Chapter Thirty-Five.

The grimy Yangtze River-type coal barge flying the red, and gold-starred People's Republic of China flag on her stern-post chugged fitfully up through the six-fathom channel that stretched north-east across Korea Bay from the Chŏ-do Island light to Sŏk-To Island; steering cautiously between the sand and gravel bars that lay in wait just below the surface to ground her. Her course was just outside the twelve-mile territorial limit from the North Korean coast, and that was certainly close enough... even for an ally. She was heading for the Taedong River estuary which eventually wound northwards, following the border between P'yŏngan and Hwanghae Provinces, and flowed through Pyongyang; but she was not an ally.

The seventy-foot barge was, in fact, a covert CIA vessel, crewed by Chinese-American Military personnel. She was engaged in a particularly important, albeit, dangerous mission. Her assignment was to navigate the Taedong River upstream as far as the supposedly abandoned wharves at the small settlement of Sep'o, about half-way between the estuary port of Chinnamp'o, and Pyongyang itself, and off-load her cargo. To the ordinary observer, the sheeted-down holds appeared to contain coal. The forward compartment did contain coal; but the rear compartment concealed the most important cargo. This was a khaki-painted GAZ-M20 "Pobeda" saloon motor car fitted with Soviet Military licence plates. It was concealed on a cunningly-contrived hydraulic platform beneath the seemingly innocent tarpaulin which was stretched over a framework of timbers crafted to follow the contours of a mound of coal. The platform could be raised clear of the sides of the hold to afford transfer of the vehicle to the landing wharf at Sep'o

In the cabin behind the bridge of the barge, a Soviet officer dressed in the uniform of a "Polkovnik"... a full Colonel; sat studying a detailed U.S. Army Map Service Topographic Map of the southern Pyongyang sector. He wore a Soviet Army visor cap with green and red band of the so-called "Administration" officers; which actually was a smoke-screen used by members of the Soviet Military Intelligence Service.

Max Segal traced his proposed route for the hundredth time. All the KPA... Korean People's Army checkpoints were clearly marked on the main Chinnamp'o- Pyongyang highway. The little country road from the landing wharf at Sep'o to the main highway ran through three small settlements. As to whether there would be any Military presence along this road was anyone's guess.

The Seoul Bureau had secured the services of two telecommunications experts from the CIA Field Research Unit at Yokosuka, Japan to covertly re-route one of the old landlines from the Seoul telephone exchange to connect between the Bureau and Kim Il Sung's Intelligence Headquarters located in the Pyongyang No. 2 KPA Officers School. Charlotte herself, had painstakingly fabricated a signal purporting to be from Moscow Central, which had then been transmitted along this clandestine route, informing them of the imminent arrival of a certain Colonel Konstantin Sharansky, who had been appointed by Moscow to oversee the build-up and strategic placement of Sung's KPA troops with a view to Moscow approving Sung's long-held aspiration to initiate his invasion of the South.

So far, the voyage had been uneventful as the barge chugged steadily up through the Korean Bay, avoiding the shifting sandbars, and began to turn towards the Taedong River estuary. As she came around the Am-Gak headland, they spotted a craft approaching down-river. The barge's commander, Chief Petty Officer James Lee Chung, USN... known to everyone as "Jimmylee" swore quietly under his breath and called to Max.

'Colonel; Looks like we've got company. A Gook river patrol cutter. Best to shake a leg and show yourself.'

Max came onto the bridge and watched the approaching craft. He turned to Jimmylee.

'You'd better slow down and act as though we really are a Chinese barge. That's an ex-Soviet gunboat. She can do twenty knots in the river and will be armed with DShK heavy machine guns. They fire twelve-point-seven-millimetre bullets at six-hundred-rounds-a- minute and can pierce half-an-inch of armour plate at a third-of-a-mile. All we need is a trigger-happy gunner and we're dead meat.'

Jimmylee called three of the barge's crew forward, where they began to go through the motions of coiling ropes, checking the tarpaulins and other perfunctory tasks. As the cutter drew closer, Max and Jimmylee could see a North Korean officer studying them intently through a powerful pair of binoculars. More worrying, was the crewman already in position behind the forward dual-heavy machine gun mount.

Max stepped out of the bridge and stood, leaning against one of the bridge chain stanchions in full view of the oncoming vessel. As the cutter drew level, the officer on her bridge who had scrutinised the barge through his binoculars shouted something to the crewman manning the forward guns. The man stepped smartly back, and both men saluted Max. Max nodded, and returned the salute, as the cutter's engine noise increased and she swung away to continue on her course downstream. Max glanced at Jimmylee, who exhaled volubly and raised his eyebrows.

