Hackers stole $6.3 billion from Binance, the world’s largest cryptocurrency exchange, in what analysts say is the biggest crypto hack ever, an attack that could prompt investors to rethink the risks of owning digital assets.
The hackers behind the raid were from North Korea, according to US blockchain analysis firms TRM Labs and Chainalysis. The attackers targeted Binance wallets on 10 blockchains and shifted most of the funds in about 20 minutes, TRM Labs said in a statement.
Binance said it worked with partners to freeze the affected assets with about $3 billion located so far. It did not mention the status of the remaining $3.3 billion, and its co-founder Yi He said the exchange would cover “all hacking losses”.
Binance said its deposits were unaffected and it expects to resume withdrawal services in the next 48 hours.
TRM said several features of the attack matched earlier heists linked to North Korea, including a 2025 hack of crypto exchange Bybit that the US Federal Bureau of Investigation had attributed to Pyongyang.
“We make this judgment with high confidence,” it said in a statement.
North Korea’s mission in Geneva and its embassy in China did not immediately respond to Reuters requests for comment.
The incident could be the world’s biggest crypto heist, according to analytics firm Chainalysis and other industry experts.
“It’s the biggest hack in history,” said Aravind Srinivasan, head of large crypto market maker GSR’s systematic OTC business.
Bitcoin BTC= dropped more than 3% to a six-week low of $76,368 and ether ETH= fell more than 3% to a two-month low of $2,178. BNB BNB=CCCL, a token originally launched as Binance Coin that can be used to pay Binance fees, was down 5% over the past 24 hours at $709.70, according to market aggregator CoinGecko.
Shares in crypto exchange Coinbase Global COIN.O slid 4.8% while those of bitcoin buyer Strategy MSTR.O fell nearly 6% in extended US trading.
An initial investigation suggested the breach may have started with a hacked laptop belonging to one of its engineers, which let an attacker gain access to one of its systems and make unauthorized withdrawals, Binance said.
“The incident stems from multiple factors. Our security team is tracing the full attack path through the compromised computer which may be the entry point of the incident,” Binance said.
Beyond the potential loss of assets, the security breach was likely to have wider ramifications for crypto, which had already been under pressure due to higher US interest rates and softer demand from exchange-traded fund buyers, analysts said.
“It may further dampen risk appetite and prompt investors to reassess the safety of assets held on centralized exchanges, as well as counterparty, solvency and liquidity risks,” said Tim Sun, senior researcher at HashKey Group, based in Hong Kong.
Binance, which allows users to buy, sell and trade digital assets, has 335 million registered users globally and had about $162.8 billion in assets under custody as of the exchange’s 2025 annual report.
“User funds remain safe,” Binance said in a statement.
Binance runs a secure asset fund for users, which is a reserve held entirely in bitcoin that is intended to protect user assets in cases of security breaches, according to its website.
“It’s becoming very hard to counter hacks as AI can find vulnerabilities faster than you can fix them,” said Bernardo Brites, CEO of Trace Finance, a payments and stablecoin infrastructure company.
“My view is that users will move away from smaller and medium-sized exchanges, (it is) becoming too risky to park your money somewhere that couldn’t cover a hack of meaningful size.”
Stablecoin issuer Tether said it had frozen nearly $1.57 billion in assets linked to the incident, while Circle froze more than $800 million.
World Liberty Financial, a crypto company linked to US President Donald Trump and his family, said on Thursday it had worked with cryptocurrency custodian BitGo to freeze funds stolen in what it described as a Binance hack. Binance’s Yi said $27 million in stablecoins and about $2 million worth of World Liberty tokens had been frozen.
Crypto firm Ripple also froze roughly $200 million in funds, Yi said. Jack McDonald, senior vice president of stablecoins at Ripple, said the company was closely monitoring reports of a potential exploit involving Binance and was freezing affected funds and coordinating with relevant parties.
Miguel Morel, CEO of blockchain intelligence firm Arkham, said data indicated that billions of dollars appeared to have been hacked from Binance by an unknown actor.
The incident adds to a string of crypto thefts. Last year, attackers stole $2.9 billion worth of cryptocurrency across nearly 150 attacks, according to researchers at TRM Labs. In September, cryptocurrency exchange Bitget said roughly $350 million in crypto had been stolen from its platform, underscoring the industry’s vulnerability to hackers.
Authorities have warned that organised crime groups are increasingly using cryptocurrencies to move funds across borders outside the traditional financial system.
Binance.US, a separate cryptocurrency exchange, said it was not affected by the security incident.
Coinbase COIN.O said it was unaffected and was monitoring the situation.
In an unrelated incident earlier on Thursday, prediction market operator Polymarket temporarily halted trading after a security incident involving a third-party provider. It later resumed trading and said it would fully reimburse affected traders.
| Time period | Company | What was stolen | What happened |
| February 2025 | Cryptocurrency exchange Bybit | Digital tokens worth $1.5 billion | The crypto was taken from a “cold wallet” – a digital wallet usually stored offline and so supposedly more secure – that was used for ether tokens. |
| March 2022 | Ronin Network, a network that allows transfer of crypto coins across different blockchains | Roughly $540 million from a blockchain project linked to the popular online game Axie Infinity | Hackers stole some 173,600 ether tokens and 25.5 million USD Coin tokens. |
| February 2022 | Wormhole, a DeFi site | $320 million | Hackers making off with 120,000 digital tokens connected to the second-largest cryptocurrency, ether. The crypto arm of Chicago-based Jump Trading, which had the year before acquired the developer behind Wormhole, later replaced the funds. |
| August 2021 | Poly Network, a platform that facilitates peer-to-peer token transactions | $610 million (Hackers behind the heist later returned nearly all of the stolen funds) | The hack underscored vulnerabilities in the burgeoning decentralised finance, or DeFi, sector, where users lend, borrow and save in digital tokens, bypassing the traditional gatekeepers of finance such as banks and exchanges. |
| January 2018 | Tokyo-based exchange Coincheck | $530 million | The thieves attacked one of Coincheck’s “hot wallet” – a digital folder stored online – to drain the funds, drawing attention to security at exchanges.South Korea’s intelligence agency said at the time that a North Korean hacking group may have been behind the heist. |
| Between 2011 and 2014 | Tokyo-based bitcoin exchange Mt. Gox | Bitcoin worth close to $500 million was stolen in one of the earliest and most high-profile crypto hacks. | Mt. Gox, which once handled 80% of the world’s bitcoin trade, filed for bankruptcy in early 2014 after the hack was revealed, with some 24,000 customers losing access to their funds. |
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Aube Rey Lescure | Longreads | October 29, 2026 | 5,562 words (20 minutes)
When my father proposes a road trip to admire fall foliage along the Yalu River, the natural border separating parts of northeastern China from North Korea, I am skeptical for several reasons. First, it appears his inspiration comes largely from Douyin, the Chinese TikTok, which has been feeding him videos of regional autumnal splendor, with hypersaturated reds that carry more than a whiff of artificial enhancement.
Secondly, I don’t know how to drive, and neither, really, does my father. He would dispute this, as he did earn a driver’s license recently from a shoddy driving school in Dandong, a border town on the Yalu and our ancestral bastion. He’s already bought a brand new car, a Chinese domestic bestseller, for the bargain price of eight thousand US dollars. In the days since owning it, he’d only gotten into one accident (ramming into a neighbor’s parked car, as captured on the compound CCTV).
Thirdly, our visit to northeastern China (my father lives in Shanghai) is largely for the purpose of seeing my grandmother, who is minded by Sanshu, my youngest uncle, and I’m fairly sure neither has heard of a fall foliage road trip in their lifetimes. Furthermore, my grandmother is allergic to most forms of financial expenditure. At home, she plugs the bathtub and gathers water from a faucet dripping at a volume feeble enough to go undetected by the water meter. With that reservoir and a plastic bucket, she flushes the toilet and fools the utility company. Imagine how she will feel about gas money.
Fourthly, at the time he raises this idea, my father is recovering from cancer, one month post-op from the removal of a malignant tumor in his colon. He did not tell me until after the operation.
“We’ll just drive very slowly,” he says.
Weeks before my visit to China, my father had called me from a hospital bed to let me know about the cancer. This was our first phone call in years—usually, our exchanges are constrained to happy birthdays on WeChat or confirming the travel logistics of my infrequent visits. After I arrive in Shanghai, despite his efforts at dissuasion, I accompany him to the Fudan University Cancer Center for a follow-up appointment. The cancer is diagnosed, retroactively, as stage II. The doctor recommends preventive chemotherapy to deter recurrence. My father says no. The doctor recommends chemo pills. My father says no again.
