“That isn’t a plan,” Tae retorted. “It’s wishful thinking. And to what end? Do you think the Southerners will let us restore our country? The Kim dynasty is shattered. The entire mechanism of government has been torn apart, and can never be restored.
“And with which of us will they negotiate?” Tae continued, his tone sharper. “The Southerners will be here first. I’ll be fighting long before you will. They will wear me down until my troops simply can’t fight back. Do you expect us to fight while you sit and watch?”
Lee asked, “What price would you sell our country for, to gain the South’s cooperation against the Chinese?” Her expression indicated that she thought just discussing the idea was treason.
“What terms would I ask for from the Southerners?” Tae asked as if considering it for the first time. “We place ourselves under their military authority. They supply us with munitions, food, and fuel. They provide air cover during our operations against the Chinese.” He shrugged. “Some of their artillery wouldn’t hurt. We agree to set up a caretaker government under martial law in that part of the country we still control. With a nonaggression pact, of course.”
“Martial law?” Lee spat angrily. “You mean a military junta with you in charge. You’d be nothing more than a puppet for the South, just as the South is a tool of the Americans.”
Tae felt as if he was dealing with a two-year-old. “That is what’s possible, whatever labels you want to use.” Almost pleading, he argued, “Face reality. Now that China has intervened, the Americans will join the Southerners, intent on first wiping us out, then pushing back the Chinese. The entire country will become a battlefield, and we will just be part of the rubble.
“A negotiated settlement with the South gives us at least some control over our fate. We have a little time before the two sides meet and engulf us. Let’s join forces and get the best deal we can, while we still can.”
Jeup looked to Lee, and Tae could see her calculating, weighing risks and payoffs, but only for half a moment. Remarking almost casually, “This is pointless,” she turned and walked back the way she’d come. After she’d taken a few steps, Jeup followed, with one last glance at the general.
Sighing, Tae stood, watching the two leave, wondering what words would have changed her mind, or if it was even possible. Now he had to…
The two had reached the edge of the pavilion, and Lee made a quick cutting gesture with her right hand, at waist level. Tae threw himself sideways, toward a pillar, but most importantly leaving the space he’d previously occupied. He saw a heavy-caliber bullet strike the floor where he had been standing, and heard a deep crack from a second round passing much too close to his head.
Tae dodged again, this time running full tilt, heading out, changing direction every five steps or so. There were at least two shooters, and…
Something struck his back, just below the left shoulder blade, hard. The vest absorbed most of it, but the pain of the blow warned he was moving too slowly. The general had reached the edge of the steps that led out of the pavilion. Out there, without the partial cover of the pillars, he’d be an easy target. They might be able to get a head shot.
At the edge of the steps, at a dead run, Tae launched himself into the air, hoping the only direction the snipers weren’t expecting him to go was up. Below and ahead, the ground sloped down to the water, and as he came down, he tucked in, like his parachute instructor had taught him so long ago.
He landed with a roll. Timing it almost correctly, he stumbled a little as he stood, but kept moving toward the river. He saw another bullet strike the ground nearby, as if he needed any more incentive. Then he heard a different sound, almost a howl, from above him.
Stretched full length, Tae hit the water. The weight of the vest seemed to triple and pulled him down, but he wanted to get away from the surface. The bottom sloped gently, and he turned sharply right to parallel the river’s bank.
He’d barely had time to inhale before going under, and had begun to push up, intending to take a breath, when the water above him turned to froth and rapid-fire booms echoed in his ears. The water carried dozens of concussions to him, although thankfully with reduced intensity.
Tae stayed down until death above the surface was a better choice than drowning. He was in water shallow enough to kneel, and he brought his head out. With his helmet still on, he hoped he looked like a turtle. He gratefully gulped air and looked around.
The last salvoes had evidently landed, because although the air still echoed with explosions, there was no sound of incoming shells. Bitter, choking smoke filled his nose and mouth. It was impossible to see anything from his position, but that was understandable.
He’d had every piece of artillery in his force zeroed in on that pavilion and the area around it. Mortars, the 122s, his three remaining 152s, and of course the multiple rocket launchers had all been organized to deliver a time-on target barrage if Tae gave the signal. It turned out the signal had been him dodging and running.
He heard the sound of an engine, and turned to see his troops on the far bank starting a motor in a small boat.
Snipers were for sissies.
Tony Christopher was hurrying, but he still got to the conference room late. More properly, the general had already started, which made him late no matter when he arrived. “My apologies, sir,” Tony said as he took a chair next to Lieutenant General Randall Carter, commander of the Seventh Air Force.
“That’s okay, Tony. I only called you nine minutes ago.” Besides the general, Kevin could see other members of the Seventh’s staff in the room.
The conference room’s lights were lowered, and Carter and his staff were facing a large flat-screen display on one wall. It showed the middle part of the Korean Peninsula, with Seoul near the bottom edge. It was filled with tactical symbols, but Tony didn’t get a chance to sort them out.
As Tony took his seat, General Carter ordered, “Ben, start it over again,” and the briefer nodded. The image froze and flickered as the different symbols shifted position. “Watch the upper right corner,” Carter suggested.
The briefer, an officer on the Seventh’s operations staff, explained, “This is taken straight from their Air and Missile Defense Cell. The Koreans use feeds from our stuff as well as their own sensors, so we share the fused image. We’re running at one-to-one time,” the briefer said, pointing to the upper right corner of the window.
Tony noted that the recording’s start time was only twenty-one minutes ago. A small white square appeared in North Korean territory, north of Pyongyang, then quickly changed to a red diamond. “One of the missile warning satellites picked it up first, then cued everyone else. The Koreans had Aegis ships on both sides, we had an E-3 Sentry here,”—he pointed to a spot just off the North Korean coast—”as well as land-based warning radars belonging to both countries south of the DMZ — I mean the thirty-eighth parallel,” he corrected. The infamous Demilitarized Zone was definitely militarized now, with the Korean army streaming northward through it. Originally the buffer between North and South Korea, the term no longer held any meaning.
“None of the Aegis ships were able to engage. The geometry wasn’t even close.” The red diamond moved rapidly, compared to the tracks of friendly aircraft on the display. A label appeared, reading “Scud,” which was a liquid-fueled ballistic missile, one of the most numerous in the DPRK inventory. It was carried and fired from a mobile launcher. A number below the label showed its speed. The value almost shimmered as it rapidly changed, steadily increasing. The missile was still in its boost phase.