Red Phoenix Burning

by Larry Bond

  But as proud as she was to be helping, she also seethed inside at the limits the regime had placed on her organization. She could have done so much more, for people who needed so much and asked for so little. And there were so many she’d lost. Kary had become very familiar with Korean funeral customs.

  Standing by the front gate, ready to leave after his fifteen-minute tour, he said, “You are a good woman, Fowler- seonsaengnim, but you should get out of Korea.”

  “I can’t leave,” she insisted in her best Korean.

  Choi looked over at the two militiamen, and moved a few steps back into the compound, away from the gate. Lowering his voice, for a moment Kary thought he was going to give her another pistol. Instead, he said, “The mayor has declared that this place is not part of Sinan, and is not to be protected. He explicitly ordered me not to respond to any calls for help from here.” He nodded solemnly at her shocked expression, and added, “I will disobey that order if I can, but he actually thinks this place is one of the secret bases our enemies will use to launch the final attack on Pyongyang.” He smiled, but there was no humor in it.

  As he walked away, the two soldiers following, she sighed. He probably was giving her good advice. She knew that. He had her best interests at heart. When he’d inspected their storeroom and its meager contents, tucked neatly in one corner, he’d just shaken his head and closed the door. He hadn’t even taken a tin of food.

  With Choi’s thankfully short visit out of the way, she’d headed back to her office, via the clinic. She made the rounds as often as she could. Even if there was little she could give them, at least she could keep close tabs on their progress.

  As she entered the long room, this time without the sergeant, volunteers and the patients’ family members greeted her quietly. Kary walked down the center aisle, between the double row of beds, speaking with any patients who were awake and checking everyone’s vitals. Few were as sick as she’d told Sergeant Choi, except possibly Cheon Ji-hyo.

  The woman was mending slowly, getting by on minimal doses of the clinic’s painkillers and antibiotics. One or both of her kids were always on one side of the bed, her mother Gam Sook-ja on the other.

  Kary couldn’t look at Cheon without feeling a little pride. She’d done more surgeries lately than she’d ever imagined, and Cheon Ji-hyo’s shoulder had been by far the most difficult. Bullet and bone fragments had torn through the muscles, but guided by divine hands, she’d repaired the torn muscles and stopped the bleeding. In a few days, Kary would have to go back in to see if she’d . . .

  “Fowler-seonsaengnim.” Cho Ho-jin had left his bed and was standing politely nearby. “May we speak?”

  Kary had done a fair amount of stitching on Cho’s back. She tried to remember the Korean word for “quilt.” He was pale, and obviously sore, but he’d been upright since yesterday.

  “I haven’t examined you today yet. Do you feel well? If you laid down . . .”

  “Perhaps in your office, or outside.”

  She nodded. “Outside then. There’s a little breeze.” They walked to the “patio” and sat, shaded by the awning. Cho removed a T-shirt several sizes too large for him and turned in the chair so she could sit next to him and examine her stitching. He gave her a little while to work.

  The four lacerations varied from one relatively deep puncture a centimeter across, to a ragged slash that had some width as well as depth. Bruising was already turning his back into a patchwork of blues and black, but thankfully none of the wounds showed signs of redness or swelling.

  As she replaced the dressings, Kary said, “You are a genuine hero, Cho Ho-jin. Cheon Ji-hyo owes you her life.”

  “As you said yesterday, but I just got her here. Your care saved her. But let this hero give you some advice. You must leave this place. Right away.”

  “That isn’t the first time I’ve heard that advice, and not even the first time today.”

  “It’s good advice.”

  She spread her hands helplessly. “I can’t. People need us. If I had left, who would have treated you or Cheon?” After a pause, she added, “Besides, it’s over a hundred kilometers to the border with the South, and just as far to the northern border with China.”

  “A hundred and thirty to the South and a hundred and eighty to China. I checked.”