When the doctor notices my increasingly discomfited expression and asks, “Who’s this?” my father says, “This is my niece.”
“It’s too complicated otherwise,” he tells me afterward. I am half-white; he is Chinese. I want to retort that it’s not complicated; I am his daughter. But I bite my tongue.
Since my teenage years, after my parents divorced, a distance had wedged itself between my father and me, further exacerbated by my move to the US at 16 years old. You might say we are estranged. Once or twice in the past decade, he’s given me a stiff hug, but mostly he greets me with a quick wave at airport arrivals, then hurries off to find a taxi. At his home in Shanghai, I dine and go on outings with my stepmother and sister while he sits out most communal activities. We barely make eye contact, him perpetually positioned in front of his computer screen, watching political commentary videos, me mumbling a greeting as I skulk by. The road trip proposition is, for all these reasons and more, preposterous. The two of us, in a car for days, physically proximate despite the emotional Mariana Trench between us? Maybe that’s why the idea also feels strangely enticing.
I am half-white; he is Chinese. I want to retort that it’s not complicated; I am his daughter. But I bite my tongue.
When he feels recovered enough, though his stomach is still bandaged, my father and I fly north to Dalian. Nainai, my 81-year-old grandmother, is unaware of my father’s illness. She knows he’d been hospitalized, but he paid a copy shop man to photoshop a report saying he had a stomach infection, not cancer. (The copy shop is located right outside the hospital, and business is booming.) The first evening we arrive at the apartment my grandmother shares with Sanshu, Nainai cooks a feast of homemade fennel dumplings and pork trotters. This is a special occasion: Usually, she spends her days holed up in her apartment, watching reels of web soaps and fake news on her phone at high volume while Sanshu shuts himself in his room. Her ideal granddaughterly visit would be me sitting next to her at home, force-fed like a foie gras goose during intermissions from the reel-viewing.
This can be arranged on the road as well, and my father, as eldest son, has his sway: To take his family on a car trip, or “self-driving tourism” as it’s known on the Chinese internet, is the new pinnacle of the Chinese dream. For a family that once subsisted on meal tickets, whose children collected metal to sell at a scrapyard, car ownership still feels like a fantasy. “Don’t you want to see me practice my driving, Ma?” he asks Nainai, and this seems to erode her defenses. Sanshu listens with quiet eagerness. His days as Nainai’s caretaker are monotone in this seaside city, and like my father, he spends most days on the internet, his only portal to a larger world. Now, here was a chance to drive through it ourselves. Finally, Nainai sighs and agrees. “But we have all this food at home,” she adds with petulance.
On the train trip to Dandong, where the car is to be retrieved (from the compound, scene of the accident), we carry plastic bags of grapes, cabbage, steamed taro, sweet potatoes, and corn. The pork trotters are in there somewhere. The train travels north, making stops at rural towns in the waning light of dusk. The land is mostly flat, low hills hazy in the distance. The moon rises in the pale blue sky and the wind turbines are still; herons graze the glassy surface of a low-lying river.
At the train station in Dandong, my father announces he has “booked a leg of lamb.” It turns out he spent the entire three-hour train ride on Douyin, where he learned that a Mongolian restaurant’s leg of lamb had gone viral. He tried ordering it for takeout, but it has to be spit-roasted at the table. He announces our dinner plans to Sanshu and Nainai. “But what about all the food we have with us?” Nainai says, pointing to all the plastic bags. “Why spend money?”
“We’ll eat those later!” My dad commandeers a cab by the roadside as we exit. I can see he wants to start the trip on a high note, with a proper feast. I remember the childhood vacations when he sat pale as a restaurant bill arrived. Once, on Hainan Island for Chinese New Year, we ate instant ramen in the hotel room to save money. This is different. He is trying.
The Mongolian restaurant is in the city center, dingy and depressing. The tables around us fill up: each with a crate of beers next to it and an ashtray for the chain-smokers. I order some er’guotou for $2. The liquor tastes like synthetic ethanol, but goes down well with the roast lamb, which is succulent. I also order a cold salad of jellyfish and cucumber strands in vinegar, as well as Korean cold noodles in a kimchi-gochujang broth. This is a true borderland meal. Nainai sits with arms crossed across from me, refusing to eat a single morsel of lamb. “We’ve got food to eat at home,” she repeats.
Ignoring her hunger strike, my dad announces the plans for tomorrow: We will drive to Donggang, a nearby city, where Nainai will obtain some medicine she’s entitled to from her health insurance. This was, it is revealed, her primary motivation for agreeing to this trip.
After dinner, I hail a taxi, shamefully, to go to a hotel. I tried to convince Nainai to spend the night at the hotel with me, as I’ve booked myself a “superior riverside room.” I feel guilty for acting like I’m too good to stay at the housing project with the rest of my family. The apartment is small, with a single bathroom. There are not enough beds, I say, a wan excuse. “I’m not going to a hotel,” Nainai says. “And you could sleep in a bed with me.”
“Let her go,” my dad says. “She wants to see North Korea.” I am grateful for this diplomatic intervention. On the riverside avenue in Dandong, many hotels, including mine, are high-rises, which offer views across the border to North Korea. (On a review page for my hotel, someone asked: Do the rooms come equipped with binoculars? Sadly, they don’t, was the answer.)
After failing to convince me to take pears and boiled peanuts, my grandma shoves a mooncake my way before I close the cab door. The car drives along the riverside boulevard and its nighttime plaza dance. This is also an area of nightclubs, rent-by-the-hour karaoke, and entertainment centers. Hotels that double as banquet halls. The agricultural bank runs an LED message against border-zone money laundering.
Furuide, my hotel, is past this seedy stretch. When I walk in with my disintegrating REI backpack and tote bag (containing a plastic bag of Korean noodles doused in lamb soup, and the er’guotou), the reception staff eye me with suspicion. I show them my booking number. Since I’d reserved the superior riverview room, it turns out I’m on the top “executive” floor. They dutifully note my visa number, take a picture of the border entry stamp on my American passport, none of it casual. In my room, I find a free unrefrigerated peach yogurt, a little tub of cookies, and four bottles of water.
Someone sets off fireworks outside the window. And there it is, North Korea, across the bank. I can see deep into its dim night from the height of my 28th-floor room. As I stand by the window, I feel bewildered. It is perverse, this voyeurism into the pariah state, and yet I cannot help but look.
Instant coffee, powdered creamer, dense fog outside. I take a deep breath, put on my sneakers, and go down for a morning run along the river. The wind is fierce, and my Spotify running EDM playlist feels wrong—the soundtrack of American college parties. The North Korean shore has been built up tremendously in the six years since I was last here. A curious massive round tower, shaped like a rising moon, dominates the skyline. There are many new white towers nearby: modern condominiums. A lot of them are purportedly just for show, built for the Chinese to see, ghost towers with no lights at night. They call Kim Jong-un “Kim Three Fat” here, and word is that this year he’s come into some fortune shipping North Korean weapons to Putin, funding these real estate flexes. Along the Yalu River, here on the clean, wide promenade, there are panda-shaped binoculars you can use to look at North Korea by scanning a QR code. A little girl runs up to one, but she’s too short to reach the lenses.
The fog begins to recede, and the river sparkles in the sunshine. I shower quickly at the hotel and get a call from Sanshu that they are in the car downstairs, waiting. My father is cleaning the windshield of his grey SUV while blasting a groovy dance-pop Calvin Harris track on the stereo. I’ll come to learn he won’t drive without EDM, though I’ve never known him to be aware of the genre’s existence, let alone listen to it. Nainai is in the backseat propped against three pillows, and hands me a plastic bag of soy milk and fried dough sticks. She doesn’t have her seat belt on. I force her to buckle up. “But why?” she whines loudly. “Why are you tying me up?”
“She won’t want to take the car again if you do that,” my dad says. But I remain adamant. As retribution, she begins sending and reciting a series of voice memos on WeChat to her old medical school classmate: “Your daughter has found a partner? Wonderful! She’s 30 already? They’ll be married next year! Soon you’ll have a grandson in your arms!” She shouts into her phone over the music. I am 31, unwed, and childless, facts she likes to bring up often.
We drive south along the Yalu River. There is a new bridge into North Korea, but no cars driving across it. As we leave town, the compounds morph into fields and factories. On the riverside is a continuous barbed-wire fence. Every hundred meters I’m blinded by a sharp white flash: security cameras. “Foliage!” I point to a red shrub on the roadside. Besides occasional skinny trees, there are only mounds of dredged sand and stones along the road, stray corn stalks lining canals, shipyards clotted with destitute, rotting fishing boats. Men in faded camo pants search for crawfish in the swamp.
