Red Phoenix

by Larry Bond

  His fingers found the cover and flipped it up. There was a simple toggle switch underneath. This was normally used on the ground only, to raise the canopy. He flipped it up.

  He heard a motor behind his head start to whine and snapped his left hand back to the loop. He saw the canopy frame start to move, and then daylight appeared under the front. The whistling sound increased to a roar.

  The slipstream suddenly caught the raised edge of the clear bubble. The mechanism was designed to hold the hundred-pound canopy up against gravity, not down against thousands of pounds of pressure. The linkage pulled apart, the hinges at the back sheared off, and the canopy tore away from the airplane.

  Tony was exposed to the hundred-knot wind for only a few thousandths of a second. Two short lanyards led from the canopy to the ballistic charges under the ejection seat. Unlike the primary circuit, with its torn wiring, these worked. The lanyards went taut.

  Tony felt the seat move beneath him. Used to seven or nine gravities during violent maneuvering, the seat threw him out of the fighter with an acceleration of thirty-three g’s.

  The force of the blast shocked him and distorted his time sense. He felt the single shock of the explosive start to fade, but suddenly it was augmented by the rocket motor on the base of the seat. This only fired for a few tenths of a second, but the straps in front tightened as it pulled him back as well as up, slowing his forward speed. He saw the cockpit sides pull away from him and was suddenly surrounded by open sky.

  He watched his aircraft as it fell away from him. The cockpit looked odd and empty without the canopy, and the ejection rail stuck out well above the line of the fuselage. It was in a slow left roll, preventing him from seeing the damage to his ship.

  He was disappointed and desperately wanted to confirm that the damage to the Falcon was fatal, that there was no way he could have made it back to base. The fighter was desperately needed, almost as much as the pilot who flew it, and its loss would make everyone’s job that much harder.

  The slipstream was still buffeting him, but it no longer felt like a wild animal tearing at him. Tony felt a motion behind him and realized the seat was falling away, having done its job. There was a rustling sound, and he looked up in time to see his chute deploy in apparent slow motion.

  He didn’t believe it. The damn thing actually worked! The circular canopy was half green, with orange and white quarters filling out the circle. Tony gazed at it, admiring the way they had spaced the colored sections, the way it looked in the light from the setting sun.…

  The setting sun. Night. On the ground! Tony snapped out of his daze and looked down. The rocky hillside was rushing up at him. He took a few moments to look around, to try and get the lay of the land.

  It was a snow-covered slope, patches and streaks of brown showing through where the ground was especially rough. And there were pine trees dotting the slopes, with a large patch right under him.

  He pulled on a pair of red handles, and a vent opened on the back of his chute. He might be able to steer clear. He looked at the setting sun, trying to mark the western direction against a prominent landmark.

  The land sloped down to a river. If the ground wasn’t so rocky, it would be a pleasant valley to farm. The river ran roughly north-south and would serve as a good guide for his travel.

  He heard a roar and saw Hooter’s Falcon fly past. The jet was close enough for Tony to see Hooter’s thumbs-up gesture, and Tony was sure he could see Tony’s wave and clasped hands over his head. Hooter would carry his location and the fact that he ejected safely back to the squadron.

  The fighter flew off down the valley, leaving Tony alone. He missed the freedom of flight, the feeling of control over his destiny. He looked down, watching the ground rush up. His control would be much more limited, for the time being.

  KUNSAN AIRBASE

  He had taken the time to clean up and change after the debrief. Walking into Anne’s office wearing a flight suit was a little too melodramatic for his taste. Hooter knew where to find Anne. He and Tony had visited her twice during mornings off from flying.

  In spite of the hour the building was lit up and busy, with people coming and going. From the outside it looked like any of the office buildings on base, but someone had nailed a hand-lettered sign that said LOGISTICS over the original AIRCRAFT MAINTENANCE RECORDS. Under the board with the single word painted on it, someone had added another sign: HELP WANTED, APPLY WITHIN.

  Anne’s receptionist, Gloria, said that she was in a meeting, but after seeing John’s expression she went to call her. John had carried bad news before, worse news than this, but it was never easy. He put on an expressionless mask that he saved for occasions like this and waited.

  Anne came out of a hallway door, dressed in blue jeans and a sweater. She looked tired, with a fresh layer of concern about whatever had called her from the meeting. She saw Hooter and almost stopped in midstride, but she caught herself.

  Walking toward him, she asked, “Where’s Tony?” but she knew the answer when he didn’t answer immediately. In the last few strides her expression changed, as she tried to maintain control, and realized how hard that could be.

  Hooter waited until she came closer, then said, “Let’s go to your office.”

  “But what’s happened? What about Tony?”

  “Please, Anne, let’s talk in your office.”

  Her face became a mask even more expressionless than John’s.

  They walked around a corner, down a short hall. Stepping into a small office, John let her go in first, then gently closed the door behind him.

  She watched him closely, and after waiting half a moment, she said, “Tony’s plane was hit.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. But I saw him bail out. As far as I know, he’s healthy.”

  She took a deep breath. “Thank God. When I saw you, I was so afraid it was something else.” Even now she couldn’t say that Tony might have been dead.

