The Great Bridge
Ilsan Bridge.
Starting from this enormous concrete span that crossed the Han River, control was divided between the Army’s 17th Division on the south bank and the 60th Division on the north.
And the orders handed down from each division headquarters to the commanders dispatched to secure Ilsan Bridge were utterly simple and unambiguous:
Until the situation is understood, place the bridge under total lockdown and immediately block any troops attempting to cross.
The problem was that this was all the higher-ups had told them.
Frontline battalion commanders and company-grade officers had no idea what was happening in Seoul, or which side was the rebel force and which side was the suppression force.
In the end, all either side could do was pile barrier after barrier in the middle of the bridge and bring their weapons forward into firing position.
“Hey! 17th Division over there! Why don’t you back up quietly?! We were ordered here by the division commander to take control!”
“Don’t be ridiculous! We’re under orders to seal off the bridge completely too! Take one step over the line and we’ll shoot!”
“This is insane! Are we the rebels, or are they the rebels?!”
And so they stood there, still not knowing what the hell was going on, just staring each other down in growing frustration.
Then—
Wooooooom—!!
“What was that? Armored vehicles?”
[Left side of the south-bank approach! It’s an armored vehicle unit!]
The 17th Division battalion commander grabbed his radio in a panic.
Friend or foe?
“What unit is it? Stop them, and if they refuse to identify themselves, fire immediately!”
But the voice of the observer reporting in sounded more dumbfounded than frightened.
“B-battalion commander, sir. The armored vehicles aren’t coming onto the bridge... they’re driving straight into the river.”
“What? The river?”
The battalion commander turned his head sharply and looked down.
What he saw was beyond belief.
Marines were driving their vehicles straight into the freezing waters of the Han River without the slightest hesitation.
“......Crazy.”
The 17th Division troops were dumbstruck.
No matter how loudly people called the Marines an amphibious force, who in their right mind would just leap into the Han River without even looking back?
But the Marines meant it.
The armored vehicles that plunged into the river immediately kicked on their water jets and began to cleave through the current with ferocious speed.
It was a brutish, overwhelming display of mobility, as if the river itself were nothing more than an inconvenience.
Their destination was clear.
The 60th Division forces, who had been establishing a defensive line on the north bank, were thrown into utter panic.
“Bearing 180 degrees! Unidentified armored vehicles approaching from the river!”
“Shift to defensive posture! Swing the anti-tank weapons toward the embankment!”
The 60th Division battalion commander’s voice cracked.
It was only natural.
They had only planned for a force pushing across the bridge, not some lunatic Marines suddenly deciding to cross the Han River itself.
“Uh... Battalion commander, sir. They’re not crossing the bridge. Should we open fire?”
“......”
The division’s orders had clearly been to shoot anyone trying to cross Ilsan Bridge.
“Should we fire?!”
“Wait! We need identification first! What unit are those maniacs from?”
The battalion commander shoved his binoculars up to his eyes as if he meant to crush them into his face.
Across the Han, the Marine force raced forward like monsters, spewing water as they charged toward the shore.
Then the armored vehicle’s heavy tracks hit land with a slap, grinding the riverbank mud as the machine surged up onto dry ground.
The 60th Division troops, with their fingers on the triggers, swallowed hard in unison.
Was this the vanguard of the rebels? Was this where the blood-soaked clash would begin?
But what burst out from the lead armored vehicle wasn’t a call to open fire. It was a roar through the external loudspeaker.
The man standing atop the vehicle, one hand on his hip, bellowed with a spirit fierce enough to command the world itself.
“Long live the Emperor—!”
“......???”
Question marks seemed to rise over every head in the 60th Division battalion.
And then, from inside the armored vehicles that had just climbed onto land, a chorus of feral shouts erupted all at once.
“Long live the Emperor!! Long, long live the Emperor!!”
At those crazed cries, the 60th Division battalion commander forgot his orders entirely and muttered blankly,
“......What the hell are those lunatics?”
* * *
In history, it happens more often than you’d think: a handful of rebels turning the world upside down.
The reason is simple. In the chaos of a coup, where even friend and foe can no longer be told apart, momentum is everything.
On a battlefield where the chain of command has collapsed and even intelligence gathering is a mess, soldiers hesitate by instinct.