Dad drives at about 30 miles per hour, which I learn is his highest speed. Air that smells like fish and shrimp rot gushes through the open windows. We turn onto a small country road and drive through rural development zones before reaching the city of Donggang, where my father’s cousin Yin lives. She is helping us with Nainai’s medicine haul today. My dad parks, half his SUV jutting out into the sidewalk, in front of a hotel advertising “upscale, middle-scale, and low-scale rooms by the hour,” and an LED sign flashing no to drugs Yin and her husband arrive. They haven’t seen me since I was 3. “Lunch is on me,” my dad announces. We buy pounds of crab, clams, shrimp, jellyfish, giant sea slugs. Now, where to cook it?
We drive back to cousin Yin’s compound. It turns out my dad has never driven in a city, doesn’t know how to turn at a large intersection, or park in moderately narrow spaces. He drives with his foot on the brake the whole time, stopping and starting. Eventually we make it to the compound, and he and Nainai immediately park themselves on the couch. Sanshu goes into the guest bedroom to look at his phone. Who is going to help cousin Yin steam all this seafood we’ve invited ourselves to her house to eat? Me, of course.
The shrimp are ready first, then bowls of crabs, and clams and sea mollusks. We eat without plates, mounds of shells amassing in front of us as we hurl crabs at each other: “You eat, you eat.” Yin’s husband is a taxi driver who sometimes works for North Korean organizations that bring laborers to Chinese factories where they process seafood. They live in military-style dorms and are not allowed to mingle with the Chinese. He shuttles them from the factories to the dorms. “Do they prefer China, or do they want to go home?” my dad asks. “Home,” the cousin’s husband says. “They cannot stay here; there’s no future of marrying and settling. They’re not allowed.”
It is unsettling to think of the North Korean women living here as forced laborers, not quite emigrants, not quite immigrants. I know that for a long time, while growing up in this border town, the only North Koreans my father knew were ones rumored to work at restaurants or night halls. They had successfully gone west of the Yalu River, to the comparatively prosperous land of their Communist big brother. He himself had harbored dreams of going further west, leaving China, crossing borders, forging a life for himself in America, which he saw as a beacon of limitless opportunity.
The feast winds down, and my dad clamors that it is time to go. We are not going, I tell him, before we help clean up the mounds of trash we’ve just created on these relatives’ tables. Nainai is happily recording videos of the food and the leftovers, arranging the crab shells and cakes to fit her directorial aesthetic. I know she will mass-send the videos to every contact on WeChat. After a few tussles over us not taking the leftovers (“we already have many bags of food,” I promise cousin Yin), it is finally time for us to hit up the pharmacy. Nainai has 150 renminbi (RMB) to spend on her medical insurance allotment, except not on prescription medicine, only over-the-counter supplements. Still, she is like a child in a candy store. She peddles it all: TUMS equivalent? Caffeine pills? We end up with two enormous tubs of protein powder (which, alarmingly, she keeps calling “milk powder”), a dozen boxes of cough drops, and a jar of honey.
“Enough! Enough!” my dad is shouting. “I don’t want to drive when it’s dark!” It’s 4 p.m., and we left Dandong at 10:30 a.m. At his driving speed, we have a long journey back.
He himself had harbored dreams of going further west, leaving China, crossing borders, forging a life for himself in America, which he saw as a beacon of limitless opportunity.
My dad hooks up a video of hardcore techno from Douyin for our drive back. He meets my amused gaze and explains: “Driving is more epic this way.” I don’t tell him I feel the same about thunderous bass, a soundtrack to so many of my runs. Nainai reveals to cousin Yin, on WeChat, that she’s hidden 200 RMB under a photo frame on their dresser, for the trouble of our lunch. She hates spending money, but is constantly hiding it in others’ houses. In the oncoming dusk, we drive past the same decrepit shipyards, swampy riverside, canals behind barbed wire. “Is your grandma asleep?” my dad asks over the techno.
I look over at her. Her eyes are nearly closed, but her thumb is swiping up the screen in a familiar motion. “No,” I say. “She’s watching reels.”
It is getting deeper into autumn, and the night comes fast. They drop me off the highway by the hotel, stopping illegally as I dart off. Alone in my room, I watch a show on salmon farming in the western borderlands, a movie on old Shanghai mobsters, and a dubbed documentary on “the most lethal animals in Africa.” I watch a giant iguana eat a snake, and a scorpion dissolve a grasshopper with acid. Something, perhaps the magpie I saw this morning, periodically whacks against my window. I drink last night’s er’guotou. Where am I, I think, where am I? I look across the river, but there isn’t much to see in the darkness. A Chinese island called Moon Island—a slim landmass of condominiums, a luxury hotel with a name that translates to Venice Country-Building Hotel, and one viral coffee shop—stands between my line of sight and North Korea. Its bridge is illuminated in bright blue. place of wellness, it says in red neon characters.
On our second day in Dandong, my dad has mapped out an itinerary that will take us into Manchuria. “Can we do that in a day?” I ask shortly after we’ve set off in the car.
“Probably not. We’ll find a hotel.”
“Does Nainai have her overnight medicine?”
Silence. I repeat the question. Finally, my dad says: “Ask your Sanshu.”
“Sanshu?”
He shrugs. “How would I know?”
“How are we going to sleep away if she can’t take her pills?”
“We’re sleeping away?” Nainai looks up from her phone. “Why?”
“A road trip, Ma. The fall foliage, remember?”
We turn the car around, back to the housing project in the Eight-way Ditch neighborhood, so that Nainai can assemble an overnight bag. The apartment is on the 20th floor, with an exposed communal balcony that gives me vertigo looking down. The staircase is blocked with discarded household items, a disastrous fire hazard. Nainai packs a towel in a plastic bag and asks Sanshu, “Three Baby, did you bring clean underwear?”
I dart out of the apartment before the ensuing scene. We drop back down in the elevator and hop into Dad’s car. It’s a gray and rainy day. We set out from Dandong, north along the Yalu River and the sinister towers under construction on the North Korean side. The river is a muddy greenish gray, but the skinny gingko trees along the road are turning gold. We pass by impoverished farm compounds, restaurants boasting North Korean specialties. The river banks are strewn with huge amounts of trash. The roadside eateries are decrepit, mostly empty or closed. There is a sign saying, we collect toads, make toad oil. My dad pulls a rotisserie chicken out of his backpack, and I tear into a thigh as we drive along. He must have bought it this morning, before picking me up from my hotel. My love for rotisserie chicken is a longtime family joke, but not one he nor I have mentioned in over a decade.
The two of us, in a car for days, physically proximate despite the emotional Mariana Trench between us? Maybe that’s why the idea also feels strangely enticing.
We enter an area known for its peach orchards, and the river widens. There are mountains on the other side, terraced fields, not lovely exactly, as the slopes look brown and vegetation poor, but it’s a relief to see what resembles normal nature after the hellish construction. The barbed-wire fence continues all along the river. The only actual North Koreans I see are along a river jetty some miles earlier, many of them laboring in dark clothes. We stop at a rural compound with gates open and three cars but no one around. My dad wanders through an empty banquet hall with tables pushed to the side. We stand outside in the lot. Everyone eats a peach. Finally, we stop by a decent hotel restaurant. There is no one in the dining hall except for a table of cleaning staff, sitting and gossiping. We eat a simple vegetable-heavy meal: shredded cucumber, sour cabbage and pork, salted duck eggs, and a chicken-and-mushroom stew. “I’m craving noodles,” my dad announces. “Simple noodles in clear broth.”
His tone has a childish insistence. The drive has made him hungry. He’s never hungry in Shanghai, where he eats leftovers alone late at night in front of his computer. So we order him noodles, and he slurps them with contentment. When was the last time I’ve seen him content? Maybe when I was 16, when we went to a beach and a wave slapped into him so suddenly he’d let out a peal of laughter and turned to me, bewildered. For a flash, I’d seen the little boy in him. That memory always makes me sad, the rarity of such a glimpse of defenselessness.
