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 first, 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.”
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.