Northern Thunder

by Anderson Harp

  Pak Yim leaned forward in his chair and intertwined his fingers on the desktop in an effort to show respect and deference to Nampo. “As always, Doctor, you are both insightful and correct,” he said in a whisper. “Your development of a nuclear weapon capable of being carried by our rockets is essential both to this great project and to the People’s Republic.”

  “Thank you, comrades. I’ve heard enough. Each of you has your mission and you’re fully aware of what’s necessary. You may go.”

  With this command, each of the scientists stood at attention, slid their chairs underneath the table, and proceeded silently out of the room as if leaving a funeral.

  “Assistant Director, one moment please,” said Nampo.

  “Yes?” said Pak.

  “Please stay briefly. I wish to talk to you.”

  When the departing scientists heard that, they shuddered. They were not unfamiliar with Dr. Nampo’s leadership style. Pak waited until each man left and then pressed a pad on the door, sliding it shut.

  Turning to Pak, Nampo said, “You know that the accuracy of the acquiring team is faulty?”

  “Yes, sir,” Pak said meekly.

  “Comrade Nung Say is in charge of the acquisition team. Can his assistant handle the requirements we expect of that team?”

  Again, Pak was aware that only an affirmative response would be acceptable. “Yes, sir, without a doubt,” Pak said. “He has a young scientist, Ko My, who works as Nung Say’s direct assistant. Ko My is probably brighter than he is, and they have a complete team I believe can do the job.”

  “Then have Nung Say removed tonight.”

  By this command, Nampo did not mean to have him relieved, replaced, retired, or reassigned. Instead, the unfortunate scientist would be taken to the front entrance and placed on a UAZ Soviet jeep. He would ride the short distance to Kosan, where his wife and two young children would be picked up as well. The wife would see her husband’s look and begin to cry. She would know why the armed guards were present. After a full day’s travel to Wonsan and then by train across much of North Korea, the small family would be delivered to Haengyong near the Chinese border. Haengyong was also known as Camp 22. At Camp 22, the State Security Agency kept nearly 50,000 prisoners in brutal, frigid, famine-like conditions.

  “Comrade, if we don’t succeed, and I mean succeed quickly, each of us will make that journey to Camp 22.”

  “Yes, Comrade Director, your directions shall be followed explicitly.”

  “Good. Let us replace him quickly and move on with our tests,” said Nampo. “I have come to the conclusion that we’ll never be able to achieve the needed accuracy and efficiency with a conventional warhead. It’s clear we must have a nuclear weapon that matches the Taepodong-3X’s range and payload size. We don’t have time to develop another rocket. We don’t have time to develop a higher payload capacity. We’ll have to develop a weapon that can operate within the payload capacity and still reach the GEO orbit.”

  “Yes, Comrade Director, you’re absolutely right.”

  “And the clock is ticking.”

  * * * *

  “Nampo is necessary to the survival of this country.” Kim Jong Il sat in the large lounge chair in the railroad car, smoking a cigarette.

  “Yes, Father.” Jong-un listened intently.

  “A nuclear equipped missile is the only thing that can keep the wolves away.” Kim Jong Il looked white, pale, and bloated as he finished the cigarette and lit another. “They had nearly a half a million participate in the last exercise.”

  The multiforce of South Korea, the United States, and even Japan held their war game every year immediately south of the border.

  “They want to kill us.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned closer to his son. They were alone in the executive rail car.

  “We rarely get the chance to travel together like this. I want to take this opportunity to warn you.”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Watch out for Jang. Your uncle will make his move soon.”

  Chapter 28

  The High Sierra Mountains near Bridgeport

  As the small team climbed through an aspen grove, Kevin Moncrief noticed, amidst an intensifying snowfall, that it was becoming more difficult to see Shane Stidham ahead of him on the rope. Stidham, stopping ahead of Moncrief, held his hand up high, then made a circling motion. He was relaying a signal. Parker had stopped and was calling them to the front.

