Captain Han Suk knew something was wrong even before he reached the bridge of his ship. The Daedong was a sleek long-range North Korean missile launcher. It was everything he had dreamed of as he went through the rigors of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea’s Military Naval Academy. When he’d been a young seaman coming up through the ranks, the Korean People’s Navy was considered a “brown-water navy,” its ships few and small with no long-range ability, operating mainly in coastal waters and inland rivers. But with the advent of the great nuclear reawakening at the hands of their new “supreme leader,” Kim Jong-un, the nation had turned its energies back to repelling the American threat and had embarked on several ambitious military enterprises. Yet unlike the other missile-launching destroyers in the North Korean navy, the Daedong was different in one spectacular aspect: it was designed to launch weapons of mass destruction.
The financial drain on the country, already suffering from shortages and the rumored starvation in the northern provinces, was enormous, but the benefits were incalculable. The nation’s prestige as an international military power soared. After all, the imperial American menace would soon be cowed by the sight of dozens of ships along their coastlines flying the red star of North Korea.
That was the glorious future as Captain Han Suk saw it. But for now, the Daedong was the first that was tasked to patrol the eastern coastline of the hated United States, and he was honored to be given the task of bringing its fearsome might to the teeth of the enemy.
Still, he had reservations. Reservations he would never raise to any of his superiors, reservations he allowed himself to consider only in the few moments he had to himself, between sleep and duty.
The ship, a beautiful, fast, seaworthy triumph of Korean naval expertise, had been rushed through assembly, its production goals set to meet the date of the great leader’s anniversary celebration. Though completed on time, shortcuts had been taken and materials shortchanged. The time for proper testing had been limited to get the ship into the Atlantic before the winter freeze of the Northern Arctic passage.
The captain had been able to catalogue some of the ship’s shortcomings. Most pressing of which were its communication systems. The Americans had a vast array of satellite and ground station receivers utilizing the latest VLF, microwave, and laser technology to quickly communicate from anywhere in the world. For the Koreans, being out of their own territorial waters was a new experience, and no system yet existed to ensure safe, secure, consistent communication. From the moment the ship had entered the Atlantic, the Americans had been jamming its radar.
The captain was also concerned by the isolation he felt, alone in enemy waters. The Daedong’s sister ship wouldn’t be ready for another six months, so he had been tasked with the maiden voyage on his own. He knew the strict coastal territorial limits of each nation and had been sure to steer clear of any hostile shores, but he still felt vulnerable to an enemy that had occupied Korea’s sovereign territory to the south for over sixty oppressive years.
All this the captain kept to himself. It was his duty to honor the flag of his beloved North Korea and to bring glory to his grateful nation and leader. It was especially important since Supreme Naval Commander Admiral Sun Tak Jeong was himself on board, to report, firsthand, on the glorious news of their triumphant voyage.
As the captain climbed the exterior gangway to the glassed-in bridge, most of the crew was down in the mess hall. As he entered the bridge he could sense something unusual, an increased agitation among the small group manning the ship’s radar and controls. The normal military efficiency of his handpicked deck officers had been replaced by something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. As he stepped onto the bridge, everyone snapped to attention. He let them stand there for an extra second as he took the temperature of the room. What he sensed did not reassure him. Fear.
“Back to your stations, men.”
“Captain.” The XO immediately stepped forward.
“Captain.” The second voice came from Admiral Jeong, who emerged from the shadows at the back of the octagonal structure. The captain hadn’t seen him when he came in, and his presence on the bridge this early in the morning only confirmed his worst misgivings.
“Captain, we received a coded message.” The admiral held out a slip of paper for him to read. The text was brief but chilling:
2 KPA jets ambushed and shot down over sovereign Northern territory by overwhelming American occupying air forces. No provocation. No warning. Missiles launched…
“Why wasn’t I told of this immediately?”
“Because I received it first,” enunciated the admiral. The implications were clear. He scanned his men for a hint of betrayal. No one met his gaze.
The captain wanted to know more. “Is there any more to the message?”
“The Americans jammed our communications,” volunteered the XO. “We haven’t been able to reach Pyongyang since.”
“If it’s still there.” The admiral’s statement sent a shiver down the captain’s spine.
“We must turn around and return home immediately to defend our beloved country and leader,” said the captain.
“Isn’t that what he sent us here to do?” Again the admiral’s words shot a sickening chill through the captain.
“Admiral, no one is more aware than I of the wisdom of your long experience and knowledge. But I believe we can serve our country and our leader best by returning to join the battle at home…to repel the American invader from our beloved shores.”
“I disagree.”
Everyone on the bridge froze.
“The message said, ‘Missiles launched,’” the admiral barked, making sure his meaning wasn’t lost on anyone in the room, especially the captain.
“The message was interrupted, sir; we can’t just leap to conclusions.”
“The interruption wasn’t here, Captain; it was in Pyongyang.”
The captain felt a sting of rage, blindsided, as he turned to his XO. The XO blurted out, “I don’t know, sir; we cannot confirm one way or the other yet.”
“Then get me a confirmation!”
“We don’t need a confirmation, Captain; we need to act.”
“We are acting, sir.”
“Like cowards with our tails between our legs!” The admiral’s words echoed through the bridge.
“Do you have an order, sir?” Han Suk retorted.
“Do you need an order, Captain?” The captain remained silent. The admiral quickly turned to the firing officer. “Then here’s an order. Proceed to commence prelaunch procedures…”
“Admiral?” shouted the captain.
The admiral continued, “I will transmit the nuclear authorization code—”
“Admiral!” The captain’s voice was steadily rising.
The admiral snapped open a hard plastic stick revealing a coded set of numbers, then turned coldly to the captain. “I need your key, sir.”
The captain stepped back.
“That is an order, Captain.”
The captain continued to back away.
The admiral turned to the XO and said, “Give me your firearm.” The XO hesitated.
“Give me your firearm!”
The XO unholstered his weapon and handed it to the admiral. The admiral raised it and aimed it at the captain’s head.
“Are you going to give me the key now, Captain?”
“Admiral, I beg you, we don’t know what’s happened yet…”
The sound of the gun going off in the closed space was much louder than the admiral had expected. The bullet entered the captain’s right cheekbone and exited the back of his skull, spattering the steel panel behind him with blood and brain matter.
The admiral’s hand was shaking as he reached down to retrieve the firing key from around the captain’s neck, where he had slumped dead onto the corrugated metal floor.
No one said a word as the admiral, with the gun still in his trembling hand, passed the bloody key to the XO.
The admiral stared out at the sea for a moment, then smiled with an air of manufactured confidence. “They’ll write stories about us someday.” He turned slowly to the XO and nodded. “The ship is yours now, Captain. Make us proud.”
A phone rang in the office of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It was 7:00 at night, but the chairman was still there. He liked to use the early evening hours, when the rest of the staff was gone, to think over the next day’s agenda. His secretary had gone, so he picked up the phone. “This is—”
The voice on the other end of the phone didn’t let him finish. “General, we have a status red, repeat, a confirmed status red.”
The general’s body shot up in his chair. “What and where!?”
“Two birds incoming, U.S. East Coast,” intoned the voice on the phone.
“Specify!” roared the General. “Where?!”
“New York City.”