April 9th – 06:55 AM
DMZ Sector Bravo – Southern Edge
The fog hadn't lifted.
The sun was up, technically, but it remained hidden behind thick layers of smoke and artillery dust. Shadows crept low across the tangled hills and electrified fences of the Demilitarized Zone, the most fortified border in human history. It wasn't quiet now. The air crackled with distant gunfire, and the earth still shivered from the early morning barrage.
Major Elijah Cole adjusted his NVG straps and lowered his eyes through the haze. On the other side of the ravine, North Korean watchtowers stood blackened—one toppled, one burning, another still manned, its muzzle flashes bright against the dawn.
"Team Charlie, on me," he growled into the comms.
"Roger that."
"Stack up."
He moved, low and fast, his boots sinking into dew-soaked soil. Six figures followed behind him in a disciplined trail—SEALs, hard-eyed and silent. They reached the final line of foliage that bordered the last stretch of no-man's-land.
Ahead was the border trench.
Fifty meters beyond that, the first wall—minefields, then fences, then barbed wire, then the edge of North Korea itself.
Behind them, stretching for miles back into South Korea, tanks rolled forward. M1 Abrams. Bradleys. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Helicopters thundered above the treeline—Apaches and Black Hawks loaded with infantry, medics, and mortar teams.
Major Cole flicked a hand signal. His second, Lieutenant Mackenzie, nodded and radioed back to the command column.
"Alpha and Bravo Companies in position. Ready to breach."
"Confirmed. Stand by."
Then, in his earpiece—three words:
"Cross the line."
06:57 AM
North Korean Border – Ridge 14
Private 1st Class Choi Jun-ha crouched behind his sandbag position with his hands shaking uncontrollably. His uniform was dirty, his boots soaked in oil, his cheek smeared with blood—not his own.
He'd been pulled from training only two weeks ago. No graduation. No ceremony. They put a rifle in his hands and shipped him to the border. Now he stared across the ravine at the approaching dust clouds.
Tanks.
American tanks.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But neither was allowed. There was only one command in the bunker's speaker:
"Hold your position. Kill them all."
He peeked again.
Dozens of Americans were moving in formation, spreading like liquid across the valley. Drones buzzed above. A-10s roared through the sky like thunder gods.
Behind Choi, Sergeant Gwan screamed orders over the radio.
"They're breaching Sector B! Fire! Light them up!"
The first shell landed in front of the trench—detonating a minefield. A wall of flame and dirt erupted skyward. Seconds later, American artillery responded—pinpoint, punishing.
Choi grabbed his rifle and fired blindly into the fog.
07:03 AM
The Breach
Major Cole leapt into the trench and pulled the body of a fallen KPA soldier out of the way. His team followed, clearing left and right in seconds. A grenade landed at the edge of the next compartment. Cole kicked it back.
It exploded behind him as he and Mackenzie pushed through the fence line using thermite cutters. Smoke swallowed everything. Explosions roared. Through the veil, Cole saw North Korean soldiers scrambling from pillboxes with rusted AKs and worn uniforms.
They fired. Badly. Uncoordinated.
But some of them were fanatics. One screamed "For the Marshal!" and charged with a grenade in each hand. Cole shot him center mass before he got ten feet.
"Push!" he shouted. "We're in!"
To his right, a Marine platoon surged through a demolished portion of the wall. Drones above marked KPA targets in real time. Black Hawks dropped quick-reaction squads into secured hills. The breach had succeeded.
But holding it? That was another story.
From the north, the first wave of KPA reinforcements arrived—truck-mounted rocket teams, aging Type-88 tanks, and waves of infantry pouring through hidden tunnels.
A North Korean T-62 opened fire from a ridge, striking a U.S. M113. The troop carrier exploded, bodies flung across the trench. Cole ducked and called for an airstrike.
"Ridge 14. Red flare. Repeat—Red flare!"
Above, an A-10 Warthog banked hard and dived. Its GAU-8 cannon roared, spraying depleted uranium rounds like hellfire. The enemy tank cracked open like a toy.
07:30 AM
Pyongyang – Underground Bunker Zero
Kim Jong-un sat in a steel chair surrounded by his inner circle, expression carved from ice.
"They're in," said General Kang, soaked in sweat. "They've broken the first and second belts. We're redirecting 5th Corps and mining the rivers, but—"
"They crossed the line," Kim said calmly, sipping tea.
"Yes, Supreme Marshal."
"Then activate Iron Knife," he said. "Full mobilization. If I am to die, I die as fire."
No one questioned him. No one ever did.
07:50 AM
DMZ Rear Command Post – U.S. 1st Armored
General Marcus Reeve arrived in a Black Hawk, stepping down as mortars exploded in the distance. His uniform was dusted in ash. His jaw clenched tight. He surveyed the command center—hastily set up behind a fortified ravine.
"Give me status," he ordered.
Colonel Dane, the 1st Armored's CO, pointed at the digital map.
"Three armored columns are through. Air superiority confirmed along the southern corridor. Seoul is still taking heavy indirect fire, but we've rerouted artillery. Civilian evac at seventy percent."
"Resistance?"
"Fierce. Not coordinated, but dug in. They're throwing everything at us. Artillery, tanks, even suicide squads. We've taken sixty-two casualties. Two birds down."
Reeve didn't blink. He looked at the red blinking dot—Pyongyang.
"Time to city perimeter?"
"Eighteen hours minimum," Dane said. "But that's if we hold the western route. If they collapse a mountain tunnel or hit us with WMDs… it could be longer. Or worse."
Reeve nodded. "We push. Every minute we wait, the Chinese get closer."
"Sir?"
Reeve met his eyes.
"You think they're going to watch us roll through their neighbor's capital and do nothing?"
08:15 AM
Seoul – District 9 Hospital Bunker
Jang Mi-hye bandaged a screaming child as another shell exploded nearby. Her hands were trembling now, her sleeves soaked in blood. The air reeked of smoke, iodine, and fear.
The hospital had been turned into a makeshift triage center. Power was intermittent. Medics worked by flashlight. Screams echoed in every hallway.
Her husband crouched nearby, holding their son, whispering stories to keep him calm. But the boy knew. He wasn't stupid. The world was ending above them.
And Mi-hye knew, deep down, this was only the beginning.
09:02 AM
North Korea – Forward KPA Command
Sergeant Choi was still alive.
His trench had collapsed. His rifle was gone. His arm bled freely from a piece of shrapnel that had lodged near the elbow. But somehow, he crawled through the smoking ruin of Sector B and found other survivors—five men, two barely older than boys.
They had no commander. No supplies.
He looked up at the advancing line of U.S. soldiers, just two hundred meters away.
His ears rang. His eyes stung.
He whispered something—something his grandfather used to say, from the old war.
"Even the smallest ember burns when fed with blood."
He picked up a discarded RPG, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped forward.