“And have the Twenty-Third Artillery Brigade fire their barrage on the follow-on ROK units. Start in close and walk the salvoes toward the hills. Four rounds per gun, then have the crews go to their shelters.”
“Yes, sir, at once.”
“Oh, and Major, order the surface-to-air missile troops to engage any helicopter that gets within range. They’ve roamed the skies freely long enough.”
Rhee’s jaw tightened with each tank and IFV that was hit. His body was tense with pent-up frustration. Even when he looked through his spotting binoculars, he didn’t seem able to stand still. Kevin noted his friend’s agitation with empathy; he felt it as well. In the last war, he and Rhee were the ones down on the battlefield, fighting on the front lines. This time, their positions and responsibilities pushed them toward the rear, to directing the forces in combat. As if sensing Kevin’s thoughts, Rhee quietly muttered, “I should be down there. I can’t tell what’s going on so far away, and with all the smoke.”
“That’s not your job, Colonel,” Kevin chided. “And in the thick of it, you’d see less than you could from up here.”
Little was stating the obvious. Rhee shot him an annoyed glare, but it subsided quickly. His American colleague was also entirely correct. “You could at least be more sympathetic, Colonel Little.”
“That’s not my job either,” replied Kevin sarcastically. Another loud rumble echoed from the direction of Pyongyang. A large cloud of smoke and flames reached skyward. Something big had just exploded.
“That was one of our helicopter gunships,” lamented Rhee.
Kevin looked through his binoculars toward the city. It was hard to make anything out, but the occasional flash and explosion told him the fighting was still going on strong. “Is it me, or have the North Koreans recently become more stubborn?” he asked.
Rhee nodded his agreement. “Yes, they seem to be more determined to fight now. They’re not running or surrendering like they did earlier.”
“That suggests a good commander is calling the shots.”
“Agreed. Unfortunately for us, he appears to be quite competent. The other corps commanders on both flanks have reported similar stiff resistance.”
“Colonel Rhee!” shouted Guk from the comms tent. “Team Seven Four reports the KPA units are withdrawing, moving back to a second line of prepared positions. The team lead says the troops are withdrawing in good order. They’re not running away.”
“Pass the information on, Lieutenant,” ordered Rhee, shaking his head. “Use the primary frequency. We need to let the lead units know the KPA isn’t done fighting just yet.”
No sooner had Rhee given the order than another round of North Korean artillery began landing on the advancing infantry divisions. And just as before, ROK and US artillery let loose with an intense counter-barrage.
“No, they’re not done fighting yet,” repeated Rhee.
Tae stood motionless and watched the fighting for hours. His men were putting up a good fight, but with each passing moment, ROK Army units pushed closer and closer to the Taedong River. He knew his men were on the verge of exhaustion, as he could now see imperialist infantry advancing unimpeded from building to building from his observation post some three kilometers away. It was only a matter of time before his units simply collapsed.
To the southeast he could see some of his tanks valiantly engaging South Korean K1A2s. It was pointless; their guns simply couldn’t penetrate the Southern tanks’ advanced armor. One by one, the old Chinese tanks were gunned down. As Tae looked further to the east, he saw what was left of the Tower of the Juche Idea. A monument to the Kim concept of political, economic, and military self-reliance, it had been shattered, just like his country.
Here he was, fighting a losing battle to convince the imperialists that it would be better for them to join forces. Tae needed to ally his forces with those of his state’s former enemies to the south, to fight their former communist allies to the north. He was fighting because he needed the South to help him preserve what was left of his country. The irony couldn’t have been more bitter.
“Comrade General,” interrupted Major Ryeon. “Colonel Mok reports that his units have taken over thirty-three percent casualties and that they are almost out of ammunition. Other commanders have made similar reports of high casualties and low ammunition. Most of our tanks have been destroyed, and those that are left have few shells, if any.”
Tae sighed deeply. They had done all that they could, all that was possible. Now he had to save what was left of his men and hope it had been enough. “Signal all units to retreat as planned. Have the mortar batteries lay down smoke to cover the withdrawal. Tell the engineers to drop the two spans on the Yanggak Bridge.”
Ryeon saluted smartly, then departed at a run to pass on the general’s orders. Soon Tae saw puffs of white smoke bloom on the river’s southern banks. Hundreds of boats and rafts then appeared as the survivors made their way slowly across the Taedong. In the waning twilight, bright orange and yellow bursts of light flickered along the two causeways of the Yanggak Bridge. Through his binoculars, Tae saw that major portions of both had been destroyed. It was now impassable. If the imperialists wanted to cross over the river, they’d have to bring up bridging units. That would take time, and they would be vulnerable — another point in Tae’s favor.
“Sir, all your orders have been carried out,” reported Ryeon.
“Very good, Major.”
The young officer paused; he still found it difficult to question the intent of a general officer. But curiosity finally got the better of him. “Comrade General, what do we do now?”
Tae turned and smiled. “Now we wait, Major Ryeon. We let the Southerners and the Americans take stock of their situation. And give them the opportunity to consider the prospect of taking this city by force, street by street, building by building. Then, in the morning, we’ll present them with another option.”
Chapter 15 — Parley
The shadows darted from one mound of rubble to the next, careful not to expose themselves to the light growing slowly in the east. The streets were littered with the remains of buildings, tanks, and soldiers. A pall of smoke from many sources promised a dim, gray day.
The intense battle yesterday had come to an unexpectedly quick end as soon as the surviving KPA units had withdrawn across the Taedong River. Like someone throwing a light switch, the fighting had simply been turned off. And with the exception of an occasional rifle crack, the night had become strangely quiet. It was as if the North Koreans had all disappeared.
From his command post in the hills to the south, Colonel Rhee Han-gil had watched the orderly evacuation of the DPRK troops via a UAV video feed. The KPA soldiers were not running. They took turns firing and moving back, always facing the enemy.
This was no rout, but a well-planned and executed retreat. The commanding general, whoever he was, was a skillful individual. Rhee found himself begrudgingly impressed and worried at the same time.
Along with the other senior officers, he’d expected the North Koreans to mount a hold-at-all costs defense. Instead, the KPA had made a fighting withdrawal, trading space for ROK casualties, while keeping their own forces relatively intact. Whoever was in charge knew how to run a retreat.