'Damn me, Colonel. That was a close call.'

Max nodded.

'All part of the game, Jimmylee. But as lady friend of mine once said to me: "The bigger the lie, the smaller the suspicion"; and she suckered her way out of Nazi Berlin under the noses of the SS, by using it.'

Jimmylee whistled between his teeth.

'She must be some kinda Dame. Did she make it?

Max nodded.

'She certainly did. She's back in the Seoul Bureau right now; and if I get out of this in one piece, I'm going to marry her.'

Yo Byung-tae; fourth son of Yo Suk-dae... brother of the leader of the little settlement of Kulchon, apprehensively approached the KPA check-point on the Kaesŏng highway at the Chikhyoo Bridge that spanned the Imjin River. So far, he had successfully negotiated three check-points with his ox-cart laden with sacks of wheat and barley... the remainder of last season's crop earmarked for sale in the market at Yonch'on, forty kilometres to the North-east. His uncle, Yo Chin-Hong, the settlement leader of Kulchon, had provided him with a much-thumbed and creased official pass that would allow him to make the journey, hopefully, without too much harassment or suspicion from the check-point guards.

As he approached the bridge, three KPA soldiers appeared and stood across the roadway. Yo Byung-tae swallowed nervously and continued driving the ox-cart towards them. Would they be in a good mood... or would they decide to have a little intimidating fun with this young farmer's boy? The Chungŭp-pyŏngsa... the corporal in charge raised his hand in a halt signal. The other two soldiers slowly raised their weapons. Yo Byung-tae reined in the ox and the corporal stepped forward as the cart creaked to a standstill. The corporal studied the boy and then peered at the load of sacks stacked in the cart. He snapped his fingers at Yo Byung-tae and held out his hand. The boy rummaged in his smock and passed down the dog-eared pass. The corporal studied it.

'This is last year's pass. What is in the sacks?'

Yo Byung-tae gave a helpless shrug.

'The sacks contain the remainder of last season's wheat and barley crop which I am taking to Yonch'on to provide bread for the heroic People's Army soldiers, Honourable Sir. The pass is all that I was given by my settlement leader.'

The corporal studied him. His black eyes were unreadable; but he forced himself not to smile. This boy had spirit, and reminded him of himself at that age.

'Which settlement are you from, boy?'

'Kulchon, Honourable Sir.'

The corporal nodded.

'Yes; the local officials are notoriously lax down there. They should have renewed this pass by now.'

He reached into his uniform pocket and withdrew a pen. Resting the pass against the side of the cart, he scrawled a note across the reverse side of the paper and handed it back to Yo Byung-tae.

'I have extended this pass to cover your journey and your return to your settlement... but once you are home, tell your settlement leader that it is no longer acceptable and must be replaced before any other journeys are taken from your worker's district.'

Yo Byung-tae took the pass and bowed.

'Thank you, Honourable Sir. May the Democratic People's Republic of Korea live and prosper forever!'

Corporal Choi Min-sik masked a smile and waved his men out of the road.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

'Go, boy... deliver your goods, and remain true to the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung.'

Yo Byung-tae bowed again and flicked the reins. The ox ambled forward, drawing the creaking, rumbling cart through the check-point and out onto the Chikhyoo Bridge, whilst Corporal Choi Min-sik stood watching it depart with his hands on his hips and a wide smile on his face.

A hundred miles to the North-west, Jimmylee Chung had navigated the sinuous, and muddy Taedong River successfully and was approaching the wharves on the western bank at Sep'o. It looked as though the intelligence was correct. The wharves gave every indication that they had fallen into disuse and had been finally abandoned some considerable time ago. Appearances could, however, be deceptive. Jimmylee ordered his crew to arms. As he steered the barge alongside the derelict wharf, a lethal array of weapons, including M2 carbines, Winchester pump-action shotguns, and Thompson Submachine Guns were ranged onto the abandoned, decaying riverfront shacks.

US Marine Gunnery Sergeants Billy Chen and John Lee Woo jumped from the bow of the barge onto the wharf. Billy Chen tied her off to a rusty iron bollard whilst John Lee Woo crouched and covered him with his pump-action shotgun. Billy Chen scanned the derelict area. Nothing moved. There was no sound at all apart from the deep, sonorous thump of the barge's diesel engine and the soft sounds of the river. Why had this place been abandoned? Was it another victim of North Korea's much-vaunted "Land Reform" that the propagandists were always blabbing on about?