After leaving the restaurant, we wind along a narrow road, climbing in altitude, and some orange foliage begins to appear. It’s three in the afternoon when we turn inland, west toward the mountains, toward the Manchurian nature preserve area where we will spend the night. The cloud cover is gray and low, the rain intermittent. There are corn fields everywhere, and little hut-like mounds made from harvested stalks. Fog shrouds the bases of dark mountains. The atmosphere is gloomy and melancholy, but in the car, an EDM remix of “My Heart Will Go On” is blaring, and spirits are decent. My grandmother is off her phone because she’s received a message that she’s used most of her data. I’m directing and co-piloting my dad, and it occurs to me that this—right now—is probably the most we’ve talked in decades: Turn left, turn right, merge onto this state road.
He’s driven a long time now, probably more hours than he’s ever driven since learning, but he is in a good mood. He’s on a road trip in his home province where he grew up in poverty. He’s following open roads, taking his family on an adventure, a foliage tour.
In his 20s, my father met an American missionary who helped sponsor his visa and brought him to Bridgewater, Virginia, where he cleaned the hallways of a community college. He never learned how to drive there. America, it turned out, was not the place he thought it to be. Something had happened during his few years there, a fractured fantasy. After I was born, he returned to China. He never left again. He has, so far, survived his cancer; the operation had removed a 12-centimeter tumor. He paid for lunch, he’ll pay for the hotel tonight, they’ll be the nicest places we can find, which in this area won’t amount to much cost. Within these borders, he can summon a version of infinitude. I feel it, too, this freedom of a loose itinerary, of just driving north along the Yalu River, meandering among these tiny hamlets, chasing the sights of leaves in this bizarre borderland. So much bleakness, and yet when a mountainside is covered in layers of reddening leaves, a spark of yellow, a cluster of orange, there is beauty nonetheless.
We must get on bigger highways to cut west, into the Kuandian Manchu Autonomous County, and the fog gets heavier and the rain denser. I scroll on my phone to find a hotel near the park and show it to my dad, who nods. I plug it into his GPS. As night falls, it seems like the reserve and the hotel will never appear, but suddenly, a sharp left turn, and we enter through a gated kiosk. It is raining hard. At the visitor center, we are able to book a whole villa for less than $200, four rooms, each with our own bed, part of a gargantuan lakeside development. Cheap construction, no gas, water running rusty red out of the taps, waterbugs everywhere. But a whole house just for us! Three floors! We run up and down and up and down, Sanshu is taking a video, even Nainai is curious, wandering, climbing down stairs, opening every drawer. “How much?” she asks, and my dad lies: “400 RMB,” or $65 dollars, past acceptability for Nainai already. But we each get a breakfast voucher, and we have a massive dining table to eat at—no need to consume outside. We’ve brought our plastic bags of leftovers from lunch, the rotisserie chicken, and Nainai produces a plastic shower cap full of steamed taro. There are no plates or cutlery here, so we eat with our hands and out of mugs. A detached house is a foreign structure in these parts, where people are used to narrow apartments in towers. Nainai and Sanshu cannot stop commenting on the scale of the kitchen. There is clear wonder on their faces, and I can tell my father is pleased.
No one else wants to go into the national park tomorrow because tickets cost too much, so I’ll go alone. He brought us all the way here, and I will see some fall foliage. Since the water runs brown, I wash my face upstairs with bottled water, like a princess. The lampshades are a coarse imitation of a Coach handbag’s two-tone, brown-checkered fabric. Downstairs, an imitation fireplace. Outside, a man in a neighboring villa’s yard smoking, staring into the night.
It’s a cloudy, frigid morning, but there it is: fall foliage on the mountains around the artificial lake, right outside my bay window. It’s 7 a.m. and people are already outside, bundled up, posing for photos. We drive bright and early to the visitor center with our breakfast vouchers, just in time as tour buses unload hundreds of other diners. Breakfast is a feast for Nainai: braised tofu, seaweed salad, fermented cabbage, salted duck eggs, sweet potatoes, and hot soy milk, into which I mix a pack of instant coffee. Under duress, I eat the mooncake Nainai gave me two nights ago, while she watches triumphantly. I’m planning for a run in the national park, and since I’m the only one going in, the rest of the family returns to the villa (which Nainai keeps calling “the dorm”). I’m under strict orders to return in two hours—we have to drive back to Dandong and then make the train to Dalian.
Being one of the first visitors in the park, I have the fall foliage all to myself. It’s freezing cold, but the river flows over mossy rocks, and fiery red maples line the banks. The walkway ascends deeper and deeper up the valley, and I’m slow-jogging up the wet leaves. The employees opening up the morning stalls look at me with curiosity. This is it! Fall foliage! Nature! It’s marvelous. Suddenly I feel very proud of my dad and his TikTok vision, his months-old driver’s license. This may not be the most famous national park in China—it’s ranked only 4A, though every display outside the park is a genius advertising sleight-of-hand of striving 5A national park—but it’s beautiful. I run uphill until I have no signal. It’s foggy and drizzly up here. Downhill, downhill then. The scent of pines in the cold air. I’m flying. I make it back to the park gate by 10:30 a.m. The SUV pulls up. I’m ravenous and exhilarated. I hurl myself at the rose cake and red bean bread in the trunk. Then I buckle up Nainai, who cries: “I’m being tied up!” “That’s the whole point!” I shout. This is our bit by now.
I’m directing and co-piloting my dad, and it occurs to me that this—right now—is probably the most we’ve talked in decades: Turn left, turn right, merge onto this state road.
We drive back toward Dandong, this time under a resplendent blue sky, the cornfields and multi-colored mountains a cinematic bucolic backdrop. Sanshu tells Nainai: “Ma, stop looking at your phone, look at the leaves outside!”
“My eyesight has gotten better these past two days,” Nainai says, “because I’ve been looking at my phone less, and the scenery more.”
“Then look!”
“Look at what? I’ve seen enough leaves.”
Basking in the sun, I could doze off. My dad’s driving is smoother and faster now, more confident. There is an ease to the SUV’s rumble. Soon we’re back along the Yalu River, and the hilly shore on the other side is also in bloom with a fall palette. The way back goes by fast. We return to Dandong by 1.30 p.m., up on the 20th floor of the housing project, and Sanshu is dispatched to bring back freshly boiled dumplings, chive and egg filling, from a hole-in-the-wall my dad likes downstairs. A sense of accomplishment hangs around the room, though no one says anything out loud. I eat a glutinous rice zongzi dipped in sugar. I could eat the whole world. Nainai looks on approvingly.
I did have one last wish for this trip, before our borderland jaunt concludes. We drive to the cemetery where my grandfather is buried. He died when I was a freshman in college, and I have never been to his tomb. “Row 14, number 11,” Nainai calls after us. She doesn’t go because it’s considered dangerous for older people to visit cemeteries—they may get pulled in by the ghosts beckoning from the underworld.
We stop by a flower shop at the bottom of the compound, where a young man carefully arranges 11 chrysanthemums. We drive in the brisk, cloudless afternoon to the cemetery up on a hill, semi-feral dogs scampering off the wide paths. It is golden hour when we descend a staircase bisecting rows of densely packed tombstones. My dad and Sanshu, not having listened to Nainai, meander into row 12, searching and scanning each headstone for their father.
I’m carrying the flowers, and I walk straight to row 14, number 11. There he is. Wang Mingjun. I call my dad and Sanshu over. They are in a terrible rush because we have to catch the train, but Sanshu brushes some pine needles off the grave. I set down the flowers, and my dad tells me to kneel and touch my head to the tombstone. I do, feeling the cold black marble. I am his child then. I remember the old, smiling man who waited for me outside school gates when I was small, his face the face of my father and my own. I breathe in deep and start back up the stone stairs after my uncle and my father, who are waiting under the pines.
In the following weeks, back in Shanghai, my father returns to his computer, to long hours staring numbly at internet videos, his SUV parked tightly in a compound up north, thousands of miles away. But something has shifted between us. In the final days of my visit, he brings me plates of peeled pomelo. Sliced apples await on the dining room table. We return to another hospital by bike, and though he mostly doesn’t wait for me at intersections, occasionally he glances back as I pedal to catch up. In the examination room, when the doctor gazes at me curiously and my father opens his mouth, I brace myself.
“My daughter,” he says.
Again I stay silent. And I know what has shifted: the winding road along the Yalu River, a fast-coming bend, a flash of crimson in the hills. When he was a young man, this might have been the essence of what my father dreamed of: open roads, miles and miles of unknown potential ahead. No true destination. Handing his mother a peach, watching his daughter race down a slope, amid splendid leaves, back to her family. I don’t know if I had ever seen him more alive than on that drive.
And I was alongside him the entire time. Carefully reading out instructions for the road as he listened. Navigation, the only mode of speech we shared, unfamiliar but safe.