  Hooter sketched out the mission, how Tony had been hit, and the ejection. Her initial relief was worn away as Hooter described the location: rough country, well behind the lines, and in winter. He was also out of rescue helicopter range.

  John tried to talk about smaller things: Tony’s work at the squadron, standard rescue procedures, the progress of the air war in general.

  She followed his lead and they chatted for about five minutes. Finally, when there didn’t seem to be any more point to it, she mentioned her meeting and he excused himself.

  Anne didn’t return to the meeting. After Hooter left, she sat at her desk and tried to understand what she felt. She knew she was tired. The stress of her job, the importance of her task, had kept her working twenty-hour days. One of the bright spots in these two days had been the visits by Tony. Seeing someone outside of her job, outside of the war, was something she had cherished.

  Tony would show up in the morning, sometime after breakfast. They would talk for a while, and then he would have to go back to the squadron. With the two buildings on the same base, he was never gone long. Besides, everyone in the squadron knew where to find him.

  They had talked about their interests, past experiences, their beliefs and goals. She had learned more about him in those few short chats than in all the dates they had gone out on.

  Now she would have to make it without his help, and she didn’t know if she could. There were things she hadn’t said, on the road to Kunsan or here in her office. Next time she saw him, they would have something new to talk about.

  JANUARY 6 — WEST OF P’OCHON, SOUTH KOREA

  Tony marched and tried to figure out if he was lucky or unlucky. On the unlucky side, he’d lost his $16-million fighter, had to bail out in the middle of an enemy-occupied area, and now had to walk across frozen hillsides until he could reach his own lines.

  On the plus side, he was healthy, except for a sore arm from that damned tree he’d crashed into on landing. He was south of the DMZ by at least twenty miles. That meant he was in
friendly, if occupied, territory, and presumably the locals wouldn’t come after him with a pitchfork.

  That about did it for the plus side. He remembered a few more on the minus side, though. It was dark, and he didn’t have the faintest idea of where he was.

  In the immediate sense he knew his location. He’d been marching along the side of this godforsaken hill for about three hours and was reasonably sure he was heading south.

  In larger terms, he didn’t know where to head for. He still had his map, but it was impossible to read until he had some light.

  He probably should stop anyway, he thought. He had survived the ejection process relatively intact, but he knew it had taken a lot out of him. He felt a little light-headed and had to stop frequently to rest. Only a desire to get clear of his wrecked aircraft had kept him moving.

  It took him another half hour of moving south before he found a likely spot to hide. A small stream had undercut its bank, providing a spot just big enough for a man to lie down.

  Tony used his survival knife in his off hand to hack off some pine boughs. Even in his fatigued state he was careful to take them from several trees, and to stay on bare ground as much as possible.

  He enjoyed hacking at trees. That damn pine tree had snagged his chute, slamming his right arm against the trunk hard enough to give it a really good bruise. He was sure it wasn’t broken, but it was very, very sore.

  And he’d been left dangling twenty feet off the ground. He’d looked a little ridiculous hanging there, with an inflatable raft hanging just off the ground, and his survival kit actually resting on the snow.

  Luckily the Air Force included fifty feet of nylon line in the parachute pack for just such eventualities. It had loops and buckles that allowed a pilot to lower himself to the ground. Of course, it was a little harder in the dark with a sore arm, but he’d made it down after about ten minutes. And then it had taken him another twenty minutes to deflate and hide the raft, shred and bury his code card, and pack up his chute and survival kit.

  Now every move made his arm ache, and grabbing tree limbs involved a lot of moving.

  He hacked off enough branches to pad the ground, with enough left over to lean against the bank and hide him. Wrapping himself in his chute with the green part showing, Tony settled in for the night, relatively warm and delightfully horizontal.

  He woke up to sunlight filtering through the pine branches over him. Disoriented, he started to get up and looked around, then froze when he remembered where he was. Checking his watch, he realized he had slept nearly nine hours.

  Lowering himself carefully onto the branches under him, he listened for movement, voices, anything. The branches concealing him also served to block his view of the area round him.

  Tony waited and listened, deciding after about five minutes that he was alone. While waiting, he became aware of his own body. His arm hurt like fire, most of the joints in his body were complaining, and he was hungry.

  Once he was sure it was safe to do so, he solved the last problem first by digging into his survival kit. Munching on a fruit bar, he pulled out his map.

  Never having done any orienteering, and using an air navigation chart, and being unsure of his general position, he was pretty pleased with the results. He was almost certain of which valley he had bailed out over, and he could follow his general direction of travel in the night. On the scale of the map, it was hardly a line.

  Tony estimated at least fifty miles to the friendly lines. If he could cover twenty, then somehow alert combat rescue, they could home in on his emergency transmitter. He was keeping it safely off for as long as possible. The NKs could home in on it just as easily as his people.

  Okay, at least two days’ travel, maybe seven. Better get started. He’d have plenty of time on the way to figure out how to contact his side.

  Reluctant to leave the warmth and security of his hiding place, he stepped out and creakily stretched, looking around carefully for any sign of movement. The change from predator to prey was jarring, but he was fatalistic. In fact, he felt almost optimistic.

