The sky above the 38th Parallel burned red with fire and ash.
Sergeant Malik Reyes huddled behind the twisted husk of an overturned armored truck, its sides scorched by the explosion that had killed half his unit. The morning had started with clear orders: punch through the Korean trench line, secure Route 74, and hold the position for aerial support. But no plan survives first contact with the enemy—and this enemy wasn't retreating. They were swarming.
"Reyes, ammo!" Corporal Jenna Hu tossed a magazine from behind the shattered wing of a downed Apache helicopter, her eyes wide with adrenaline and dust.
He caught it mid-air, slammed it into his M4, and rose just enough to fire off two bursts toward the ridge. Red tracer rounds stitched the horizon, followed by the bone-shaking thump of return fire from North Korean Type 73 machine guns. One of their rounds ricocheted off a chunk of concrete inches from Reyes' helmet.
"They're not letting up!" Hu shouted.
"They're dug in like ticks," Reyes muttered, peeking up again.
Through the haze of dust and smoke, the Korean line stretched like a black ribbon across the hills. Trenches. Bunkers. Mortar pits. Artillery flashed in the distance—less than two clicks from where they were pinned. Reyes tapped his comms.
"Phantom Six, this is Reaper Nine. We are red on ammo, green on morale, black on options. Requesting immediate fire support or evac. Over."
Static.
Then: "Negative, Reaper Nine. We are stretched thin. Airstrike ETA is unknown. Hold your position."
Hold our position? Reyes thought grimly. What damn position?
Something cracked in the air, and then the world exploded. A shell landed twenty meters away, spraying hot shrapnel and sending Hu flying. Reyes scrambled to her, pulling her behind cover. Blood streamed from a gash across her arm, but she was still conscious.
"Jesus," she gasped. "That was artillery. They're adjusting."
"Which means they've got our grid." Reyes gritted his teeth. "They've either got recon drones—or someone's painting us."
He reached for the secure tablet linked to battalion uplink. The map confirmed his fear: drone surveillance had been compromised. The encrypted signal used by American UAVs had been hacked, or worse—spoofed. Every movement they made, the North Koreans were watching.
"They're ahead of us," he realized. "They're using our own tech against us."
Across the front, chaos reigned. American troops were pinned, trying to outflank fortified enemy bunkers with no support. Smoke grenades hissed, but visibility was still low. A-10 gunships circled in the distance, but orders hadn't cleared them for a strike.
"Sir!" someone called over the comms. "We've got wounded. I can't feel my leg—God, there's so much blood—"
Reyes shut his eyes for half a second. They needed a miracle. Or a new plan.
"Corporal Hu," he said, pointing to the western side of the ridge, "there's a small culvert there. If we crawl low, we might be able to get behind their line. I'm betting they don't expect an uphill push."
"Suicide," she said.
"Probably."
"Then let's do it."
Back in the Pentagon, the war map glowed like a wound. General Elise Thorne leaned over the digital display, lines of red and blue blinking across the Korean peninsula. The 4th Armored Cavalry was stalling, the 2nd Marine Division locked in urban warfare in Kaesong. Pyongyang hadn't even been breached, yet the losses were mounting fast.
"We underestimated their prep time," Thorne said grimly. "They've been planning for this for decades."
"The President wants a win," said National Security Advisor Davis. "Fast. He's bleeding approval in the polls, and Russia is sniffing at Kaliningrad again."
Thorne's voice was ice. "This isn't about approval ratings. This is war."
"Then give us something to spin."
She stared at the flickering satellite feeds.
"Deploy Task Force Orion," she said. "Tell them to go dark."
Task Force Orion was a myth among the military ranks—America's most classified unit, trained in arctic warfare, signal disruption, and counter-cyber measures. Deep in the night, six stealth Black Hawks crossed into DPRK airspace, no lights, no chatter.
Their target: a facility buried beneath Mount Kumgang, believed to house the command servers for North Korea's anti-air and drone operations.
If Reyes and his unit could hold out, maybe—just maybe—this ghost unit could tilt the balance.
Meanwhile, Reyes was crawling through mud, snow, and wire mesh, bleeding from a dozen scratches, Hu behind him with the field radio slung on her back.
They reached the culvert—barely two feet high—and squirmed through it like rats. On the other side, a narrow ledge ran along the cliffside. Below, a trench with four Korean soldiers, one with a radio.
That's our painter.
Reyes gave the signal. Two seconds later, Hu rolled a frag grenade into the trench.
The detonation was deafening. When the dust settled, the enemy team was gone.
They climbed down quickly, looting what ammo they could. Reyes picked up the enemy's radio. He didn't understand the language—but he understood enough from the static and tone.
"Strike inbound," he said. "That bunker we just left? They're going to hit it hard. Our guys are still there."
He looked up toward the sky, seeing the streaks of artillery beginning to arc.
"God damn it…"
He flipped the radio and began shouting into it in English, then in the few Korean words he knew.
"Don't fire! Friendly positions! You'll kill your own!"
It was a long shot. But it bought them 30 seconds.
Just enough for a friendly drone to finally come back online.
A single gray Reaper drone soared overhead, locked onto the hostile artillery positions, and rained hell from 20,000 feet.
Three enemy emplacements vanished in fire. The tide was turning—but barely.
Far away, in the shadows of Mount Kumgang, the Orion team moved like ghosts.
They found the underground bunker. Their tech expert jacked into a hard line. What they found shook them.
The North Korean systems were piggybacking on a Russian satellite network. The invasion wasn't just against the North. It was being watched—and guided—from Moscow.
"General," the Orion commander whispered into his encrypted mic. "We have a problem."
In the ruins of the trench, Reyes slumped beside Hu, both of them covered in dirt and blood, listening to the fading echo of artillery.
"Think anyone will remember this part?" she asked.
He stared at the horizon, at the smoke rising from Kaesong and beyond.
"They better," he said. "Because we're still just getting started."