“It’s only the first step, sir,” Kevin continued. “We have a lot of troops over here that are at a high state of readiness, in case the Chinese come across the border, and we’ve got reinforcements arriving from the US all the time. If the Chinese don’t intervene, or until they do, our troops have little to do but wait.”
He paused, and clicked the controller several times. “This is a list of American units I recommend taking over the existing refugee camps from the ROKs. They’ll also set up more places for the ones still coming.”
Tracy was studying the list while his chief of staff took notes. Kevin pressed his point. “The switch frees up a lot of South Korean troops — military police, engineers, and additional infantry units — to go north. Our armor and artillery units won’t be involved in this, so they’re ready to move, and they are what the Southerners would need most if the Chinese intervened.”
The chief of staff, Colonel Page, asked, “What if the Chinese do come south? We’d have a lot of our people tied up taking care of civilians. I agree armor and artillery would be a priority, but if we’re dealing with the Chinese, one thing we will definitely need is numbers.”
General Tracy nodded. “And the ROK units in the north will be spread out all over creation trying to occupy the country.”
Kevin smiled. He’d thought about that question. “The ROKs are mobilizing reserve units as fast as they can and sending them north as garrison troops. If the Chinese attack, we let the reserve units take our place.”
Tracy smiled. “The Blue House should like this. They get more units for the advance, and if the balloon does go up, we still go north.”
Colonel Page wasn’t convinced. “We will be moving quite a few troops out of garrison to positions just below the border. What will the Chinese make of that?”
“We’ll let the press watch. Public affairs will have full access,” Kevin replied.
Tracy looked on approvingly, and picked up where Kevin had stopped. “And the troops will have something useful to do, helping people instead of waiting for something we hope doesn’t happen. And maybe all those war hawks who want to send us north right now, which would definitely cause the Chinese to jump in, will quit quarterbacking from the bleachers.”
The general smiled broadly. “Well done, Kevin. This gives a boost to the South Koreans, it’s good for our troops, and it will help the Korean civilians; heaven knows they can use it. We’ll call it Operation Backstop, and I know the perfect man to run it.”
Kevin felt a cold hand close around his heart. He didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t think of anything that would prevent the inevitable, and the general just nodded slowly. “Backstop is your baby, Colonel. You’re the man to run it. Turn the battalion over to your deputy. Tell Jane it’s her chance to shine.”
Sergeant Choi came by again that morning, he said on the orders of Mayor Song, to look for “deserters or other criminals.” Two militia soldiers, wearing red armbands and awkwardly carrying automatic rifles, had accompanied the sergeant, but Choi honored Kary’s request that they remain at the front gate while the sergeant made his inspection.
She recognized one of the soldiers as a local shopkeeper, and didn’t trust either one’s competency with firearms, or not to steal something if they could.
Choi made a point of looking everywhere. First the office building, which also had quarters for the CFK staff and a chapel, then the dining hall, with its kitchen and storehouse. The policeman had been polite, allowing the mission’s business to continue as he searched, sharing gossip and what rumors he thought were worth repeating. They were all local rumors, though. All state-controlled media were off the air, and if anybody had a bootleg radio, they weren’t advertising it.
There was no need to talk about the fighting in the city. The whole town could hear the near-constant rumble of artillery and tank cannon, which at irregular intervals would crescendo and then fall in volume, but remained thankfully distant.
The biggest news was still the mayor’s reaction to the fighting. The day after Kim died, Mayor Song had ordered, “that for security reasons Pyongyang residents fleeing the city are to be housed at the Greatness of Labor municipal hall.” The building was one of the largest in town, and served as a meeting place or a theater for socially uplifting entertainment. Officially, they were supposed to be fed and given medical care, but Kary had heard — not from Choi — that the refugees had nothing but bare floors and a thin soup, served once a day.
The last building to inspect was the clinic and dispensary. Choi said, “I’m supposed to inquire about Cheon Ji-hyo and her family that arrived the other day. They must join the others in the Greatness of Labor hall when you think they are able to be moved.”
And which one does the mayor think is the greatest threat? The mother, grandmother, or the two children? But Kary didn’t say that aloud. “She’s still recovering from the first surgery. She needs at least one more operation, and then at least a week in bed.”
“And the man that brought them in, Cho?”
“I sewed up four deep lacerations in his back. He lost a lot of blood. He may be up tomorrow.”
“His papers are in order, but as soon as he’s mobile he’ll be required to volunteer for the local militia.”
Kary nodded. “I’m sure he will be happy to do his duty.”
The sergeant didn’t question her judgment, or press for too many details. The mayor suffered the mission’s existence because she provided medical care the town of Sinan couldn’t. And while he had ordered Choi to take any healthy outsiders to the municipal hall, every person she housed and fed was one less for him to deal with.
Choi ran down the list of other patients at the clinic. They had ten beds, and eight were occupied. Cheon, her family, and Cho were five of the eight who had fled the city, while the other three were locals. Cheon was the worst trauma patient, and the worst local citizen was Rang Gi-taek, in his fifties, who was fighting pneumonia and losing.
With the hospitals closed to all but the party and the army, Kary’s clinic offered the best medical care in the area, both for the locals and refugees from the city. She would have been swamped, but only people who knew about the mission came there.
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.