Thunder in the Morning Calm Page 9
“I demand an answer!” the colonel screamed. His face was red and blood vessels bulged on his neck. “Why did you steal property of the state?”
“I … I …” Sobbing, Pak tried to wipe the tears from her face.
“Get your face out of your hands!”
Pak looked up. “I am sorry, Colonel. I felt sorry … for the old man.”
“Ha ha ha ha!” The colonel burst into mocking laughter. “You felt sorry for the old man. So you stole from me?”
“I am so sorry, Colonel. I will not do it again.”
“You felt sorry for an enemy prisoner? Well, how does this feel?” He looked at Kang. “Staff Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir!”
Pak looked at him. She was terrified. Her hands were shaking, her lips were quivering. She mouthed a silent “Please, no.”
Kang drew his arm back again. The second slap struck her face harder than the first had. Again she tumbled like a rag doll.
The colonel smiled. He sat back in his chair and watched while the other guard just stood there, looking down at the traitor sobbing at his feet.
The colonel’s eyes caught Kang’s, and the two men, though separated by a gulf of rank and age, both grinned.
Oh, to be on the same wavelength as leadership! Kang thought. He had already received a medal for meritorious service for his actions at the border last year. He was proud of the fact that he had fired across the river, even fired bravely across the border into China, killing one or two of the Bible-thumping traitors who were helping escapees leave the great Democratic People’s Republic without authority. A few did escape that day, but he knew that his actions served as a mighty deterrent against such treachery in the future! They decorated him, but not to the extent that he deserved. He was “too young,” they said, to receive the highest award of the republic.
But the action he took at the border, he was certain, got him noticed and got him this new assignment. What medal might he receive as a result of his heroism today? he wondered. What promotion was he due for? This was his destiny. This he knew he deserved.
“Get her up!” the colonel shouted.
And again, the other guard put his hands under Pak’s armpits and hauled her back to her feet.
Excellent! Kang thought as he saw his handprint on her face. He considered the mark visible evidence that he shared the mind-set of party leadership toward those hostile to the state.
The colonel glared at Pak. “Stand at attention!”
The woman stood, then bent forward, appearing suddenly dizzy.
“Do not slump in my presence, you piece of traitorous trash! This court-marital of the Army of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is hereby convened. Stand at attention!” He nodded at Kang, who nodded back and stepped behind Pak. He put one hand in the center of her back and with his other hand pulled her shoulders back, forcing her to stand in an upright position for her sentencing.
“This court-martial, based upon the evidence having been considered, including the evidence produced from the prisoner and recovered by the staff sergeant, and based upon your own confession, does hereby find you guilty of the high crimes of stealing the property of the state and rendering aid to the enemy. I, and I alone, possess the authority now to sentence you to your fate.” The colonel glared at Pak, whose eyes seemed glazed, unseeing. “And included within my authority is the power to have you executed or to let you go free. Is there anything you wish to say in your defense?”
Tears rained down the red handprint on Pak’s cheek. She brought her hand to her face, wiping the tears away. “I … I meant no harm. I promise not to steal again.” Her voice faded under the sound of more sniffling.
“That is it?” the colonel snapped.
Blood flowed from her nose. She wiped it on her sleeve.
“Very well,” the colonel said. “Having found you guilty on all charges as set forth in the indictment against you, this military court-martial does hereby sentence you to be executed by firing squad.”
“Ah, nooooooooo!!”
“Shut her up! Take her. Lock her up. The sentence shall be carried out at noon! At my direction!”
Kang smiled. “Yes, Colonel!”
CHAPTER 8
US Navy F/A-18s
on patrol over the Yellow Sea
Lieutenant Commander Corey Jacobs, USN, known by his handle as “Werewolf,” pushed down on the stick of the supersonic fighter and banked the plane to his right. Bright rays of midmorning sun streamed through the top of the clear-glass canopy and into the cockpit. The blue waters of the Yellow Sea glistened ten thousand feet below.