  Moncrief moved rapidly up the line, grabbing the excess rope as he caught up to Stidham. From there, both moved forward together to Hernandez. The crew had spent years together and, as with riding a bike after a long hiatus, quickly reached the point where they could often anticipate each another’s actions.

  Moncrief felt the cold, wet snowflakes each time he turned into the wind. He lifted his goggles, only to feel the sting as the increasingly dense snow struck his eyes. It wasn’t the ice on his face that surprised him as much as how comfortable he actually felt. The few layers of PolarTek and Gore-Tex were infinitely superior to the equipment supplied during his last visit to Bridgeport. The Marines then had doled out Korean War–era pants and multilayered parkas with fur-lined hoods. The old clothes covered them like heavy Mexican blankets, weighed as much, and were constantly damp, inside from the sweat and outside from the melting snow.

  At the edge of the grove, the four men huddled low, their backs to the wind. “We’ll be crossing a saddle about five clicks to the north, northwest,” Will whispered to the three. The snowstorm may have deafened sound, but Will was taking no chances—a voice in the mountains could carry and he assumed patrols were near.

  Moncrief was again perplexed by the direction in which the team was headed. Of the three peaks, one was to the southeast and the other two were south of that one. “The storm is worsening, and it’ll be dark in about an hour,” said Will. “I want to build two ice caves and ride out the worst of it here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Moncrief knew well the coziness of a well-made ice cave. A break from the increasingly ferocious wind would probably add twenty degrees of warmth.

  “Gunny, you and Staff Hernandez will take one, and Staff Stidham and I will take the other. Stidham and I will carve out both caves while you two cut some evergreens to line them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Moncrief turned as he spoke to Enrico Hernandez. “Staff, this is getting worse. We probably need to stay tethered together so we don’t get lost.”

  “I saw several pine trees on the edge of the grove about five hundred meters back,” Hernandez said.

  The two crews silently went to work building the two shelters. At the edge of the aspen grove where the face of the mountain rose sharply, Will and Stidham found a large boulder between two deep drifts of snow. In silence, Will pointed Stidham to the right, then began on the left. At the edge of his drift, Will bent down on his knees, removed his pack, took off one of his snowshoes, and dug like an oversized mole, using the snowshoe as a small shovel, first down a few feet and then into the drift. Meanwhile, Stidham dug on the right. Once down and in, both started carving out small caverns deep below the snow.

  Will stopped after some time, climbing carefully out of the etched hole, and spotted a stick the size and shape of a long broomstick, near an aspen tree. He crossed over, pulled the stick from the snow, and broke off a few branches, making a long, straight pole. Carefully, he leaned over the cave’s top and gently poked the stick down, through the roof and into the cavity, slowly moving it in a circle until he had created an opening the size of a golf ball. He then tossed the stick over to the entrance of Stidham’s cave.

  Will opened his pack, searching through it until he came across a small white candle. Any pack outfitted for basic survival in the cold, snowbound woods would contain one. Holding it, he crawled into the cave, lit the candle, and began making circular motions on the ceiling, caus
ing drops of water to splash onto his face. The melting snow built a bond of ice molecules, and as the increasingly cold breeze flowed into the cave, the water turned to ice. The ceiling was streaked with light black marks created by the candle’s smoke. When finished, he had melted and frozen a solid dome capable of supporting a man who might accidentally walk over its top.

  As Will pulled himself out of the cave, Moncrief appeared at its entrance with a large pile of small cut evergreens. “Sir, you stay in there and I’ll get these through to you.”

  Will slid back through the entrance and waited as the first of several piles of evergreens was passed through the entrance. Soon, the inside of the cave was covered with a deep, pine-smelling layer of small greens. After the last pile, Moncrief handed Will’s pack to him. At practically the same time, Stidham came over and handed his pack through the opening to Will.

  “Gunny,” said Will.

  “Yes, sir,” said Moncrief.

  “It’s going to be totally dark in fifteen minutes.”

