From the Fatherland, with Love, page 20
The laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started, and Ishihara spoke. “A nation state is something that always protects the mojority by sacrificing the few,” he said. “If the safety of citizens is really their first and foremost concern, then they can’t put up a fight against these North Koreans. If they are going to fight them, then putting the citizens’ safety first is just impossibullshit. The North Koreans know this as well as the smell of their own poop, and they’re one plop ahead. Roaches never dream they’re going to die in a puff of KO Pest Spray. The real question is, what’s important to protect? That’s the question, and the guerrillas know this down to the marrow of their bones, down to the last pimple on their throbbing knobs, but the nincompoop standing out in the lonely neon rain at Tokyo Station doesn’t have a foreskin-lint hint of a clue. If you want to destroy the invaders, you have to sacrifice some of the little people. This battle will prove that everyone runs the clitorisk of becoming the minority sometimes. And that, kiddies, is taboo knowledge that nobody dares let escape their lips, not even in a stifled yawn or a squelched belch. I and I alone get it. Why? Because, because, because I and I have always lived as a minority of one who might be eliminated at any given moment, while the nincompoop’s been claiming his place in the mojority since he was in his mummy’s tummy and wouldn’t understand what I and I’m talking about if he was reborn five trillion times.”
The convoy of commandeered vehicles sped past Hakozaki Pier. All eight on-ramps around the city had been barricaded, so there was no other traffic on the expressway. It was reported that the convoy was heading west. All lights had been turned off in the city and prefectural government offices in Tenjin, and large numbers of shield-bearing riot police surrounded the buildings. According to a reporter on TV, the governor and the mayor were in an undisclosed, secure location, where they were holding meetings to formulate a plan. Everyone had apparently fled the government district shortly after the guerrillas took control of Fukuoka Dome. “But neither the prefecture nor the city has advised the public to evacuate,” the reporter said as the screen showed the darkened streets. Yamada didn’t think it likely that the North Koreans would attack or occupy any government buildings. No one but the soldiers themselves knew what they were planning, but surely they didn’t intend to take over the whole city. There were thirty-one or thirty-two transport planes. If the planes held an average of fifteen or sixteen soldiers, that made a total of about five hundred. There was no way five hundred troops could control a city of a million people.
This is surreal, Yamada thought as he watched the screen. Soldiers from North Korea, the country Japan had considered its greatest threat for over a decade, commandeering a slew of cars, buses, and trucks owned by Japanese citizens and then racing unchallenged down an empty highway. Riot police dismantling a barricade and waving them through as if they were visiting VIPs. Thirty thousand people held hostage in Fukuoka Dome. And it had all happened in what seemed like the blink of an eye—less than three hours had passed since a rocket-propelled grenade destroyed the scoreboard. Wasn’t there something the government could do? Couldn’t some public official—the Prime Minister, say, or the governor—go to the Dome and listen to the guerrillas’ demands? Why had nothing like that been done before letting these foreign troops take to the empty highway? Put a couple of white motorcycles in front of that convoy, and they might have been state guests.
The convoy exited at the Momochi ramp, to approach the Dome. There were eleven taxis, eight semis, seven smaller trucks, six buses, and twelve passenger cars. The crowd outside the stadium had disappeared soon after the TV showed footage of taxi and bus drivers being knocked on the head with gun butts, and most of the guests and workers at the hotel had gone. The lights were still on at the Kyushu Medical Center, however. On the roof and in front of the entrance hung large Red Cross flags. “There are hundreds of patients who can’t be moved, and others in the process of being operated on,” the reporter said in a grim voice. “Words fail me when I think of the poor families of these patients.” Yamada thought the man talked a lot for someone words were failing. The convoy pulled up in front of the main entrance to Fukuoka Dome. About thirty soldiers emerged at a low crouch with weapons drawn and ran to establish two widely spaced columns between the vehicles and the main entrance to the stadium. Once in position, the men dropped to one knee, facing outward to protect the corridor they’d created. Most of the remaining soldiers ran down this corridor toward the Dome, while a smaller contingent directed vehicles to the vacant expanse of land between the hotel and the Kyushu Medical Center and began unloading equipment there.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience.” The voice came over the PA system inside the Dome, breaking the long silence. “Forces friendly to our cause have just arrived from the DPRK. Like us, these troops are dedicated to bringing down the government of Kim Jong Il. Together with you we want to turn Fukuoka into a haven of peace. We have brought you some simple tokens of our friendship, and we ask that you accept them in the spirit in which they are offered.” Soldiers were now fanning out through the aisles, taking from cloth shoulder bags cheap-looking pink nylon scarves and small sprigs of artificial cherry blossoms and handing them out to people in the seats around them. There could scarcely have been enough of these gifts for all thirty thousand, but the spectators who received them did so with smiles, and some even shook hands with the soldiers. None of the soldiers were smiling, however.
