by Jack Mars
“My grandfather created this world,” Kim Song-Il said. “That’s what people like you don’t understand.”
Luke lay on the floor in the shattered, bloody mess that was only recently a luxury skybox. He had a gun in each hand. One was pointed at the head of Kim, North Korea’s Supreme Leader. The other gun was pointed at the blown out doorway. Bodies of North Koreans were piling up at the entrance.
Kim had done Luke a favor and was crouching next to him. To his credit, the man was not sniveling or crying. He seemed calm. He was not afraid in the least. Luke hadn’t expected that from him.
The reason for it, of course, was that Kim was crazy. Being a madman had its perks.
Nearby, the young kid from Park’s old Ghost Brigade was crouched down, back pressed to the wall, two handguns aimed at an angle through the same blasted opening. The kid had killed at least half a dozen Northerners who had tried to come through there, but he had also just run out of ammunition for his machine gun.
Another Northerner made a suicidal run at the doorway.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
The kid gunned him down, using four shots when only one might have done the trick. The Northerner writhed on top of the other corpses, before sliding to a place at the bottom.
Luke shook his head. They were never going to hold this place. The only reason they still held it was the North Koreans were afraid to use overwhelming force with Kim still alive in here. Which made it very important that Kim stay alive.
“My family are a race of gods,” Kim said in a conversational tone. “I’m blessed by that, and it makes me greater than the others. In a nuclear war, I won’t die, and my children won’t die, even if all other people do. Even if the land is poisoned for a thousand years, we will continue.”
Machine gun fire strafed the thick viewing window above their heads. The glass held, for the time being. When that window went, all bets were off. If a hole that big opened, the Northerners would launch tear gas after tear gas through it.
There came a thumping sound. Luke couldn’t tell what it was.
BOOM… BOOM… BOOM.
He looked around the remains of the skybox. The bodies piled on top of the trapdoor were shuddering.
BOOM… BOOM.
Someone was under the trapdoor, hammering at it. They were probably using a battering ram, but the angle was wrong. Still, it wouldn’t hold forever. Luke took his gun off the demolished entryway and pointed it at the trapdoor. When the trapdoor went, he’d get the first couple of people to come through it. Then, if he was lucky, he’d pop a grenade down there.
“The bullets can’t hurt me, Luke. They pass right through my body. Look at me, I am unscathed.”
Luke looked at him, and was unsettled to see that he really was unscathed.
“Do you see this, Luke?” Kim continued.
Luke followed his gaze as he held up a small device, hidden in his palm, a large red button in its center, flashing.
“When I press it, and press it I will, the order will go down to my dutiful soldiers to launch the nuclear warheads and obliterate your beautiful country.”
He grinned widely, an awful sight Luke hoped he’d be able to wipe from his memory.
“You see, Luke Stone?” he continued. “Your country is finished. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
Luke, heart pounding, watched Kim close his fingers on the device—when suddenly, another burst of gunfire hit the window. The glass cracked in a spider web pattern, and a shard of it came flying and sliced Kim’s hand, making him drop the device.
Kim went for it.
Luke leapt up, grabbed Kim, and dragged him to the ground. The floor was awash in blood, and they slid in it. Luke pressed him down.
“Luke!” the South Korean shouted.
A bum rush of half a dozen Northerners came through the doorway.
Luke turned and fired both guns.
The young kid fired.
The noise was deafening.
BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM.
The Northerners dropped, nearly as a group. One held up the body of the dead man in front of him, using it as a shield. He charged Luke.
Suddenly, the South Korean commando was there, up and stabbing. Behind him, Luke saw more men running up the stairs. This was it. They were just going to throw bodies at that doorway nonstop, until sheer numbers prevailed.
A bottleneck at the doorway, Luke fired into the squirming mass.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He turned, and now Kim Song-Il had a knife. He had taken it right off Luke’s belt. He was stabbing at Luke, mostly hitting his body armor. One slice had slipped through a gap in plates.
Kim then beelined for the device.
Luke dropped one gun and pinned the knife hand to the ground. He clubbed Kim in the face with the other gun. Once, he hit him. Twice. Three times.
Kim’s face was an instant bloody mess.
Kim lay on the floor, holding his bleeding face with both hands. It must be a shock for him to be injured by a mere mortal.
Luke rolled over. The South Korean was caught in hand-to-hand combat with three men, all of them sinking to the floor. He was done. Behind them, more men raced up the stairs. Luke fired his gun at the advancing troops.
Click.
Click… click.
Oh God.
Luke hurled his gun at the first man through the opening.
Suddenly Luke heard a rumbling in the sky. Perhaps it had been there several moments, but it hadn’t dawned on him until now. He fell back, scrambling for the pistol taped to his calf. As he did, he caught a glimpse through the opening in the roof of the stadium. High above them, a horizontal line of planes went overhead. As he watched, black silhouettes fell out the back of the planes. His initial thought was that the planes were bombers, and he waited for the awful shock of the first bombs to hit.