  “Can’t see much now, sir.”

  “Yeah, I’m guessing it’s zero visibility and that’ll probably last through the night.”

  “What’re you thinking, boss?” said Moncrief.

  “We’ve got several candy bars in our packs,” said Will. “Let’s bed down for a few hours and then move out before dawn.”

  “Sir, the tail end of the storm will still be cooking then.”

  “Yeah, I know, but we need the cover. They’ve got people at the food stops, but they may be out patrolling as well.”

  “Good point, boss.” Moncrief, now certain they were headed in the wrong direction, figured at this rate they’d be off the military base in a few miles, and much deeper into the mountains. But he knew not to argue with Will Parker.

  “See you in a few hours.” Will, with Stidham right behind him, crawled back into the cave. Like two wild creatures in a burrow, they wiggled tightly together, and in orchestrated fashion, Stidham pulled himself back out through the opening. Using a pine bough, he brushed the footprints near the opening, then gathered up a large pile of snow the size of a large playground ball and pulled it to the doorway, snugly plugging in the hole. In only a short time, the snowstorm would blanket over the remaining tracks and conceal any trace of this part of the team. A patrol, if it braved the storm, would walk across the domes of the caves and never realize the men were a few feet below.

  The two lay in tight quarters, with the candle lit in the corner near the small breathing hole. The cave warmed up quickly, and both men soon unzipped their parkas and lay down on them.

  “Well, it could be worse,” Will said.

  “How’s that, sir?”

  “We could be on that mountaintop, guarding the food.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stidham laughed.

  Chapter 29

  A Remote Cabin

  As usual, Gunny Moncrief pulled the caboose, the last man on the tethered rope. For several hours without stopping, they had crossed down through a deeply wooded valley into another large aspen grove. Stidham again held up his arm to signal a stop. Moncrief, leaning away from the wind next to a large aspen the size of a street pole, felt a rough cut to the smooth aspen bark and noticed an etching carved into the tree.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said quietly as he recognized not the initials R.S. as much as the date—May 5, 1908. Aspens had sat as silent observers on these mountains for quite some time.

  A tug on the rope pulled his attention back to Stidham, giving a hand signal to move forward. It was only as he left the aspen grove that Gunny Moncrief first noticed the stream crossing to the left near the wall of the canyon. Only a few minutes later, he noticed the shape of a small, red-stained cabin next to the stream, followed by another and another. Will stopped at the third cabin while his team held tight to the tethered rope.

  “I thought we were a little off-course, sir,” said Moncrief.

  “No, we were right on-course—just not their course.”

  Gunny smiled in appreciation. Under the rules of the exercise, they could hit the mountaintops for food, but only if they wanted to. As far as Will was concerned, wanting to wasn’t a necessary part of the mission.

  “The cabins have plenty of bunks,” said Will. “Each has a fireplace and stacked firewood.”

  “What about Pickel Meadows?”

  “We’re at least six clicks off their maps. By the time they even get curious, we’ll be gone.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Moncrief. “And food?”

  “This place is still owned by a retired Marine gunner who lives in Reno in the winter,” said Will. “He’s got a pantry stocked in the main cabin and it’s not even locked. It’s the code of these mountains that if you get this far back, you can use whatever you want. We’ll leave a few bucks for him in the jar.” Will pointed to a jar above the cabinet. Considering that no one would trespass until its owner returned, the payment was safe.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Besides, he and I served together here. He’ll get a kick out of the story.”

  In less than an hour, the crew had a fire raging in the largest of the cabins, cooking green beans, corn, and steaks that Hernandez had found in the back of a turned-off freezer still cold enough to keep the meat frozen.

  “Okay, boss, what’s this mission all about?” Moncrief asked after they’d stuffed themselves with the lavish meal.

  “I can’t tell you much right now.”

