by Don Brown
The moment had arrived.
Gunner turned around and saw Jackrabbit give a thumbs-up. He waited for the next breaker to shove the boat a bit farther along. Then, in the respite between waves, with the Zodiac still moving toward shore, he put his right leg over the side of the boat and waited for the next wave to shove them in closer to shore.
Even the thermal suit could not totally block the cold of the frigid water. A second later, his foot touched bottom, and he remembered Neil Armstrong making that “one small step for man.” On the moon, there was no evil. But the land on which he would soon stand was a land full of evil, from the DMZ to the Chinese border, from the East Sea to the West Sea. “Deliver us from evil,” Gunner whispered as he slid out of the Zodiac, landing with both feet on the bottom.
He stood on the sand of North Korea, waist deep in water. He held his thumb up to the two men in the boat. Jackrabbit slipped over the left side of the boat. With Gunner stabilizing the boat on one side and Jackrabbit on the other, another thumbs-up signal brought Jung-Hoon out of the boat at the back. He had already tilted up the outboard to keep it from dragging on the bottom.
The three men each grabbed a handle on the boat and pulled it along through the surf and up onto the beach.
Jackrabbit leaned over and whispered to Gunner, “Get your NVDs, your night visions, Commander. Screw the silencer on your M-16. Stay here and guard the boat. Jung-Hoon and I will check out the beach. Make sure the coast is clear.”
Gunner nodded.
“Let’s get moving.”
Gunner pulled out his night-vision goggles and strapped them on his head. The dark world was suddenly lit in a ghastly green. A ledge of rocks, perhaps ten feet high, rose just beyond the wide expanse of beach. And beyond that, mountains. The beach looked empty. Jung-Hoon and Jackrabbit were jogging in opposite directions to survey the situation.
Gunner reached for his M-16, popped in a thirty-round magazine, and screwed the silencer on the end of the barrel. He mounted the night-vision scope on his rifle and twisted the thumb screw to lock it in place.
Gunner fixed his eyes on the natural rocky ledge. Until now, Jackrabbit had done all the killing on this mission. But if someone crossed that ledge, with both Jackrabbit and Jung-Hoon out of range, the responsibility for killing would fall on his shoulders.
In the solitude of the moment, with the swishing of the waves peacefully lapping the dark beach behind him, he felt, for the first time, a tinge of loneliness. He had resolved that he might have to take a life, maybe more than one, during the course of this mission. But what if a teenager traversed the rocks? Or a young couple looking for a place to make out? Or an old man trying to make it down to the surf to do a little night fishing? What if he had to take an innocent life to protect the secrecy of the mission?
More waves washed up on the beach, now in increasing frequency with the rising tide, each time reaching closer to the boat. Gunner had read about the rapid tide changes in the Yellow Sea, which made MacArthur’s heroic landing at Inchon that much more risky. He was less sure about tide fluctuations in the Sea of Japan. He wished now that he had put more time into advance planning. They had forgotten about antibiotics. First-aid supplies. Now he was dealing with the uncertainty on the timing and level of the tide.
The water seemed to be rising at an alarming rate, running up closer with each cycle. Or was it his imagination? … No, not his imagination.
Gunner decided to pull the boat up farther before the tide took it back out to sea. Crouching low, he dragged it across the sand to the base of the rock barrier. The scraping sound of rubber against sand blended with the crashing waves of the surf. He dragged the stern of the Zodiac around so the boat was now resting against the rocks, as snug against the rock wall as he could get it.
Thump.
What was that?
The noise came from above his head, from on the rock ledge. His heart pounded.
He pressed his body against the base of the rock wall and froze. The only sound was from the wind and the surf.
Two beams of light flashed on above his head and pointed out to sea.
Headlights.
Gunner pressed harder against the jagged rocks and looked up. The light beams disappeared. Then, voices!
Chi-chink.
He worked the action on the M-16, sliding a bullet into the firing chamber. He tried to suppress the sound of his breathing.
The voices grew louder. Whoever they were, they were coming closer. He heard two voices. Male. Possibly more. Definitely two.