There is always that split second when they can’t tell where to aim their guns, or whether the orders coming down are even legitimate.
The one who tears through that hesitation with overwhelming conviction takes control of the battlefield. That is the essence of a coup.
Of course, Captain Gwak Ji-hun and the Marines under his command were not rebels. On the contrary, they were the only suppression force left, the only ones escorting the surviving Emperor—more or less the current situation, anyway.
But the law of that mad momentum applied to Gwak Ji-hun and the Marines all the same.
It was the Army’s 17th Division and 60th Division, locked in a taut standoff at the south and north ends of Ilsan Bridge.
A coup had broken out in the middle of Seoul.
Song Hak-su’s broadcast had already gone out over the airwaves, but no one knew whether the unit standing before them was on the rebels’ side or on the Emperor’s side—if there even still was such a thing in this country.
No, they didn’t even know which side their own unit was on.
All they had been told was to make sure the opposing unit did not cross from this direction.
In that blood-chilling standoff, where no one could afford to fire first, a line of heavy armored vehicles burst out from the embankment and thundered into the rear of the 60th Division forces.
Once they cleared the riverside, they took the road and charged straight at the rear blockade line that was blocking the north-bank approach to Ilsan Bridge in layers and layers.
“Stop! Stop! If you come any closer, we’ll fire immediately!”
The 60th Division officers shouted themselves hoarse from behind the barricades.
At the request for identification, the Marines’ armored vehicles slammed on their brakes only when they were right at the front, their tracks scraping the asphalt as if they might rip it apart.
Then the lead vehicle, the first armored car, growled to a halt and its upper hatch was thrown open.
“Victory assured! This is the Marine 2nd Division Mobile Regiment moving to secure the situation. The Emperor has returned. Please clear the barricades immediately and open the road for us.”
And yes, the machine guns on every armored vehicle in the line were pointed squarely at the barricade, but that barely needed saying.
What then—would they spill the blood of fellow Korean troops right here and settle it with gunfire?
Or would they...
“Eagle, this is Sparrow. Emergency situation at the front approach. Risk of engagement. We are currently holding fire and in a standoff. Request immediate instructions.”
Would they avoid combat to the very end?
* * *
Meanwhile, at the south end of Ilsan Bridge.
In front of the approach under the 17th Division’s control.
While Gwak Ji-hun’s vanguard crossed the river, Lee Jin’s main force and Seo Yu-jin, who had arrived behind them, came to a stop before the bridge.
The situation on the south bank was no different from the north.
The 17th Division troops had sealed off the bridge entrance under orders to prevent the opposing unit from crossing.
“Battalion commander! The 60th Division troops at the north end are clearing out!”
“What? Why all of a sudden? Are they trying to cross over here?”
“No, sir! From the looks of it... they seem to be opening a path for us.”
“???”
The Marines’ armored vehicles had burst in out of nowhere and forced their way across the Han, and now the 60th Division was opening the road.
The 17th Division, which hadn’t even been ordered to cross, could only stand there blankly and watch.
“I think Captain Gwak Ji-hun’s judgment was correct. The troops themselves seem to be in total confusion.”
Seo Yu-jin opened the rear door and stepped out with crisp, measured clicks of her heels.
“Please send out the officer in charge.”
Her voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t raised. Yet it carried a peculiar, unmistakable pressure.
“Cease fire! All units, cease fire!”
Someone screamed from behind them. An officer who recognized Seo Yu-jin’s face came rushing out, his own face drained white.
“Who are you? This area is currently under military operations control.”
“I am Seo Yu-jin, Chief Secretary of the Imperial Household of the Republic of Korea. We are currently escorting the Emperor’s person through this area. Open the barricades immediately and permit passage.”
Seo Yu-jin produced her civil service ID and the badge bearing the imperial crest.
The battalion commander’s jaw muscles twitched.
“The Emperor... Your Majesty? The news said the entire imperial family had perished...”
“It is true that everyone who attended the state funeral has perished. However, according to the constitution and imperial succession law, a new Emperor has ascended the throne. We are on our way to the broadcast station for a public address.”
“......”
The battalion commander’s mind went blank.
How could some frontline battalion commander possibly know the truth of this enormous political upheaval?