Turn right, turn left, slow down. It’s coming up ahead. We are here.
Aube Rey Lescure is a French-Chinese-American author and editor-in-chief of the literary magazine Off Assignment. Her debut novel, River East, River West, was shortlisted for the 2024 Women’s Prize for Fiction, the Carol Shields Prize, the Massachusetts Book Award, and the Maya Angelou Book Award, among others. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, Granta, Guernica, AFAR, LitHub, Electric Literature, and more. Her essay “At the Bend of the Road” was selected for The Best American Essays 2022.
Editor and fact-checker: Cheri Lucas Rowlands
Copyeditor: Carolyn Wells
North Korea fired around 10 ballistic missiles toward the sea off its east coast on Thursday, South Korea’s military said, as tensions run high ahead of Pyongyang’s end-of-month deadline to activate propaganda loudspeakers along the heavily armed border.
The short-range missiles were launched at around 12:30 p.m. (0330 GMT) from around Wonsan on North Korea’s eastern coast and flew about 250 km (155 miles), South Korea’s Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) said.
South Korea was strengthening surveillance and maintaining readiness for additional launches, while closely sharing information with the United States and Japan, it added.
Japan’s Defence Ministry said North Korea had launched what could be a ballistic missile and that it did not appear to have landed within Japan’s Exclusive Economic Zone.
South Korea’s presidential National Security Office convened an emergency meeting to assess the security implications.
It urged North Korea to halt its repeated ballistic missile launches, calling them a “serious violation” of UN Security Council resolutions, a presidential statement said.
“The launch can be linked to the tensions along the border as part of a broader series of North Korean shows of force, although it is difficult to say the border situation directly prompted the missile launch,” said Kim Yong-hyun, a professor of North Korean Studies at Seoul’s Dongguk University.
Kim said the launch also appeared intended to demonstrate North Korea’s increasingly advanced ballistic missile capabilities to the US, Japan and the broader international community.
TENSIONS RUN HIGH
The launch came as tensions along the inter-Korean border have risen sharply since two mine explosions in the Demilitarised Zone on September 21 wounded three South Korean soldiers.
Seoul says the mines were planted by North Korean forces and has called the incident an armistice violation and demanded an apology. Pyongyang has denied responsibility and accused Seoul of fabricating the incident.
Kim Yo Jong, the influential sister of North Korean leader Kim Jong Un, announced last week that Pyongyang would place loudspeakers capable of blasting anti-South Korean propaganda on standby across the border within days.
She had earlier said the broadcasts would operate along the entire border by the end of October, though analysts in Seoul questioned whether the devices would be activated.
“Rather than being a firm decision to begin broadcasts, North Korea seems to be saying it will have everything ready and watch how South Korea responds,” said Lim Eul-chul, a professor at Kyungnam University in Seoul.
ARTILLERY BATTERIES
North Korea’s military has also deployed artillery batteries visible from across the border, which South Korea’s military said earlier on Thursday appeared largely intended for show.
“We assess that North Korea has several intentions, but the exposure of older weapon systems should be understood as being for show,” JCS spokesperson Jang Do-young told a briefing.
Defence Ministry spokesperson Chung Binna said placing artillery where it could be easily seen “makes little tactical or military sense”.
Reuters witnesses this week saw three North Korean armoured vehicles, identified by South Korean experts as self-propelled 122-mm howitzers, positioned near the border with their gun barrels pointed south.
North Korean soldiers were also seen erecting fences inside the DMZ.
Jang said North Korean activity near the Military Demarcation Line bisecting the DMZ was continuing, while South Korean forces were issuing warning broadcasts and firing warning shots during incursions.
Seoul was awaiting a response to its two proposals for military talks and had urged North Korea to return to dialogue, the Defence Ministry said.
North Korea last fired ballistic missiles on October 12. Pyongyang has conducted missile tests on more than 10 occasions this year.
Recently, Kim Yo-jong, the younger sister of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, warned that Pyongyang could take strong retaliatory measures if Seoul continues activities it considers provocative. To casual observers, this may appear to be just another routine exchange of verbal threats between the two Koreas. However, a closer examination of the current situation suggests […]
The post Is the Korean Peninsula moving closer to war? appeared first on Asia Times.
China and Russia opened new bridges to North Korea a month apart, a sign that the two countries are competing for the favor of North Korean leader Kim Jong Un. The Yalu River bridge to China sat unused for more than a decade after its completion in 2014, until Russia began rewarding North Korea for […]
The post Two new bridges show China and Russia competing for North Korea appeared first on Asia Times.
© Korean Central News Agency, via Reuters
South Korea will withdraw more staff from its embassy in Kyiv, Foreign Ministry spokesperson Park Doo-soon said on 20 October. Seoul says Kyiv broke an understanding to keep the transfer of two North Korean prisoners of war confidential, which was meant to protect the soldiers and their families in the North. Seoul had conveyed its position through several channels but received no sufficient response from Kyiv, Park added.
The Korea Herald noted, the move comes amid a dispute with the host government itself. That matters beyond the two countries. Good ties with Kyiv serve South Korea’s interests, AP reported earlier this month, citing experts, because Ukraine could share intelligence on North Korea’s expanding cooperation with Russia and its battlefield experience.
Officials put the planned withdrawal at about half the embassy’s staff. The Korea Herald added that the timing has yet to be set. A chargé d’affaires and all consular staff will stay in Kyiv to keep diplomatic contacts and protect South Korean citizens.
Zelenskyy told the UN General Assembly in September that Ukraine had transferred two captured North Korean soldiers to South Korea. Ukrainian forces had captured both men in Russia’s Kursk Oblast in January 2025, where Pyongyang had sent troops to fight for Moscow.
On 6 October, South Korean Foreign Minister Cho Hyun said Sybiha’s messages included words of apology but fell short of what Seoul expected. Ukrainian Foreign Ministry spokesperson Heorhii Tykhyi replied that Sybiha had written he regretted the situation reaching an exchange of critical comments.
In an interview published on 12 October, Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha told the dispute stemmed from differing readings of confidentiality at various stages of the transfer. He considers the matter closed. “Ukraine fulfilled all its obligations.”
Recent incidents involving the explosion of a North Korean landmine in the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) and the repatriation of North Korean POWs held in Ukraine have led to a dramatic increase in North Korea-related coverage by South Korean media outlets, which had shown little interest in the North for some time. The reason is that […]
The post China-Russia backing lets Pyongyang tune out Seoul’s old song appeared first on Asia Times.
Army leaders preparing for a potential fight in the Pacific told us that some of the biggest lessons they’ve learned from the war in Ukraine and America’s now-paused fight against Iran are to move around assets that you can and find a better way to camouflage those that you can’t. While seemingly common sense, these lessons come from watching how war is now waged. The ubiquity of drones in Ukraine providing constant overwatch and strike capabilities, and U.S. troops killed and equipment destroyed or damaged by massive Iranian barrages on static installations are informing changes to how the Army trains, equips and operates.
These conversations took place during the recently wrapped Association of the U.S. Army (AUSA) annual convention in Washington, D.C., which TWZ attended.
“A lot of the things that are happening right now in terms of long-range fires, integrated air and missile defense, and the lessons that we’re learning from them, we’re able to bring a lot of that to our potential challenges in the Pacific,” Gen. Ron Clark, commander of U.S. Army Pacific (USARPAC), told us at a media roundtable. “Specifically, I am thinking through mobility and camouflage. So it’s one of those age-old Army forgotten sciences of how to hide in plain sight and how to camouflage ourselves from observation, because the ability to be able to see surface entities is almost ubiquitous.”
“Our ability to be able to use electronic warfare, to be able to use just good old-fashioned camouflage, and the ability to deceive our adversary is a must,” Clark added. You can read more about the U.S. military’s camouflage and deception efforts in our story here.
As we have frequently reported about the Ukraine war, both sides have been using a variety of “old-fashioned” tactics to duck, dodge and hide. They range from practices like smokescreens to hide from drones to updates on measures from the past like paint schemes designed to obfuscate vehicles and other equipment from AI-enabled targeting systems.
As tough as things have been for Ukraine and for U.S. forces in the Middle East, the challenges will be even greater in the Pacific, Clark warned.
In Europe and the Middle East, “it’s not a near-peer adversary that we will be working against,” said Clark, referring respectively to Russia and Iran.
“Whereas in our theater, it absolutely is,” the USARPAC commander noted in a reference to China without naming the country. “So our ability to scale that and to think through the problem sets of how do we fight Type One, Type Two UAS? How do we think through ballistic missile defense holistically in the region? We spend a lot of time working with the joint force for solutions associated with that. How do we maneuver inside an archipelagic environment?”
