PALBONG
NORTH KOREA
Jung-hoon steered the big rig along a dirt road. The vehicle was big and eerie-looking. A camouflaged truck with a missile on top. It was a missile vehicle, designed to be mobile and thus untrackable to enemy satellite systems. This one was a Russian-made MZKT 79221, with sixteen massive, rugged wheels that could absorb explosive blasts and keep moving.
On top was an ICBM, an intercontinental ballistic missile, tipped with a nuclear warhead.
Jung-hoon steered the rig down the abandoned country road. After several minutes he stopped. He was next to a field. He steered into the field, then backed up, then went back into the field and backed up again, turning the MZKT around in case he received the orders to move again.
This was his job. Jung-hoon drove all day, moving the missile vehicle around a quadrant of territory in the middle of nowhere. He drove for twelve hours and then handed the keys to Sung-ho, who performed the same ritual day in and day out: keeping the launchers undetectable.
He did a circuit check on the communications device that linked him into the men above him at KPA who made the decisions, then sat back. He turned off the lights and crossed his arms, waiting for his next orders. He thought about his wife. He would see her in only three hours. He envisioned her as he stared out at the blackness.
When the communications device started beeping, he looked down. There were six digits running in red across the small screen. He knew what it meant.
Jung-hoon unbuckled as an odd expression crossed his face. He opened the door and began the process of getting the missile ready to fire.