The Pacific Rim Collection

by Don Brown

  “Right away, boss.”

  Beechcraft Bonanza G36

  over the Sea of Japan

  The Bonanza raced north, just over the surface of the water under a slight cloud cover. Rays of midafternoon sunshine streaked down through the spotty clouds. Patches of orange-blue sky colored the horizon to the west.

  Gunner and Jackrabbit had again switched places. Gunner moved to the right cockpit seat and Jackrabbit moved to the back of the plane, where he continued unpacking the supplies and weapons in the three wooden crates, getting them ready for transfer to the Zodiac.

  No boats or ships were anywhere in sight, which was a good thing, Gunner thought, relieved that they seemed alone in the world, undetected by enemy eyes.

  Not much had been said since the fake power loss, as if each man had reverted to self-reflection.

  “What’s the game plan, Jung-Hoon?” Gunner asked. “How much longer until we ditch the plane?”

  “Our speed is two hundred miles per hour, and we have enough fuel for five hundred miles. We will continue on this course for one hour and hope that we are not spotted by surface craft. This course will keep us between ninety and one hundred twenty miles off South Korea’s coastline. Our main risk comes in about twenty minutes, when we will fly twenty miles east of Ulleung-do Island, which is seventy-five miles from the South Korean coastline.”

  He punched a button and a GPS map appeared on the screen.

  Flight path in Sea of Japan past Ulleung-do Island

  “This is our flight path,” he said. “Bottom of the arrow is where we started our fake crash. We are flying at twenty-five feet on a course just west of due north, low enough that it is impossible for shore radar to pick us up.

  “Right now, we are southeast of the island. In about twenty minutes we will fly past Ulleung-do. The island is jagged with many steep cliffs and craters. It has no airport and no radar. However, there are three ferryboats that run from the small fishing village of Dodong on the island back to the mainland. We will be close enough to the ferry lanes that we could be spotted, but we should pass at least ten miles east of the closest ferry lane.

  “If we are able to clear Ulleung-do Island, we fly another forty minutes to the break point, about two hundred miles from where we called in the fake emergency. There we change course to the northwest and fly right toward the North Korean coastline. We arrive at the ditch spot, twenty miles off the North Korean coastline, just before sunset. It will then take about two hours to reach shore.”

  The plane roared on to the north. “So how much risk do we run of being detected by North Korean radar when we get within twenty miles of the coastline?” Gunner asked.

  “Risk would be low if we could stay at twenty-five feet because the curvature of the earth makes it difficult for shore radar to see us. But we can’t hit the water at this speed or we will break apart. I will have to bring us up to a thousand feet to get enough altitude to glide back down to the sea. When I bring the plane back up, that will make us visible to radar for a few minutes. Radar operators probably will see us for a few moments, before we drop back down. But even if they call for a search, it will soon be dark. Hard to conduct a search. We’ll have to sink the plane, just to be safe.”

  Gunner wished they could somehow keep the plane … in case …

  CHAPTER 14

  USS Harry S. Truman

  the Yellow Sea

  Admiral Hampton stared through his binoculars out toward the east. Somewhere out there, beyond the scope of his binoculars, the cruisers and destroyers under his command had begun executing his orders to beef up the missile screen between the carrier and North Korea. So far, since that first attack, all had been quiet. No other missile barrages had been fired at the carrier.

  The curtain of darkness would soon drape over the ships of the battle group, and Hampton worried about deadly missiles flying out of the night sky. He hoped his ships would make a better account of themselves if or when that happened again.

  “Excuse me, Admiral.”

  Hampton lowered his binoculars and turned around. His chief of staff, Captain Tony Farrow, had returned to the flag bridge.

  “Whatcha got, Tony?”

  “Sir, we have some information on the whereabouts of Commander McCormick.”

  “Excellent,” Hampton said. “About time we got some good news. You ordered him back to the ship, I take it?”

  An anxious look crossed Farrow’s face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m afraid that the news on Commander McCormick is not good, sir.”