  “Should I walk? What about the patients? Their families? What would we—”

  Cho cut her off. He spoke quietly, but with great intensity. “Questions can be answered, problems solved. The journey is long and perilous. Not everyone reaches their destination. But there are many who have set out, because to stay was even more dangerous. To sit here and hope puts too much trust in your god.”

  “I cannot leave these people,” Kary said with such finality that Cho knew the matter was closed. She rose to leave, but Cho put his arm out to stop her, and winced at the motion.

  “One other thing, Fowler-seonsaengnim. I am very grateful for your care. I have little to offer in payment, but . . .” He paused and removed his cell phone and offered it to her. “It’s much better than most of the phones around here. It has a satellite capability, and is hard for the authorities to trace.”

  Surprised but intrigued, Kary took the device. Cho could see the wheels turning. She asked carefully, “Is this the type of phone an agricultural inspector needs for his work?”

  He smiled. “No, it is not. But don’t ask me what I use it for. I don’t know if you’d like the answer. But I’m sure you’d like to call your family back in America . . .”

  Her face lit up, and she said, “Yes! That would be amazing!” Excited, and unfamiliar with the device, she couldn’t dial it at first, and Cho entered the number for her. Surprisingly, it was a Korean phone number.

  “My good friend Anita is in our mission in Sinanju. She has a satellite phone, too,” she explained to Cho, then focused her attention on the phone. “Hello, Anita, it’s Kary!”

  Not wanting to listen in on her conversation, Cho nodded and decided to take a short walk. Yesterday he’d walked up and down three times inside the clinic, on Kary’s orders, and today he felt up to walking around the compound.

  A low wall surrounded what used to be six buildings, but now was only three. Behind the office, clinic, and dining hall were the remains of three greenhouses. Wooden frames and plastic sheeting hadn’t been much of a barrier to looters. He couldn’t tell when it had happened, but it didn’t really matter. The three buildings, of light wooden construction, wouldn’t stop even a casual intruder. All that work lost. He could imagine her sadness at their destruction.

  Cho realized he cared about these people and their foreign benefactor. Perhaps it was all the effort he’d expended getting Cheon Ji-hyo and her family here. He wanted them to be safe.

  It was hot. He’d meant to circle all the way around the compound, but a wave of weakness overcame him, and his back started to complain, so halfway through his circuit, he turned toward the clinic. Once inside, he lay down carefully on his stomach. Exhausted, he fell asleep.

  Sharp pain woke Cho when he tried to roll over in his sleep. Automatically, he felt for his one possession, the cell phone, and remembered he’d loaned it to Fowler. Standing gingerly, he discovered he actually felt rested, although still sore. He’d been asleep a little over an hour.

  The patio was empty, and now in full sun in the middle afternoon. Listening, the sounds of battle to the east seemed louder, but still distant.

  Walking slowly, he headed for the middle building. The first door in the long hall was labeled in both English and Hangul as “Office.” It stood half-open, and he could see her in a wooden chair, head cradled in her hands.

  At the sound of his footsteps, she turned to face the door. She had been crying, a lot. Cho had meant to ask for the phone, but stopped with the first word half-formed. After a moment, he spoke softly, “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Oh, no, there’s nothing,” she answered, forcing a cheerful tone.
She reached to one side of her desk, retrieved the cell phone, and turned to hand it to him. It looked like she was ready to burst into tears again, at any minute.

  She is carrying this entire place on her shoulders. Cho wanted to do something, anything for her. As he took the phone, he said, “Even if I can’t help, I can listen.” Cho gently lowered himself into the only other chair in the room. He tried to adopt a relaxed pose, but as his back touched the chair, he winced and quickly sat forward.

  The motion bordered on the comic, and Kary smiled, which improved her appearance. She sighed, and explained sadly, “When I called Anita to ask about the mission there, she told me it was gone, stripped bare by refugees headed for the Chinese border—except very few are getting across. The Chinese have lined the border with soldiers. They’re shooting people who try to sneak across.” She sounded horrified and disgusted at the injustice of it.