For the Army, any fight in the Pacific will require soldiers to be able to hop islands and move through vast swaths of ocean, constantly hunted and frequently inside the Chinese weapons engagement zone. Clark said that the Army’s organic fleet of ships like landing craft, small tugs, and modular causeway systems operated by the service’s 8th Theater Sustainment Command will be vital for maneuver.
The Army, however, is struggling to keep its aging fleet of 70 of these vessels in the water and it got rid of a number of others over the years. Concerns about this underappreciated force have been something TWZ has raised for years.
“But we also have to be able to conduct tactical maneuver with forces on the ground that can provide long-range precision fires, as an example, and then move so that fires, radars, sensors are not easily targeted,” Clark added. “Because if they can see you, they can hit you. And if you know they have an opportunity to return fire, they will. So our lessons that we’re learning are, in some cases, are very, very relevant. In some cases, we can learn from some of the changing characteristics of war.”
Still, the wide-open plains and dense cities of Ukraine are quite different from the beaches and jungles of the Pacific, Clark reminded us.
“The way we generally fight does not equate specifically in the Ukraine piece to the maneuver that you would see out of U.S. forces if deployed in a conflict like that,” the USARPAC commander explained. “To be able to use operational maneuver and tactical maneuver in a way that it’s not just simply drone on drone or firing long range fires at one another at scale for an extended period of time. We find our way to work through that problem set and maneuver to positions of advantage and to prevail.”
— Special Kherson Cat
The drone approaches from above and flies directly into the helicopter’s spinning main rotor. It’s unclear whether… pic.twitter.com/GCb9FodXG3
Regardless of the terrain, the ubiquity of drones in the Ukraine war has made maneuver and resupply deadly endeavors, with much of the front lines bogged down with limited territorial advances by either combatant.
When we pushed further on that point, Gen. Xavier T. Brunson, commander of United Nations Command, Combined Forces Command and United States Forces Korea, weighed in.
“To be able to move with sensors everywhere at all times causes us to achieve positions of advantage from distributed locations,” Brunson pointed out. “So the fight is: you look at maneuver. You might maneuver to a position of advantage, knowing that you’re going to change that again. The ability to utilize not only joint sensors but joint effectors, if you will, joint fires, to be able to use those things from different positions changes the shape of the operating environment.”
The bottom line, he added, is that “maneuver is always going to be maneuver. You’re going from A to B, but you might go from A to A1 to A2 to A3 to get to B, and that’s what I think we realize in this distributed fight that’s going on in Ukraine, and so we continue to watch to see what lessons might be coming back into” effect.
In part reacting to lessons learned from Ukraine and the Middle East, the Army is also changing how it trains, Clark stated. In South Korea, he said the service has to get out of the habit of concentrating so heavily on just two annual major training exercises.
“We recognize… that largely the two big exercises every year in Korea focus on large command posts,” Clark proffered. “We’ve got to move away from that. So what we intend to do is take advantage of the knowledge that we have of the threats that exist or that prevail in the Ukraine fight.”
Clark said these discussions are underway with his deputy commander, Republic of Korea Army Gen. Sungmin Kim.
“We talk about how we would operate in a distributed fashion. You know as well as I do, there’s a location that we go to to train every year in Korea, and we stay in that place,” Clark said in response to a question from another reporter. “What would it look like if we train from Jeju all the way up to Gyeonggi Province in the north? What would that look like, just with our headquarters alone?”
“So just imagine,” Clark postulated, “if we train across the entirety of the peninsula, and got ourselves in the shape where we would say [to North Korea], ‘You can’t utilize the things that you’ve learned in the fight and the battlefield in Ukraine on us, because we learned the same lessons and we’ve distributed ourselves in such a way that we don’t make ourselves the target. We won’t be moored in place,’ and that’s what I’m talking about when I talk about positional advantage. It might not be the same place to the continuum. It might not be the same place when you’re in crisis or conflict or competition. We might have to change that, and that’s what we’re learning.”
Another lesson from Ukraine that Army leaders should be paying attention to, said another panelist, is how both sides are using aerial and ground drones to supply frontline forces and evacuate the wounded because human efforts have now become too deadly, thanks to drones.
“I think you also can’t talk about Ukraine without talking about autonomy,” said Tara Murphy Dougherty, CEO of a company called Air, which provides AI-based sustainment solutions to the Army.
“One of the advantages that you get from using simulation and automation, and really using models and compute in order to create convoy plans, as opposed to humans with Excel spreadsheets, is you are able to do many fewer actual convoys because you’re using all of your capabilities so much more effectively and efficiently,” Dougherty posited. “And while it’s an indirect example, I think it does tie to soldier protection because you’re putting fewer soldiers out there in vulnerable settings. I see that not as an end-goal outcome; we need convoys.”
Ultimately, however, the Army will have to advance what Ukraine and Russia are doing with the deployment of aerial drones and uncrewed ground vehicles for logistics by creating “convoys” of autonomous vehicles.
“I see the end goal outcome as having as many autonomous convoys as possible, and we’ve heard today already at this event some of those ideas,” the CEO added. “In the interim, until we get to more autonomy in medevac and more autonomy in convoys when it’s non-soldier material that’s going out to the battlefield, let’s try and put fewer out there while actually getting more material and capability into the force where it needs to be.”
The Iranian missile and drone barrages on fixed U.S. bases across the Middle East have created some very costly lessons for American forces. As we noted earlier in this story, several troops were killed and critical air defense radars, aircraft and other important equipment were destroyed or damaged. U.S. installations across the region have also suffered damage.
In another media session, we pressed Army officials operating in South Korea about what they learned from watching the destruction caused by Iran and what they are doing to address it.
You can see a satellite image of damage to a U.S. radar site in Jordan below:
NEW: The radar for a THAAD system was struck and apparently destroyed in Jordan while two other THAAD radar systems may have been hit in the UAE, satellite images show – w/ @ThomasBordeaux7 https://t.co/qiuWVQgyda
— Gianluca Mezzofiore (@GianlucaMezzo) March 5, 2026
“We certainly are watching what’s happening, and we are learning from what is happening in Operation Epic Fury,” Lt. Gen. Joseph “Joe” Hilbert, commanding general of Eighth Army, stationed in South Korea, told us. “We’re learning what’s happening in Ukraine, and we are working through changes in our own tactics and techniques and procedures to be able to react to those threats and to be able to defend against them.”
For more details, he turned the microphone over to Col. Rosanna “Ro” M. Clemente, commander of the 35th Air Defense Artillery Brigade in South Korea.
“Drawing from those lessons learned, a lot of it is trying to understand how our systems are being hunted by the adversary,” she told us. “So, strictly into all of our training plans, and as we conduct our own internal exercises, all of our air defenders are practicing something as simple as mobility and survivability jumps, which is being able to reposition and displace your systems to different alternative locations based on any type of threat warnings that we receive. They’re very, very well trained. I think all of our soldiers know how to move their systems extremely, extremely well. They move them quickly, and they are able to move them and reposition them into different locations across the peninsula that still maintains that ballistic missile defense coverage.”
In addition, “we also have to rely on the other pillars of integrated air and missile defense, most specifically the passive defensive measures that we also have in place,” she added.
Those measures involve “a little bit more than just hardening – but a couple of other techniques that we’ve learned from the Russia-Ukraine war in terms of deception, how to move things around, create distractions, and make sure that we create different types of dilemmas for the adversary in terms of where our capabilities are and where are they positioned to protect its defended assets.”
Contact the author: howard@twz.com
The post What The Army’s Pacific Commanders Are Learning From Ukraine And Iran Conflicts appeared first on TWZ.
North Korea’s recent underwater launch of strategic cruise missiles underscores its accelerating drive to field a survivable, sea-based nuclear deterrent, even as significant engineering hurdles and platform limitations continue to constrain its naval ambitions. North Korea test-fired two types of submarine-launched strategic cruise missiles into the Sea of Japan, marking its first public underwater cruise […]
The post What do North Korea’s sub missile tests really prove? appeared first on Asia Times.
North Korea says it has test-fired two types of submarine-launched strategic cruise missiles off its east coast, in what appears to be the first time its bizarre Hero Kim Kun Ok submarine has been seen at sea in a publicized manner. If the vessel truly was the launch platform, the tests would mark its first confirmed weapons trials and a potential step toward operational service. Unveiled with considerable fanfare in 2023, the Hero Kim Kun Ok has been billed by Pyongyang as a centerpiece of its future nuclear-armed navy, but its operational status and actual capabilities have remained unclear.
