City of Ash

April 9th – 11:04 AM

North Korean Highway 13 – 67km from Pyongyang

The tank rolled forward like a steel predator, its treads chewing through broken asphalt and scorched earth. Above it, drones circled lazily, scanning for heat signatures. On either side of the four-lane highway, pine trees stood blackened by fire, their limbs scorched into skeletons.

Major Elijah Cole sat inside the lead Abrams tank, his helmet slick with sweat. The roar of the engine was constant. The metal hull shook beneath him every time the main cannon fired. They were moving fast now—farther than anyone had predicted on Day One. But the deeper they drove into North Korea, the less certain everything became.

"Contact—left ridge!" barked Lieutenant Mackenzie over the radio.

"Confirmed," said Cole, peering through his periscope.

Three North Korean Type-85 tanks crested the hill, camouflaged with tarp and brush. They weren't trying to retreat. They were coming straight at them—full charge, suicide run.

"On my mark," Cole said calmly.

The gunner swiveled. The Abrams' cannon boomed. The shell flew like divine judgment, striking the lead Type-85 and ripping it in half. A second round vaporized the second tank's turret. The third fired but missed wide.

Then an Apache helicopter swooped overhead, its Hellfire missiles silencing the final vehicle in a ball of flame.

The column kept moving.

Cole opened the top hatch and looked out across the landscape. Smoke. Ruins. Burning villages. Craters. Once-beautiful farmland reduced to ash. Crows circled. The silence between battles was more unnerving than the gunfire.

He checked his map. "Thirty-eight miles to Pyongyang."

Behind him, over 120 U.S. vehicles snaked through the North Korean countryside—tanks, Bradleys, artillery units, mobile medics, communication trucks, and supply chains. Above, stealth drones and satellites mapped every hill, every structure.

But nothing about this felt like progress.

It felt like a march into the unknown.

11:15 AM

Pyongyang – Eastern Suburbs

The capital had changed overnight.

Columns of smoke rose into the morning air like burnt incense from a dying altar. The skyline was fractured—one side of the city scarred by bombings, the other still holding its eerie perfection: pristine towers, empty highways, and propaganda billboards untouched.

In the bunker beneath Kumsusan Palace, Kim Jong-un stood in front of a digital map that showed red pulses approaching from the south. Dozens of his officers surrounded him, their faces pale, expressions unreadable.

"How long?" he asked.

General Kang stepped forward, his voice low. "At their current pace… eight to ten hours before they reach the city limits."

Kim tapped ash from his cigarette into a tray shaped like the Korean Peninsula. He looked tired now. Less like a god, more like a man.

"Order evacuations for Sector Twelve through Twenty."

"Sir, we've already pulled civilians from—"

"Evacuate the bunkers too. Move the families. Move the archives. Everything. Then rig the subway system for collapse. If they come through, they'll choke on steel."

General Kang hesitated. "Yes, Supreme Marshal."

"And call Beijing."

A beat of silence.

"Sir?"

"Tell them it's time."

11:42 AM

Seoul – U.S. Joint Command

General Reeve stood in the central control room surrounded by screens, maps, satellite feeds, and digital readouts from every combat unit on the front. Reports came in by the minute—ground resistance, artillery strikes, drone footage, intercepted comms.

Colonel Yoon stormed in without knocking.

"They've started shelling Kaepung District. Civilians. We told you to avoid full-scale incursion."

General Reeve didn't look at him. "We avoided a nuclear counterstrike by disabling their ICBM sites. That incursion saved your city."

"You don't understand these people!" Yoon snapped. "You don't understand what you've awakened."

"They shot first," Reeve said quietly.

Yoon's shoulders slumped. "And now the Chinese are mobilizing."

Reeve finally turned to him.

"How sure?"

Yoon handed him a satellite image. Along the Yalu River, thousands of Chinese soldiers were pouring into staging zones—vehicles, mobile artillery, engineering battalions.

"They haven't crossed," Yoon said, "but they will. Not to save Kim. To take control before we do."

Reeve stared at the image for a long time.

"Then we take Pyongyang before they get there."

12:15 PM

North Korean Countryside – 20 Miles Out

Private Choi Jun-ha limped down a dirt road flanked by bombed-out farms. His uniform was torn, his arm wrapped in a bloodstained tourniquet. He hadn't eaten in twenty hours. He hadn't seen a living officer since dawn.

He wasn't alone.

Around him, dozens of conscripts walked or limped southward—some armed, some not. A few wore their helmets. Most had the empty stare of men who had stopped hoping for rescue. They had been told they were defending the sacred nation. They had been told they were heroes.

Now, they were ghosts in motion.

As Choi passed an overturned tractor, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned.

A girl—couldn't be more than twelve—stood barefoot in the dirt, holding a bundle wrapped in cloth. Her eyes were sunken. Her dress was burned. The bundle was still.

"Please," she said, barely audible.

Choi reached for his rations and gave her the last pack of dry rice in his satchel.

The girl took it without a word. She didn't smile. She just turned and disappeared between the ruined houses.

Choi stood there, rifle in hand, for a long time.

Then he kept walking.

1:08 PM

Inside Pyongyang – The Underground

In a dim tunnel lit by flickering bulbs, a rebel cell met in silence.

There were five of them—young, hardened, and desperate. They weren't loyal to Kim. They weren't loyal to America either. They wanted something else. Something in between.

Freedom.

"Tonight, we hit the main comms relay," said their leader, a former soldier named Min-sik. "When the blackout happens, we light the city."

"We'll be slaughtered," whispered a woman in the group.

"Then we die seen. Not buried."

They nodded. The plans were in motion. For years they'd hidden in the cracks—smuggling intel, destroying arms depots, hiding defectors. Now the city was under siege. Now was their time.

2:02 PM

Highway 5 – 12km from Pyongyang

Major Cole's convoy halted near a collapsed bridge.

Scouts confirmed the structure had been deliberately demolished. Drones picked up heat signatures in the forest ahead—an ambush.

"Move the Sappers up," Cole ordered. "We'll cross on foot. I want aerial cover tight and constant."

As the engineers moved to construct a temporary crossing, gunfire erupted from the trees.

Bullets tore into the lead units. Two men fell before the rest took cover. From the ridge, RPG fire exploded in the air, striking a Humvee and flipping it in flames.

"Snipers, tree line, east!" Mackenzie shouted.

Apaches circled overhead, shredding the forest canopy with chain-gun fire. Branches, bark, and bodies rained down. The earth trembled from the roar.

Cole moved between cover, grabbing a downed Marine and dragging him behind the wreckage.

"You're not dying today, soldier," he growled.

The man coughed blood but smiled. "Hell of a welcome."

It took forty minutes, but they cleared the ridge. Twenty-eight enemy dead. Four Americans lost. Two wounded.

The convoy resumed its crawl toward the capital.

4:10 PM

The Outskirts of Pyongyang

From the final ridge before the city, Major Cole looked through his binoculars and saw the skyline of Pyongyang flickering in smoke and flame. The once-pristine roads were now rubble. The eastern districts were half-demolished. But the northern defense sectors still bristled with anti-aircraft guns, trenches, and artillery.

Behind him, thousands of American and South Korean troops lined up—armored divisions, mortar teams, snipers, engineers.

The final push was near.

Cole radioed back to Command.

"This is Saber Actual. We've reached the outer perimeter. Awaiting fire clearance and coordinates. Pyongyang is in sight."

On the other end of the line, General Reeve's voice was steady.

"Then let's finish it."