But the bombs never fell. They became parachutes instead, and slowly drifted toward the ground. Paratroopers were coming down. Luke took a deep breath now. There were already several waves of parachutes approaching the ground.
He turned, and four North Koreans stood above him, rifles pointed down at his head. But their eyes were not on him. They were also looking at the sky.
Another line of planes went by, more paratroopers jumping. Then another, and another.
Spotlights were turned on from the ground now, and Luke stared at the planes. Under each wing, he could just make out the single round star.
The symbol of the People’s Republic of China.
Luke shook his head. The irony, he thought. After all this, to be rescued by the Chinese.
Seconds later, the first paratroopers were reaching the stadium floor, gliding in through the open hole in the roof. As they landed, they shed their parachutes and drew weapons. They did it smoothly, almost in one move.
Wave after wave they landed, and the North Korean troops, recognizing who they were, began to surrender to them without firing a shot.
Suddenly, Luke sensed motion. He turned to see Kim, awake again, darting for the device.
Luke watched in horror as Kim beat him to it—and began to close his fingers on the button.
Luke knew there was no time to stop him.
With no other choice, Luke reached into his belt and extracted his final handgun. He raised it at Kim’s smiling face.
And just as Kim’s fingers were closing, he fired.
BOOM!
Luke sat there, stunned. The South Korean stared back at Luke, stunned, too, as if staring at a god.
There, before him, the Supreme Leader of North Korea lay dead.
The button still blinked. His fingers had not yet touched it.
Smoke rose from the muzzle of the gun.
No one said anything.
Just like that, the reign of the Kim family was over.
A moment later, half a dozen Chinese commandos raced up the stairs, vaulted the bodies at the doorway, and entered the room. Luke raised his hands. The North
Koreans raised their hands. The South Korean raised his hands.
The Chinese were tall and thin, young wiry guys, strapped with guns. They stared wide-eyed at all the bodies on the ground. They didn’t seem to know what to make of it. Did they know that the headless man in the tan suit was the remains of the great dictator? Luke couldn’t tell.
Luke guessed the young Chinese didn’t understand a word of English, but he didn’t care. He lay back against the ruined wall. His entire body was shaking.
“Man,” he said, “you guys are a beautiful sight.”
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
10:45 pm Korea Time (9:45 am Eastern Daylight Time)
An Underground Bunker - Near Chongjin, North Korea
The order never came.
Deep underground, two men were at battle stations, two men remained behind in the living quarters. The radio was silent most of the evening. At just after 10 pm, there was a burst of static, the kind of which was sometimes followed by orders. But nothing happened.
Later, the two men in the tiny living room heard voices and footsteps descending the metal stairwell from the surface. The steps were heavy, like the boots of military men, and there were a lot of them.
A pounding came at their door.
One man briefly considered putting his service gun to his head and pulling the trigger. Before he could take action in this direction, the other man opened the door. A squad of twelve Chinese soldiers came in.
“There is no war,” the squad leader told them. “The missiles will not be launched.”
The four Koreans were walked to the surface by the Chinese. Technically, they had surrendered their post without firing a shot. But at the surface level, the night air was cool and refreshing. The men hadn’t been above ground in more than a month. There was a Chinese military encampment not far away, where the Chinese were bringing Koreans from the missile silos in the region.
There was hot soup at the encampment, with meat and potatoes in it, and there was bread and butter. There was water in plastic bottles, and there were cots with pillows and wool blankets. The four men from the silo sat together with stern faces, eating the meal provided for them. They had a tradition among them of being stoic and brave. But nearby, some of the other Koreans wept over their food. Many hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks.
In the night, the man who had considered suicide lay awake on his cot. He stared up at the moon, riding high and round in the sky, clouds skidding across it. Not far away, there was a road that came down from the border with China. Chinese troop transports and tanks rolled south along that road the entire night. Until almost dawn, he listened to the squeaking sound of the tanks tracks, and felt the Earth rumble beneath the heavy vehicles. The Chinese had taken over the country tonight.
And this was a good thing.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
August 20
9:01 a.m. Korea Time (8:01 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)
Gyeongbok Palace – Seoul, South Korea
Gunshots echoed through the vast plaza. A thousand people filled the flagstone square near the steps to the ancient palace. Behind the palace, a green hillside rose up through morning mists that were still burning off.
Honor guards from the Republic of Korea Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines flanked the caskets, standing at attention. The traditional honor guard, in red, black, and gold medieval costume and carrying longbows, stood at attention in front of the caskets. A pipe and drum band, also in traditional dress, stood in the back and to the right.
Luke and his team occupied places of honor in the front row of the square. Luke himself was seated next to the President of the Republic of Korea, a small dapper man with graying hair.
Luke was exhausted and in pain. He could barely understand the proceedings. It turned out that Kim had stabbed him three times—sheer adrenaline was why Luke hadn’t noticed at first. He had a rash all over his body from flying debris during the firefight.
