by Stephen Makk
“FINAL RUN IN,” SAID Soup, “weapons free.”
“Rooster 2, you are weapons free.”
“Copy Rooster 1, we are running in. On your right.” Both B1-Bs were going in, fangs and claws out.
“Offence. Selecting Paveway GBU-48, weapons armed. Opening bomb bay. Come five degrees right.”
Slippy banked the aircraft slightly. Laser and GPS guided the one thousand pound bombs that awaited the drop. They’d be guided in by the Sniper XR, chin mounted targeting pod. Linda ‘Razor’ Seraisi, the Offensive Systems Officer, was about to do her thing. That thing was what the Bone was good at; delivering destruction right where the enemy doesn’t want it. Wonsan naval base was about to be in a world of shit.
“Defense. We have India/Delta band Low Blow fire control radar. The Goa’s gone active. Keep on your run in Soup, it’s time to trust Little Buddy.”
“Offence. Bombs away. Salvo one gone. Come to one three zero degrees.” Slippy applied power and turned the Bone hard to the right.
“Defense. The Goa is running in.” Chaff, flares and decoys were ejected from the quadruple launchers in the B1-B’s rear. The SA-3 Goa streaked in at Mach two, closing on its target at an alarming rate. Fangs had done all she could, it was down to luck and Little Buddy’s electronics now.
Salvo one’s bombs hit their targets, and ships, dockside cranes and supply tankers disappeared in a storm of fire.
“Offence. Bombs away. Salvo two gone.” The Goa SAM flew well wide of the B1-B, its guidance confused.
“Turn seaward now,” said Soup, “go, go.” Slippy powered on and pulled hard left, and the afterburners thundered out over the bay. The Lancer rode on the four flame trailing GE turbofan engines. Rooster 2 dropped its load of death and followed.
SA-7 Grail shoulder mounted SAMs launched from the port, but the Lancers were too fast.
Black smoke rose and fierce fires burned around the base. Secondary explosions blew ships apart as magazines succumbed to the fires.
“ROOSTER FLIGHT COME to four three degrees select WP3,” ordered Soup. Target two, the nuclear complex at Punggye-ri, would now receive two very nasty visitors.
“WP3. Losing height.” The two aircraft dropped down to two hundred feet.
“Rooster 1, feet dry. Rooster 2 feet dry.” They went in just east of Kimchaek. The pair flew up a steep-sided valley around six miles long, before turning right over a flat area to the west of Kiju. Then it was North West up a river valley on the ten mile run into Punggye-ri.
Six miles to go.
Five miles to go.
“Rooster 1 on final,” Soup called.
“Rooster 2 on final from the west.”
“Defense. Mud Spike,” said Fangs, “picking up a Charlie band target acquisition radar, five kilometres bearing three two zero degrees. Source is a Flat-Face. Side-Net radar in support. We have another SA-3 Goa SAM out there. Tail is active.”
“Offence. Selecting Paveway GBU-28/B. Armed, opening bomb bay doors.” This was a frightening five thousand pound ‘bunker buster’.
Chaff, flares, decoys and the tail’s electronic dance of deception lured the SAM away.
“Bunting,” said Slippy, applying power and climbing. The bomb would be more effective when dropped from a height. The bomb was released at the position in the climb that the aiming computer calculated.
“Offence. Bombs away.” The Giant Paveway arced up over and down, following the laser designator’s aim. Its target was a hillside just above a hardened steel door. The bomb slammed in, burrowing down before exploding. It was as though an earthquake shook Punggye-ri. The shock was staggering.
Seconds later another earthquake struck as Rooster 2’s bomb found its mark.
The two Lancers turned for the coast and headed southeast over towards Japan, where a Stratotanker would be waiting.
IT WAS SAID THAT THE air turned blue, verging on violet, when Kim Jong-un was informed of the attack. A senior Air Force officer was said to be facing an anti-aircraft gun firing squad.
NHA TRANG. VIETNAM.
