by Dale Brown
Vice President Whiting nodded. A former Miss America runner-up, an attorney, a former state treasurer, and former governor of Delaware, the forty-eight-year-old mother of two was comfortable and knowledgeable in every aspect of government and public affairs — except what she thought of as the military stuff. President Martindale was the military freak. Her job was to formulate budget policies and communicate with the people, and she did both very well. Guns, bombs, and radar just confused and frustrated her. She relied on a thorough prebriefing and common sense when dealing with military men, who always thought the world revolved around them.
“Very impressive, General,” Whiting commented. “It is very similar to the military command centers in the United States, but yours is much more modern and up-to-date.”
“As the Republic of Korea has been in a state of war almost since our beginning, Madam Vice President,” General Park responded, “we keep this place and all of our control centers and reporting posts in a high state of readiness and modernization at all times. It is a heavy price we pay to maintain our freedom and sovereignty in the face of the Communist threat, but a price we gladly pay.”
“Of course,” the Vice President said. She had a way of disarming men’s hearts with a simple look or a special lilt of her voice, designed to completely captivate, deflate, or gain empathy from those she encountered. But it rarely worked with senior military officers. Empathy, like defeat, was not in their emotional or professional lexicon.
“Our twelve ground-controlled intercept officers monitor and control all military traffic throughout South Korea’s airspace,” General Park went on. “Each controller is responsible for a sector. There are seven major sectors, one through six plus the North Zone. All military aircraft flying within South Korea need a clearance from us before they can even start engines.”
“I notice that the airspace we see doesn’t extend all the way to the Demilitarized Zone,” Whiting pointed out. “There is also a blank area around Seoul itself. Why is that?”
“In addition to the air traffic sectors, there are separate Korean controllers that monitor and control all traffic within the capital airspace complex, the Korean Buffer Zone, and the Korean Tactical Zone,” General Park replied. “The Korean Tactical Zone, otherwise known as Prohibited Area 518, is the area north of the air traffic sectors to the Military Demarcation Line, and it is the area from which Korean air defense units will respond to any border incursions first. The Buffer Zone is a five-mile-wide strip of airspace south of the Military Demarcation Line that acts like a ‘warning track’ to aircraft operating near the DMZ. The capital airspace complex is two rings, ten and five miles radius, centered on the Blue House. Warning shots will be made on unidentified aircraft that enter the outer ring, and any aircraft not cleared to enter the inner ring will be attacked without further warning and shot down. Although American forces can enter these areas, they are under the control of separate Korean-only controllers.”
General Park noted the Vice President’s troubled expression. “It is a small but significant token of our national sovereignty, Madam Vice President,” he said. “We depend on the United States for so much of our security. Both Americans and Koreans, working side by side, handle all other military air traffic and command and control functions. But as a matter of national pride, we have insisted that control of the frontier between North and South be held strictly by us. The control center is at Taegu, with auxiliary centers at Seoul and Chongju. I will be happy to show it to you at any time.”
“Forgive me if I seemed a bit concerned, General,” Whiting said apologetically. “I don’t mean to suggest that the United States must and should be involved in every facet of Korean defense. But after seeing almost everything else relating to defense in this country so ‘joint,’ it seemed unusual to see a Korean-only command center. I’m sorry to be so… so bigoted.”
“Not at all, madam,” Park said. Somewhat embarrassed, Whiting thought she detected a look on Park’s face that seemed to say “Yes, you are bigoted,” but she thought it best to ignore it.
“Today’s exercise will involve mostly the Republic of Korea Air Force, with a few American and Japanese air defense units participating as well,” Park went on. “Our objective is to try to blunt a sneak attack by the North as they mount a massive incursion into South Korea. The attack will commence just after dawn along the flatlands of the Han River estuary, the coastline, the Uijongbu highway, and the Munsan highway south toward the capital.
“However, this will be a feint. At the same time, a second sneak attack will be mounted by a simulated North Korean strike force in the east, traveling down the coast highway toward Kangnung. Therefore, the success of our forces will depend on discipline. They must not be distracted by the initial, obvious attack toward the capital and must remain vigilant along the entire frontier for signs of enemy invasion.
“The air attacks will take place in target complexes set up here, in Restricted Area 79 southwest of Osan, Restricted Area 124 in the Yellow Sea, and in Restricted Areas 30 and 31 northwest of Kangnung,” Park went on. “Each of these target complexes is surrounded by a military operating area and an air combat maneuvering area that are set aside to allow simulated air-to-air attacks. The South Korean bombers will have to rely on their fighter protection to clear a path for them into the ranges. Although every bomber will be able to attack a target in the range — after all, this is a training exercise — the exercise scorekeepers will determine which sorties would have actually survived the enemy air defenses and made it to their targets.
“A probability-of-damage score will be computed for each attacker, and the individual and composite scores will be presented at the mass debrief session at the end of the day. These scores will be used to determine what the scenario will be for the next day. If our forces do well, the enemy may be forced to throw more firepower at us. If our forces do poorly, we may lose bases and equipment. Although this is just an exercise, we will make it as realistic as possible so we can get some authentic, true-to-life training out of it.”