  Will’s tone was more serious than Moncrief had remembered in a long time. He hadn’t used the gunny’s first name, especially in front of Stidham and Hernandez, in some time. One night in Kuwait, when Will had just gotten word that their ANGLICO team would not be helo’d out, but would have to walk out past a regiment of the Iraqi National Guard, Will had used “Kevin” to explain the depth of the problem. They’d lost two men that night.

  “Okay, boss.”

  “I can say this much: It’ll be a limited insertion into North Korea.”

  Moncrief raised his eyebrows.

  “I’ll be the one going in. Alone,” Will said.

  “Goddamnit, sir.” Moncrief’s voice sounded more like a yell.

  Will could feel the whole team openly rebel. “I’ll need your help at the beach.”

  “Yeah, boss, but we can handle it.”

  “I know you can,” said Will, “but a team will leave too many footprints.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Moncrief.

  “Boss, we can be pretty quiet.” Enrico Hernandez, normally understated, prompted a laugh from the others when he offered the mild protest in his south Miami Spanish accent. Hernandez was an unusual addition to this crew. An inner-city kid, he had been the leader of a Miami gang when the judge gave him and his mother the choice of five years in the youth prison system or enlistment in the Marine Corps. The judge had seen testing scores, which the Marine Corps later confirmed, showing him at a near-genius GCT of 138. Enlistment in the Marines endangered Hernandez’s life but, at the same time, had probably saved it.

  “That’s not the mission,” Will said. “And we’re done talking about it for tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Hernandez. “I’m gonna crash in that bunk over there next to the fireplace. You need something, just let me know.”

  “We’ll lay low here for another two days,” said Will, “then work ourselves south, down the road, cut behind Lost Cannon Peak, and be back at base camp by twelve-hundred hours.”

  “Yes, sir, just in time to watch those teams come down off the mountaintops all frozen,” said Moncrief.

  “Let’s make a point of not bragging about this, Gunny.”

  Moncrief nodded, relieved to have Parker calling him Gunny again.

  * * * *

  Bridgeport was not very happy with the team when they came down off the mountain. On the fifth day, there was tal
k that search parties might be needed. A snow avalanche on the south side of Wells Peak had wiped out a valley of trees, and with no food picked up for days, speculation mounted that perhaps Will’s team had gotten caught up in the avalanche while making a daring crossover to the second mountain. The worst of it, however, was that the team was not famished, nor even very hungry, when its members showed up shortly before noon. After brief showers and new uniforms, they were whisked off by choppers to Fallon.

  Scott joined them for the journey to Hawaii and, upon reaching cruising altitude, swiveled his chair around to face them. “We’ll get to Honolulu in about four and a half hours. Once there, the USS Florida, a Trident sub newly outfitted for special ops, will be waiting at Ford Island.”

  “When’s sailing time?” said Will.

  “Midnight.”

  “Wow, a day in paradise.” Moncrief scowled.

  “We have quarters set up for you on Ford Island if you need them,” said Scott, “but we’d like to keep liberty down to a minimum. Maybe a quick meal, a shower, but not much.”

  Will had things other than liberty in mind, but his team deserved one last run before hopping on the boat.

  “We will have very little running around,” he said, implying that his men could do some running around.

  “A quick visit to Duke’s on the beach at Waikiki, and I’ll be ready for war,” said Moncrief.

  Will gave Moncrief a cautionary look, then turned away to the window. At 41,000 feet, the jet flew well above cloud cover. Will could see small dots of white on the Pacific below.

  How strange, he thought. Today, five miles above. Day after tomorrow, a mile below.

  Chapter 30

  The Secret Apartment in Pyongyang, North Korea

  This will be the final one, Rei thought as he glanced around the dark, wood-paneled room. Gold carvings of dragons and flowers surrounded the cornice and dark, mahogany-colored leather chairs framed a table desk at the room’s end. The desk’s crystal lamp illuminated a deep swirling burl pattern of wood, as if this was the finely appointed office of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. But then, utterly ruining the sophisticated ambience, the walls had taped to them a complex array of paper sheets, maps, photographs, and hundreds of small yellow Post-it notes.