Thunder in the Morning Calm (39 page)

Four of his career kills had been at the Tumen River, on the country’s northeastern border with China and Russia. Six of his kills had been at this very river, the Amnok.

Now word had leaked of the sinking of the North Korean Navy’s frigate
Najin
. US Navy SEALs were said to be behind it. America was retaliating, it seemed, for the Navy’s heroic attack on the carrier
Harry S. Truman.

The Border Patrol had been placed on high alert. First Sergeant Yoo Young-chul had been at his barracks, asleep, when he had been ordered to border patrol duty along Amnok River Road. And
he
, the master sharpshooter in all the Army, was the only member of his patrol to be assigned a night-vision scope.

His driver, Staff Sergeant Oh Se-hoon, who had never before been in combat, was eager to learn at the feet of the master. They drove to the southwest, toward the town of Wiwon. To their right, paralleling the road, was the river, about a quarter mile from their position. It flowed southwest to the city of Sinuiju and from there into Korea Bay and the Yellow Sea.

Most illegal crossings, however, were not in the more populated
areas around Sinuiju, but rather in this region, a desolate area, where there were few people.

Sergeant Yoo, despite being the Army’s most decorated border guard, never got complacent or rested on his magnificent laurels. A fire for killing still burned within him. Though he had killed ten, he thirsted to kill more, to kill a thousand. With every head that he shot with his rifle, the killing grew more exhilarating.

Like a deer hunter closing in on his prey, his instinct told him every time that he was about to kill. He knew it, somehow, by the pounding of his heart and the salivation of his mouth. Before the kill, his breathing always quickened. Indeed his instincts made him a great killer. For marksmanship was only half of the equation. The rest was instinct. Yoo became one with the kill.

“Stay alert, Staff Sergeant Oh!” He caressed his Soviet-made Dragunov 7.62×54mm sniper rifle. “Tonight we are going to kill someone.”

He looked out of the slow-moving jeep toward the river and the Chinese border. “I feel it. And I am never wrong.”

Border-crossing point
Amnok River Road

G
unner stepped out onto the snow-covered and frozen vegetation beside the road. He turned back to the van and held his hand out for Keith. On the other side, Jung-Hoon steadied Frank by the arm.

The old men moved slowly and cautiously, occasionally wincing when they took a step. But they kept moving and seemed remarkably fit for a couple of guys who had been cooped up in a Communist prison camp for sixty years. Whoever they were, whatever town they were from, they were true survivors.

“Let’s get across the road,” Jackrabbit said, his gun slung over his shoulder. “The river’s about a hundred yards in that direction. I’ll cover the rear if there’s any trouble.”

“This way,” Jung-Hoon said as he stepped onto the snow-covered road. Gunner steadied Keith’s back as they followed Jung-Hoon. Pak walked beside Frank. They took slow, steady steps, and in a few seconds, they had crossed the road without slipping.

Gunner glanced back and saw Jackrabbit standing guard in the middle of the road, rifle in hand, ready to shoot anyone who tried to interfere with their escape.

A minute later, Jackrabbit fell in line behind them as they shuffled across a flat field, a snowy no-man’s land between the road and the river.

When they reached the river’s edge, they stood staring at the magnificent sheet of white snow and ice stretching out before them. And beyond, on the other side, were trees.

China!

How ironic that the sight of the world’s most populated Communist dictatorship, the People’s Republic of China, only a hundred yards away across a sheet of ice, could evoke such a sense of relief.

China, the lesser of two evils, represented a better chance for escape to freedom than the monstrous land now to their backs. Despite its evils, China had become a land with a vibrant underground network of Christians that offered hope to those trying to escape the dark world of North Korea.

“Careful where you step,” Jung-Hoon said, still leading the way, and now stepping onto the ice on the river. “Not too bad,” he said. He turned and waited for the others.

Gunner stepped onto the frozen river and turned back to help Keith. The thick layer of new-fallen snow gave his feet more traction than he expected. It was slippery, but not treacherous like an ice rink. He took a few more steps. Behind him, the entire group was stepping out onto the river.