All he knew were the disaster alerts that had buzzed his phone with reports of a massive bomb terror attack, and Marshal Song Hak-su’s declaration of rebellion that he had watched on DMB.
Who was he supposed to follow?
Marshal Song Hak-su, who had launched the rebellion?
Or the division commander who had sent them here without even giving them proper orders?
Or maybe...
As the battalion commander stood there in confusion and took a step back,
Clack.
The door of the imperial escort vehicle behind Seo Yu-jin opened.
Lee Jin stepped out and cast an indifferent look toward the 17th Division commander.
“Is this the 17th Division?”
In the silence, with everyone swallowing hard, the battalion commander answered on reflex, looking dazed.
“......Yes, it is.”
Lee Jin’s voice was short and dry, yet utterly firm.
“Battalion commander.”
“...Yes, sir.”
“Who do soldiers pledge their loyalty to?”
“The state and the people. And to the Emperor, who holds supreme command over the military.”
The answer came out automatically, like a formal report.
It was a conditioned reflex burned into the minds of South Korean soldiers over the past several decades.
“I am Lee Jin, rightful heir to the throne of the Republic of Korea. If you are blocking that bridge, should I take that to mean you intend to side with the rebels?”
The battalion commander’s breath caught in his throat.
Legitimacy.
For a soldier, legitimacy was life itself. As nothing more than a frontline battalion commander, he had no way to judge which side he should follow, but the person standing right in front of him now, presenting the imperial seal, was the living supreme commander of the armed forces.
Which choice would keep him from becoming a traitor?
There was no choice at all.
“N-no, sir!”
The battalion commander hurried into rigid attention and snapped off a salute.
“Loyalty! Lieutenant Colonel Lee Bok-geun, commander of the reconnaissance battalion of the 17th Infantry Division! I present myself before Your Majesty! Long live the thousand autumns!”
At his salute, the 17th Division infantrymen blocking the barricade lowered their weapons in unison and opened the road.
And down that road they had opened—
Wooooooom—!
Lee Jin’s vehicle, the armored vehicles following behind, and the military trucks packed with troops poured onto Ilsan Bridge without hesitation.
On the embankment beyond the north bank, Gwak Ji-hun’s spearhead vehicles were already spread out in a wide formation, waiting to protect the main force.
The 60th Division troops could only watch the procession crossing the bridge, their faces vacant and bewildered as they milled about helplessly.
The 17th Division battalion commander, who had crossed the bridge with Lee Jin, looked at the 60th Division battalion commander with a strange expression.
“I’m going to the broadcast station. The 17th Division, and the 60th Division as well.”
And Lee Jin said to them,
“The nation’s armed forces, follow behind me.”
* * *
“That’s a relief.”
Seo Yu-jin, seated in the passenger seat, let out a short breath.
Lee Jin sank deep into the back seat, rubbing a hand over his face.
His heart was pounding like crazy.
Up until just a moment ago, his legs had nearly given out from under him, and he had only managed to stay upright through sheer force of will.
He’d put on his biggest bluff, just to make sure he didn’t look rattled.
In the end, in a situation like this, the one who wins isn’t the one who’s afraid.
It’s the one who makes the other side afraid.
“Secretary Seo, that was close. I thought I was done for.”
Seo Yu-jin looked at Lee Jin in the rearview mirror and answered with calm certainty.
“You did excellently. That display of spirit just now was more kingly than any imperial descendant could ever manage.”
“You’re not mocking me, are you?”
Lee Jin gave a dry laugh as he asked, but Seo Yu-jin remained composed.
“Of course not. I mean it sincerely.”
But the biggest obstacle, the one that had threatened to block their crossing of the Han River, was now completely gone.
The procession passed through Ilsan Bridge without a drop of bloodshed and immediately picked up speed without the slightest delay.
Their target was one and only one thing.
Ibsu Broadcasting Station 2 in Ilsan, where the public’s attention could be drawn in a single stroke.
There, they had to announce to the whole world that the living Emperor existed.
“Step on it a little more. Are we almost at the broadcast station?”
At Lee Jin’s urging, the vehicles accelerated further, their engines spitting out shrill roars.
And then at last—
The broadcast station came into view, its lights shining brighter than they ever had before.