Battle Born

message, and it acknowledged properly, but again with last hour’s date-time group and authentication code. I then sent an operational security warning message to the—”

“A what?” Colonel Cho shouted. “You sent a what?” Captain Kong handed the colonel a sheet of paper, which Cho snatched out of his hand in total disbelief. “You idiot!“Cho shouted. “An operational security warning message is only sent by the division commander to notify the CCF that his designated missile batteries cannot respond to attack orders!”

“I am aware of that, sir,” Kong explained. “I thought such a serious violation of secure communications procedures warranted such a message. But when I received the reply… well, sir, this is what I received.”

Colonel Cho looked at the acknowledgment message in disbelief. The Command and Coordination Facility acknowledged Kong’s message and ordered him to keep all of his missile forces at the ready but take no further action. The CCF did not countermand or ask for clarification of the warning message, did not call Kong or Cho directly, did not send a security team out to the corps headquarters to ask what was happening or to arrest Cho and Kong for scaring the living hell out of the commanders in the CCF. Instead, they ordered him to stand by!

“What in blazes is this?” Cho muttered. He picked up the hot line telephone that rang directly to the CCF senior controller. No answer. “You have had no other contact with the CCF, Captain?”

“None, sir,” Kong replied. “Only the invalid computer-generated acknowledgment messages.”

Cho was confused. The only operational contact he was permitted was through the Control and Coordination Facility. He spoke quite often with Korean People’s Army headquarters in Pyongyang, but only for administrative and doctrinal purposes. Well, this was an emergency. It was better to wake up a few general officers than sit on his hands and look like an idiot for doing nothing.

“All I ever wanted,” Cho muttered angrily to no one, and especially not to Kong, “is to preserve my family’s name and accept an honorable retirement and pension. Is that too much to ask for a loyal servant of the fatherland? I realize I might not get much of a pension, the state’s economy being what it is, but I expect and deserve an honorable retirement. Yet it seems everyone is conspiring against me and my simple wishes.” He glared at Kong and added, “Especially the snot-nosed young captains, the ones who think they will conquer the world.”

Muttering a curse, he picked up the telephone and dialed. “Captain, this is Colonel Cho, Fourth Artillery Division commander. I want to speak with General Li.” Captain Kong swallowed hard. General Li was the commander of First Corps, the People’s Army’s largest and most powerful military headquarters, and Colonel Cho’s superior officer. Colonel Cho looked at the phone in exasperation, then said, “Well, then I will speak to his deputy, Colonel Ban… I know all calls outside normal duty hours are to be routed through the CCF at Sunan, Captain, but I have lost normal voice communication with the CCF. Perhaps you should try to contact the CCF yourself… I don’t mean a routine ops-normal connectivity check, but a simple phone call…”

The colonel went back and forth with the headquarters duty officer for a few more minutes, then was placed on hold. Captain Kong dared not ask the colonel if he wanted tea, if he wanted him to hold the line, anything — he just waited, realizing that headquarters seemed equally as confused as he did. Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes on hold, Colonel Cho shouted, “At last! What is the meaning of keeping me on hold so long, Captain?… What? My apologies, General… Yes, sir… Yes, sir… Right away, sir.” Colonel Cho lowered the phone back on its cradle, a shocked expression on his face.

“Was that General Li, sir?” Kong asked timidly. Cho did not answer, only stared blankly across the room. It was then that Kong realized something was very wrong, something strange was happening. “Sir, what are your orders from headquarters?”

“My orders were… my orders were to stand by,” Colonel Cho said woodenly. He frowned, deep in thought and confused. “General Li apparently was unable to reach the CCF either.”

“What does this mean, sir?” Kong asked. “Is it not dangerous to lose direct contact with the CCF for so long? We have no way of receiving instructions. Our forces are vulnerable to—”

“I am well aware of the impact on our forces, Captain,” Cho snapped. “My orders are to stand by. Stand by…” He thought for a moment longer; then: “We have no choice but to do as ordered.”