THE NEXT DAY, PEEKABOO Stockhaisen stood before the Long Son Pagoda. She’d wanted to be here after seeing the large white statue of the Buddha that was visible from the city. The beautiful and unique Taoist architecture was embellished with mythical animals and sculptures of Taoist gods, within a working monastery, complete with a school for monks in the grounds.
The elegant and impressive three-tier roofed entrance, decorated with dragon mosaics, led to the large temple grounds decorated with potted vegetation. She spent an hour exploring the tranquil grounds, enjoying the simple beauty of its buildings. She stopped for a rest and sat on a low stone wall in the shade of trees. Sitting opposite, were two Buddhist monks chatting quietly. One of them left after a few minutes. Two tourists walked by, and the two women spoke in what Peekaboo now recognised as Japanese. She noticed the monk looking at her; he was in his fifties she thought. She looked away, the sun shone through the leaves dappling the wall and stone pavement. She noticed him looking at her again, she didn’t feel threatened at all, he seemed peaceful.
“What troubles you?” he asked.
She frowned. “Nothing, I’m just enjoying the Pagoda and its grounds.”
“You are troubled, I can feel it. You’re carrying a burden. Let us talk. The Buddha said much about carrying and ridding yourself of trouble. In the end, only three things matter: How much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you. I can see that you carry a pain. I know this. Do you?”
She didn’t reply, and the monk continued. “The Buddha was asked, what have you gained from meditation? He replied “nothing”. However, let me tell you what I have lost: anger, anxiety, depression, insecurity, fear of old age and death. Let us talk.”
She nodded.
THEY TALKED FOR NEARLY an hour. He discovered the source of her pain, and initially she resisted his solution, but little by little, he talked her around.
“Remember, it eats you away.” He said. “The Buddha said. Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Don’t wait to attend to your problem.
Remember the problem is that you think you have time.”
He stood. “Will you follow the Buddha’s advice?”
She nodded. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”
“I thank you for allowing me to help.”
She walked back to her hotel, a faint smile on her lips, because she knew he was right. For the first time in months, the burden she carried had been lifted. She knew what to do.
Chapter 6
The Whitehouse. Washington DC.
THE NATIONAL SECURITY Adviser read the briefing report from the Pentagon. Stockhaisen knew he’d have to get over there. It could be a difficult meeting; the President was getting harder to restrain.
His desk phone rang.
“Sir, I have a call for you.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“I don’t think it can, Sir.”
He sighed. “Ok.” The call was put through.
“Dad.”
“Peekaboo?”
“Are you busy? I can call back.”
“No. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing Dad.” She blurted out, “I want to come home and start again. Let’s put this issue behind us. It’s not worth it, it’s poisoning us both.”
“Yeah, that’s great news, wow.” He sat mouth agape,” I didn’t expect... I can’t wait to see you. When can you get back?” He punched the air, Yes.
“I’m going to call the airline now, I’ll fly today if I can.”
“Let me know.”
“I will. Thanks, Dad. I’ll be home soon.” She hung up. Stockhaisen grinned and punched the air again.
This was as wonderful as it was unexpected. The day had changed; his sun had come out.
THE OVAL OFFICE.
“GENTLEMEN WE HAVE A problem, we need a solution. Let’s come up with one,” said the Pres
ident.
Also present in the room, was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Ian Cotton USAF.
Chief of Staff of the Army General Sally Weingarten, USA.
Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Nicolaj Kamov, USN.
Commandant of the Marine Corps Bruce Nanut, USMC.
Chief of Staff of the Air Force General Neil L Cooper, USAF.
National Security Advisor, Stockhaisen.
“Whichever way we go, there’s a downside,” said General Cotton. “We just have to pick the least worst option.”
“What are the chances of a surgical strike, take him out?” asked the President.
“Possible, maybe,” said General Cooper.
“But who replaces him?” said General Nanut. “He could be as bad or worse.”
“What about a full blown air campaign against the North?”
“We could do, but that would be a full on war.”
“The Army would take a big hit, along with the Republic of Korea people and forces of course,” said General Weingarten.
