standing upright in the turret, goggles high on his forehead, eyes clear and staring straight ahead of him down the tunnel. The commander snapped back a salute.
Park was five inches short of six foot, as muscular and wiry as he was small. He prided himself on achieving power from the lowest of the military ranks. His father, a corporal, had at first enthralled him with his stories of the battles of the Korean War, then had vanished, leaving him in a crumpled city living through a day he never wanted to experience again. Grief and fear became hostile emotions, and he never married because of them. Instead he clawed his way to the top of the military establishment. He joined the elite Bureau of Reconnaissance unit. He trained personal bodyguards for the leaders of Cuba, Cambodia and several African countries. He led the infiltration of commandos into South Korea itself, and later served as a diplomat at the UN and in Vienna as an arms control negotiator. On the long, cold North Korean winter evenings, he had taught himself English, Russian and Chinese, and after the collapse of Soviet communism, he had written papers for the nation's founder, the Great Leader Kim Il-sung, as to how North Korea's juche ideology of self-reliance could be modernized for the twenty-first century.
As he inspected the line of tanks, Park remained in awe of the dedication of his people, precisely because he had come from among them. He had won his present status by distancing himself from the political elite who inherited influence and office without having to prove merit.
While they had become soft on too much satellite television, French brandy, German Mercedes and white-skinned prostitutes, Park had been with the troops, whether far north on the Chinese border or as he was here, now, deep underground, metres from South Korea on the Military Demarcation Line.
Today, the men whom Park despised were being held under house arrest in a compound just north of Pyongyang, and the man who would soon declare himself president allowed himself a rare and faint smile.
Dozens of tanks, fuelled, equipped and armed, were lined up in row after row in a huge, staggered complex of tunnels which ran the length of the ceasefire line with South Korea.
In the layer above them were squadrons of fighter aircraft in hangars hewn into rock. The runways on which they were to take off were also underground. The first the enemy would see of an aircraft was when the wheels left the ground and it was airborne. Huge artillery guns skilfully hidden in undergrowth and rock, designed to deceive analysts of imagery from satellites and unmanned surveillance aircraft, could pulverize the South Korean capital Seoul, only thirty miles away. Commanders of military hovercraft armed with devastating rapid-fire cannon and heavy machine guns waited for the order to attack. The thick rubber air cushions were kept half-inflated to carry human waves of men across the water on to enemy territory. Far below ground, on the third level down, thousands of men lived on rotation, as if on an aircraft carrier, to be infiltrated through tunnels which would bring them up to attack behind enemy lines.
Park walked the full length of the first line of tanks, his hand held in a steady salute. Men returning his salute allowed themselves no expression of emotion. He couldn't tell if he was welcome as their new leader. But he sensed an air of gratitude. There was an atmosphere of war in the tunnels. For more than fifty years, North Korean soldiers had been on a daily footing for war. Finally, the man who would deliver it to them had arrived.
At the end of the tunnel, under tarpaulins, were stacks of artillery and tank shells, filled with a lethal mixture of napalm and explosives. These were to be used on American and South Korean troops right on the border. Park wanted every American dead within an hour of the attack being launched. They might have absorbed casualties in Iraq, but 37,000 dead American
Park was five inches short of six foot, as muscular and wiry as he was small. He prided himself on achieving power from the lowest of the military ranks. His father, a corporal, had at first enthralled him with his stories of the battles of the Korean War, then had vanished, leaving him in a crumpled city living through a day he never wanted to experience again. Grief and fear became hostile emotions, and he never married because of them. Instead he clawed his way to the top of the military establishment. He joined the elite Bureau of Reconnaissance unit. He trained personal bodyguards for the leaders of Cuba, Cambodia and several African countries. He led the infiltration of commandos into South Korea itself, and later served as a diplomat at the UN and in Vienna as an arms control negotiator. On the long, cold North Korean winter evenings, he had taught himself English, Russian and Chinese, and after the collapse of Soviet communism, he had written papers for the nation's founder, the Great Leader Kim Il-sung, as to how North Korea's juche ideology of self-reliance could be modernized for the twenty-first century.
As he inspected the line of tanks, Park remained in awe of the dedication of his people, precisely because he had come from among them. He had won his present status by distancing himself from the political elite who inherited influence and office without having to prove merit.
While they had become soft on too much satellite television, French brandy, German Mercedes and white-skinned prostitutes, Park had been with the troops, whether far north on the Chinese border or as he was here, now, deep underground, metres from South Korea on the Military Demarcation Line.
Today, the men whom Park despised were being held under house arrest in a compound just north of Pyongyang, and the man who would soon declare himself president allowed himself a rare and faint smile.
Dozens of tanks, fuelled, equipped and armed, were lined up in row after row in a huge, staggered complex of tunnels which ran the length of the ceasefire line with South Korea.
In the layer above them were squadrons of fighter aircraft in hangars hewn into rock. The runways on which they were to take off were also underground. The first the enemy would see of an aircraft was when the wheels left the ground and it was airborne. Huge artillery guns skilfully hidden in undergrowth and rock, designed to deceive analysts of imagery from satellites and unmanned surveillance aircraft, could pulverize the South Korean capital Seoul, only thirty miles away. Commanders of military hovercraft armed with devastating rapid-fire cannon and heavy machine guns waited for the order to attack. The thick rubber air cushions were kept half-inflated to carry human waves of men across the water on to enemy territory. Far below ground, on the third level down, thousands of men lived on rotation, as if on an aircraft carrier, to be infiltrated through tunnels which would bring them up to attack behind enemy lines.
Park walked the full length of the first line of tanks, his hand held in a steady salute. Men returning his salute allowed themselves no expression of emotion. He couldn't tell if he was welcome as their new leader. But he sensed an air of gratitude. There was an atmosphere of war in the tunnels. For more than fifty years, North Korean soldiers had been on a daily footing for war. Finally, the man who would deliver it to them had arrived.
At the end of the tunnel, under tarpaulins, were stacks of artillery and tank shells, filled with a lethal mixture of napalm and explosives. These were to be used on American and South Korean troops right on the border. Park wanted every American dead within an hour of the attack being launched. They might have absorbed casualties in Iraq, but 37,000 dead American
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