  “Not good? What do you mean? Spit it out.”

  “Well, sir, Commander McCormick apparently was on a private plane flying from the east coast of South Korea to Japan. The plane issued a distress call, then declared an emergency about halfway out. The South Koreans think the plane went down, sir.”

  “What the …” Hampton ran his hand through his hair. “Are you sure about all this?”

  “What we know, Admiral, is that a single-engine plane, a Bonanza G36, took off from a small airport in eastern South Korea, a place called Tongy’mak in Kangwon-do Province. The pilot filed a flight plan for Hamada, Japan. That’s about a one-hour flight to the southeast across the Sea of Japan, a little over two hundred miles, well within range of the Bonanza.

  “Thirty minutes or so after takeoff — and I’m not clear on the time frame here — the pilot declared an emergency. Radar showed the plane losing altitude and then it disappeared from the radar screen.”

  “Umph.” Hampton grunted. “Son of a —” He slammed his fist onto the back of his chair and stared out over the ocean. “Why in the world would McCormick be flying to Japan?” His eyes met Farrow’s.

  “Well, you did sign the order for him to take leave, Admiral.”

  “Yes, I did. I was trying to help the guy clear his head.” He slammed his hand onto the back of the chair again. “This is unreal. Now I’ve got to write a letter to his mother informing her of his death. As if she hasn’t already lost enough.”

  Farrow waited for a few moments, then said, “Sir, there are a couple of odd things about all this.”

  Hampton looked over at his chief of staff. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, a British airliner claims to have spotted a small plane fitting the description of the Bonanza headed north just minutes after Commander McCormick’s plane declared an emergency.”

  “North?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t understand that one. But at least it gives us some hope.”

  “Yes, sir,” Farrow said. “One other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A South Korean reserve unit reports that someone stole a cache of weapons earlier today. South Korean police suspect an arms dealer named Kim. Police tracked this Kim guy to the same airport that this plane took off from. It appears that Kim was at the airport when the Bonanza took off.”

  “So?”

  “Well, the police were able to apprehend Kim. They did not find any weapons. The airport is small, sir. Very light traffic. The police suspect the weapons were on that plane when it took off.”

  Hampton ran his hand back across the top of his head. “What kind of weapons are we talking about?”

  “Small cache of light weapons, sir. A few M-16s. Handguns. Grenades. Some navigational equipment. That sort of thing.”

  “Very odd,” Hampton said. He folded his arms and walked over to the window and stared out to the east. “I don’t have time for speculation, Captain. Do we have an approximate location of where the plane went down?”

  “Yes, sir, we do. The Koreans have the location. It’s at thirty-six degrees, thirty-four minutes, eight seconds north latitude and one hundred thirty-one degrees, two minutes, fourteen seconds east longitude.”

  “Very well. Alert the Pentagon. Request any US ships in the vicinity to conduct search-and-rescue efforts. Let them know that Commander McCormick was on board. I’m sure that the president wi
ll have a personal interest in that.”

  “Aye, aye, Admiral. I’ll send a flash message, giving it highest urgency. That will get an immediate response.”

  Beechcraft Bonanza G36

  over the Sea of Japan

  We are approaching our position off Ulleung-do Island,” Jung-Hoon said. “The island will be about twenty miles over to our left, and the ferry lane is about ten miles to our left. They come from the Korean peninsula and loop out east of the island before going into Dodong. Be on the lookout for any vessels.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Gunner said. He unbuckled his harness, got out of the right cockpit seat, and slipped into the back of the plane, where Jackrabbit was loading .223-caliber bullets into magazines.

  The jump seat right behind Jung-Hoon was empty, and Gunner took it and peered out the window. The cloud cover had cleared. An orange-pink late-afternoon seascape painted the sea and the sky to the west. The sun was large and low in the sky.

  His eyes scanned the horizon. Still nothing but the empty waters of the Sea of Japan.