  “So now there are huge squatters’ camps all along the Chinese border, thousands of people with no food or water. They’ve already started to die of thirst and disease.

  “And Anita is under house arrest! The local officials blame her for the deaths. They say her mission is supposed to be feeding the refugees—all of them!” She took a breath and tried to sound positive. “But she’s alive, and praying for help.”

  It’s what Cho might have expected, if he’d taken time to think about it. But that didn’t make it any better. “I’m sorry that your friend—”

  “But the news isn’t all bad,” Kary interrupted. “The South Korean army crossed the thirty eighth parallel two days ago, on the twenty-second, not even a full day after Kim died. They’re advancing quickly, and Pyongyang is their main objective. All we have to do is hang on a little bit longer.”

  The news stunned Cho. He’d never really thought about a unified Korea. In his life, it had been enough to punish the Kim regime, to make them pay for what they’d done to his family. He’d never imagined the fatherland actually disappearing, being absorbed into a new whole.

  He didn’t know what such a place would be like.

  Cho found a quiet spot and used the phone to search the news reports. Media reports, especially in wartime, were unreliable, but it was clear that the Southerners were coming, and in strength. There were many photographs of them in Kaesong, a large DPRK city on the west coast, just north of the border, and fighting at the bridge over the Ryesong River, maybe ten kilometers to the north of that. Enemy scouts would be well forward of that.

  But were they the enemy?

  He didn’t trust the South Korean government any more than his Russian handlers or the Chinese. And as for the South’s American allies, he’d always thought of them as powerful enemies, as well as the South’s protectors. As far as his politics went, he wasn’t really for anything, but there were a lot of things he was against.

  Helping Cheon Ji-hyo and her family had been one of the first positive things he’d done in a long time. This was something to work for.

  The South’s goal was Pyongyang, of course. The Kaesong-Pyongyang highway would lead them straight here. Cho considered their progress. The Southerners would have—probably already had—complete air superiority. Any concentrations of KPA resistance would be pounded from the air and then smashed or bypassed. And the KPA was rotten, poorly equipped, and ineptly led. He had seen that with his own eyes. And now the North’s military was splintered and weakened by civil war. The real question was how long they’d last before collapsing completely.

  At highway speeds, Southern troops could be here in half a day, but realistically, it might be less than a week, or much more. Or parachute troops might land here tonight.

  He went to tell Kary Fowler what he’d discovered. They couldn’t tell anyone else, of course. There would be too many questions about how they’d found out. But he’d change his advice. In a few more days, everything might be very different. He couldn’t imagine what life in a unified Korea would be like, but for once there was cause for hope. Until then, he’d do whatever he could to keep this place, and the people here, safe.

  For a brief moment, Cho thought about calling his Russian handler. Pavel Telitsyn was probably worried about him. The man had shown Cho some kindness, but either Telitsyn or his superiors had ordered him to Pyongyang—essentially a death sentence.

  He was expendable in their eyes. If he called in now, they would only demand he go back and obtain the information they wanted or die trying. So be it. They had given him his final mission, and as far as he was concerned, he’d fulfilled it to the best of his ability. Now he had a new assignment, to do what he could to keep these people alive.

  Contented, he went to see if Kwan, who was supposed to be keeping watch, had fallen asleep again.

  The fighting in the city had been heavy all afternoon, if the rumbling was any indication. Even though they were outside the city proper, Cho could hear the difference between the deeper sound of artillery and the sharp crack of tank cannon. There was plenty of both. The other patients said it was the loudest and longest battle they’d heard.

  Cho had coped with his worries by joining Kwan on lookout duty. Even with the meager rations, his strength was returning, although it would be weeks before his back was completely healed. Fowler said she’d take the stiches out in a few days, as long as he promised to take it easy. Laughing, Cho had promised to stay away from any battles.

  Now, Cho tried to gauge not only the intensity of the fighting, but whether it was getting any closer. It was impossible to tell. Then he saw someone with a rifle running toward the mission. He tensed for a moment, but he spotted the red armband of a militiaman.

