The Chinese ambassador shrugged almost imperceptibly. “I assure you that my country’s actions in the United Nations were not directed at your nation, Comrade Kim. We simply had no wish to be linked so closely with a Soviet indiscretion. Our support for your war of liberation is as strong as ever.”
“As weak as ever, you mean!” Kim could feel his temper slipping out of control, building toward a towering rage. He let it. “For your information, Mr. Ambassador, this Soviet ‘indiscretion’ you refer to is its willingness to side openly with us — instead of hiding in the shadows as your country has done!”
The ambassador was unruffled. “There were other considerations in — ”
“I’m sure there were,” Kim interrupted, all concern for self-control cast aside. “Considerations like the almighty Yankee dollar and your capitalist kowtowing to the Western bankers! You Chinese have finally sunk back to your old role as bootlickers for your imperialist masters.”
“Surely that is unfair, comrade. We’ve sent thousands of tons of valuable supplies across our common border, without the slightest discussion of any need for payment. And now” — the ambassador pointed to the paper lying on Kim’s desk — “we are fully prepared to increase even that already generous level of support.”
That was too much. Did these swine truly believe he could be bought like some common street whore? Kim grabbed the PRC’s weapons offer and crumpled it into a ball. “That is what I think of your pathetic attempt to bribe your way into my friendship!”
The man simply looked at him without any expression at all. “Shall I report to my government that our offer of additional assistance has been refused, comrade?”
The room turned red and Kim threw the wad of paper into the man’s face in a fury. “Yes! And report it in person. Your presence in the People’s Republic is no longer welcome. You are expelled!”
The ambassador nodded. “Very well, comrade. My government will undoubtedly submit another representative for your accreditation at the earliest possible moment.”
Kim struggled for control. The damned Chinese hadn’t even flinched when the paper struck him. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Then he said coldly, “Your government may do as it sees fit. And I may even consider its request — though I fear my calendar is somewhat full for the moment.”
He pressed the buzzer on his desk. “Send Captain Lew in.”
Lew wore no badges of rank, as befitted his status as an agent of the State Political Security Department. “Yes, Dear Leader?”
Kim didn’t waste words. “Escort the ambassador to his embassy and from there to the airport. Under no circumstances will you allow him to communicate with anyone save his own diplomatic staff. Do you understand me?”
Lew nodded sharply. The Chinese ambassador remained motionless, apparently uninterested in this extreme breach of protocol and common diplomatic courtesy.
“Good.” Kim’s lips thinned. “Now, get this man out of my sight.”
He dismissed the matter from his mind. He didn’t need the Chinese. The Soviets had far better weapons and had been far more willing to part with them. They had shown themselves worthy of his trust and his exploitation. He would rely on the Soviets — for the time being.
The Premier regarded the telexed report from the Pyongyang embassy with a wistful smile. Kim Jong-Il was so painfully predictable — not like his father at all. At least not as Kim Il-Sung had been at the height of his personal power. He shook his head slowly. The younger Kim was so intemperate, so arrogant.
A thought struck him. Perhaps the North Koreans really believed they could win this war without China’s assistance? It was possible. Their naïve self-confidence must certainly have been buoyed by their apparent victories so far. After all, the North’s armies drove deeper into the South with each passing day.
On the surface, then…
The Premier smiled more broadly. He’d known many apprentice engineers who’d looked only at the outside of a seemingly solid concrete dam without ever imagining the dangerous fissures that might be spreading throughout its interior. And Kim Il-Sung’s bloated son was more an apprentice than most.
Well, the apprentice had made his first clear error. The Premier carefully folded the telex and slipped it into his briefcase. Many of his colleagues on the Politburo would be deeply interested in its contents — deeply interested indeed.
He rose to his feet easily, heading for the morning’s scheduled Defense Council meeting. The dance was changing, spinning into new form, and the Premier wondered whether all its participants would be quick enough to learn its new steps.
Somehow he doubted it.
CHAPTER 36
Rear Guard
Kevin Little saw a sea of flame ripple across Suwon as more North Korean shells landed — smashing tile-roofed houses and tearing huge gaps in its ancient stone walls. Other explosions rocked the summit of Paltal Mountain, near the old city’s center. Temples, pavilions, and fortresses that had taken years of hard labor to build were being destroyed in minutes. He shook his head. The allied troops guarding Suwon weren’t anywhere within a kilometer of the North’s barrage. They’d abandoned the city’s historic center in a vain effort to preserve it from destruction. The North Koreans weren’t being so accommodating.
“Hey, Lootenant? Do you suppose we could get on with this? I ain’t exactly up here to play tourist, you know. See, I cain’t go back to my CO without your John Hancock on this here form to show that I dropped the stuff off at the right unit. Okay?”
Kevin turned away from the growing firestorm and back to the portly, double-chinned sergeant waiting impatiently, clipboard in hand. Something about the man had struck him as odd, and it had taken a while for the pieces to fall into place. Now he knew what it was. The sergeant’s combat fatigues looked brand-new and unwrinkled. Odder still, the man was clean. To someone who hadn’t been within half a klick of a working shower for days, seeing the supply sergeant’s shiny and well-scrubbed face was like running head-on into an alien from outer space.
He shook off the shock and shook his head. “No, it’s not okay, Sarge. I’m not signing for anything until I’m satisfied that it meets my military requirements.”
The shorter man frowned and Kevin tried making himself clearer. He could tell vaguely that he was starting to lapse into meaningless jargon. He was getting too tired for all of this. “Look, I can’t fight my company properly without enough ammo, and the load on your trucks gives me less than half my basic supply.”
More shells burst over the city and the supply sergeant flinched at the noise. He looked worried. “Hell, I’m sorry, Lootenant. But I just plain don’t have any more ammo to give you right now. Nobody else has any more.”
Goddamn the Army. Kevin felt the fury bubbling up inside him. Not enough men. Not enough time. And now not enough frigging ammunition even to fight properly. He fought against showing the anger he felt. The sergeant wasn’t the problem, just a symptom.
He felt his jaw tightening and grimly eyed the crates his troops were hastily hauling out of a pair of mud-spattered three-quarter-ton trucks.
The sergeant saw his face and shrugged apologetically. “Brigade’s promised us more before nightfall. But the roads are a mess… so I don’t know how much stock to put in that.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Amen to that, Lootenant.” The sergeant looked back down the slope to where GIs were frantically digging foxholes and trying to clear fields of fire through the undergrowth. Kevin waited silently while the man came to some kind of decision. “Look, I’ve got a couple of boxes of claymores on the trucks. They ain’t spoken for yet. Maybe I could let you have those.”