Park pointed to one of the large digital screens with a small laser pointer. “Here are our air bases from which we will launch the air attacks in the west,” he said. “Seoul, Suwon, Chongju, and Kwangju will each launch a sizable fleet of F-16, F-4, and Hawk fighter-bombers, along with F-5 escort fighters, against the enemy forces in the west. Japan has deployed a number of its MiG-29 and F-15 fighters to Suwon and Seoul, and they will provide air cover for our bombers as well. They are far more capable than our F-5 fighters. The American forces are not participating in today’s battle.”
“May I ask why, General?” Vice President Whiting said.
“The scenario we devised is based on actual American force doctrine,” General Park said, his tone flat. “This doctrine states that American air forces may not act except to defend themselves or by direct order of the President of the United States, no matter what happens to South Korea. In this scenario, no American forces will be threatened. We assume Washington would take time, at least a day, perhaps two, to analyze and respond to the attack. So involvement of U.S. forces in the first day of the Communist offensive is never factored in.”
Whiting turned a shocked face to Admiral Allen, silently asking “Is this true?” Allen looked at his Vice President with a pained expression, then said, “I believe the decision to commit our forces would come much, much sooner than that. But the general is… technically correct.” He added quickly, “However, our on-scene commanders do have considerable latitude to—”
“Depending on how well his forces do, our on-scene commander may choose to commit forces from Kangnung, Taegu, Kunsan, and Ch’unch’on to the western front,” General Park interrupted, cutting off Allen’s strained effort at conciliation. “If he does, he will not be able to stop the real enemy offensive in the east. The commanders have not been apprised of this scenario — it will be a true test of their discipline, skill, and professionalism.”
“How many ai
rcraft will you launch today, General?” Vice President Whiting asked.
“The Air Force will launch almost half of our fleet of bombers and fighters — over three hundred planes,” Park replied. “The Army will launch perhaps one-third of its helicopters, another one hundred aircraft. The Navy will launch several P-3 Orion and S-2 Tracker patrol planes and a few dozen helicopters.”
“I’d say that’s pretty amazing,” Admiral Allen commented. “Our biggest war games launch perhaps half that number of aircraft.”
“What do the North Koreans think about you launching so many warplanes all at once?” the Vice President asked. “Aren’t they alarmed?”
“Of course,” General Park replied with a sly smile. “They warn us every year that conducting these exercises is tantamount to a declaration of war. Weeks ago, they announced that they have mobilized their forces, called up their Reserves, and are prepared to fight to the death.”
“That sounds serious to me.”
“We do not completely ignore these threats,” Park said, “but they are only threats. We are prohibited by treaty from loading weapons on more than half our planes, and we have United Nations observers at every base who count how many planes are loaded and report that number to the Security Council. But it actually makes little difference to the Communists. In years past we have completely canceled these exercises, yet the North still threatens war and refuses to negotiate a lasting peace. We have decided that preparing for war, demonstrating our readiness, and providing realistic joint training are far more important than the fear of inciting the Communists.”
“Everything we do seems to incite North Korea,” Admiral Allen agreed. “Besides, almost all of South Korea’s military forces are geared up for Team Spirit. It would be a bad decision to go to war now.”
“We are always ‘geared up,’ as you say, Admiral,” General Park said somberly. “But your point is well taken. We are always prepared for a sneak attack by the Communists, but tactically speaking we think now would be a foolish time for them to do so.”
General Park turned to Whiting and added, “As you may have noticed, Madam Vice President, after our national anthem is played at reveille and at retreat, we also recite a prayer for peace. Some airmen drop to their knees on the tarmac as they pray. But they will then climb into their planes and be just as anxious and just as fervent in their desire to kill the enemy and defend their homeland. That is the struggle we live with every day.”
“I’ve noticed,” Whiting responded. She wondered why Park had mentioned that. “General Park, how do you feel about war with the North? Do you want the peninsula reunited? If so, are you willing to go to war to do it?”
Park Yom hesitated, obviously uncomfortable with the question. “Please excuse me, Madam Vice President,” he said, “but I am not permitted to speak openly about such matters.”
“Anything you tell me will be in the strictest confidence, I assure you,” Whiting said.
Park gave her a wry smile. “I know enough about politics and government, madam,” he said, “to know that nothing a general says to a foreign leader could be held in confidence. It is your job, your duty, to divulge such things.” Park was right, of course. If something happened, or if Martindale asked her, Whiting would recount the entire conversation word for word. But she tried again.
“General, I really want to know — will South Korea go to war?” Park remained stone-faced. “It’s vital that we work together to protect your country and deter any aggression, General,” she went on. “Unilateral action can only lead to disaster.”
“War is certainly not desirable, Madam Vice President,” Park said. “True warriors abhor war.” There was a long, very uncomfortable pause. Then: “Do not be concerned, Madam Vice President.” Whiting felt a chill go down her spine.