The launches took place Wednesday, October 14, with state media Korean Central News Agency (KCNA) reporting the activity earlier today. North Korea said the tests were intended to assess the readiness of its underwater combat systems, improve the Navy’s ability to execute strategic missions, and demonstrate the reliability of its deterrent. Along with imagery of the cruise missiles, KCNA released one photo of the Hero Kim Kun Ok underway, which you can see at the top of this story.
KCNA did not otherwise identify the submarine involved or disclose the missiles’ ranges, flight paths, or performance. South Korea’s Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) said it had detected and tracked the launches from before firing through the cruise and terminal phases. A JCS spokesperson said one missile type was launched from a vertical launch system and another from a torpedo tube. This would match the imagery we are seeing, it would also match the Hero Kim Kun Ok’s unique capabilities. The South Korean military assessed that the launches came from a submarine but did not initially identify the vessel publicly.
There remains a possibility that the 3,000-ton-class Hero Kim Kun Ok was not actually involved in launching the missiles. North Korea has long used underwater platforms for test missile launches and has paired these with images of an actual submarine for propaganda purposes. However, the JCS confirming they came from a submarine would lend additional credence to the possibility Hero Kim Kun Ok did indeed launch the missiles. If this is the case, it would indicate that North Korea has begun validating weapons systems aboard the submarine ahead of deployment. At the very least, we can confirm that the Hero Kim Kun Ok is now sailing, although South Korean and U.S. intelligence would be acutely aware of its movements and it could have been in at-sea testing for years now, we just don’t know.
North Korea unveiled the submarine in September 2023, describing it as its first “tactical nuclear attack submarine” and one of the Navy’s core offensive platforms. At the launching ceremony, North Korean leader Kim Jong Un was quoted as saying that arming the Navy with nuclear weapons “brooks no further delay.”
Nevertheless, many questions remain about the submarine’s design and operational prospects. Overall, it remains a heavily modified derivative of a Cold War-era Romeo class diesel-electric submarine — nearly an antique by today’s standards — rather than a purpose-built guided missile submarine. Previous imagery shows 10 missile launch tubes concealed in the prominent ‘turtle back’ aft of the sail, in addition to torpedo tubes, although the precise configuration, usable capacity, and operational status of those systems remain uncertain.
The absence of publicly reported weapons tests from the vessel over the following years raised questions about its development. Analyst Shin Jong-woo of South Korea’s Defense and Security Forum told Reuters that the latest launches suggested combat-system testing for operational deployment was underway. He also suggested that North Korea may have resolved technical problems and could also test a submarine-launched ballistic missile (SLBM) before the vessel enters service. North Korea has previously presented SLBMs of increasing size, but has lacked a suitable submarine to launch them from.
Missile launches while the submarine is submerged represent a more demanding and operationally relevant capability than firing from the surface.
At the same time, a missile launch of any kind demonstrates only part of the capability required for a submarine like this to be effective at all. An operational submarine must also be able to deploy reliably, remain sufficiently difficult to detect, maintain its weapons, and execute missions under realistic conditions.
A vertical launch system (VLS) can provide dedicated capacity for certain missile types — potentially much larger ones — and may enable faster launches or larger salvos than a configuration relying exclusively on torpedo tubes. Torpedo tubes offer an alternative launch method, but with different constraints on weapon dimensions, handling, and firing procedures.
The forward four tubes are larger than the rear six on the submarine’s ‘turtle back.’ This would allow the boat to carry multiple types of missiles, possibly including a mix of short-range and longer-range submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs) and submarine-launched cruise missiles (SLCMs).
Testing both systems would be consistent with an effort to validate multiple elements of the submarine’s weapons architecture.
North Korea has pursued submarine-launched missiles for years. In March 2023, it reported a submarine-launched cruise missile test from the older 8.24 Yongung submarine. In January 2024, Pyongyang said it had fired Pulhwasal-3-31 strategic cruise missiles from that same vessel. The earlier sub is in the 2,000-ton-class and is understood to have only one or two vertical launch tubes.
North Korea’s description of the weapons as “strategic” cruise missiles should also be treated cautiously. North Korea’s long-range cruise missile program is well established and a nuclear payload is a major part of its ambitions, but how mature or reliable a nuclear warhead is for this application at this time isn’t clear. Regardless, ground, surface, and now subsurface-launched cruise missiles are a key part of North Korea’s broader deterrent architecture.
According to reports, Wednesday’s activity was the first publicly reported underwater North Korean missile-testing event since the January 2024 launch.
Compared to the 8.24 Yongung submarine, the Hero Kim Kun Ok has a larger hull and additional vertical launch tubes, but it still uses very dated diesel-electric propulsion, which presents hugely different endurance, acoustic, and operating constraints compared with nuclear propulsion or even modern diesel-electric submarine capabilities.
As to the expectation that Pyongyang may test an SLBM from the submarine before deployment, this would be a likely milestone toward North Korea fielding a credible sea-based nuclear deterrent.
North Korea is also pursuing a separate nuclear-powered submarine project, unveiled as under construction in March 2025. Its completion and operational timeline remain uncertain. Nuclear propulsion is a much bigger challenge, but if perfected, such a boat would be of considerably greater value, especially as a second-strike capability.
The latest submarine tests come amid a broader series of North Korean weapons demonstrations, including reported hypersonic missile tests on September 20 and October 3, as well as tactical ballistic missile launches earlier in October.
The sequence is consistent with Pyongyang’s effort to diversify its delivery systems and complicate military planning for South Korea, the United States, and Japan.
The activity also carries a diplomatic message. North Korea has repeatedly insisted that it will not abandon its nuclear weapons while the United States maintains what Pyongyang calls a hostile policy. It has also rejected the suggestion that adjustments to U.S.-South Korean military exercises would be sufficient to change the underlying relationship.
The tests also follow North Korea’s rejection of an apparent diplomatic opening from U.S. President Donald Trump after Washington sought to reduce tensions surrounding a U.S.-South Korean military exercise.
A submarine able to launch missiles from less predictable locations complicates defensive planning for South Korea and the United States. The challenge extends beyond intercepting missiles after launch to detecting and tracking the submarine before it reaches a potential firing position. Even a partially capable vessel places additional demands on potential adversaries.
Were things to ‘go hot’ on the Korean Peninsula, any submarine capable of carrying strategic weapons would be at the top of the targeting list for Pyongyang’s adversaries. A submarine based on the archaic Romeo class design would be fairly easy to track from the time it leaves its berth. This is especially the case bearing in mind the sophisticated nature of South Korea’s anti-submarine capabilities.
Future submarines will become increasingly more challenging, however. That problem could intensify if future North Korean boats make more use of Russian assistance in developing their capabilities. Submarine technology is supposedly part of the payment to Pyongyang for its help in the war in Ukraine. This could become a much larger problem, even if Moscow were to provide North Korea with advanced Kilo class boats, for example.
For now, provided that the Hero Kim Kun Ok launched the missiles, which seems most likely, this would indicate that North Korea is advancing weapons integration aboard a submarine intended to expand its offensive naval capabilities. The fact that the Hero Kim Kun Ok is now at sea also signals progress toward deployment.
Whatever the ultimate operational effectiveness of the Hero Kim Kun Ok and its emerging missile armament, Pyongyang continues to demonstrate incremental improvements to its submarine forces.
Contact the author: thomas@thewarzone.com
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When a South Korean soldier stepped on a land mine in the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) on September 21, it might have been taken as a grim reminder of a war that never formally ended. Instead, the explosion has revealed something more unsettling: the Korean Peninsula’s old security order is shifting, even as Seoul tries to […]
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North Korea has released imagery of what appears to be a flight test of an updated version of its Hwasong-11Ma hypersonic missile, nearly a year after the weapon first appeared publicly at a military technology exhibition in Pyongyang.
The September 20 test involved a short-range ballistic missile (SRBM) booster fitted with a hypersonic glide vehicle, according to photographs released by North Korean state media. A display screen visible in the imagery identifies the weapon as the Hwasongpho-11Ma-1, or Hwasong-11E-1 in the equivalent English-language designation.
The test was conducted from the east coast near Anbyon County, south of Wonsan, an area North Korea has repeatedly used for missile testing. The launch site allows missiles to be fired eastward over the Sea of Japan, providing a relatively controlled area for testing short- and medium-range systems.
South Korean and Japanese authorities say they detected two launches on September 20, with the first occurring at approximately 3:00 p.m. local time and the second several hours later.