Gunner craned his head back and looked up, back across his left shoulder in the direction of the voices.
A second or two later, two silhouettes appeared at the edge of the ledge. He could clearly see them from his position. They wore the rounded caps with short bills of military uniforms.
He slid off the NVDs, letting them dangle by a strap, and brought the rifle to his shoulder. Through the night scope, he trained the crosshairs on the chest of the one on the left. His right finger caressed the trigger.
Back as a hunter in his native Virginia, even on the grounds and in the woods at Corbin Hall, he’d shot plenty of ducks and deer. But never had he come close to training his sights on a man, even as a SEAL in Afghanistan.
Through the infrared crosshairs, he could watch the two guards or police or whatever they were as they chatted in what seemed excited tones and pointed out to sea. Then one, the one on the right, looked down, right toward him!
Gunner centered the crosshairs between the man’s eyes and held his aim. Had he been spotted? The man kept looking down in his direction and speaking in an excited voice.
Do I take them both out? he wondered. I might not be as good as Jackrabbit, but I’m good enough to pick off these two.
The other man looked down in Gunner’s direction. Could they see him? He was all in black, even his face. Was he blending in against the dark rocks? Was the Zodiac in far enough?
If they could see him, he had to take them out. He slowed his breathing. Then he froze.
The two men turned and walked away.
He heard the sound of a cranking vehicle.
Headlights again.
The sound of tires against gravel.
“North Korean National Guard.” Gunner looked to his right. Jung-Hoon was a few feet away. “I do not think they saw us, but we cannot know with certainty,” he whispered.
Then Jackrabbit joined them, jogging in from the opposite direction. “You did the right thing not to shoot ‘em, Commander,” he whispered. “Last thing we need is to start a massive manhunt this early in the game.”
“You saw?”
“The whole thing.”
“You think they saw anything?”
“I don’t think so,” Jackrabbit said. “Probably wouldn’t have left if they did. Good thing you hauled the Zodiac up. But we need to assume they did. If they saw us and thought we were a commando unit, they may have gone back for reinforcements rather than try to take us on by themselves.”
“So what do we do?” Gunner asked.
“We need to get out of here now,” Jackrabbit said. “No time to bury the boat and motor. Let’s change clothes, deflate the boat, and hide the boat and motor behind these rocks. Jung-Hoon, stand watch while the commander and I change.”
“Got it,” Jung-Hoon said.
Gunner stripped off the wetsuit. The cold air felt like he was standing in a freezer with a wind tunnel. Goose bumps popped out all over his body. He reached down into one of the seabags for thermal underwear and pulled it on. The warmth was immediate. He then slipped into black jeans, a black T-shirt, a black pullover, and a heavily insulated black jacket. He put on thermal socks, gloves, a black knitted skull cap, and black combat boots.
He looked over and saw that Jackrabbit had beaten him again and was already dressed and letting air out of the Zodiac.
“Pull some of those rocks back, Commander,” Jackrabbit said.
The rocks were about the size of
cement blocks, not too heavy to move by hand. Gunner chucked roughly twenty of them out of the way. Then he and Jackrabbit dragged the deflated Zodiac, along with the outboard, and shoved it up against the base of the rocks, rolling the deflated boat into a narrow ridge of black, the outboard sticking out behind it.
“Let’s cover ‘em up,” Jackrabbit said and started piling the rocks back against the ledge, covering the evidence.
Soon there was no sign that anyone had been on the beach.
Jung-Hoon washed the black grease from his face, since he would have to talk with North Korean civilians, but Jackrabbit and Gunner kept their faces black.
“I’ll go up first to see if anybody’s up there,” Jackrabbit said. “Wait for my signal.”
The rock wall in one area rose off the sand at an angle a little steeper than forty-five degrees. It did not appear to be an impossible climb, but was not an easy one either.
Gunner watched as Jackrabbit put his foot on the first rock, then the second, and then the third. With a few more steps, Jackrabbit reached the top of the ledge. He looked to the left and then to the right. He looked down and waved a come-on signal with his arm.