“Aren’t we forgetting someone here?” said Admiral Kamov.
“Who?” asked the President.
“The man on the ground, Mr President. Never forget or underestimate the guy at the sharp end.”
“Can we get him from here?”
“Yes, Mr President.”
Long minutes went by.
UNDER THE SEA OF JAPAN.
“SIR,”
Lieutenant Commander Lemineux, USS Stonewall Jackson’s Communications Officer handed Commander Nathan Blake a communications slip.
“This just came in from COMSUBPAC Sir.”
PRIORITY RED
R 221345Z JUL 86 ZY08
COMSUBPAC PEARL HARBOR HAWAII//N1//
TO STONEWALL JACKSON
PACFLT// ID S072RQ81//
NAVAL OPS/02
MSGID/PACOPS 6732/COMSUBPAC ACTUAL//
MSG BEGINS://
IMMEDIATELY CONTACT JCS BY MILLNET. ORDER OF GENERAL COTTON.
JCS// ID C98IC37X80-011-MN8G7F44//
MSG END//
Blake puffed his cheeks out. Dear God.
“Rig trim to ascend fore and aft, come to periscope depth. Stream the communications buoy.”
Nathan shook his head.
“Lieutenant Commander Lemineux. Make contact as requested, I’ll take the communication in my cabin.” Nathan entered his cabin, sat on his bunk and logged into his console.
Nathan was amazed and overwhelmed. How did you address the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs? There was a contact bleep.
“Commander Blake?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“This is General Cotton speaking. You’re in private, Commander?”
“Yes, Sir. In my cabin.”
“And under the Sea of Japan. Nice day over there?”
“I don’t know Sir, I’ve not been upstairs for a while.”
“Ok. I’m speaking to you from a meeting in the Oval Office. You’re on speaker phone. Present are the President, the National Security Advisor and the Joint Chiefs. I need you to speak your mind. Just tell it like it is, and you’ll do no wrong.”
“Sir.”
Was this actually happening, thought Nathan?
“We’re discussing options to deal with the Korean situation, and we want you in the loop.”
The CINC looked around the room.
“Commander, you’ve seen Fleet com?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“So, you’ll be aware of the USS Benfield incident?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What you won’t be aware of is that two hours ago B1-Bs carried out strikes on Wonsan and the nuclear facility at Punggye-ri. Conventional weapons were used.”
The President held up his hand. “Commander. This is the President. What we need is to get that goddamn North Korean submarine on the bottom. How do we do it?”
Could he? thought Nathan. Dare he suggest it? He’d been racking his brains and couldn’t think of anything else. It was time to take a chance.
“Mr President, there is an idea we’ve been kicking around. It was suggested by a fellow member of the war committee...”
“What’s that?”
“Mr President,” said Admiral Kamov, “the Commander’s talking about a small group on the boat who plan operations. Bounce ideas around.”
“Go on Commander, what is it?” asked General Cotton.
“Sir, we’re calling it Bull Run. I’d like to invite the person who first thought of the idea.”
“Ok, bring him in.”
“I’ll be right back Sir.”
Nathan left the cabin and walked back to the Officer’s quarters, and shook Nikki awake in her bunk. “Nikki. Sorry to wake you, but we’ve got a call. I’m taking it in my cabin, come and join in.” Nikki rubbed her eyes. She picked her bra off its perch and put it on under the blanket, then got out of her bunk in her bra and panties. Nathan just had to look. He hoped his eyes didn’t linger too long.
“Who’s it from?” She stood and arranged her hair for several seconds longer than was necessary.
“Just the President and the Joint Chiefs.” She laughed and pulled on a coverall. “You asked.” He smiled.
“Sir. I have with me Lieutenant Kaminski, the boat’s Navigation Officer.”
Someone spoke over the secure line, she’d no idea who.
“Hello, Lieutenant. Has the Commander told you who’s in the meeting?”
“Only in jest, Sir.” This must be a Senior Officer ashore she thought, maybe an Admiral.
