ready to pounce on the faintest sign of doubt or disagreement. He knew that he had to win these men over. For security reasons he’d kept his staff largely in the dark while formulating Thunderbolt, but now he needed their wholehearted support to make the plan work. He’d have enough trouble selling the plan to the Joint Chiefs and the two presidents without worrying about dissension among his own subordinates.
He closed with a single admonition. “Taejon is the key, gentlemen. That’s where we’re going to make Uncle Kim’s bastards think they’ve hit a solid, brick wall.” He slapped a hand onto the map, all five fingers covering the outlines of the city of Taejon. “Right there. We’re going to hold the NKs by the nose, while we kick ’em in the ass.”
McLaren smiled at the chorus of approving growls that greeted his statement. They were with him, just as he’d hoped they would be. The urge to hit back, to counterpunch, had been growing with every kilometer they’d retreated. Even his South Korean officers seemed willing to gamble with more of their territory in return for the payoff Thunderbolt promised. “All right. Let’s break this up for now. You each know what needs to be done, so let’s get it done. Our next meeting is set for oh five hundred hours, tomorrow, and I want to see some preliminary logistics schedules, extra deception plans, and proposed assembly points by then. Any questions?”
Hansen caught his eye and pointed toward the satellite communications gear banked along one wall of the tent. McLaren nodded and looked back at his staff. “None? Good. Dismissed then, gentlemen. And I’ll see you all dark and early in the morning.”
Several men chuckled, but most simply saluted gravely and dispersed to their desks in the main tent or in the other command trailers.
McLaren turned to Hansen. “What’s up?”
“Washington’s on the horn, sir. The Chairman wants to speak with you, pronto. The NSC wants a full briefing from the Joint Chiefs on things over here at its next evening meeting. And the Chiefs want to include your views.”
For a second McLaren’s temper threatened to flare at the unwanted interruption. Then his irritation faded. Phil Simpson had actually been damn good about keeping the D.C. bureaucrats off his back. And so had the President. Both men had bent over backward to avoid trying to micromanage the war from ten thousand miles away. But it was about time that he let the good admiral and the Commander in Chief in on his plans. High time in fact.
He picked up the phone.
Colonel General Cho Hyun-Jae clambered down out of his camouflaged command trailer and smiled appreciatively up into the white, snowflake-filled sky. His II Corps commander stood waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. “Ah, Chyong. I see you’ve brought me a gift of good weather.”
Lieutenant General Chyong smiled back dutifully. His superior usually left all attempts at humor to him. And with good reason, he judged.
Abruptly Cho’s smile faded. “Walk with me, Chyong. What news from the front?”
“The news is good, sir. My spearheads advanced more than eleven kilometers yesterday, and they report even lighter opposition this morning. The enemy’s resistance on the ground seems to be crumbling.”
Cho stopped walking and eyed his subordinate closely. “Are they retreating in order or in panic?”
“Not in panic,” Chyong was forced to admit. “But they have been abandoning very strong natural defensive positions without putting up any real fight.” He paused and then went on, “Their behavior is hard to characterize. It is not really a fighting withdrawal, and yet they show no signs of collapsing morale.”
Cho shrugged. “Fortunately we are not being called upon to characterize the enemy’s behavior. The Dear Leader is content so long as our armies move forward.” He looked uneasy. “But I admit, I would feel more comfortable if I knew what this Yankee, McLaren” — he mangled the name — “had up his sleeve. There are disturbing intelligence reports of troops being held in reserve.”
“What about our air reconnaissance?”
Cho laughed and allowed a touch of bitterness to creep into his voice. “Our Air Force comrades have refused my latest request. Apparently their last camera-equipped MiG-21R was shot down over Pusan three days ago. Naturally they assure me that our Russian friends will soon deliver more modern reconnaissance aircraft. Supposedly they will then be in a position to consider the Army’s needs.”
He shook his head. “So, Chyong, we are forced to rely on the Research Department and its spies for any information from Pusan. And who knows if any of them have managed to avoid the puppet government’s counterspies?”
The two men walked on for several minutes in silence, circling the carefully hidden headquarters complex under a steady rain of softly falling flakes. Artillery thundered momentarily, somewhere off to the south. At last Cho turned back toward his command trailer. He stopped at the foot of its snow-covered steps and straightened his back. “Is there anything I can get for you, Chyong? Or for your men?”
Chyong studied his commander carefully. “My staff is drawing up a formal series of requests for your consideration, sir.”
“Spare me the paperwork, Chyong. Just give me the gist for now. Let the bureaucrats worry about the details later.”
The lieutenant general bobbed his head in gratitude. He’d always appreciated Cho’s prejudice for action. It matched his own temperament. “Very well, then. Most important of all, I need more supplies delivered more consistently. At the moment my infantry battalions and tank crews are subsisting on captured enemy stores, and my artillery units have less than a day’s worth of ready ammunition available.”
Cho frowned. He hadn’t known that things were as bad as that. Some supply problems had been foreseen during the planning for Red Phoenix. In fact, they’d been judged to be inevitable given the enemy’s anticipated destruction of bridges, roads, and rail lines. But prewar staff assessments had all assumed that the difficulties could be overcome by a rapid, unrelenting advance and by the careful management of resources.
The First Shock Army’s commander almost smiled. He should have known better than to rely on estimates rather than on reality. His logistics staffers must have been shading the truth to conceal their own failures. If Chyong’s figures were accurate, the enemy’s air strikes were slowly strangling the ability of the People’s Army to continue its offensive. And going on the defensive to build up new forward stockpiles of food, ammunition, and spare parts was unthinkable. Losing the initiative would mean losing the war.
Fortunately there was a solution. One that had worked well during the North’s first try to liberate the South. It was cumbersome, yes, and overly manpower-intensive. But it would work.
He looked at Chyong, still waiting motionless as snow coated the stars on his shoulder tabs. “You were quite correct to bring this situation to my attention, comrade. I’ll take immediate steps to get you the supplies you need.”
Seeing the other man’s raised eyebrow, Cho explained. “From now on, supplies will move only by night or on days like this. And the convoys will avoid routes the enemy has already targeted. We’ll build new bridges and use porters through otherwise impassable terrain if need be. Finally, I shall see to it that our air defenses are strengthened.”
Chyong nodded his understanding. Such measures had enabled the Chinese to supply large armies in the South from 1951 to 1953, despite the overwhelming air superiority enjoyed by the imperialists. As a young officer he’d studied the system thoroughly and come away impressed both by its effectiveness and its extravagant use of raw manpower. And that last element raised a question that needed to be asked.
Cho seemed to read his mind. “You want to know where all the men for this will come from? Not from your command, I assure you. The high command has placed two more rifle divisions — the Twelfth and the Thirty-first — under my authority. We’ll use them as human pack animals instead of combat soldiers. Better that they should serve the Liberation with their backs than add to our other burdens, eh?”
Chyong’s eyes showed his amusement and agreement.
Cho didn’t allow himself to feel any trace of doubt about his decision until after his subordinate was gone. He’d planned to use the two new divisions to strengthen his advancing army’s flanks. Was it wise to sacrifice the additional security they could have provided? He stood uncertainly in the doorway to his trailer, torn by indecision. Perhaps he should cancel those plans and simply rely on improving the army’s existing supply systems.
Then reason returned. There would be no extra security involved in placing additional troops on the line if he couldn’t supply them. He needed combat power, not useless mouths. Cho turned his back on the gloomy skies and