Down to his left and trailing by one hundred feet, his wingman, Lieutenant Bill “Bobcat” Morrison, mimicked the banking maneuver of his senior officer. Morrison’s F/A-18 Super Hornet, its gray wings swept back, flew a broad swoop through the skies, like a graceful gull following its leader.
Today marked the duo’s third mission in three days of high-stakes, cat-and-mouse war games with the Korean People’s Air Force, the official name of the Air Force of North Korea. Each day, the mission had been the same. Launch from USS Harry S. Truman in the middle of the northern Yellow Sea, fly due east toward the North Korean coastline, then start a swooping maneuver, turning back thirteen nautical miles from the coastline, just one mile short of entering Communist airspace.
These “fly-ins,” designed to keep the Communists guessing if American jets would invade their airspace, had started in retaliation for the North Koreans buzzing over the top of the USS Harry S. Truman, invading its airspace. The rules of engagement, or ROE, called for avoiding North Korean airspace and no firing except in self-defense.
Yet, despite the current rules of engagement, Jacobs, Morrison, and the other pilots in the air wing had contingency orders to change the ROE — to penetrate North Korean airspace, launch missiles against selected military and industrial targets in and around Pyongyang, then break for the safety of Osan Air Base just south of Seoul.
These contingency orders would be implemented only if the Dear Leader’s Air Force took a shot at the Harry S. Truman, something they had not yet dared try. But the North Koreans tended to strike on cherished American holidays, like the Fourth of July. And with it being Thanksgiving weekend back home, they just might try something extra.
These round-the-clock flights by the carrier’s air wing to the edge of North Korean territorial airspace would continue until someone with more brass on their collar than Jacobs ordered them to stop.
For the last three days, the war-game routine on both sides had become a repetitive chorus. As Jacobs and his fellow Navy fighter pilots bore down at supersonic speed on Dear Leader’s airspace, MiG-21s of the Korean People’s Air Force would scramble, rocketing out to greet the Super Hornets. The MiG-21s would chase the Super Hornets back to the west, toward the carrier, where the MiGs would be intercepted by two more eastbound Super Hornets flying toward them in defense of the ship.
A testy game of high stakes, such high-speed maneuvering through the skies made for an aerial powder keg that could blow at any moment.
“Werewolf. Bobcat. Here they come.” The voice boomed through the plane’s air-to-air radio control and into Jacob’s headset.
“Roger that, Bobcat. Got ‘em on my radar. Looks like a couple of ‘em. Same drill. Hang on. Let’s get out of this bank and break for the ship.”
“I’m with ya, boss,” Morrison said. “I feel the need for speed!”
North Korean MiG-21s
on patrol over the Yellow Sea
Lieutenant No Chul-Su, Korean People’s Air Force, eyed the two inbound American fighters on his cockpit radar screen. The jets were rocketing toward the coastline, but in the excited rush of the moment, he could not determine their intentions.
He switched his broadcast radio to international frequency. “American F-18s! You are violating the sovereign airspace of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Turn back or you will be fired on!”
US Navy
F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea
Did you hear that sucker?” Morrison asked. “Yeah, I heard him,” Jacobs said. “Those MiGs have screwed-up radar. Let’s get the heck out of here. Set course two-seven-zero degrees and hit afterburners … On my mark.”
“Roger that, boss. Setting course two-seven-zero degrees.”
North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea
No response from the Americans. Had they heard him? They were banking, slightly. But were they turning to fly back out to sea? Or were they altering their course from Namp’o to Pyongyang? At this speed, they could drop a concussion bomb or a laser-guided missile on the palace of Dear Leader within minutes!
There was no room for error. He could take no chances. He had been trained for instances like this, and when in doubt, he was called to defend the Motherland!
He had no choice. He reached down and activated the plane’s fire-control radar. Then he reached for the “missile launch” button.