Billy Chen didn't know, and didn't care. All he knew was that he had effectively taken point, and anything that moved out there would get blasted. They were already unsheeting the dummy load and preparing to raise the GAZ saloon up to the height of the wharf. John Lee Woo joined him; cycling the fore-end of his Winchester pump and chambering a shell. He nodded.

'Ok, Billy; let's go set a perimeter.'

Billy Chen nodded, and they set off at a fast, crouching lope inland from the river.

As Max watched the GAZ being positioned to driven off the platform onto the wharf, Jimmylee came and tapped him on the shoulder. He handed Max a manilla envelope.

Max looked at him.

Jimmy lee grinned.

'Your documents, Colonel. They ordered me to wait until we arrived before I gave them to you, in case the Gooks grab us on the way back. If they do; none of us has the slightest idea what your identity will be, or where you'll be whilst you're out there. All they will know is that they are looking for a Soviet Colonel in the Administration Staff.'

Max nodded, tore open the envelope, and stuffed the documents into his uniform pocket. Handing the empty envelope back to Jimmylee, he shook the Chief Petty Officer's hand and walked to the car. Climbing into the driving seat, he started the engine, slipped the long floor-change gearshift into first, and eased the car off the platform onto the wharf... which creaked ominously under its weight. Quickly, Max drove off the ancient timber decking onto the overgrown track that led inland. He stopped, and removed the identity documents from his pocket. The identity card showed signs of being well-handled. It identified him as "Polkovnik"... Colonel, Konstantin Sharansky of the Soviet Administration troops... the "Sovetskaia Voennaia Administratsia"... and it was a genuine document... his time in Karlshorst confirmed that.

He slipped the pass back into his uniform jacket and picked up the brown leather attaché case embossed on its flap with the Hammer and Sickle. Inside, was a familiar-looking holster containing a familiar-looking pistol... but was it? Max lifted the holster out and drew the weapon. It resembled a Walther PPK, but was bigger, and there was a moulded star on the handgrips. He studied it. Then, it came to him. This was one of the rare new Makarov PM pistols... a nine-millimetre, double-action automatic that had been designed specifically with the wartime experiences of the German Walther in mind. There were few of these in circulation at the moment; but it was rumoured that they would become the standard Military side-arm in the near future. The CIA had been cunning. Possession of one of these weapons would speak volumes about the officer who wore it. It was almost as good as a "Game licence" in the circles that he would soon be moving in. He smiled to himself and placed the pistol and holster back into the attaché case, clunked the GAZ into gear and drove away from the river. Five-hundred-yards along the track, he met Billy Chen. Max stopped and wound down the window.

Jimmylee is preparing to move out. I should get back to the wharf if I were you.'

Billy Chen nodded.

'OK Colonel. I'll just round up Gunnery Sergeant Woo, and we'll high-tail it back.'

His face became serious.

'You just be careful out there among them Gooks, Colonel.'

He stepped back and saluted.

Max returned the salute.

'Just watch out for yourself too, Sergeant.'

He wound the window back up and accelerated away. The road was little more than a cart track; rough and rutted, with grass and weeds growing along its centre, and the surrounding foliage encroaching on both sides. It didn't appear to have been used for years. The little settlement of Sep'o was derelict. The thatched roofs of most of the dwellings had rotted away, leaving only the mud walls which were being slowly eroded by the elements. The next settlement... Teajong was the same. There was nothing; no fields under cultivation, no sign of any inhabitants or livestock. This looked bad. It seemed that the local population had been evacuated. This area was some ninety kilometres from the border with the South. So, was it true that they were clearing the area to the north of the border, as had been suspected? Or was what he was seeing the result of the RoK regular army frequent cross-border raids on northern villages to test the defences of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea? There had been previous, hushed-up instances of RoK military and police units killing civilians... the Jeju Island uprising in 1948-49 had cost the lives of thousands of them.

Max drove on. Eventually, after passing through two more abandoned settlements he reached the main highway. He stopped the GAZ and glanced up and down the road. It was deserted for as far as he could see in both directions. Taking a deep breath, he clunked the car into first gear and turned out onto the smooth asphalt of the Chinnamp'o - Pyongyang highway; heading north, deeper into hostile territory.

He drove north through a silent, empty countryside. It seemed that the entire civilian population had been moved somewhere else. More ominously; the southern carriage way of the Chinnamp'o-Pyongyang highway was scoured with the signs of having had many tank tracks travel over its surface recently... wide tracks... Soviet T34 tank tracks! Not good!