Admiral Allen motioned to the computer screens. “It looks like some launches have already taken place,” he said. They all turned to the screens. Several white lines began tracking northward across the digital maps from the southernmost South Korean bases — Kwangju, Kun-san, and Taegu. “I didn’t think the exercise was kicking off for another hour or so.”
At that moment, Secret Service Special Agent Corrie Law answered a secure cell phone call, then told the Vice President that a call was coming in from Washington. General Park escorted the Vice President, Admiral Allen, and the others upstairs to the staff observation area, a large room whose windows overlooked the command center below, and left them alone. Corrie Law stood guard inside; a plainclothes U.S. Marine Corps sergeant stood guard outside the door.
“Professor here and not secure,” the Vice President said into the phone. It was a secure cellular telephone, and they were in a room at least partly owned and operated by the United States, but Whiting harbored no confidence that the room was clear of listening devices.
“Hello, Professor. This is Paramedic.” It was Director of Central Intelligence Robert Plank. The White House Communications Center must be stuck on job names this month, Whiting thought. “Enjoying your trip?”
“You know how much I enjoy military technology and the ever-present scent of impending war,” Whiting replied sardonically. “What’s up?”
“I hate to put you on the spot like this,” Plank said, “but we’re picking up some unusual communications activity. I don’t mean for you to act as a trained analyst or anything, but is anything… out of the ordinary there?”
“You’re right — it is pretty tacky of you to ask me a question like that, knowing that I’m a guest of the South Korean government and standing in their own high-security command center,” Whiting said. “But to answer your question — no, I haven’t noticed anything unusual. What kind of activity?”
“It’s probably all related to the Team Spirit exercise,” Plank said, but she could hear worry in his voice. “Lots of coded communications traffic that our military guys couldn’t decode — if it was part of the exercise, I’d think we would be able to decipher that. But it’s what we’re not getting that’s just as interesting as what we’re getting.”
“Which is?”
“Which is nothing much from North Korea,” Plank said. “Every South Korean military base is jabbering away using a new code, lots of activity everywhere — including lots of activity from units not involved in Team Spirit — but nothing from the North. Usually, the activity between the two is the same — one starts talking, the other reports it, the other reports that report, the other makes new reports, and so on until it finally subsides. Now South Korea’s comm traffic has substantially increased, but the North is virtually silent. Only simple ‘ops-normal’ messages from their command centers. A few units belonging to First Corps on the move here and there, nothing big. Just unusually quiet.”
“Well, everything seems to be ‘ops-normal’ around here,” Whiting said, looking around the observation room and trying to make sense of all the data displayed on the large computer monitors. She shook her head and gave up. “Anything else, Paramedic?”
“Have you seen President Kwon yet?”
“I’m not scheduled to meet with him until later,” Whiting replied irritably. “He wanted to give a little pep talk to some of his troops before the big mass takeoff. General Park has been showing me around.”
“Can you let me know when President Kwon arrives?”
This was quite enough. “Listen, Paramedic, I’m not in the mood for playing spy for you today. Everything looks normal around here. I’ll tell you as soon as possible if I notice anything unusu—”
At that moment, the door to the staff observation room was flung open, and the U.S. Marine guard, stunned but apparently not badly hurt, was pushed inside. Several South Korean soldiers rushed in after him, M-16 rifles at the ready.
PEOPLE’S ARMY BASE,
SUNAN, DEMOCRATIC PEOPLE’S
REPUBLIC OF KOREA
THAT SAME TIME
Why is that train stopped?” Colonel Cho Mun-san shouted. “Never mind, I don’t care why. I want it mov
ed within the next ten minutes or I will get some soldiers in here who can. Now move!” But even more black smoke poured out from under the locomotive pulling Unit Twenty, and Colonel Cho renewed his furious tirade each time another officer crossed his path.
It was not the first time Captain Kong Hwan-li had ever seen a Nodong-1 missile up close, but it always thrilled him to be so close to his country’s ultimate weapon. Although the missile was still in its canister in rail-march configuration, Kong could sense its power.
Unlike the missile he had been trained on, the old ex-Soviet 8K14 Scud-B, the Nodong-1 was North Korea’s first truly accurate land-attack ballistic nuclear missile. The FROG series rockets were unguided spin-stabilized weapons; the Scud series used simple gyroscopes, little more than toys, to keep the missiles pointed at their targets. Neither missile had an accuracy better than a thousand meters, and most times they were lucky to have it hit within two or three miles.
Not so the Nodong-1. It had a true inertial navigation system, which used computer-controlled accelerometers to actually sense the motion of the earth to help improve its accuracy. In fact, the warhead of the Nodong-1 had a better stabilization and steering mechanism than the most modern Scud model. Although the Nodong was still a liquid-fueled rocket, like the Scud, it used less corrosive and more stable propellants and was easier to service in the field. The Nodong-1 was carried aboard a railcar, loosely disguised to look like a standard commercial cargo container. A single locomotive pulled the launch car, a reload car that carried two more missiles, a maintenance car, a command car, and a security car.
