In Harm's Way: PM Goes To The 38th Parallel DMZ

From inside the concrete bunker, the hollow thud of the hand-grenade blast sounds like the tailgate slamming shut on an empty dumptruck. "Live ammunition training," says Lt. Col. James F. Laufenburg, commander of the last American unit stationed inside Korea's Demilitarized Zone (DMZ).

We had reason to suspect that the noise might have been something else. For the past several weeks, what is often referred to in America as the "forgotten war" has shown signs that it might reignite. In the hills of Kangnung, to the east of Seoul, South Korean forces are in a heightened state of alert. They are beating the bushes in search of the remnants of a North Korean commando unit. The infiltrators began shooting their way inland when they were forced to abandon their 325-ton Shark-class submarine, which had run aground after penetrating South Korean coastal defenses.

Commando raids have happened in the past –more than 700 times, according to some estimates. Usually, the invaders are no more than young North Korean commandos out on a "graduation" exercise that, for the unlucky or careless, ends with death or prison. This time, however, things are different. The strategic situation has changed. Several months before our visit to Korea, the North Korean government announced it would no longer honor its promise to remain behind its side of the DMZ. This is the 151-mile-long, 2 1/2-mile-deep buffer created by the July 27, 1953, armistice that ended the fighting in the Korean War.

The tactical situation has changed also. Intelligence officers who have examined the bodies of 21 infiltrators killed in three separate skirmishes say the dead included high-ranking officers. Exposed film in their cameras showed South Korean command centers and munitions depots.

Abandoned by former Soviet allies and beset by internal political instability, North Korea is nearing the end of its rope. "The North may look for other ways of using the only remaining asset it possesses that commands international respect–its military might," cautions U.S. Ambassador to South Korea James T. Laney.

If–some say when–an invasion begins, the men under Laufenburg's command will be the first to know.

"I report directly to Lt. Gen. Richard F. Timmons, commanding general of the U.S. 8th Army. If something happens in a tactical situation, I pick up the phone."

That telephone is located at Camp Bonifas, about 1/4 mile south of the DMZ. It is the most northern base in Korea that is manned by Americans. "It's the focal point of the peninsula," explains Jim Coles, a spokesman for the United States Forces in Korea, during a briefing before we began our trip north. "The men at Camp Bonifas are the tip of the spear."

PM has been invited to the very point of that spear. Arriving at South Korean troops man most of the DMZ. Here a squad checks the endless fence for breaks. Camp Bonifas, we climb into the back seat of Laufenburg's Humvee for a ride north into the DMZ and an exclusive look at Observation Post Ouellette. It is this outpost, located a stone's throw from the rusting yellow markers that run the length of the Military Demarcation Line at the center of the DMZ, that earns his command its motto: "In Front Of Them All."

Our 5-minute drive along Military Route 1 takes us through minefields, beneath boulder-filled tank traps and over culverts packed with explosives. Along the way, Laufenburg tells us that his light-infantry regiment–whose members wear military police armbands to comply with truce accords –consists of about 250 Americans and 300 South Korean troops. Another 113 posts along the DMZ are manned exclusively by South Korean troops. Leaving our Humvee, we approach the last few yards to Observation Post Ouellette on foot. It looks more familiar than sinister. Had we run across this structure while driving through New Jersey, we might have mistaken it for a training tower used by local volunteer firemen. Inside, there's even a fire pole. "We want to be able to get into the bunkers quickly," says Laufenburg.

We climb wide wood stairs to nearly the top. A metal ladder reaches up the last 10 ft. to the top of a covered observation deck. Open on all four sides, it provides unobstructed views of the DMZ. On a clear day, observers can see about 16 miles into North Korea. An assortment of powerful, swivel-mounted binoculars rings the low wooden walls of the deck. We are surprised by the complete lack of high-tech night-vision equipment. Here, almost everything is kept out of sight. "We know we are being watched, and we want to give the North Koreans as little information as possible," explains Laufenburg.