North Korean photographs show the missile being launched from a coastal location, with Kim Jong Un and senior missile officials observing the test. Kim’s daughter, Kim Ju Ae, also appears in the imagery.
North Korea displayed a mock-up of what it called the Hwasong-11Ma at its Defense Development-2025 exhibition in October 2025. The design uses the basic architecture of the Hwasong-11 family, known in the West as the KN-23 family, but substitutes a distinctive glide wedge-shaped vehicle for the conventional warhead arrangement.
North Korea claimed another hypersonic missile test that same month, but did not release launch imagery clearly connecting that test to the Hwasong-11Ma. The missile was subsequently shown again during a military parade in Pyongyang.
The latest “-1” designation suggests an iterative evolution of the Hwasong-11Ma, although Pyongyang has not explained what modifications it represents.
Based on the imagery, the new configuration also includes a modified launcher, with the missile carried on a six-axle transporter-erector-launcher (TEL). When the Hwasong-11Ma was first shown, it was mounted on a five-axle TEL. The latest vehicle also appears to incorporate modified retractable covers around the missile.
It remains unclear whether the new TEL represents a standardized operational vehicle or a test configuration.
Preliminary illustration of the new launch vehicle for North Korea's hypersonic missiles. pic.twitter.com/dZ31LA1cbn
— Tal Inbar (@inbarspace) September 22, 2026
As with previous North Korean weapons announcements, the country’s state media claims need to be treated very cautiously. Pyongyang has a long record of publicizing weapons systems and test results that cannot be independently verified, while some of its purported hypersonic tests have left outside analysts unable to determine whether the advertised maneuvering performance was actually demonstrated.
Perhaps the most revealing test-related imagery comes from a display screen photographed at the launch site.
Kim Jong Un and his daughter can be seen watching the screen, which shows the apparent flight trajectory of the Hwasong-11Ma-1. The displayed path initially follows a ballistic trajectory before descending and then performing a pull-up maneuver, regaining altitude before continuing toward the target area.
That type of trajectory is consistent with the basic concept behind a hypersonic glide vehicle. The booster provides the initial velocity and altitude, after which the unpowered glide body follows a relatively shallow, atmospheric flight path at hypersonic speeds, while maneuvering rather than following a simple ballistic path.
The graphic is useful for understanding what Pyongyang says the weapon is designed to do, but it does not independently demonstrate that the missile actually followed the depicted trajectory.
The flight data visible on the display provides some unusually specific figures.
Enhancing the original image released by North Korea allows for an excellent view of the HS-11Ma hypersonic glide missile trajectory, providing altitude and speed data. Note: Slight inaccuracies in the numbers may occur due to the use of AI tools. pic.twitter.com/M4LkfF5VYu
— Tal Inbar (@inbarspace) September 22, 2026
According to the North Korean imagery, the missile traveled 908.2 kilometers (564.3 miles), reached an altitude of 35.8 kilometers (22.2 miles), and remained in flight for approximately 445 seconds, or 7.4 minutes.
The display gives a velocity of 2,146 meters per second, equivalent to roughly 4,800 mph. That is hypersonic velocity in the aerodynamic sense, but speed alone is not what makes a hypersonic glide weapon particularly challenging to defend against. More consequential parameters include sustained controlled flight, maneuverability, guidance, and accuracy.
Other portions of the display appear to show additional points along the flight, including different times, altitudes, and speeds. None of these figures have been independently verified.
The claimed range is particularly noteworthy because it does not match the publicly reported tracking data from South Korea and Japan.
South Korea’s Joint Chiefs of Staff said North Korea launched two SRBMs from the Wonsan area on September 20. The missiles were assessed to have traveled approximately 450 and 600 kilometers, respectively.
Japan similarly reported two launches, assessing the first at approximately 440 kilometers and the second at approximately 590 kilometers, with maximum altitudes of roughly 60 and 70 kilometers.
Those figures are substantially different from the 908.2-kilometer distance shown on North Korea’s display.
The discrepancy does not necessarily establish that either side’s data are incorrect. The North Korean figure could represent a different measurement of the flight path, or could correspond to a portion of the test that was not reflected in the public South Korean and Japanese assessments. It is also possible, if not highly probable, that Pyongyang selectively presented or altered the data.
South Korean analysts have already raised questions about the unusually long distance displayed by North Korea. Yonhap reported that experts suggested Pyongyang may have altered the figure to portray the test as more successful.
Regardless of the range actually achieved in this test, the Hwasong-11Ma/Ma-1 is significant because it represents an attempt to combine a relatively compact SRBM with a maneuvering hypersonic glide vehicle.
The underlying Hwasong-11 family is a well-established North Korean missile design. In its KN-23 configuration, members of the family have also been used by Russia against Ukraine. By placing a glide vehicle on this type of booster, Pyongyang could potentially give a regional strike weapon a flight profile substantially different from that of a conventional ballistic missile. The Hwasong-11Ma/Ma-1 also uses a solid-fuel booster, allowing for faster launches than earlier liquid-fuel designs.
In principle, the Hwasong-11Ma/Ma-1 could give North Korea an additional hypersonic strike option against more heavily defended targets in South Korea. Having road-mobile TELs would also provide greater operational flexibility despite their relatively limited range, while making it more difficult for adversaries to locate and track the launchers.
A genuine boost-glide weapon creates significant challenges for defending forces since the sheer speed of the weapon bypasses most air defenses. Its trajectory can also become less predictable after the boost phase. Maneuvering at lower altitudes could also reduce the time available to detect, track, and engage the weapon.
However, the available imagery does not establish the extent of the vehicle’s maneuverability, its ability to maintain controlled flight, its accuracy, or the reliability of the complete missile system.
North Korea has made similar claims about its hypersonic weapons in the past.
Pyongyang says it has flight-tested multiple hypersonic boost-glide vehicle designs since at least 2021, but there continue to be questions about what degree of actual capability the country has achieved in this regard. Viable wedge-shaped boost-glide vehicles have historically been extremely difficult to design and then bring to an operational state.
The challenge is not simply reaching hypersonic speed. A weapon has to sustain controlled flight and maneuverability under extreme thermal loads, while also overcoming demanding materials-science, guidance, and navigation requirements. The terminal phase is harder still. Accurately finding and striking a moving target, particularly a ship, requires a highly capable seeker and guidance system. Integrating a nuclear warhead introduces another layer of engineering and weapons-design challenges.
Those demands have made hypersonic weapons a major technological challenge for the United States and other major powers. China is currently widely regarded as the leading country in deploying and developing operational hypersonic systems, although important questions remain about the capabilities and maturity of individual weapons.
Pyongyang said it first flight-tested a wedge-shaped hypersonic glide vehicle in 2021 aboard the liquid-fuel Hwasong-8, before pairing a similar-looking vehicle with the solid-fueled Hwasong-16B intermediate-range ballistic missile (IRBM) in 2024.
VIDEO: Korean Central Television (KCTV) broadcasted footage of North Korea successfully testing the new "Hwasong-16B" hypersonic intermediate-range ballistic missile (IRBM) on Tuesday. pic.twitter.com/VNdhLAeyyK
— NK NEWS (@nknewsorg) April 3, 2024
In its coverage of the latest test, North Korean state media initially avoided identifying the weapon, describing the event as a successful trial of a “new-type weapon” that it said was significant for the rapid development of weapons technology.
Kim said the development would give adversaries an “incurable headache” and deliver what he described as a “cruel and unavoidable blow.”
Tal Inbar, the head of the Space and UAV Research Center at Israel’s Fisher Institute for Air and Space Strategic Studies identifies the Hwasong-11Ma/Ma-1 as a “very significant weapon, bringing hypersonics to the operational/tactical arena and [posing] a challenge to … air and missile defense systems.”
Whatever the exact achievements of the test, the imagery points to continued development of a weapon North Korea first publicly displayed nearly a year ago. The appearance of a new, six-axle TEL, a potentially modified missile, combined with the apparent flight test, suggests that the Hwasong-11Ma/Ma-1 program has progressed since its initial public unveiling.
What remains uncertain is how much of that progress represents a genuine improvement in operational capability.
The latest test therefore provides another indication of the resources and attention Pyongyang is devoting to hypersonic weapons, but the available evidence is still insufficient to determine how closely the Hwasong-11Ma-1’s actual performance matches the capabilities depicted by North Korean state media.
Contact the author: thomas@thewarzone.com
The post North Korea Tests New Hwasong-11Ma Hypersonic Missile appeared first on TWZ.
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