More troops continued to pour in, and many of them began to trade clothing with spectators. Some took off their camo jackets and swapped them for windbreakers or sport jackets or sweaters. The people who were approached weren’t really in a position to refuse. Some of them put their new army jackets on, and others held them tucked under their arms. The voice came over the PA system again: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry to have kept you waiting. Please do not run, but make your way slowly and in an orderly fashion to the exits.” Everyone stood up and headed for the aisles and corridors. At first the exodus was calm and orderly, but eventually a few people started running, and this led to a general stampede for the exits that was only exacerbated by the fact that it was hard to distinguish between spectators and soldiers.
On the open land outside the Dome, troops were driving stakes into the ground and setting up big tents and canopies. “Take a close look.” Ishihara pointed at the soldiers on the TV screen. “Nobody in dear old Nippon is saying this yet, which is weird, but I and I am declaring it right here and now. That,” he said, “is the enemy.”
PHASE TWO
1
BLOCKADE
April 3, 2011
THE FLAG of the Koryo Expeditionary Force was hoisted outside the banquet hall they’d designated their provisional headquarters. The name had apparently been chosen by Professor Pak Yong Su. The Republic, Professor Pak explained, had retained the ancient name Chosun for the country, but now they were to use another. “Koryo” could be understood as “high mountains” and “shining water.” The name of the Koryo Dynasty was a contraction of Koguryo, the northern kingdom that had preceded it by a millennium. The design of the flag, a red tower against a white background, with “Koryo” written in Hangul, was meant to represent in simplified form the famous five-storied Koguryo pagoda.
Though he hadn’t slept for more than thirty hours, First Lieutenant Pak Myeong of the Operations Section was brimming with energy. The four sections of the 907th Battalion had been merged into one effective unit, and now that this first important assignment had been accomplished, he was in high spirits, confident that he had been a credit to the Special Operations Forces of the Republic. The four hundred and eighty-four combat troops, plus the nine members of the advance team, had come through so far without a single death, injury, or defection. They had proceeded with preparations for setting up a camp and completed the work in less than three days. The encampment was one that needed no trenches, minefields, or barbed wire; the only requirements were tents, field rations, sentries, and checkpoints on the roads around the hotel, the Dome, the shopping mall, and the hospital. For the young shock troops of the 907th Battalion, it had been child’s play.
Twenty or so key officers, including Pak, had stayed up all night planning the governance of Fukuoka and the delegation of authority. Colonel Han Seung Jin had been officially installed as commander of the Koryo Expeditionary Force, and this hall, on the third floor of the Sea Hawk Hotel just across from Fukuoka Dome, had become their HQ. Pak Myeong had been put in charge of day-to-day business but was subordinate to Staff Major Ri Hui Cheol, commander of the First Company of the 907th Battalion. Born and bred in Kusong, Phyongan Province, Ri was a specialist in international law.
Second Lieutenant Ri Gwi Hui had secured the hotel’s electronic generator and communication circuits, allowing them to set up an intelligence section in the command center. Together with Second Lieutenant Pak Chun O of the Second Company and Warrant Officer Kim Sun I of the Third Company, she had created a multipurpose database of personal information drawn from resident codes in Fukuoka and outlying areas. Her most important task was to uncover politically hostile and criminal elements. With the collaboration of officials at Fukuoka City Hall and those in charge of the Kyushu public Internet databank, as managed by NTT Data and Fujitsu, complete access had already been gained to the general administrative network and the Basic Resident-Register Network. Major Ri Hui Cheol had made it known that if the necessary information was not made available, Japanese nationals held currently in confinement would be executed. All of the codes had been provided. Surprisingly, they had also readily handed over all personal data held by banks and various loan-shark corporations regarding the credit history of individuals and by health-care institutions regarding medical history. “Japanese nationals held currently in confinement” referred to the drivers, remaining hotel guests, and employees now being kept hostage.
At six o’clock on the morning of April 3, the governor of Fukuoka Prefecture, the mayor of Fukuoka City, and the chief of the prefectural police were sent electronic summonses in the name of the KEF’s commanding officer to appear at KEF headquarters. They were to arrive at nine o’clock unaccompanied, without even an interpreter. They were told that should they be late or otherwise fail to comply with instructions, those persons detained at the Sea Hawk Hotel would be subject to immediate execution, for which the dignitaries themselves would of course bear responsibility. At the time the 907th Battalion troops had linked up with the nine members of the advance party, they had taken hostage any hotel guests and employees who hadn’t escaped in time, along with two hotel physicians and six security guards. These “detained” individuals included: nine tourists from Australia, Taiwan, Malaysia, and Canada, and eighteen who were Koreans from the southern half of the country; fourteen hotel workers from the Philippines; forty-five resident Japanese, a number of whom were elderly or disabled; and a further thirty Japanese employees working at the reception desk and dining facilities. The hotel being a high-rise building, all that was needed to convert it into a detention facility was to stop the elevators and lock the emergency exits. Once the governor and the other two had provided certain intelligence data and signed a joint declaration, the foreign visitors, including the southern Koreans and the Philippine workers, would be released. All Japanese tourists and employees, with the exception of senior citizens, the infirm, and minors fourteen years and younger, would remain in KEF custody.
The proximity of a hospital, with a large number of patients whose condition made transfer impossible—people in need of emergency surgery and patients dying of cancer—meant that US troops and the Self-Defense Force were effectively prevented from attacking the nearby KEF encampment, even with precision-guided weapons.