“He’s not jesting, I’m General Cotton. We’re in the Oval Office with the President, the NSA and the Joint Chiefs. Now, this Bull Run idea you have of getting at the Seopung. Let’s hear it. Give it to me straight.”
She stared at Nathan, who grinned. She poked him in the ribs.
“Sir, we tried the east entrance first,” she said.
“Kaminski, describe the layout of the port. We’re not all familiar with it.”
“Yes, Sir. The main Sinpo base is onshore but a mile offshore is an island that’s also part of the base, and that’s where Seopung is. We tried to get in via the east channel, but there’s no chance, Sir. The west channel is the main route in and it’s tighter than a turtle’s... it’s tight, Sir.”
“Sir,” said Nathan, “the area around Sinpo is SAM city so...”
“Yes, we know that. Even a B2 Spirit would be vulnerable.”
She knew it was time to get her neck on the block.
“Sir, we have one chance,” said Nikki. “We get Seopung to come out to play.”
“And how in hell do we do that, Kaminski?” asked Admiral Kamov.
“That’s the problem, Sir. You’re not going to like it.”
Chapter 7
THE OVAL OFFICE. WASHINGTON DC.
THE ADMIRAL SMILED. “How did you come up with that, Kaminski?”
“I’m a Georgia girl, Sir. We’re all sick and twisted.”
Kamov nodded to General Cotton.
“Ok we’re done here,” said Cotton. “Thanks Commander Blake, Lieutenant Kaminski, we’ll discuss the option. Over.” General Cotton cut the connection.
“WHAT’S THE CONSENSUS?” said Cotton.
“It’s very risky,” said General Weingarten.
“It’s risky all right,” said the Commandant of the Marine Corps Bruce Nanut. “But it’s also ballsy, brave, imaginative and downright fucking brilliant.”
Admiral Kamov nodded.
“To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, when all else is impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the way forward.”
Weingarten leaned forward. “Can we sell it to the ROK government?”
National Security Advisor, Stockhaisen, tapped the desktop. “There may be a way.”
“How?” asked General Weingarten. “A lot of my men and women are at stake here.”
“I can’t say yet. I’ll have to speak to my contacts in Korea first. But I think we can
do this. We can show Kim Jong-un up as a fool with a sore ass.”
“Let’s do it. Teach that fat kid that he’s playing with the grown-ups now.”
The President was surprised; his National Security Advisor had turned from sheep to wolf.
What the hell had changed?
It hadn’t really hit Stockhaisen, in truth. He felt more confident, more assertive, more alive. It was down to Peekaboo. She was back; and so was his spine.
“Mr President? It’s your call.”
“I can see that there’s misgivings. Who wouldn’t have them? But the mood of the meeting is unmistakable. Let’s go for it. This Bull Run operation. Do it people, make it happen.”
SEVERAL HOURS LATER he checked his wall clock. It was perfect timing. Stockhaisen could call his contact at the South Korean National Intelligence Service at 8pm and then drive to Dulles to pick up Peekaboo at 10.55 after her flight from LA. He’d organised a little midnight drinks party, his wife thought it was for an old college buddy of his. She didn’t like it, but was going along with it. Stockhaisen smiled. What a turn around.
She’s back. Let’s put it behind us, she’d said.
Stockhaisen dialled.
The phone in Naegok-dong, South East Seoul rang. “Yeoboseyo, Park Hae-jin.”
“Hae, it’s Stockhaisen. How’re you doing?”
“Hi, doing well my friend. How did I know you’d be calling soon?”
“You have your eyes on the game, Hae. Let me run an idea past you....”
The discussion went on a little longer than he’d thought but not too long. He’d still be able to meet her at Dulles.
Park Hae-jin thought that the move would be well received. It slotted in with the current political mood; he didn’t see it being hard to sell.
Life was good, thought Stockhaisen. They had a real chance of ramming a gerbil up Kim Jong-un’s ass, and with Peekaboo home, the Chinese Ministry of State Security was off his back.