  Cho found Kary in the kitchen. She had started preparing the evening meal with Ok Min-seo. “Fowler-seonsaengnim, a messenger has brought word that several people from the city are being sent here. He says they are very sick.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I thought people from the city were supposed to be taken to the municipal hall.”

  “The messenger also said that the mayor won’t let them into the hall, because they might spread disease, and ordered them brought here.”

  She put down the knife and wiped her hands. “I’ll be there in a moment. I’ll examine them outside. Please make sure everyone else stays inside. And don’t you touch them either,” she said sharply.

  Cho hurried out of the kitchen, shooing a few curious folk inside. He was still telling them it was “Fowler-seonsaengnim‘s orders” when he spotted six militiamen carrying loaded stretchers. Kary came out of the dispensary gloved and masked, and told Cho to bring several spare pallets from the beds to the east side of the dispensary, in the shade. Moon Su-bin helped him find and carry them outside, and by the time the stretcher-bearers arrived, the two had set up places for the patients to lie down.

  There were three of them, a man and woman in their twenties or early thirties, and an older man, all in civilian clothes. The young man lay quietly, but the woman was coughing and retching. The older man was unconscious, and his breathing was shallow.

  Kary tossed a pair of gloves to Moon, and to Cho as well, then knelt down to examine the woman. She was struggling to breathe, and Cho could see her eyes were watering, and mucous was streaming from her nose.

  They didn’t have a portable respirator, but Kary sent Moon back inside for their oxygen bottle. She spoke to the woman, who was wide-eyed with confusion or fear. As she spoke, she placed her hand on the patient’s forehead. “No fever,” she remarked out loud, “but she’s soaked with sweat.”

  Moon returned with the oxygen bottle. Kary placed the mask over the woman’s mouth. The woman calmed, but couldn’t lie still. Her arms and legs spasmed and twitched, even as her expression softened.

  While Moon held the mask, Kary examined the woman for other symptoms or wounds, but announced “No trauma,” with a combination of relief and curiosity.

  “How are her pupils?” Cho asked.

  Surprised by the question, Kary answered, “Both pinpoint and unresponsive.”


  Cho’s insides tightened, and chills ran through him. “Look for inflammation in her nose and mouth,” he instructed.

  Kary used a penlight, then confirmed his suspicion. “Bright red, almost like a burn.” She stood quickly and turned to face Cho. “What is this?” she demanded.

  “Nerve gas, probably sarin,” Cho answered. “Absorbed through the skin or inhaled,” he gestured to the female victim, “which is likely what she did.”

  Cho could see the diagnosis shocked Kary, but she stayed focused, probably because she had patients to take care of. She asked, “Is there any treatment that you know of, other than atropine, administered immediately?”

  Cho shook his head sadly. “No, at this point it’s just supportive care. But they probably still have the chemical on their clothes or skin. If so, they’re still absorbing the toxin, increasing their dosage. They have to be decontaminated immediately, along with anything they have touched.” He held up a gloved hand. “Your instincts were good. We can’t touch them directly. The good news is soap and water—lots of both—breaks the chemical down. Their outer clothing should be buried.”

  Moon reported, “Fowler-seonsaengnim, this one is dead.” She was pointing to the younger man.

  Kary nodded sadly. “We’ll decontaminate him as well.” For a Korean funeral, bathing the deceased was the first step in preparing the body anyway. She turned to Cho. “Will you please instruct the militia soldiers while I tend to my patients?”

  While Kary gave orders to her helpers, Cho explained to the militiamen how to decontaminate the stretchers and anything else the patients had touched, and what symptoms to watch for.

  He also told them to note any shells or rockets that did not explode with their customary force, or that seemed to give off smoke or vapor. They were so rattled by the words “nerve gas” that he had to repeat his instructions twice, and he wasn’t sure they would remember any of it.

  She was waiting for him after he sent the militiamen off. “Those men are afraid,” she observed.