Gunner stepped on the first rock, then the second, the third, and finally reached up and clasped Jackrabbit’s hand. With a yanking heave from Jackrabbit, he sprang to the top of the ledge. Jackrabbit reached down to assist Jung-Hoon.
Gunner stood there, taking in his first full view of North Korea. They were on a rocky plateau area, rising about ten feet above the beach, that stretched north and south along the coast for as far as he could see with his NVDs. About a hundred yards or so in from the edge of the plateau, a two-lane road snaked along the coastline.
The three stood as if explorers of old reaching the New World, but with a few major differences. They were a three-man, self-financed commando squad dressed in state-of-the-art black thermal gear in a hostile, foreign land, each with an M-16 with night scope and silencer slung over his shoulder, and with a large backpack containing supplies needed for the mission. Each man also packed a .45-caliber pistol with ten rounds of deadly Winchester “silvertip” bullets.
Jung-Hoon had a coded list of local contacts opposed to the regime in Pyongyang. Many on the list were Christians worshiping in underground churches whose names and contact information had been supplied by Pastor Lee. Other names on the list Jung-Hoon had accumulated from his own sources. Every person on the list would be tortured and/or executed if Dear Leader or any of the government officials in Pyongyang learned of their opposition to the regime.
Jackrabbit pulled his arm tight against his body, but kept turned away from the others to keep them from seeing his pain. “We’ll cross the road and move south, following it as long as we can. If we can get past the next town without being seen, it’ll clip twelve to fifteen miles off the distance to where we’ll set up camp, get some shut-eye when daylight gets here.”
“Let’s do it,” Gunner said.
“If a vehicle approaches,” Jackrabbit said, “hit the deck. Let’s roll.”
Jackrabbit jogged across the narrow road and moved through the ditch and up the other side into a field of dead grass. Gunner and Jung-Hoon were right behind him, matching almost step for step.
“Head to the treeline,” Jackrabbit said.
A couple minutes later, they approached a line of fir trees, which marked the beginning of the steep rise of rock and earth along the coast, leading to the rugged mountainous heart of the country to their west. The treeline stood closer than Gunner first thought, perhaps only ten yards from the road.
“This treeline runs along the road. Let’s move as fast and as far as we can. We’ll keep pushing until an hour before light, then look for a place to pitch camp. Tomorrow, Jung-Hoon here can spend some of your cash, Commander, and buy us a vehicle to get around in. That should help.” He held on to his arm again and almost seemed to grimace. “Okay, let’s go.”
The trio headed south into the dark and cold Korean night.
CHAPTER 21
Headquarters
East Sea Fleet
Navy of the Democratic People’s Republic
T’oejo-dong, North Korea
What do you mean the Najin has been sunk?” Admiral Rhee In-gu screamed at his aide, Senior Captain Choo Shin-so, as if Captain Choo had done something wrong. Rhee was commander of the North Korean Navy’s East Sea Fleet, one of two four-star admirals in the Navy of the Democratic People’s Republic.
“The Najin is the flagship of the entire fleet! Do you not understand that the Najin is Dear Leader’s pride and joy? He has said as much many times!” Admiral Rhee threw his arms in the air. “Do you want to be the one to tell the general admiral? Do you want to be the one to break the news to Dear Leader? That his flagship is gone? That you and all your subordinates failed to carry out all defensive measures to protect her?”
The admiral turned and walked away from his ornate desk. He walked over to the back wall of his office and stood before two life-size oil paintings, each lit by a spotlight. One painting showed Dear Leader, resplendent in his green medal-adorned Army uniform. All senior officers in the North Korean military were commanded to display this portrait. The other, of an elderly officer in his service dress-blue Navy uniform, portrayed the legendary General Admiral Kim Il-chol, the five-star commander of all naval forces of the Democratic People’s Republic, who was retired at the age of eighty.