“Sir, the last valid communications check with the CCF was ninety-eight minutes ago,” Kong emphasized. “Two other computerized messages received from the CCF since then, but neither valid. Three voice checks, two over direct secure lines — none received.” Kong noticed his commander’s hesitation. “Sir, this is very serious,” he protested. “We must assume that all our communications to the CCF are compromised. I say we must also assume that the CCF itself may be destroyed or overtaken by enemy forces.”

“What?” Cho asked incredulously. “How can you make such an assumption? Are you mad?”

“That is the only safe assumption you can make,” Kong said. “Either that, or this is an exercise, a test. Either way, sir, you must respond as if we are under attack. You must order the division to disperse and prepare to attack immediately.”

“You are insane, Kong!” Cho shouted. “I am going to do no such thing!”

“Then we will fail this test — and fail our fatherland,” Kong said. “Sir, you must—”

“Be silent, Captain,” Cho scolded his duty officer. But the thought that this could be a secret no-notice test of his readiness — and possibly his loyalty — resonated. That could be the only reasonable explanation. And if it was, his most proactive response would be an alert dispersal. He had the authority to move his forces, and he had the authority to launch all but a nuclear attack if he felt his forces were threatened. He had the authority. If ever he should decide to use it, it would be now.

“All I really want is my retirement and for my good name to last at least one generation,” the colonel muttered again, shaking his head. But there was no choice. “Very well, Captain. Implement a division-wide alert. Brigade commanders and battle staff members will report to the battle staff command center in fifteen minutes. All regiments are to deploy to L-1 positions and await further instructions. On my authority.”

“Yes, sir!” Kong replied enthusiastically. “Sergeant!” he yelled to his communications chief. The noncommissioned officer ran in from the comm center, startled by the tone of the captain’s voice. “Issue a division-wide alert immediately, recall the battle staff and brigade commanders, and order all regiments to deploy immediately to… to L-1 positions.” The sergeant blanched, then nodded and turned back to the comm center. It was the order he always knew he would relay one day — and the order he had always dreaded.

An L-1 deployment was an attack-in-place directive. All of the division’s 240 FROG, Scud, and Nodong missiles were mobile to some extent. The FROG series and Scud missiles were road-mobile rockets, mounted on either wheeled or tracked vehicles; the Nodong-1 was a rail-mobile missile, resembling a standard railroad boxcar when in the road-march configuration. The missiles were designed to be deployed with Army units and dispersed throughout the countryside. Normally, they would be transferred from Fourth Division to whatever Army unit needed them, and that commander would deploy them and give the order to launch. In fact, one-third of Fourth Division’s weapons were already tasked to other infantry or mechanized brigades, mostly arrayed within fifty miles of the Demilitarized Zone, ready to move south and attack.

But in case of a sneak attack, Colonel Cho had plans in place for the missiles still at Sunan to quickly move to presurveyed launch points throughout the countryside, where in effect he became a field commander in charge of a massive array of firepower. The L-1 directive ordered all missile batteries to quickly march to preselected launch pads, anywhere from two to fifty miles away, set up, and prepare to launch. The wheeled FROG-7 rockets and Scud-B missiles could travel at highway speeds over most terrain, so they were dispersed farther away. The older FROG-5s on their tracks took much longer, so they were dispersed just a few miles, mostly inside the base. The nuclear Nodong ballistic missiles could take several hours to prepare to move, but they could be dispersed anywhere in the country. Mixing in with the regular commercial rail traffic would create a type of “shell game” to confuse the enemy and decrease the chance they could be destroyed by a sneak attack. The L-1 directive was a last-ditch effort that gave Cho’s valuable forces a chance to survive and perhaps even strike back at the enemy.

Captain Kong took his seat at the duty officer’s desk and retrieved the checklist book for the L-1 directive and for a division-level battle staff meeting. He worked swiftly and efficiently, a product of years of training and countless exercises, but his heart was jackhammering in his chest. He knew this was no exercise. Something or someone had cut off communications with the outside world, and his commander had just ordered his forces to get ready to attack.