WW III

Tae heard his daughter’s terrified sobbing and wrote down the names.

Rhee was under no illusion that Tae had given all the names to him, but it was good enough. Once you had one or two names, you could start breaking down the various organizational “cells” in each city, and then, usually more quickly than you anticipated, everything would start to unravel, some of them surrendering even, lured on in part by terror of what would happen if they didn’t and in part by public promises of forgiveness and “reeducation.” Rhee looked down at the list — nine names for three cities. About right. He pulled out his revolver to shoot Tae. Mi-Ja screamed and ran to her father. She was checked by the guard and fell back as if bouncing from a solid wall, the bottom of her dress now covered in mud.

“Tie him to the chair!” ordered Rhee, letting his revolver slip back into the holster. Walking over to the table, he kicked two of the folding legs from under it so that the table was now inclined like a child’s slide. He ordered the guard to hurry up and tie Tae securely to the chair, and when he finished to tie the girl to the table. “If you resist,” he said, flicking a hair away from her face, “I will shoot him as we did your boyfriend. You are all lackeys of the Americans.”

Mi-Ja closed her eyes and began reciting a Christian prayer. This infuriated the major, who slapped her hard. Unbuttoning his fly, Rhee smiled hatefully at her and, behind him, the defeated ROK major lashed to the chair. “You are all whores of the Americans.” She began to fight, trying vainly to get away from the table, her muscles tightening, but was unable to loosen any of the bonds.

“I will kill him,” Rhee warned her, and she stopped — still and staring at the mold-spotted roof of the tent that seemed to be breathing as he mounted her, grunting his pleasure, her father screaming at him, the blood from Tae’s mouth running over his mud-spattered chin.

“Gag him! Tape him!” ordered Rhee. The guard stuffed an oily rag into Tae’s mouth and taped his eyelids back so that he was forced to watch. Mi-Ja kept looking up at the tent breathing over her.

After — staggering back like a drunkard from the table, almost falling against the side of the wind-bulged tent — Rhee, out of breath, told Tae hoarsely, “Now the men can have her.” Tae said nothing but looked over at his daughter with all the love he could muster, Mi-Ja’s wail of despair no louder than the squeak of a small animal in pain.

“I was mistaken,” Major Rhee said, smiling at the guard. “She wasn’t a whore.” The guard’s eyes were bright again with expectation. He asked the major what he should do with her. The major put on his cloth camouflage cap. “Whatever you wish,” he said. “Give her to the men.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

On their way down to the White House situation room, Mayne asked his press secretary, Trainor, whether Senator Leyland had accepted the president’s offer to join the White House war advisory committee.

“No answer as of an hour ago.”

“But you did make the offer public?”

“Yes, sir. This morning’s press conference. Some of the southern papers were a bit smart-ass about it, but The Times took the high road.” He showed Mayne the leader about NATO units falling back in southern Germany. “Quite frankly, Mr. President, I don’t see how he can say no. If he declines, he looks like he doesn’t want to help the country when it needs him. If he accepts, he’s on our side.”

“There aren’t more than two sides in this country, Bill,” said Mayne. “Not in this war. You see the people in the streets? Everywhere I go you can feel the momentum. They don’t want war — they know I didn’t want war. But this isn’t any hazy Gulf of Tonkin a million miles away. This is out-and-out aggression. This is the Communists stepping over the line, and the American people know it.” He paused for a moment. “How many listeners did you say Voice of America has? Seventeen million?”

“Thereabouts, Mr. President. With all due respect, Mr. President, I don’t think any fireside chats are going to sway the Russians.”

“I’m not an idiot,” said Mayne sharply. “Point is, our intelligence reports from different sources can seldom agree on anything, but they’re all saying the same thing on this one. There’s a lot of restlessness out there among the republics. We too often think of it as just one big bloc. I guess it was always a weaker federation of states than we thought, but when Gorbachev got in, started promising them perestroika, glasnost, and all the rest of it, he gave them hope. That’s a pretty potent force, Bill. This country was built on that in our Revolution.”

“Maybe, sir, but hope can go either way. Doesn’t necessarily mean the Ukrainians, the Azerbaijanians, and all the rest of the republics will side with us to overthrow the Russians. Ukrainians hated Stalin’s guts and he slaughtered eighty percent of his officers in the purges, but when the Nazis hit him, what did he fall back on? No call for the revolution to be defended — no, sir. It was all Mother Russia.”

“He was lucky,” countered Mayne. “When the Wermacht drove into the Ukraine, the peasants hailed them as conquering heros.”

“That didn’t last for long, though, Mr. President.”

“No, and you know why? Sent in the SS after the army, and they started their usual horseshit — worse than the Russians — so the Ukrainians went back to Uncle Joe. Missed opportunity, Bill. Could have changed everything — which is why I want Voice of America telling those people the truth — that with all our warts, our side’s the right side and we’ll help them get their independence if they throw in their lot with us.”

“Problem there, Mr. President,” said Trainor as they passed the situation room’s marine guards, “is anyone with a radio or TV set on the wrong channel is going to end up in a salt mine in Siberia.”

“They don’t have salt mines in Siberia, Bill. Old wives’ tale.” Mayne paused, glanced at a White House secretary, and nodded at the chiefs and aides. But his mind was still on the Voice of America possibility and the whole range of propaganda that might help him. What they needed in Europe — hell, what they needed everywhere — was time. If they could get the Hungarians and Poles to do something — not actually fight the Russians, which would cause massive reprisals, but perhaps get them to use go-slow tactics — that would help. Solidarity should know how to arrange “accidental” breakdowns in the war industries.

Problem was, the puppet states had tried it a few times already — Hungary in ‘56, Czechoslovakia in ‘68—and only got their faces kicked in. And with the Soviet-WP pushing NATO back… which brought him to the first question of the meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. NATO’s communications as well as VOA and Radio Free Europe were in a shambles from Austria to Belgium. Why was it, Mayne asked, that the only hard intelligence the Pentagon was getting the last few hours was coming from the French?

“That’s because,” said Army General Gray, “Suzlov, or whoever’s in charge over there, is playing footsie with France. The Russians want France left out of it — that way they can concentrate all their forces—” Gray turned toward the map stand.

“I can read a map, General,” interjected Mayne. “What I’m asking is, haven’t we got underground units in Eastern Europe that should be doing the same thing with Soviet communications?”

There was a pronounced silence.

“Well, don’t all speak at once,” said Mayne, looking about, his gaze shifting from General Gray to Admiral Horton, U.S. Chief of Naval Operations and NATO’s SACLANT. “Well?” pressed Mayne. “Why aren’t the bridges in eastern Germany and up there on the Northern Plain cut? Why haven’t they been taken out?”

“Most of them have been, Mr. President,” said General Gray — after all, he was the army authority—”but the one thing Ruskies are very good at is quick pontooning. They can get four tank regiments across in less than an hour. They open the valves, sinking the pontoons a few inches, and we can’t see them from the air.”

“Can anyone tell me if we’re holding ground anywhere?”

“West Germans and some of our forces are holding the Thurian Alps, sir.”

“Well, why wouldn’t they be? Why in hell would the Russians try climbing over mountains when they’ve already got us on the run? Are we holding our own in the air?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Air Force General Allet. “For now.”

Next the president turned around to the Marine Corps commandant, General Barry. “I hear your boys are