“To President Wen, of the People’s Republic of China: Our countries’ armed forces face each other only inches apart, in grave danger of starting a war that will benefit neither, and distracting us from the far greater hazard posed by a cruel regime’s dying struggles. I suggest that instead of fighting each other, we work together to put a swift end to the threat that endangers us all.
“I urge you also to cease your operations against South Korean forces, who are already fighting our common opponent. We will do everything in our power to encourage our ally to work with Chinese forces, as well as American military forces, for the express purpose of erasing every remaining trace of the Kims from the Korean Peninsula.
“Finally, I must remind you, President Wen, that America’s guarantee of Korea’s territorial integrity is absolute, and if China has any goal other than the removal of the threat posed by the holdouts of a disgraced dynasty, we will not hesitate to defend Korea as vigorously as we would our own homeland.”
Wen passed the message to others at the table. Some read it completely, while others barely glanced at it. Several minutes passed in silence before the Second Bureau minister said reluctantly, “It pains me to agree with any American, but he’s right. If the intervention expands beyond our stated goal, we face almost certain war with America, which could make our losses so far trivial in comparison.”
They all knew he was referring to Scarborough Shoal, now firmly under the Philippines’ control, its security guaranteed by the Americans. China could win on the Korean Peninsula and still suffer.
Several heads nodded, and the president asked, “Then how shall we proceed?”
“He’s got to be the oldest private I’ve ever seen,” Cho asserted.
“I don’t disbelieve you,” Kary insisted. “I just don’t know enough to agree or disagree.”
They were standing outside the headquarters tent, located near the front gate of the Gyeonggi Military Camp.
Kary Fowler was now responsible for five refugee and two military camps, all holding former North Korean citizens. The Korean army ran all the camps, but was more than willing to let her minister to the needs of their residents. Even the military camps filled with ex-KPA soldiers came under her purview, since there was no longer an army for them to be soldiers of, and they had many of the same needs as the civilians. Beyond basic necessities like food and shelter, they usually needed at least some medical attention. There was an amazing demand for dentists. She’d arranged for many of the same classes to be taught as well, since the DPRK army’s worldview was even more skewed than the civilians.
Using a helicopter provided by the ROK Army, and with Cho as her escort, she toured one or two camps every few days, being seen and dealing with problems that could only be solved in person.
Kary always walked through the camp first, accompanied by Cho, who wore army fatigues with a sergeant’s rank insignia. Then, while Kary met with the camp’s officials, Cho wandered about, listening and watching without the distraction of civilian higher-ups.
The military camps held a mixture of DPRK soldiers that had surrendered to South Korean troops or had been wounded and captured in a fight, army deserters that had reached the South or been found and collected in Northern territory, and in a few cases, entire units that had surrendered without a fight, after negotiations with the advancing Southerners.
Any soldier who wished was given a chance to serve, under General Tae, in the new United Han Army. While a fair number had done so, many did not.
Because national service was mandatory under the Kim regime, for many this was the first choice they had ever been allowed to make. With better food than they ever had before, and no longer being shot at, the camp seemed like a great place to be. They still lived under military discipline, including calisthenics, and that’s where Cho first noticed him.
The man was in the rear rank of four, falling behind during jumping jacks, and failing completely at push-ups. While Cho had seen few DPRK soldiers that he could call impressive physical specimens, the rest of the group was performing satisfactorily.
The soldier’s physical incompetence was almost comical, and Cho had moved closer, intending to see if he was sick or somehow injured. The first detail he noticed was the man’s age, easily in his early forties. The second was his rank — a private? That didn’t make much sense. Then he noticed the insignia on the shoulder of his fatigues. It marked the wearer as a member of a Light Infantry unit, one of the many former DPRK’s special operations forces. Whoever he was, that man was not a special operations soldier.
After the exercises ended and the formation was dismissed, the corporal leading the calisthenics had taken care to inform Private Chun Ho-park that he was “a disgrace to not only both Koreas, but your Han heritage, and how did he…”
Cho had other questions. Why was this person attempting, and rather poorly, to disguise himself as a soldier? It was easy to imagine someone using the chaos of a civil war to lose himself — to change identity and make a fresh start somewhere else. There were many in the North who wanted to leave behind an inconvenient, or perhaps criminal past. Who had this person been before he chose to be a very bad soldier? A party official? Cho was certain he was probably running from something more serious than an unhappy marriage.
Cho had told Kary about him, along with his other observations, after Kary finished her meetings. After some discussion, she decided to trust Cho’s judgment. The camp’s security officer promised to review the file for “Private Chun” right away.
They hadn’t even made it back to Camp Munsan before Kary and Cho received a radio call to return to Gyeonggi as quickly as they could. With her concurrence, the pilots reversed course and increased speed. Half an hour later, the machine landed, not at Camp Gyeonggi, but the 31st Homeland Defense Infantry Division’s base next to it.
They were met by Lieutenant Hak, the division security officer, at the landing pad. Hak had noted Cho’s observations and promised to investigate the matter. He greeted Kary respectfully as they got out of the helicopter, but then almost embraced Cho in his enthusiasm. He didn’t even wait for Cho, still in a noncom’s uniform, to salute.
He pumped Cho’s hand, and led them toward a waiting jeep. “Sergeant Cho, you’ve done your country a great service! We can’t talk here, but we need to interview you further, and we’ll need some information about your parent unit. I’m sure you’ll be getting a commendation, and if they don’t promote you, I’ll want to know why!”
Hak refused to explain further until they reached the division’s intelligence section, a cluster of low structures, and were ushered inside the headquarters building. Once through the doors, the lieutenant almost ran down the hall to the commander’s office. “Colonel Gyo, they are here!”
Cho was ready this time, and after letting Kary go in first, he stepped into the colonel’s office and saluted crisply. “Sergeant Cho Ho-jin, reporting.”
The colonel not only returned Cho’s salute just as smartly, but stood as he did so, before bowing to Kary and introducing himself. “Colonel Gyo Hwi-soon. I am head of the division’s intelligence section. Is Sergeant Cho attached to your office?”