Ch. 5 — The Bridge
Ilsan Bridge.
This massive concrete span crossing the Han River marked the boundary between two jurisdictions — the Army’s 17th Division to the south, and the 60th Division to the north.
And the orders handed down to the commanding officers of both sides who had mobilized to control the bridge were straightforward to the point of simplicity:
“Maintain total control of the bridge until the situation is assessed, and immediately stop any forces attempting to cross.”
The problem was that those orders were the entirety of what higher command had provided.
What was actually happening in Seoul.
Which side were the rebels and which were the loyalists.
The battalion and company commanders on the ground had absolutely no idea.
Both sides were left with no choice but to throw up layered barricades at either end of the bridge and push their weapons forward into firing positions.
“Hey! 17th Division! You going to back off peacefully or not?! We’re here on our division commander’s orders to maintain control!”
“Don’t make me laugh! We’re under orders from our higher command to seal this bridge completely! Cross that line by one step and we open fire!”
“This is insane! Are we the rebels, or are they?!“
And so both sides were locked in a tense, baffling standoff with no idea what was going on — when:
ROOARRR——!!
“What the — is that armored vehicles?”
[Southern approach, left flank! Armored unit incoming!]
The 17th Division battalion commander grabbed his radio urgently.
Friendly or enemy?
“What unit is that? Stop them and if they refuse to identify, fire immediately!”
But the voice of the observing soldier reporting in was less frightened than baffled.
[Sir. The armored vehicles aren’t coming to the bridge…… they’re jumping into the river.]
“What? The river?“
The commander whipped his head around and looked down.
And witnessed something he could not believe.
Marines driving their vehicles into the Han River in the middle of winter without a moment’s hesitation.
“……Insane.”
The 17th Division soldiers were dumbstruck.
Sure, the Marines sang about being amphibious assault forces — but actually plunging into the Han River without even looking back?
But the Marines were absolutely serious.
The armored vehicles that had entered the river immediately began churning their water jets, cutting through the current with ferocious speed.
A brute, overwhelming advance that treated the river itself as though it were barely an inconvenience.
And the eyes of those vehicles were fixed straight ahead.
On the north side of the bridge, where the 60th Division had established their defensive line — pure panic erupted.
“Bearing 180 degrees! Multiple unidentified armored vehicles approaching from the river!”
“Shift to defensive posture! Get anti-tank weapons to the riverbank!”
The 60th Division battalion commander’s voice cracked.
Entirely understandable.
They had only prepared for a push coming across the bridge.
Who in the world had expected Marines to suddenly materialize and ford the Han River?
“Sir…… Battalion commander. They’re not crossing by the bridge — do we still fire?”
“……”
The division orders had clearly said to fire on anyone crossing the Ilsan Bridge.
“Do we fire?!“
“Hold! Friend or foe identification first! What unit are those lunatics from?”
The battalion commander pressed his binoculars so hard against his face it looked like he was trying to push them through his skull.
Crossing the Han River.
Blasting water like sea monsters.
Marine forces storming the bank.
The heavy treads of the armored vehicles hit land with a crash, churning the mud of the embankment as they hauled themselves onto solid ground.
Every soldier in the 60th Division with a finger near a trigger swallowed hard in unison.
Was this the rebel vanguard?
Was this the beginning of a firefight?
But what came from the lead armored vehicle’s external speaker was not a combat signal.
It was a command — delivered with the bearing of someone who believed they could order the world itself around, hand planted on hip, voice tearing out at full volume:
[Long live His Majesty the Emperor——!]
“……???”
Every soldier in the 60th Division battalion stared back with a collective question mark floating over their heads.
From inside the armored vehicles following close behind, equally ferocious war cries erupted:
[LONG LIVE HIS MAJESTY!! LONG LIVE HIS MAJESTY TEN THOUSAND YEARS!!]
The 60th Division battalion commander, stunned into forgetting his own orders, murmured blankly:
“……What in the hell are those lunatics?”
*
*
Throughout history, a small force of determined men has overturned the world more often than one might expect.
The reason is simple.
In the chaos of a coup, where distinguishing friend from enemy is impossible, sheer momentum is everything.
A battlefield where the chain of command has collapsed and information no longer flows.