From the canvases on the wall, their eyes bore into him. Dear Leader had entrusted to him command of the entire East Sea Fleet and, with it, the flagship Najin. He was one of only two four-star admirals who served in the Navy. His East Sea Fleet was bigger than the Yellow Sea Fleet. Rumors flowed that he, Fleet Admiral Rhee In-gu, stood next in line to pin a fifth star to his collar and become the next general admiral of the Navy.
But now, this? How could it be? All gone … his ambitions of becoming general admiral had just sunk with the Najin. His East Sea Fleet had lost the nation’s most prestigious flagship.
And now his rival, West Fleet Admiral Cha, would surely be anointed with the fifth star.
Rhee knew the price of failure. He would be lucky if Dear Leader let him keep any of his stars. He would be lucky if Dear Leader did not order him shot by a firing squad.
He turned back and glared at Captain Choo, who was still standing at attention. “I wish for you to explain two things to me, Captain.” He slammed his fist on the desk, which startled the captain. Rhee believed the captain needed startling. His senior officers had become soft. “One, how did this happen? And two, how many survivors do we have?”
“Fleet Admiral, sir.” The captain adjusted his blue tie, as if that adjustment would somehow make what he was about to say more acceptable. “From the information we have been able to gather, by all accounts, it appears that a special commando unit of US Navy SEALs is responsible for the sinking of the Najin.”
“US Navy SEALs?” The fleet admiral slammed his desk again. “I know that American propaganda boasts that the SEALs are the world’s most elite commando unit. But sink a great warship? In North Korean territorial waters?” He swiped his hand through his hair. “Explain! Explain that to me, Captain!”
“Sir, we believe the Americans dropped the SEALs in by parachute from a stealth bomber. We believe this because of a brief blip on the radar screen that disappeared in the vicinity of the ship. We did not detect the airplane on our radar because it was stealth. But we spotted on the radar screen the parachute deployment.
“Our theory is that the SEALs swam under the ship and attached magnetic explosives to the hull and then detonated the explosives remotely.”
“Magnetic explosives?” Admiral Rhee shook his head. “That is the stupidest explanation I ever heard! Did you ever consider the possibility that the South Koreans or the Americans launched a submarine attack?”
“We did consider all that, Admiral. But one of the survivors, the ship’s forward lookout, reported seeing a SEAL team in the water near
the ship. In fact, the ship went to general quarters before she blew and had opened fire on the SEAL team with a bow-mounted NSV machine gun. The captain of the Najin tried to take the SEALs captive and sent a launch with Marines to capture them. But the SEALs got into a gun-fight with the Marines and shot them all before the ship opened fire with the machine gun. These SEALs, they are excellent sharpshooters.” The senior captain spoke with a tinge of admiration in his voice for the SEALs.
Admiral Rhee glared at the captain, not appreciating his praise of the SEALs’ marksmanship.
The senior captain adjusted his tie again. “The other survivor, the ship’s radar operator, corroborated seeing the blip on the screen. Shore radar operators had spotted this same blip.”
“Wait … did you say the other survivor?”
The captain hesitated. His contorted facial expression suggested something ominous. “The Najin went down rapidly, sir. And I regret to inform you, my fleet admiral” — he hesitated, stammered, and looked down at the floor — “there were only two survivors.”
“What?”
Admiral Rhee walked behind his desk and reached up into a cabinet for a greenish bottle half full of Chamisul soju. He poured a healthy dose into a glass and gulped a huge swallow of the potent liquor. He would have downed the whole glass, but he had to remain sober. This was a crisis, and he was in charge. Tomorrow was tomorrow.
He looked back at the captain. “We have rescue boats in the area continuing the search for possible survivors?”
“Yes, sir, Admiral. We have three Komar-class missile boats crisscrossing the area now, sir, with two more on the way.”
“What have they found so far?” the admiral demanded.
“The debris you typically find floating after a sinking. Plastic bottles. Items of clothing.” The senior captain paused. “But perhaps the most interesting thing they found, my admiral, is this.”
The captain reached into his attaché case, pulled out a brown plastic container, and slid it across the admiral’s desk. “This was found in the water less than one kilometer from where the Najin went down, sir. Three of these were floating on the surface.”