He focused his eyes on the trees on the other side.

They moved, inch by inch, step by step, knowing that beyond that treeline in China they would be greeted by friends of Pastor Lee.

And from there — freedom!

DPRK patrol jeep
Amnok River Road

W
hat is that up ahead?” the driver asked.
First Sergeant Yoo rubbed his eyes for a better look. The jeep’s
headlights illuminated a white vehicle parked off the opposite side of the road.

“Looks like a work van. Pull over,” Yoo ordered.

The jeep stopped and First Sergeant Yoo turned on his flashlight and stepped out. “Cover me,” he said to his driver.

“Yes, sir.” Oh got out of the driver’s side and aimed his weapon at the parked van.

Yoo approached the driver’s side. He shone the powerful flashlight through the window.

Nothing.

He walked around the back and opened the back doors.

Wire. Plastic explosives. Plastic military food packets.

His eyes widened. This
was
the work of Navy SEALs!

Amnok/Yalu River
midway across the Chinese – North Korean border

W
e’ve got a problem,” Jackrabbit said. He watched as the vehicle with the lights on stopped in front of the abandoned van and two figures emerged.

“Better pick up the pace,” Gunner said, stepping out a little more quickly.

“Aah!”

“Oh!”

Gunner turned around. Keith, Frank, and Pak had all slipped and fallen, and all three were lying facedown in the snow. “Okay, don’t panic,” Jackrabbit said. “Help them get up, guys.”

Gunner reached down for Pak’s hand, while Jackrabbit and Jung-Hoon each helped Keith and Frank get back to their feet. “Okay, listen,” Jackrabbit said. “We may not be able to walk much faster, but we’ve got to spread out as far as possible. If there’s a sniper over there, we can’t be bunched together. Otherwise it’s like shooting ducks in a pond.”

“Good point,” Gunner said. “Everybody spread out in a wide line. We’ve only got a few more yards to go. Keep moving for those trees over there. Spread out! Spread out! Move! Move!”

DPRK patrol jeep
Amnok River Road

F
irst Sergeant Yoo rushed back to the jeep, his heart pounding with excitement. “Pass me my rifle!”

“Yes, sir!” Oh handed it to him.

Yoo looked down.
Tracks in the snow!
Yoo slung the rifle over his shoulder and headed across the road.

“Where are you going?” Oh called.

“To the river,” Yoo said. “Cover me from here.” How had he missed them earlier? The tracks showed about six men had headed from the van toward the river. A perfect number for an elite SEAL commando team!

His adrenaline was in high gear as he followed the tracks. He had to think. If he followed them all the way down to the river, they could cross into China before he could get off a shot. He needed to fire now!

He stopped, took his rifle off his shoulder, pointed it in the direction of the tracks, and looked through his night scope.

There!

He counted … one, two, three, four, five … six in all, strung out like ducks in a shooting gallery! They were traipsing across the river toward the Chinese side.

He brought his scope over to the far left, lining his crosshairs on the back of the head of the Navy SEAL at the left end of the line.

He squeezed the trigger.

The crack of rifle fire reverberated off the frozen riverbed. The SEAL on the left of the line dropped facedown into a limp, lifeless form. He had drawn blood! Kill number eleven!

His body rushed with excitement as the others dived to the ice, going facedown onto the frozen river, trying to make themselves harder targets. Now they crawled like a bunch of squealing pigs across the ice. This should make easy target practice!

Corbin Hall
Suffolk, Virginia

W
hat now, Lord?” Margaret sat alone in her bedroom. It was early afternoon at Corbin Hall. She was alone. The grandkids had gone home with Gorman and Bri. Margaret had insisted. Told Gorman she would be fine. She just needed some time.

Now, the same feeling that had wrenched at her stomach the day Gunner’s plane went down washed over her body again. Could it be Gorman? Would she lose him too?

“Lord, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be praying for right now, but please help whoever needs your help. If it’s Gorman or whoever. Help them. But please don’t take any more from me.”