*
At a little after seven in the morning on April 3, Pak Myeong was absorbed in documents pertaining to plans for the new government when a steaming cup was placed in front of him. Looking up, he saw a female officer standing at attention and saluting. Dressed in a uniform that was slightly too big for her, she had large, almond-shaped eyes, a charmingly small nose, lips that suggested a strong will, and still girlishly plump cheeks. He saw from her insignia that she was a warrant officer, but he guessed that she wasn’t yet twenty-five. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy this,” he said, thanking her and then asking her name. The soldier introduced herself as Ri Gyu Yeong and gazed at him until shyness got the better of her and she lowered her eyes. Pak picked up the cup, took a sip, and let out a shout that reverberated through the silent hall. Second Lieutenant Ri Gwi Hui, sitting at a computer on a nearby table, had been looking his way and burst out laughing. Eyes still lowered, Ri Gyu Yeong bit her lip. “Damn!” Pak muttered. He was reaching for his handkerchief to wipe up the spilled tea, when the young warrant officer handed him a packet containing the soft sheets of paper called “tissues.”
“Was it too hot?” she asked with an apologetic expression. Pak nodded. “I used what I thought were black tea leaves,” she continued, “but I didn’t know how hot the water should be.” According to her file, if Pak remembered correctly, Ri Gyu Yeong was an army doctor. There were altogether eighteen women soldiers who had arrived in Fukuoka with the Fourth Company of the 907th Battalion, twenty if Ri Gwi Hui and Kim Hyang Mok of the advance party were included. All-female platoons within the 907th Battalion’s light-infantry, aerial infiltration, and reconnaissance brigades, under the direct control of the Political Bureau, had been established in 1990.
Not yet having begun her medical work here, she was helping out at headquarters for the time being, no doubt assisting in the preparation of food when Fukuoka officials such as the mayor were expected. Pak cautiously put his lips to the cup and sipped at the tea. It was so thick that it numbed his tongue and the inside of his mouth. And there was no sugar in it. “Is it bad?” Ri asked uneasily. “You might have sweetened it,” Pak replied. Ri apologetically told him that she hadn’t been able to find a sugar jar. Pak thought of telling her that the Japanese use small single-serving paper packets but then saw that her eyes were glued to the large flat-paneled television set that had been left on and was showing policemen setting up barriers on an expressway. Colonel Han, his hand on the remote control, turned up the volume, and everyone turned to look. First Lieutenant Jo Su Ryeon and Second Lieutenant Cho Seong Rae nodded with an air of satisfaction. “I’m sorry,” said Ri Gyu Yeong, “I don’t understand Japanese very well. What’s happening?”
“The government is blocking off Fukuoka,” Pak explained.
The previous evening, when 907th Battalion troops had entered Fukuoka Dome and exchanged clothes with their hostages, those able to speak Japanese had let it be known that a dozen or so Japanese-speaking SOF soldiers dressed as ordinary Japanese would be heading toward Tokyo. The story was that, as North Korean rebels, they were intent on coexistence with the Japanese and thus felt obliged to make their way to the capital, wearing civilian clothes, to pay their respects at the Imperial Palace and the Diet. The drivers of commandeered vehicles near Gannosu Air Station had been given the same line. Some of the SOF troops spreading the rumor were seen with maps of Tokyo. Fukuoka Dome hostages and various drivers had passed it on when interviewed by television and newspaper reporters, and had probably repeated it when questioned by the police. The idea of North Korean commandos, fluent in the language and dressed in ordinary clothes, appearing in the heart of Tokyo scared the government stiff. In the minds of the public, too, the idea of national institutions being targeted by trench mortars and rocket-propelled grenades was terrifying. Just as Colonel Han had predicted, this unprecedented situation for both the people and the government had led the authorities to order the police and the Self-Defense Force to seal off Fukuoka in an attempt to contain the occupying KEF.
Television announcers kept repeating that this action, applying to the whole of northern Kyushu, was in accordance with the provisions of Emergency Acts designed to protect civilians. Appearing at a press conference, the Chief Cabinet Secretary was asked whether they were in effect abandoning the people of Fukuoka but rebuffed the question, saying, red-faced and tearful, that this was absolutely not the case. In fact, however, Fukuoka had become a landlocked island. First, the SDF had closed the Fukuoka, New Kitakyushu, and Saga airports before dawn on April 3. It hadn’t yet been decided whether the blockade would extend to other Kyushu airports, including those in Nagasaki, Kumamoto, Miyazaki, and Kagoshima, but domestic airlines had voluntarily canceled all flights in and out of the island on the grounds that safety could not be assured. Citing the threat of terrorism, international airlines had likewise announced an indefinite suspension of flights. Hakata Station had also been closed. The high-speed bullet train of which the country was so proud was still running between Tokyo and Okayama, but most of the Kyushu rail network had been shut down. The ferry routes linking Moji with Kobe and Osaka, and Miyazaki, Hyuga, and Oita-Saganoseki with Honshu, were no longer operating. Hakozaki Wharf, which handled container cargo, and Higashihama Wharf had also, for all practical purposes, ceased to function.
