soldiers on the Korean peninsula would collapse that nation's will entirely.
The doors of the lift at the end were open for him. It carried him up to a covered area above ground. The drone of a helicopter became louder, and Park watched as it landed on a quadrant 'H' sign. On this clear, cold day, at this precise time, a satellite camera would be overhead, the lens operating at 0.25 metre resolution and picking up his grainy image as he broke cover and walked to the aircraft. Analysts at the National Security Agency would examine radio traffic from the helicopter. Park made sure the pilot mentioned his name in transmissions because he needed the Americans to know who he was and where he was going.
The ageing Soviet MI-24 took him quickly away from the demarcation line. As it gained altitude, Park looked down on the rows of blue huts, where the ceasefire agreement had been signed in 1953. He saw the flash of the sun in the lens of a camera on the south side of the line. Just to the north he looked proudly down on the massive North Korean flag hanging from the highest mast in the world and the neat huts of the farmers dotted around at its base.
The nose of the helicopter dipped. It shuddered in light turbulence as the pilot turned it north and took his bearings from the six-lane highway to Pyongyang. Below, ginseng and cabbage fields nestled between mountains under which his tanks and aircraft waited.
As the helicopter settled into the short flight, Park reflected on his ugly battles with the heir and anointed successor of the Great Leader, Kim Il-sung, which had now finally been won. Slice by slice, his country had been sliding towards Americanization. Soon it would have become another East Germany, wretched, defeated and swallowed up. Park had been determined that whatever the future held for his great nation it would not be that.
Up ahead on the curve of the horizon he saw the outskirts of his beloved Pyongyang. It was truly one of the most beautiful and ordered cities in the world. He asked the pilot to fly lower and follow the Taedong River which glistened pure blue in the sunlight. Once across the Yanggok railway bridge, the monuments of his nation were laid out before him: the skilfully sculptured statues of the Great Leader, Kim Il-sung, who had liberated the nation from the Japanese and founded the juche philosophy of self-reliance that had made North Korea so powerful; Kim Il-sung's magnificent mausoleum, adorned with fresh flowers laid every day by his citizens; the Pyongyang Grand Theatre set just back from the west river bank; the Korean Central History Museum which told of the struggle to retain independence and ward off American aggression; the Children's Palace, where the most perfect little human beings performed with absolute precision; the Tower of Juche, 150 metres high, decorated with 230 granite and gemstone blocks sent by admiring leaders from all over the world, and from the top a symbolically flaming torch stretching another 20 metres into the sky.
The pilot turned the helicopter west, flying over the Victorious Fatherland Liberation Museum, then headed due north again over West Pyongyang railway station and Chongsan Park. The aircraft climbed and settled into the final stage of its journey.
While the United States championed the rights of the individual, North Korea championed the rights of the community. Both were at extreme ends of ideology, yet while North Korea was poor, Park had never seen the shame, humiliation and desperation on the streets and in the villages of his country as he had witnessed in America. When travelling abroad, he had sipped vintage cognac at an embassy dinner in Paris, listened to the duet from the Pearl Fishers at the Royal Opera House in London, inspected the Mercedes factory in Dusseldorf. Each time, he had promised that one day he would return Korea to its greatness.
Empires rose and empires fell, and Park Ho would be remembered as the man who defeated American
The doors of the lift at the end were open for him. It carried him up to a covered area above ground. The drone of a helicopter became louder, and Park watched as it landed on a quadrant 'H' sign. On this clear, cold day, at this precise time, a satellite camera would be overhead, the lens operating at 0.25 metre resolution and picking up his grainy image as he broke cover and walked to the aircraft. Analysts at the National Security Agency would examine radio traffic from the helicopter. Park made sure the pilot mentioned his name in transmissions because he needed the Americans to know who he was and where he was going.
The ageing Soviet MI-24 took him quickly away from the demarcation line. As it gained altitude, Park looked down on the rows of blue huts, where the ceasefire agreement had been signed in 1953. He saw the flash of the sun in the lens of a camera on the south side of the line. Just to the north he looked proudly down on the massive North Korean flag hanging from the highest mast in the world and the neat huts of the farmers dotted around at its base.
The nose of the helicopter dipped. It shuddered in light turbulence as the pilot turned it north and took his bearings from the six-lane highway to Pyongyang. Below, ginseng and cabbage fields nestled between mountains under which his tanks and aircraft waited.
As the helicopter settled into the short flight, Park reflected on his ugly battles with the heir and anointed successor of the Great Leader, Kim Il-sung, which had now finally been won. Slice by slice, his country had been sliding towards Americanization. Soon it would have become another East Germany, wretched, defeated and swallowed up. Park had been determined that whatever the future held for his great nation it would not be that.
Up ahead on the curve of the horizon he saw the outskirts of his beloved Pyongyang. It was truly one of the most beautiful and ordered cities in the world. He asked the pilot to fly lower and follow the Taedong River which glistened pure blue in the sunlight. Once across the Yanggok railway bridge, the monuments of his nation were laid out before him: the skilfully sculptured statues of the Great Leader, Kim Il-sung, who had liberated the nation from the Japanese and founded the juche philosophy of self-reliance that had made North Korea so powerful; Kim Il-sung's magnificent mausoleum, adorned with fresh flowers laid every day by his citizens; the Pyongyang Grand Theatre set just back from the west river bank; the Korean Central History Museum which told of the struggle to retain independence and ward off American aggression; the Children's Palace, where the most perfect little human beings performed with absolute precision; the Tower of Juche, 150 metres high, decorated with 230 granite and gemstone blocks sent by admiring leaders from all over the world, and from the top a symbolically flaming torch stretching another 20 metres into the sky.
The pilot turned the helicopter west, flying over the Victorious Fatherland Liberation Museum, then headed due north again over West Pyongyang railway station and Chongsan Park. The aircraft climbed and settled into the final stage of its journey.
While the United States championed the rights of the individual, North Korea championed the rights of the community. Both were at extreme ends of ideology, yet while North Korea was poor, Park had never seen the shame, humiliation and desperation on the streets and in the villages of his country as he had witnessed in America. When travelling abroad, he had sipped vintage cognac at an embassy dinner in Paris, listened to the duet from the Pearl Fishers at the Royal Opera House in London, inspected the Mercedes factory in Dusseldorf. Each time, he had promised that one day he would return Korea to its greatness.
Empires rose and empires fell, and Park Ho would be remembered as the man who defeated American
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