Amnok/Yalu River
North Korean side

F
irst Sergeant Yoo knew that night scopes were rare in the North Korean military. They were issued on a priority basis only to the most elite snipers in the Army. At the moment, he was grateful for the perk that his marksmanship had earned him. Through the greenish glow of his night scope, he watched as the almighty team of US Navy SEALs crawled on their bellies like a pack of petrified swine. He smiled. This was going to be the most glorious moment of his illustrious career.

He brought the crosshairs onto the next pig Navy SEAL crawling across the ice …

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Snow and ice sprayed his face and eyes. The SEALs were firing back! He should have known! The SEALs had a reputation as deadly marksmen.

He rolled left and fired in the general direction of the SEALs again, but did not have time to aim with the crosshairs.

More shots flew from the river.

Yoo again rolled hard to his left, trying to avoid the bullets whizzing above his head.

He needed to take cover, to reload. He had to stay low, keep moving. To make himself as small a target as possible, he kept rolling over the icy snowbank toward the jeep.

Two shots rang out. Snow sprayed in his face to his left and to his right. Yoo unleashed a string of expletives.

“Staff Sergeant Oh!” he yelled.

“Yes, sir!”

“I need some cover! Drive the jeep down here. Stay low! Keep the driver’s side away from the river!”

“Yes, sir!”

S
tay down! Keep moving,” Jackrabbit said. “Kiss the ice if you have to, but keep your heads down. When you get to the shore, get behind a tree and stay there! I’ll keep ‘em pinned down for the time being.”

Jackrabbit sprawled belly first on the river, his head and his rifle facing North Korea. Over to his right, at two o’clock, the old man’s body lay still on the ice, a sniper’s bullet having struck the back of his head.

Jackrabbit brought his scope to his eye and searched the other side of the river.

Lights!

The jeep started moving. Blinding high beams shone down toward the river. They were driving down toward the riverbank!

Jackrabbit pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. Two sharp rifle cracks echoed through the air. The lights on the jeep exploded, then went dark.

The jeep turned. Jackrabbit pumped two more shots into its tires, then fired a third shot through the side window for good measure. The sound of shattering glass carried all the way across the river.

T
he SEAL sniper is good, First Sergeant Yoo concluded. The shots into the tires and the window from across the river — into a moving target in the dark — this was impressive marksmanship.

Yoo also concluded that the SEAL had not yet spotted his position, otherwise he would already be dead.

What a thrill this was … to duel an American Navy SEAL sharp-shooting ace in a contest to the death across the Amnok River! This victory could define him forever as an immortal Legend of the North. He just had to survive long enough to shoot back, and that meant taking cover.

Quick.

Staying low, he got up, sprinted through the snow, slipped, then dove behind the jeep.

Crouching down beside the driver’s door, he called out for his driver. “Staff Sergeant Oh!” Again. “Staff Sergeant!”

No response.

Yoo reached up and put his hand on the door latch. “Staff Sergeant!” Again no response. He opened the door.

The body dropped from behind the steering wheel, head first, like a marionette whose arm strings had been snipped but whose feet remained tied from above.

A lifeless, upside-down Staff Sergeant Oh dangled from the jeep, arms and fingers reaching into the snow, wide-open eyes and mouth hanging head down between the running board and the ground. Blood seeped from the fresh bullet hole smack through the middle of his forehead.

The American was even better than he thought. And he had thrown down the gauntlet.

Fair enough. May the best man win! He would peep around the back side of the jeep and wait for a better look.

J
ackrabbit scrambled up onto the bank and took cover behind one of the large fir trees.

Safety at last!

If that North Korean idiot tried crossing that river —
Hasta la vista
, baby!

He looked over and saw his four fellow escapees all huddled behind big trees, Gunner and Jung-Hoon with their rifles aimed across the
river. Pak had buried her face in her hands and was curled up behind a tree.

“Okay,” Jackrabbit said. “Let’s get it together! These woods are supposed to clear about one hundred yards to the northwest. Hopefully our ride will be waiting for us. We’ll see how good Pastor Lee really is. Let’s move through this wood cover. Jung-Hoon, you lead. I’ll bring up the rear.”