn went back to work.

  23 August 2015

  33rd Infantry Division, IV Corps, Headquarters

  Pyongyang, North Korea