Soldiers hesitate by instinct. The split second when no one can tell where to aim or whether the orders coming down are legitimate.
Whoever pushes through that hesitation with overwhelming conviction seizes the field. That is the essence of a coup.
Captain Kwak Ji-hun and the Marines he led were, of course, not rebels. On the contrary — they were the sole loyalist force escorting the one Emperor left alive.
But the law of that unstoppable momentum applied to Kwak Ji-hun and his Marines just the same.
The Army’s 17th and 60th Divisions had been locked in tense standoff at the southern and northern ends of Ilsan Bridge.
A coup had gone off in the heart of Seoul.
Field Marshal Song Hak-su’s broadcast had already gone out over the airwaves — but whether the unit standing in front of them was on the rebel’s side or on the Emperor’s side — if such a thing still existed in this country — no one knew.
In fact, no one even knew which side their own unit was on.
The only order anyone had received was: don’t let the other side cross to your end.
In that agonizing standoff where no one dared fire first — out of the riverbank, directly into the rear of the 60th Division’s position, rolled a column of heavy armored vehicles.
Once on dry land, they took the road and drove in a straight line directly toward the rear blocking position layered across the northern approach to Ilsan Bridge.
“Halt! Halt! Any further advance and we open fire immediately!”
60th Division officers screamed from behind their barriers.
In response to the demand to identify, the Marine armored vehicles came to a grinding halt only when they were practically nose to nose with the barricade — treads tearing at the asphalt like they were going to rip it up.
The lead vehicle rumbled to a stop.
The top hatch banged open.
“Victory! This is the Mobile Regiment, 2nd Marine Division, proceeding in escort of His Majesty the Emperor. His Majesty has returned. We request immediate removal of the barricade and clearance to proceed.”
Needless to say, the machine guns of every armored vehicle lined up behind it were trained on the barrier wall without being told.
Would they pour fire into fellow soldiers of the national army and settle it by force?
Or……
“……Eagle, this is Sparrow. Emergency situation at forward approach. Combat risk — currently holding fire and maintaining standoff. Request immediate guidance.”
Would they hold off until the very last moment.
*
*
Meanwhile, south end of Ilsan Bridge.
At the approach controlled by the Army’s 17th Division.
While Kwak Ji-hun’s vanguard had been crossing the river, Yi Jin’s main body and Seo Yu-jin had pulled up and stopped before the bridge.
The situation at the south end was no different from the north.
17th Division troops had sealed the bridge entrance under orders to stop any forces from crossing to the other side.
“Battalion commander! The 60th Division forces at the northern end are pulling back!”
“What? Suddenly? Are they trying to cross over to this side?”
“No, sir! The way it looks…… it seems like they’re opening the way for us to cross.”
“???”
Marines in armored vehicles had appeared out of nowhere and recklessly crossed the Han River — and now the 60th Division was opening the road.
The 17th Division, who had received no particular orders to cross, was standing there watching this unfold in bewilderment — when:
“It appears Captain Kwak Ji-hun’s judgment was correct. The troops themselves seem to be in a state of confusion.”
Seo Yu-jin pushed open the rear door and stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement.
“Whoever is in command, please step forward.”
Seo Yu-jin’s voice was not loud. Not high. But it carried with it a peculiar, unmistakable authority.
“Cease fire! All units cease fire!”
Someone shouted from behind as if screaming.
An officer who recognized Seo Yu-jin’s face came running out, his complexion drained white.
“Who are you. This area is currently under military operational control.”
“I am Seo Yu-jin, Chief Imperial Secretary of the Republic of Korea. I am currently passing through this area escorting His Majesty the Emperor. Open the barricade immediately and permit passage.”
Seo Yu-jin reached into her jacket and produced her government ID and an imperial credential bearing the imperial seal.
The battalion commander’s jaw muscle twitched.
“His Majesty the…… Emperor? The news said all members of the imperial family had passed away……”
“It is true that all those who attended the royal wedding have passed. However, in accordance with the Constitution and the Imperial Succession Law, a new Emperor has ascended to the throne. We are currently en route to a broadcast station to deliver a national address.”
“……”
The battalion commander’s mind went completely blank.
How would a frontline battalion commander know the truth of anything in this vast political storm?
