Fighting a bad case of déjà vu, Tae described his plan to merge the military forces of the two factions and establish a defensive line against the South Koreans and the Americans to the south and the Chinese to the north. Initially, he skipped the part about negotiating a truce with the US and South Korea, and then together pushing the Chinese out. He decided that breaking the news slowly would have a better chance of success.
Yoo listened without saying anything, but as soon as Tae finished, he asked, “Tell me, Comrade General. Do you truly believe we can hold out against the imperialists? I’m sure you’re aware that they are outside the city, just beyond those hills.” Yoo pointed southward.
Alarm bells went off in Tae’s mind. Yoo’s question, under normal circumstances, would be considered treasonous, punishable by death. Tae didn’t know if Yoo was opening an avenue to discuss surrendering to the ROK and US forces, or verifying Tae’s suspected lack of commitment to the DPRK. The easily seen movements of Yoo’s arm could have been a signal. Was his “friend” about to end his life? Tae’s intuition fought back the fear and told him to stay put, so he stood his ground — there was no crack of a rifle, no explosion. He was still alive.
He sighed deeply before answering Yoo. “No, my friend, I do not believe we can keep the imperialists at bay for more than a day or two. This is the terrible irony of a civil war; all casualties are doubled, all ammunition expenditure is doubled, all the damage to our country is doubled.
“We have worn ourselves out to the point that we are now outnumbered and outgunned by a technologically superior foe. The best I can hope for is to put up enough resistance to get the fascists to think twice about trying to take the city. Then I’ll present our terms. If I’m successful, perhaps we will have help in defending against the Chinese.”
Yoo nodded; he seemed resigned to Tae’s assessment. “Not exactly a recipe for victory, is it?”
Tae chuckled again. “Only if you’re trying to make a bitter stew.”
A pained look flashed on Yoo’s face. “I… I find it unbearable that I failed to protect my country. That I had a role in its destruction.”
“We can discuss who is to blame later, Yoo-dongmu,” countered Tae. “Right now, I need your help to save what is left of our home.”
Coming to attention, Yoo saluted once again. “I accept your terms, Comrade General. What are your orders?”
Amidst the rubble, the two men embraced.
“Sir, what are your orders?” Ryeon’s question jerked Tae back to reality. He didn’t have the luxury to mourn the loss of a fine soldier and friend. That would have to wait. Grabbing the map off the floor, Tae motioned for his staff and unit commanders to assemble around him.
“Unit status, Major,” barked Tae with confidence. His men were exhausted, at the edge of human endurance; they needed to draw strength from him for the coming battle.
“Per your orders, sir, the remnants of the 815th Mechanized Infantry Corps and two understrength brigades from the 820th Armored Corps have moved north to shore up the badly damaged 425th. With the exception of one understrength armor battalion, most of the Pokpung-ho and Chonma-ho main battle tanks have been sent to defend against the Chinese advance.
“The remaining units of the 820th have been distributed between the center and flanks to support each of the infantry divisions. All tanks are in prepared positions and camouflaged against aerial reconnaissance. We have five near full-strength infantry divisions, one at each front and one in reserve,” concluded Ryeon.
Tae nodded as his aide pointed to the unit locations on the map. “What’s our tank strength?” he asked.
Dejected, Major Ryeon looked downward and swallowed hard. The rest of the staff didn’t look much better. “We can only field 207 tanks, mostly older Chinese Type 88s and Type 69s. A great number of our armored vehicles are damaged or have broken down and require a repair facility. And we are extremely short on fuel and ammunition, sir. The unpleasant fact is that most of the tanks don’t have full fuel tanks or ammunition loads.”
Tae fought the urge to laugh. It was either that or cry; the situation was beyond absurd. The pitiful number of older Chinese tanks, with their rifled 105mm guns, was hopelessly outmatched. They might be able to scratch the paint on the vastly superior K1A2 and K2 tanks that would lead the ROK assault. His only hope was that the South Koreans didn’t have enough shells to kill all of his tanks. “It will have to do, Major. Use some of the damaged tanks as decoys; they can still serve a purpose by absorbing South Korean ordnance.”
“Yes, sir, Comrade General.”
“Comrades,” blared Tae as he turned toward the fatigued assembly. “Make sure your men are well entrenched. Keep your heads down until after the rocket barrage, then let go with everything you have. Hold your positions for as long as you possibly can, then fall back to the next defensive line. I expect every man to fight hard and well, but understand this; I will not condone any suicide charges.”
The general walked along the line of his commanders, looking each one in the eye as he spoke. “The simple truth of the matter is that we are too weak to win this fight. Our goal is to make it as hard as we possibly can for the Southerners to enter the city. We want them to stop and think about the casualties they’d suffer if they tried to take it. Once we have their attention, I’ll go out and present our terms. Understood?”
There was an awkward silence as the twenty-four men looked at Tae with a stunned expression. Never before had a general officer said there was no hope of victory. Never before had a general officer expressed concern for the health and well being of his men. They all had been taught from a young age that life was a gift from the state, to be used by the state as it saw fit. If a man was called to sacrifice his life for the benefit of the state, he was to do so gladly. General Tae’s words were unlike anything they’d heard before, and ironically troubling. They just didn’t know how to respond. Finally, Major Ryeon blurted out, “Yes, sir!” The others followed immediately.
“Very well. To your posts, Comrades,” ordered Tae.
Rhee looked through his artillery scope at Pyongyang; the smoke from the interdiction barrage earlier had long since cleared. There was no sign of fighting, or movement, in the city, at least the part he could observe. The attack on the North Korean capital was still an hour away; it had taken General Kwon longer than he’d anticipated getting permission, and more delay getting all the units coordinated and in place. The US combat units had to catch up with the tactical situation, then given their assignments in the battle plan. More people take longer to orientate and move — a simple fact of military science. Nonetheless, the delay grated Rhee; the North Koreans were up to something. He could feel it.
“Colonel, here is the latest UAV report,” said an SOF private, offering a folder.
Rhee snatched the document and began reading it. The barrage had failed to stop the traffic on the Yanggak Bridge, one of the last remaining major spans on the Taedong River, and KPA troops and tanks had moved across, taking up prepared positions right in front of him. The South Koreans could have continued the bombardment, or hit the bridge with airdropped munitions, but they needed that bridge. He frowned, shook his head, and grunted; maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as he first thought.