  He pondered the absurdity of it all. What if he did see a ship? So what? Would that change their mission? Of course they could always dump their weapons overboard and make an emergency landing in Japan, and Jackrabbit could tell the Japanese that they’d gotten disoriented or something. That was one of the contingency plans.

  Gunner dismissed that thought. At this point, they were in. There was no turning back.

  The brave men of the American Revolution had a saying, “Live free or die,” that had spurred freedom-loving Americans since the early days of the republic. Most modern-day Americans, addicted to their iPods and smartphones and social networks and unreal reality TV shows, did not understand the saying. Most had never even heard it. Too many modern-day Americans, lorded over by their masters, never complained as long as their fat bellies were full, he thought. Freedom, sadly, no longer mattered. Free was now the goal. Get something for nothing. Get free goodies from the government. Let someone else pay.

  But a precious few still remembered and understood the saying that was attributed to the great Revolutionary War hero General John Stark, a great New Hampshireite. General Stark, the hero of the Battle of Bennington, was invited to a reunion, but because of his failing health had to decline. He scribbled a toast on parchment that was carried by horseback courier to the celebration, a toast to which his former men raised their glasses. On the parchment, since yellowed with age, the general wrote the immortal words: “Live free or die: Death is not the worst of evils.”

  And thus the phrase “Live free or die” became the state motto of New Hampshire and the war cry for freedom-loving Americans who would rather die than be lorded over by a tyrannical government bent on taking away the basic freedoms guaranteed in the Bill of Rights.

  “Live free or die.” Gunner mumbled the words that were lost in the roar of the plane’s single-rotor engine.

  If any American soldiers remained in North Korea, he would draw back the curtain on their imprisonment. He would set them free or he would die trying. If the end of his days on earth was imminent, at least his life would have been worthwhile.

  He squinted off toward the western horizon. Rubbed his eyes and squinted again. “Jackrabbit, pass me the binoculars.”

  “Sure, Commander.”

  Gunner, his squinting gaze fixed on a location to the southwest, held his arm out toward Jackrabbit. When he felt the binoculars in his hand, he brought them up to his eyes. The vessel was cutting through the water, moving from left to right.

  “I’ve got a vessel near the horizon, gentlemen,” Gunner announced. “Looks four to five miles out.”

  “Let me take a look,” Jackrabbit said, squeezing himself into the left side of the cabin beside Gunner. Gunner handed him the binoculars.

  “Which direction?” Jung-Hoon asked.

  “Well, if we’re still flying north, looks to be just south of due west from us,” Jackrabbit said.

  “That’s the direction of the ferry routes going into Ulleung-do Island,” Jung-Hoon said. “They may not be able to see us from this distance. It depends on how the sun is hitting the plane.”

  South Korean fishing trawler MinCho

  the Sea of Japan

  The seventy-five-foot white wooden trawler MinCho plowed through choppy seas. Standing on the starboard front deck, Park Chan-Ho checked his watch. The MinCho should be approaching its homeport of Dongdo on Ulleung-do Island within the next thirty minutes.

  The strong afternoon wind was blowing out of the west, which meant the closer they got to the island, the calmer the water would get as the jagged mountains on the island blocked the west winds.

  The day was good. They had been blessed with a large haul of yellowtail tuna and amberjack. Park, the fifty-five-year-old longtime first mate aboard the trawler, was tired, sore, and looking forward to getting back to Dongdo and unloading the haul, some time with his woman, and a good night’s sleep. Then back out to sea before dawn the next day.

  He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, cupped his hand against the breeze, and flicked the wheel on the lighter.

  Aah. Nicotine. He held the smoke in for a moment, then exhaled.

  Off toward the eastern horizon, where the dark-blue waters of the sea meshed with the darkening skies in the direction of Japan, he noticed something small and yellow, lit by the orange rays of the afternoon sun, flying low over the water. He squinted and looked again. What was it? An airplane? A helicopter? A low-flying missile? No. He took a drag on the cigarette. A missile would not be yellow. And flying north? Not possible.