All he knew was the emergency disaster alert about the massive explosion that had gone off on his phone, and Field Marshal Song Hak-su’s declaration of revolution that he’d caught on a mobile broadcast.
Who was he supposed to follow?
Field Marshal Song Hak-su, who had launched the rebellion?
Or the division commander, who had sent his unit here without even proper orders?
Or……
The battalion commander, deep in confusion, had just taken one step back.
Click.
The door of the imperial security vehicle standing behind Seo Yu-jin opened.
Yi Jin stepped out and leveled an unhurried gaze at the 17th Division officer.
“17th Division?”
In the silence — a silence so thick you could hear a man swallow — the battalion commander answered, caught off guard, with a look of dazed uncertainty.
“……That’s correct.”
Yi Jin’s voice was short, dry, and final.
“Battalion commander.”
“……Yes.”
“Who does a soldier give his loyalty to?”
“To the nation, and to the people. And to His Majesty the Emperor, commander-in-chief of the armed forces.”
It came out of the battalion commander’s mouth automatically, the way a soldier recites his rank and name. A conditioned reflex drilled into the minds of Korean soldiers over decades.
“I am Yi Jin, successor to the imperial throne of the Republic of Korea. Am I correct in taking your blockade of this bridge as a declaration that you stand with the rebels?”
The battalion commander’s breath caught.
Justification.
For a soldier, justification is life itself.
As a mere frontline battalion commander, he had no way to determine which side he ought to be on — but standing before him right now, imperial seal in hand, was a living commander-in-chief.
Which choice would keep him from being branded a traitor?
There was no real choice at all.
“……No, sir!”
The battalion commander snapped to attention and saluted sharply.
“Loyal service! Lieutenant Colonel Yi Bok-geun, Reconnaissance Battalion Commander, 17th Infantry Division! I present myself before Your Majesty! Long may you reign!”
From the moment of his salute, the 17th Division infantry holding the barricade lowered their weapons in unison and opened the road.
And through the path they cleared:
ROOARR—!
The vehicle carrying Yi Jin, the follow-on armored vehicles, and the military trucks loaded with troops poured onto Ilsan Bridge without pause.
On the far northern bank, Kwak Ji-hun’s vanguard armored vehicles had already spread into a wide formation, waiting in position to escort the main column across.
The 60th Division troops looked on in confused, milling bewilderment as the procession crossed the bridge — able to do nothing but watch.
The 17th Division battalion commander, who had followed Yi Jin across the bridge, caught the 60th Division commander’s eye and gave him an expression with no easy name.
“I am going to the broadcast station. 17th Division. And 60th Division.”
And Yi Jin looked at them both and said:
“The armies of this nation — follow me.”
*
*
“That was fortunate.”
Seo Yu-jin, in the passenger seat, let out a short breath.
Yi Jin sank back into the rear seat and dragged a hand across his face.
His heart was pounding like it was trying to break out of his chest.
Until just moments ago, his legs had been on the verge of giving out entirely — he’d held himself upright by sheer force of will.
He’d bluffed as hard as he could.
Made sure he was the one projecting dominance, not absorbing it.
Because in a situation like that, the one who wins isn’t the one who stands firm for themselves — it’s the one who makes the other person flinch first.
“Secretary Seo. I think I just lost ten years off my life.”
Seo Yu-jin met his eyes in the rearview mirror and answered without a flicker of softness.
“You were magnificent. The bearing you showed just now was more imperial than anything I have seen from any member of this family.”
“You’re not making fun of me?”
Yi Jin laughed hollowly as he asked, but Seo Yu-jin remained composed.
“Not at all. I mean every word.”
The largest obstacle — crossing the Han River — had been cleared without a single casualty.
The column that had passed through Ilsan Bridge without bloodshed accelerated without a moment’s hesitation.
Their target was singular.
The IBS Secondary Broadcast Station in Ilsan — where the eyes and ears of the nation could be reached.
There, they needed to announce to the world that the Emperor was alive.
“Push it a little harder. Are we close to the broadcast station?”
At Yi Jin’s urging, the vehicles surged forward with a sharp roar of engines.
And then.
The lights of the broadcast station came into view — blazing brighter than they had ever seen them.