WW III

forgotten his father’s stories of how North Korean commanders had stood, mouths agape at the incredible speed with which American Seabees had cleared rough-timbered ground and laid down mesh airstrips within twelve hours. Accordingly, Kim sent in mop-up squads of demolition experts, some of whom were cut down by the few remaining M-1 crews manning the commanders’ and the loaders’ machine guns before they, too, were silenced. The NKA squads placed plastique on the tanks with times fuses set for forty minutes, giving all NKA squads time to clear the area.

The Uijongbu corridor exploded in a roaring cacophony of black-orange balls spewing into the dark and monsoon-riven sky as the plastique and rounds aboard the tanks exploded. Kim would have liked to use the tanks, but the NKA didn’t have the supporting ground crews for each tank that the American army had now instituted, or enough electronic experts to service the sophisticated equipment on board. Only two M-1s were spared so that when the day came that the South had been crushed, the tanks could be forwarded to Kaesong, where they would be airlifted by the big Russian Condor transport to Moscow for thorough dissection by the Russian army.

* * *

Seoul was Kim’s, and as tens of thousands of NKA regulars, reservists, and artillery closed in the ring of steel about the capital, it was an ashen-faced Cahill whose officers had given him firsthand observation reports of the carnage in the city above—”like tossing grenades into packed rooms,” one of them had said. Cahill was now confronted with the inevitable. By midnight Korean time the situation was so hopeless that, amid the shambles and smoke of what had been one of the most sophisticated electronic communication centers in Asia, the American general asked permission from Washington to surrender Seoul into enemy hands.

General Gray replied that any delaying action would help the reserves on the way from Japan, while SATINT suggested the NKA were pausing to ford the Han across pontoon bridges. Approximately a half hour later Cahill received more reports that thousands of NKA regulars, wearing normal peasant and worker garb, had, hours before the last bridges were blown, infiltrated the columns of refugees and were now causing further chaos and thwarting South Korean artillery batteries trying to reach the Han from the South.

At 1:00 a.m. the U.S.-ROK command, in effect Cahill, was given an ultimatum: seven hours to surrender or “answer for all the consequences.”

To the rest of the world now watching, to America holding its breath, the seven hours granted Cahill to make up his mind-Washington’s mind — was puzzling. In Europe it was being touted by commentators, especially in the Eastern bloc, as a “generous” act of humanitarianism in modern war; obviously Kim was giving time for as many civilians to escape over the few remaining bridges as possible. In fact, Kim had given Cahill seven hours for one reason only: By that time it would be dawn, the usual time for the U.S. and ROK flags to be raised, so that Kim and his troops, as all the world looked on, could be photographed in full light as the American and South Korean flags were taken down. He could see no reason why Washington would prolong his artillery’s systematic destruction of the city. He was correct.

* * *

The flags were hauled down, furled, and General Cahill, but not General Lee, was instructed to hand the American flag personally to General Kim. Without looking at it, Kim peremptorily handed it to an aide, who set the Stars and Stripes on fire, lifting it high on a bayonet, waving it joyously for the cheering NKA army and the world to see.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“If we do nothing, it will be interpreted as weakness. Confidence in our treaty obligations in Europe would be seriously under—”

“I agree, Comrade,” said the premier. “But our Far Eastern Fleet has already put to sea. Is that not message enough?”

“No,” answered the defense minister, a stocky Georgian leaning back in one of the leather-backed chairs in the premier’s extraordinarily long, rectangular office, trying to compose himself. It was no use; he was leaning forward again, his impatience and anxiety evidenced by his nicotine-stained fingers fiddling unconsciously with a thick glass ashtray. He looked across at his comrade from the ministry of the interior, then left at the premier in his seat at the top of the T-shaped conference table, and spread his hands on the green baize in a gesture of accommodation. “What I wish to point out, Comrade Premier, is that sending our Eastern Fleet out of Vladivostok is standard procedure whenever the American Seventh Fleet enters the Sea of Japan. The Americans know this. Our Warsaw allies know this. It does not send a strong enough message, in my opinion.” His fingers tapped hard on the table. “We need to take a step which will send a strong message that the Sea of Japan cannot be used as an American lake, as — as an operational area from which to bombard North Korea. As it was last time.” The defense minister turned and pointed at the Pacific Rim map. “It would be the same as if we sailed into California waters. Can you imagine?”

“I understand this, Comrade,” put in Premier Suzlov, “but I think a strong enough message is being sent to everyone with the deployment of our Eastern Fleet. The public in the Warsaw Pact countries don’t know it is standard practice. They will see it as a very strong measure on our part. So will the American public. The important thing, Comrades, is that we know the Pentagon understands it is normal procedure.”

“But the Pentagon suspects us of being in collusion with North Korea,” answered the defense minister, undeterred.

Suzlov looked about the table for an informal poll. “Our dear comrades in Pyongyang have made a grave error by invading South Korea. They did not consult us. Nor inform us of the time—”

“They never consult us,” grumbled the marshall of the air force. “They are a law unto themselves.”

“Law?” skoffed Admiral Doldich.’”They have no law. They are ruled by an overfed ego in a Mao suit. He has placed us in a very dangerous position, Comrades. If we do not support him, we are seen as deserting a socialist brother, an ally. If we do support him, we risk widening the conflict. We have enough trouble now with every republic from here to Turkey clamoring for semiautonomy.”

“Which means autonomy,” chimed in the minister for defense. “This is precisely why, Comrade Premier, I urge a tougher stand here. Comrade Doldich is quite correct that everyone in our fifteen republics is watching us. If we falter, if Moscow fails, appears weak-kneed on this, it will only fuel divisive elements from Estonia to Mongolia. To make matters worse, Beijing is being foolish again about their borders.” The minister meant Damansky Island and the far eastern border along Outer Mongolia, which fronted the Soviet Union’s back door and laid claim to more than a million Soviet troops permanently stationed there. Particular knowledge of this area lay with Kiril Marchenko, a colonel in the service of the STAVKA, the general headquarters of the Soviet Supreme High Command, one of the specialist advisers invited on occasion to Politburo meetings. It was to him that Suzlov now turned for his opinion. The STAVKA suspected that Doldich’s dispatch of the Soviet Far Eastern Fleet had less to do with sending messages to the U.S. Seventh Fleet and more to do with Doldich wanting to have the fleet “at sea” rather than risk having it bottled up, the fate of the German surface fleet in both world wars. But it had been STAVKA’s intelligence reports suggesting the USSR show its muscle to China that had caught the premier’s attention. He favored giving a clear signal to Beijing that, despite the post-Gorbachev rapprochement between the two countries, Moscow would not yield to “unrealistic” demands for more territory on the far eastern border. If China became obstreperous, which it seemed to be doing, as it had done in the sixties and seventies, then the Russian navy was there, ready to pulverize anything that moved against the vital Soviet security zone between the Manchurian border and the USSR’s huge year-round ice-free port of Vladivostok.

Marchenko was about to begin speaking when the defense minister put up his hand, his rows of “Afghanistan service” ribbons catching the early morning light from the wood-paneled beige walls and the portrait of Lenin directly behind him. “If I can return for a moment to the matter of our European allies. If we do not take stronger measures, if we do not come quickly to the aid of our North Korean comrades…” He held up his hand like a traffic cop to stop oncoming objections until he was finished. “Despite their rashness, if we, as the leaders of the socialist world, do not come to their aid, our Warsaw Pact comrades have every reason to doubt our commitment to them in the future — to socialist solidarity all over the world. And if, God forbid, there is ever an attack against our Soviet Motherland and we need them to aid us, and quickly,