He tried to put those things out of his mind. As he sat, he pictured Park as a young man, tiny, but very strong, and able to seemingly defy the laws of gravity. As a party trick, he used to shatter overhead light bulbs with spinning kicks. He would simply get airborne, keep rising, and then stay up there.
He remembered their fights, and how he would time his punches for when Park landed. A physics professor would never believe how long he had to wait. He remembered his drinking bouts with Park, and Park’s infectious smile when he knew free time was coming.
At an appointed time that Luke didn’t understand, the President touched his hand.
“We will give them both the deepest bow,” the man said.
Luke nodded. “Yes.”
He stood with the President and approached the casket on the left, the one with Park’s photograph on it. Luke knew the casket was empty. He was there when Park died. There had been nothing left of him to bury. He put his hands across his stomach, left hand over the right. He bent his knees and slowly dropped to the floor. He put his hands on the stone ground and crossed them. Then he crossed his feet and touched his forehead to his hands. To his right, the President did the same.
Luke remembered how it had embarrassed him when Park gave him this same bow, the keun jeol, when Luke had first arrived after so long away. Luke hadn’t done anything in return. Now he was offering this bow to a dead man.
He held the bow a long time, his head pressed to his hands, his palms against the warm stone. Gradually, he moved his hands aside and pressed his forehead directly to the flagstone. He felt a tear leave his eye and roll up the side of his head into his hair. Then another came, and another. Soon, his body shook with the force of them.
He should have given the bow while Park was still alive.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
10:15 a.m. Indochina Time (10:15 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time)
Port of Beihai, China
Commander Patrick Vitale stood with his officers on the dock, facing his opposite numbers from the ships that had captured the Lewiston. Behind him, his men stood in formation, American sailors, every man in formal attire, every man at attention.
The Lewiston itself was in a deepwater dock a hundred yards away, its bridge above the water, waiting for its crew to come aboard.
It was a hot and sticky day, getting worse all the time. It was still morning, but the sun was already like a blazing nuclear reactor in the sky. Southern China in summer was hotter than Hades.
The Chinese had organized a brief ceremony to commemorate the friendly and auspicious meeting of the USS Lewiston and the Chinese navy, and to celebrate the visit of the American crew to Beihai. A local troupe of children had put on a traditional dance performance. Vitale had to admit it was nice.
The captain of the destroyer Vitale had only recently stalked approached him. He took off his captain’s hat and offered Vitale a bow, which Vitale returned, somewhat awkwardly.
Then the man stuck out his hand for a shake. Vitale was better at handshakes. His large paw swallowed that of the Chinese commander.
The man smiled. “We are thankful for your stay with us,” he said. “We wish you, as the Americans say, fair winds and following seas.”
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
August 21
11:05 a.m.
United States Naval Observatory – Washington, DC
“Today,” Susan said, “is finally a new day.”
She stood at the podium on the rolling back lawn behind the New White House. She looked out at about fifty reporters and maybe two hundred ambassadors, diplomats, American office holders, and various other dignitaries. It was a sunny morning. There was even something cheerful about it.
“The long night of terror is over. The terror we experienced at the hands of North Korea, and the terror ordinary Koreans experienced, has come to an end. The seven-decade reign of the Kim family has ended.”
There was a smattering of applause. Susan glanced down at her prepared remarks. They weren’t making it. She had hoped that Kim family line would h
ave gotten wolf whistles and cheers. She soldiered on.
“But the job isn’t done. That’s why I’m announcing today a billion dollars in immediate emergency food, medicine and other assistance to North Korea. Now, many people might say that we shouldn’t give North Korea anything. They might say we should take revenge on them instead.
“They tried to kill us, didn’t they? No. I don’t believe that. I don’t believe the people of North Korea ever wanted to kill us. A spoiled, corrupt regime wanted to, but that regime is gone now. Its leader is dead and his henchmen are all in custody. And the people of North Korea need our help.”
Susan went on, the crowd polite and respectful, but not really riding with her. People still had trouble with these concepts, she knew. Or perhaps the speech was just boring. She wasn’t sure. She made her points anyway, even if not everyone was with her.
South Korea, as wealthy as it may be, was too small to absorb and pay for a basket base society like North Korea right away.
The United States, in cooperation with our friends the Chinese, would take responsibility for administering North Korea, paying for the country’s needs, and allowing the necessary time for the people to gradually increase their standard of living to that of the South.
This cooperation would mark the greatest partnership yet between the great powers of China and the United States.
We had reached a time for healing, both between the two Koreas, which would one day become one Korea, but also between America and China.
It was also a time for forgiveness.
Susan thought about that, even while speaking to the assembled crowd, and by extension, to much of the world. Forgiveness.
She was still getting some blank stares, especially among the Americans in the crowd. People were not often ready to forgive so soon, even if forgiveness was the best and fastest path to rebuilding, and to stability. Even now, as her speech reached its climax, and she began to exhort them about Abraham Lincoln and the better angels of our nature, she noted the reluctance to accept it. Many people were dead, and there were people in this crowd who wanted revenge.