  His plan was to keep moving south until he came to an east-west highway that crossed the ridge to his right. Besides moving south, he had to go east, or he would end up near Seoul, obviously not a good idea these days.

  He made good time. Moving fast helped fight the cold. After about two hours a road appeared on the horizon, and Tony dropped prone as he watched for movement or vehicles.

  After fifteen minutes he hadn’t seen a thing. Judging from the size of the towns on each side of the ridge, there probably wasn’t a lot of traffic between P’ochon and Sinpai. Still, roads were roads. They would be patrolled.

  He approached carefully, slowing to about half his marching speed. In the end he didn’t have to risk the road. There was a low spot in the ridge and he decided a climb was better than the road. The trees covered him, and by midafternoon he was over the top and had a good view of the land ahead of him.

  In addition to the tree-covered landscape, he saw a small cluster of buildings. Dropping to his knees, he tried to make them out but could only tell that there were several, they were small, and they appeared to be permanent structures. That meant the inhabitants had to be South Korean, and presumably friendly.

  It took him the rest of the afternoon to get closer, making dashes from cover to cover. That was fine, because he would rather make the final approach in dusk.

  He crouched in cover about twenty yards from the edge of the small settlement. There were three small houses, one barn, a long, low building built into the hillside, and some small sheds. There were lights, and smoke coming from the chimneys.

  He had seen a few people about, all women or old men. They had been doing chores, a lot of them connected with the long building.

  Finally it was fish or cut bait time. Either he could sneak into one of the outbuildings and try and hide there for the night, or approach the people here.

  He risked discovery hiding in one of the outbuildings, and the locals might have useful information. Such as if there were any NK units around here.

  A middle-aged woman came out of the nearest house, heading for the barn. Bundled against the cold, she carried two buckets and strode quickly toward the building.

  Tony waited until she had gone inside, then ran to the door. He pushed it open, slowly, to see a dark, wood-beamed interior with stalls for farm animals. Stepping up to a trough, the woman was just about to pour a bucket’s contents into it when she turned her head to the sound of the door opening.

  “Nu gu sayo…”She had started to say something to whoever she thought was coming into the barn. When she saw the tall American, she froze and grabbed the edge of the trough to steady herself. Tony smiled and bowed, and she automatically bowed back, then caught herself.

  Her rapid-fire Korean was so much gibberish to Tony, and he tried to calm her, slowly and softly asking if anyone spoke English. She quieted, and finally on the third repetition she pointed over to a hay bale and made a sitting motion. As soon as Tony sat down, she set down the bucket and ran out of the barn.

  All Tony could do was wait. Either she would bring help, or the enemy. On the off chance that it was bad news, he got up and flattened himself against the wall next to the door. He drew his pistol and worked the slide.

  A few moments later she reappeared with an older man following her. She looked at the hay bale, puzzled, then sensed a movement to her right and saw him holstering his pistol and stepping forward. The woman frowned but shrugged her shoulders, then stepped out of the way.

  Tony bowed to the older man, who smiled and said, “You are among friends. I am Sook Yon-Gil. This is my sister-in-law.” She bowed again, then left.

  Tony was surprised. Many Koreans in Seoul spoke some English, but this was a long way from the big city. “Your English is excellent.”

  Mr. Sook smiled and bowed. “I worked with the American Army in the last war. How may I help you?”

  Tony explained who he wa
s. What he needed was obvious.

  Mr. Sook was direct. “You can stay here tonight, Major. My sister-in-law will bring you dinner, and you can sleep in the barn. We are the only ones who know of your presence here. It is best if most of the family does not see you.”

  Tony was aware of the risk they were taking. “Are there any North Korean units around here?”

  “No, not since their initial passage.” The man scowled. “We have nothing here they care about, and they were still barbarians. My brother has a broken arm, thanks to them.”

  The woman came back in with a covered basket and began to set out food. Mr. Sook continued, “Eat and rest. I must discuss this with my brother and brother-in-law. I will come back later. We don’t get much news about the war.”

  Tony relaxed and tried to eat slowly. The survival kit rations were neither hot nor filling. The meal was, and delicious to boot. Mr. Sook returned as Tony was finishing, accompanied by his two male relatives. The pilot rose as they came in.

  The three men stepped in, formed a line, and then bowed deeply. Reflexively, Tony returned the bow and waited.

  Mr. Sook was obviously the oldest of the three brothers and the head of the family. His expression was solemn, and contrite. “Major Christopher, I am ashamed. My brothers have reminded me that I failed to thank you for what you are doing. All three of us fought in the last war. Two of my brothers died. Our two sons were called up when the communists invaded us.

  “We can help you to reach safety much more quickly than by walking south. We are…‘sending a message.’ With luck, we should have a reply by evening tomorrow.”

  They would not explain further but asked him for news about the war. Tony provided them with an overview while Sook translated, then the Koreans started asking more detailed questions.

  Some were about cities and towns, and others about military units. He was glad when he could say that he didn’t know if a city had been occupied. When he did know, the news was usually bad.