US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea
Beep-beep-beep-beep
Beep-beep-beep-beep
Beep-beep-beep-beep
The cacophonous rapid beeping drew Commander Jacobs’s eyes to the missile-lock alarm.
“Skipper, he’s locked on!” Morrison yelled.
“I see that!” Jacobs said. “On my mark! Hit afterburner!”
“Roger that.”
“Two … one … now!” Jacobs pushed down the plane’s throttle, and the jet’s afterburner kicked in, firing the Hornet through the skies with a missile-like burst.
“Skipper, we got a missile in the air! Running up our rear! Right now!”
“Okay! Follow me! Climb to the sun!”
“With ya, Skipper!”
Jacobs pulled back on the stick and the Super Hornet climbed at a steep angle. He steered the nose straight into the overhead sun. The rays were so bright that he could barely make out the climbing altitude on his altimeter: 10,500 feet … 11,000 feet … 11,500 … The idea was to pull the heat-seeking missile into the sun’s rays.
“You still with me, Bobcat?”
“Still with ya, Werewolf, just off your wing. But that missile’s still closing!”
“Okay okay … it hasn’t decided which one of us it’s gonna lock on. Feed range updates!”
“Range three hundred yards and closing, sir … Range … two hundred fifty yards … range two hundred yards … Missile closing fast, sir!”
Jacobs glanced at his altimeter: 13,000 feet … 13,500 feet.
“Okay, stick with me, Bobcat. Don’t panic. On my mark, break hard right and launch chaff and flares. I’ll break left. Got it?”
“Got it, skipper! On your mark.”
“Range!”
“Range one hundred yards …”
“Stand by … be ready …”
“Range seventy-five yards … Range fifty yards and closing … Skipper?”
“Hang on …”
“Range twenty-five yards …”
“Now! Break! Break!” Jacobs bulled the stick to the left and fired chaff and flares out the rear of the jet. The jet pulled hard to the left, like a peeling stripped off a giant banana. Powerful g-forces pushed him back into his seat. He looked back and saw an explosion lighting the blue sky.
“Dear Jesus, please not Morrison.”
North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea
Lieutenant No looked up through the cockpit glass. The bright explosion several thousand feet above his head meant a direct strike! His wingman, Lieutenant Lee Ung-Pyong, flying about twenty yards off his right, had a wide grin on his face and flashed a thumbs-up.
The adrenaline flowing through No’s body had taken control. His hands shook and his mind rushed with a thousand thoughts. He had just destroyed a vaunted fighter jet of the United States Navy!
In a matter of hours, he would become a hero of the Korean people! He, and he alone, had now sent a message to the cowboy fliers from the aircraft carriers to think twice about taunting the coastline of the Motherland. Soon, he would be sitting in the presence of Dear Leader himself, receiving all the accolades that he had earned and deserved for this act of heroism. This would be hailed as the greatest North Korean military victory since long before his birth, when the Navy captured the American spy ship the USS Pueblo.
Indeed, this would be an even greater feat than the Pueblo. For there, the Americans were only spying. But here, the Americans had invaded the airspace of the DPRK with hostile jet warplanes. What a difference a matter of seconds had made. His star would rise faster than a blazing comet! He would be immortalized as the pilot who single-handedly saved the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea
Truman Control. Viper Leader.” Jacobs had switched to the direct frequency for the ship. “We’ve been fired upon by North Korean MiGs! Repeat, we’ve been fired upon. Evasive maneuvers taken. Status of Viper Two uncertain.”
“Viper Leader. Truman. Copy that. Damage report?”
“Truman. Viper Leader. Uncertain. I’m fine. Haven’t located Viper Two.”
“Viper Leader. Truman. Roger that. You are authorized to release weapons and use force to defend yourself. Repeat. You are authorized to use force to defend yourself.”
“Truman. Viper Leader. Roger that. Understood. Understand upgraded rules of engagement. Authorized to use force.”
