There was a bright flash and Pyongyang was no more. A few miles out, surrounded by aides, the Marshal of the Republic – Supreme Leader now, he supposed – watched it with binoculars. The detonation of The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea’s only functional nuclear weapon had destroyed its own capital, roughly half of the military would be dead and the country’s flank would now be open to the Capitalists to the south for a while. A severely weakened position, yes, but the Marshal – Supreme Leader – couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness.
“Supreme Leader, we’re receiving transmissions from the enemy’s last remaining Marshal requesting a ceasefire!” One of his lieutenants called out. There was a cheer from the ranks of his own officers, and his smile widened.
Not so smug are you now little brother, the Supreme Leader thought to himself, not father’s favourite anymore either. He wondered whether his father, Kim Jong-Il, would be pleased with him at last, whether he would have appreciated his sudden steel, his dedication to the acquisition of power. He had been forced to seize his birth right from the pig faced, fat, little usurper who’d held power in Pyongyang – the backing of a cabal of pro-Détente generals including their uncle, Kim Song-Thaek, had helped of course, but it was mostly his own work.
The mushroom from the explosion had collapsed in on itself now, but there would be lingering radiation around the old capital for, essentially, forever now but that was fine. Better to be King of the ashes than king of nothing at all. The fact that he had won was the best part, of course… the fact that he had beaten his little brother at his own game. The fat little bastard probably hadn’t seen it coming, and he would have died in seconds if the bomb hit its city centre target correctly. A swift and decisive end, a noble defeat for the Republic’s Supreme Leader.
That Japanese Sushi Chef, the bastard, had said he was more like a “Little Girl” than an iron willed Supreme Leader, which was why he’d been kidnapped from the old Supreme Leader’s palace and why he was now sat, bound and gagged, watching the final radioactive dregs of the explosion. This, if nothing else, would keep the rest of the country in line; he would wipe out the hard-core Maoist militias the Chinese were funding in the northern regions, and then he would cease ties with the PROC and move troops to the border. His country didn’t need them, not anymore.
“Supreme Leader, we have received a message from the Americans!” The same lieutenant from before said.
“Go on.” He replied.
“It’s the CIA agents who helped fund the coup, Supreme Leader.”
“Read me the message.” The Supreme Leader said. He felt oh so giddy at hearing the news, knowing what he would do next.
“Yes, Supreme Leader.” The man, a general of some kind, said, “Satellites have picked up detonation in Pyongyang. US and SK troops on border. Stand down troops and prep for K. reunification?”
“Send a message back.” The Supreme Leader said quickly, “The Democratic People’s Republic would like to remind the USA that it does not cooperate or negotiate with capitalist enemies of the Eternal President. Capitalist troops must stand down. You have seen our strength today. Do not make us show it tomorrow.” Perhaps that was too dramatic, but he’d always had a flair for drama.
“Yes, Supreme Leader.” The man walked off with purpose and vigour.
The Supreme Leader smiled as the twilight set in and the world grew quiet. Peace had returned to the Hermit Kingdom.