Pulling the peak of his cap down a little further, Max increased speed up the inhospitable highway. The GAZ was running well. The long gear lever was the biggest drawback... ponderous and vague. He gave a wry grin. He had been completely spoiled by his familiarity with American cars and their silky-smooth column gear changes. This GAZ was a tough cookie, built for countless miles of open steppe road where there were no garage workshops and you considered yourself fortunate if you saw the odd crow... let alone, civilisation. He nodded to himself. OK, so it wasn't one of the American V8 Fords, but it was still in a different world to the rattly old GAZ's and ZIS's he had been used to, back home.

He had been driving for an hour when he saw the checkpoint ahead in the distance. So far, apart from birds, the only other sign of life had been a solitary Korean People's Air Force YAK-9 fighter that had swooped down to check out the lone car. It had made a couple of low passes; the Red Star in a red and blue edged white circle painted on its fuselage glaring balefully at him. Then, obviously satisfied, it had climbed away and disappeared into the north.

The checkpoint was constructed as though it was a roadblock... substantial concrete blocks staggered three deep so that any vehicle negotiating them was forced to steer a slow, tortuous passage between them. The set-up reminded Max of the checkpoints thrown across the divided streets of Berlin. A solitary figure wearing the familiar mustard-brown uniform stepped out into the highway and signalled Max to stop. He slowed the GAZ and pulled up alongside the soldier. Winding down his window, Max showed his identification card. The soldier stiffened, and snapped to attention.

'Honourable Comrade Colonel; I must see your "G" Pass.'

Max glanced at him; taking in the man's rank on his plain shoulder boards. A corporal. There would be a senior officer somewhere at this major checkpoint... probably lazing inside the little thatched-roof building over to the left-hand side of the highway.

'My "G" Pass? No one mentioned one of those, or for that matter, issued me with one when I landed at Chinnamp'o this morning.'

The corporal gave Max nervous glance.

'I'm sorry, Comrade Colonel; but you must have a "G" Pass.'

Max feigned an exasperated glare.

'Listen corporal; I haven't travelled for five days from Moscow to be pissed about for want of a piece of paper. Go and fetch your superior officer immediately.'

The corporal nodded and ran for the thatched-roof building.

He returned with a mean-looking Chungwi... a junior Lieutenant. Max sat in the car and waited for the man to say something. The Lieutenant came smartly to attention and saluted. This bastard Russian wore a green and red banded visor cap. The junior Lieutenant knew exactly what that denoted and now needed to be very careful. The Russian Colonel turned and gave him a supercilious look. The junior Lieutenant decided it would be in his best interests to be obliging... unless he wanted to find himself in the vanguard of the first wave of troops that crossed the border when the invasion of the South took place. He smiled obsequiously.

'Comrade Colonel, there has obviously been some oversight. May I ask where you are going?'

Max looked him up and down. After a suitably gut-wrenching pause, he replied.

'No. 2 KPA Officers School, Pyongyang.'

The Lieutenant quickly drew a pink form from his uniform pocket, and leaning on the GAZ's roof annotated the empty spaces with neat characters.

He folded the form and handed it to Max.

'Your transit papers, Comrade Colonel. No one will trouble you on the remainder of your journey.'

He stepped back, and saluted smartly as Max negotiated the road block and accelerated away. The Lieutenant waited until the GAZ was a speck in the distance, then hurried to the little building, picked up the handset, and hurriedly wound the handle of the field telephone. A thin crackly voice answered, and the Lieutenant sent the message ahead that a stiff-assed Russian Military Intelligence Colonel was heading their way, and it might be a good idea to let him pass unhindered.

There were three more checkpoints on the highway to Pyongyang. At each one; as soon as the sound of the GAZ approaching was heard, the guards had turned out and stood to attention as Max drove past. Word had travelled fast. No one dared to impede the progress of "The bastard Russian with the green and red banded visor cap." As he approached Pyongyang the Military traffic increased, until, at the little settlement of Ch'oech, about two kilometres from the junction with the Hanchŏn highway, he was picked up by a KPA Police motorcyclist, who took up position fifty-metres ahead of the GAZ with the intention of escorting him down into Pyongyang.

Max gave a wry grin as he, and his escort turned out to the right at the junction onto the Hanchŏn highway and began the last leg of the journey down into Pyongyang to meet whatever awaited him in the very heart of this fully-fledged Communist dictatorship where Human rights seemed to be of as little consequence as sparrow's tears.