Jacobs armed his missiles and looked back over the horizon for a parachute. A staticky crackling came through his headset.
“Werewolf! Bobcat! You okay?”
“Bill!” Jacobs felt himself exhale at the radio call from his junior partner. “Thank God! You okay?”
“I’m fine. That missile hit one of our flares and blew. I got bounced around a bit, but I’m airborne.”
“You need to head back to the ship?”
“Negative. Unless you order me back,” Morrison said.
“You up for a fight?”
“Let’s go get ‘em. I don’t appreciate getting shot at.”
“Good!” Jacobs felt himself grinning. “Then let’s go kill a Commie!”
“Sounds like a plan, boss! I’m right behind you!”
Jacobs pulled back on the stick again, turning the plane back toward the last known location of the MiGs.
North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea
Kaech’on Control. Red Vulture One.” Lieutenant No radioed his home air base, located fifty miles north of the national capital of Pyongyang. Kaech’on was the headquarters for the First Combat Air Command, which was responsible for defense of the capital city.
“Red Vulture One. Kaech’on Control. Go ahead.”
“Kaech’on Control. Red Vulture One. Be advised we have engaged enemy aircraft … US Navy F/A-18s violating DPRK airspace. I ordered them to turn back. They refused. I fired. Advised, one enemy jet destroyed per visual confirmation.”
“Red Vulture One. Kaech’on Control. Copy that. Return to base.”
“Kaech’on Control. Red Vulture One. Roger that. Setting course for home base. We’re on our way.”
“Red Vulture One! Red Vulture Two! Second enemy fighter is on radar!”
“What?” No looked down and saw the same two blips on his radar screen that his wingman had just reported. How could this be? He had seen the explosion himself! And now, somehow, two American jets were on his tail!
Beep-beep-beep-beep
Beep-beep-beep-beep
Beep-beep-beep-beep
The missile-lock alarm cut a panicky static throughout his cockpit. The Americans had locked on to him! A cold sweat washed over his body.
“Red Vulture Two! They’ve locked on to us! Hit afterburners.”
US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea
Range to target, two miles,” Jacobs said, his eyes focused on his fire-control radar and his right thumb resting on the missile-fire button. “
Morrison, I’ll take the one on the left. You take the one on the right. Copy that?”
“Copy that, boss,” Morrison said from the cockpit of his F/A-18. “Ready to fire on your command.”
“Roger … on my mark … fire!” Jacobs pressed the missile-fire button. The plane jumped, and less than a second later an AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missile pasted a white streak of smoke through the skies at two-and-a-half times the speed of sound. Off to the right, an identical smoke streak trailed a Sidewinder shooting out from Morrison’s plane.
“Let’s see if you can get out of this one, suckers!”
North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea
Red Vulture One! … Missile in air! … Check that … two heat-seeking missiles on our tails!”
“Red Vulture Two! Pull up! Pull up! Into the sun!” Lieutenant No grabbed the stick on the MiG-21 and pulled back frantically, causing the jet to point upward. “Hit afterburners!” The plane shot up into the sky, climbing like a rocket. “Prepare to fire chaff!”
US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea
Commander Jacobs craned his head skyward and squinted against the brightness as he watched the two MiG-21 “Fishbeds” rocket upward toward the sun, trying to replicate the same evasive maneuver that he and Morrison had just pulled off by the skin of their collective teeth.
“Range to target, 100 yards! … Range to target, fifty yards!”
The “Fishbeds” — as MiG-21s are referred to by American fighter pilots — suddenly broke in different directions, launching chaff and flares into the sky.
But the Sidewinders honed onto their afterburners.
BOOM!
The first jet exploded in a fireball. Then the second Sidewinder ran up the tail of the other Fishbed.
BOOM!
Twin fireballs lit the sky as the flaming hulks of what moments ago had been sleek fighter jets dropped through the air.