  He looked hard again and convinced himself that it was a small aircraft. Probably a single-engine plane.

  Park stepped into the cabin area, out of the wind, where his friend and longtime sea dog, Captain Cha Du-ri, stood at the wheel of the trawler.

  “Captain, there is a small aircraft on the horizon. It’s yellow. The same color on the all-vessels notice we heard a while ago. You should have a look.”

  “Take the wheel,” the captain said to the second mate, a twenty-two-year-old recent hire.

  “Yes, sir,” the second mate said and stepped behind the wheel with a tinge of excitement lighting his face at the notion of taking the wheel.

  Park opened the wheelhouse door and stepped out on the wooden deck with the captain.

  “Where?” the captain asked.

  Park scanned the skies for a moment. “I don’t see it now, Captain, but it was out there.” He pointed to the east. “Flying from right to left, very low, going north.”

  “You have an extra cigarette?” Captain Cha asked.

  Park handed his boss a cigarette and the lighter. A second later, a cloud of smoke rose from the captain’s lips and blew out to sea, following the direction of Park’s smoke. “You believe this may be the same plane we received the distress call about?”

  “I cannot say, Captain. Probably not. We are way north of those coordinates. But I am sure I saw a small plane and it was yellow.”

  The captain took a drag on his cigarette. “You are sure it was yellow? Perhaps it looked yellowish in the late-afternoon rays of the setting sun.”

  The captain had a point. This late in the day, the sun did indeed have a way of distorting colors. “I wish you had seen it. The plane looked like a bright painted yellow. I do not think it was the reflection of the late-afternoon sun.”

  The captain, who liked cigarettes as much if not more than Park did, seemed more enthralled with his tobacco than discussing a mysterious airplane in the distance that had vanished. Through a smoke cloud, he said, “You feel confident enough in your spotting to recommend that I call it in to the Coast Guard?”

  “That is up to you, sir.”

  “And I did not see what you saw. You did not answer my question. If I call it in, and if the Coast Guard officers then meet us in Dongdo, they will question you about what you saw. That means you will not help me and our young new second mate haul all these fish out of the
hold. We’ll have to clean up the boat by ourselves too. We’ll have to get the trawler ready to go out again in the morning. And since our young apprentice in there has little experience in these matters, you know what that will mean, do you not?”

  “Yes, sir,” Park said. “That means that you would be left to do the bulk of the work by yourself.”

  “That is correct, Park.” Another drag on the cigarette. “I will call the Coast Guard if you feel certain that you spotted the missing plane, not just any plane. So my question is, do you feel confident enough in your spotting to recommend that I call it in to the Coast Guard?”

  Park flipped his ashes over the side of the trawler. A gust of wind blew smoking ambers back along the side and out past the churning waters in the wake of the stern. “Perhaps you are right, Captain. Perhaps I saw the yellow reflection of the sun’s rays on the fuselage. It makes no sense that the missing aircraft would have wandered this far north.”

  “You are a good man,” the captain said, patting Park on the back. “Now, go in the wheelhouse and relieve our young friend. I am afraid with him steering we might wind up in Tokyo.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Beechcraft Bonanza G36

  over the Sea of Japan

  We are now slightly north of the DMZ,” Jung-Hoon said, “and approaching our midcourse correction to the west-northwest. I will climb to one thousand feet and glide the plane down into the water. Once we ditch, we may have five minutes to get the raft inflated, get our equipment, and get out. That’s if we are lucky. Jackrabbit, is everything ready to go?”

  “Zodiac boat, check,” Jackrabbit said. “Weapons, check. MREs, check. Tent, check. Electronics, check. We’re ready to take a swim if we need to. It’s now or never.”

  “Okay,” Jung-Hoon said. “I’m breaking to the northwest in … stand by … three … two … one … setting course for three-zero-zero degrees.”

  Gunner felt the plane bank in a loop to the left, low over the water. He looked at the GPS map now blinking in the center of the plane’s instrument panel.