Counter Attack

by Mark Abernethy

  Sammy’s DMR spat again and the offsider’s left arm threw back at an unnatural angle. The DMR coughed once more and there was a third eye in the shooter’s forehead.

  ‘Nice work, Sammy,’ said Mac. ‘Can you get any of those glory boys down there?’

  Standing, Sammy followed Mac’s pointing finger to where the Chinese were running into the forest.

  ‘We can avoid them – much easier,’ said Sammy, slinging the DMR into its bag and picking up his M4.

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ said Mac, glad for a kindred spirit who’d rather skirt a fire fight.

  Heading right, the five of them descended as the Chinese climbed to their left. It might only give them a five-minute head start, but that was all Mac needed.

  Hitting the bottom of the small gorge, Tranh dropped to his knee and fired three bursts before rolling away to hide behind a tree.

  Squinting through the darkness, Mac searched for Tranh. Getting a tap on the shoulder from Sammy, Mac found him and Tranh gave the peace sign: two men with rifles.

  Standing, Tranh looked around the tree and shot on full auto as Mac and Sammy ran forwards to a tree on the other side of the track.

  There seemed to be two Chinese soldiers behind a rock about thirty metres away. Mac watched their beige caps bobbing sideways and he ran at them, rifle jammed in his shoulder, muzzle pointed at those caps. As the soldiers looked over the rock, Mac opened up, putting bursts into both of them without raising his eye from the sight line.

  Movement came from the left and a bullet slapped into the rock under his feet. Sammy covered with a heavy burst and the shooter fell sideways from behind his tree.

  Regrouping, they panted for breath as they assessed the open ground that now ran from the gorge up to the terrace lawn and then the house.

  ‘They’re back,’ said Jon, pointing to the house, and they could see two more soldiers at the .50-cal.

  Pulling his sniper’s rifle off his back, Sammy took a look and then shook his head. ‘No angle.’

  ‘The approach is up the side,’ said Mac, pointing to the bush to the right that wrapped around the other side of the house.

  They ran across the open ground to the trees as the .50-cal belatedly opened up, forcing them to the ground.

  Crawling sideways for the shelter of a rocky overhang, Mac dragged them in and counted one short as the big slugs whistled over their heads.

  ‘Who’re we missing?’ said Mac, looking around.

  ‘Jon,’ said Tranh.

  In the open ground, Jon lay face down, the .50-cal bullets finding his exposed back several more times as they watched.

  ‘Come on,’ said Mac, leading them around the flank of the house as his leg started to throb with pain.

  Climbing over the rocky outcrop, Mac noticed silence from the machine-gun nest. Crouching, he heard the hurried whispers of the machine-gunners through the foliage and then heard that signature hiss. The trail of white showed conspicuously against the night sky and then something crashed through the canopy and snaked into a tree, exploding as Mac fell backwards off the overhang to his team below.

  Bouncing on his hip as the air turned orange, Mac tucked his head under his hands and prayed into the dirt. In shock, he felt himself being pulled to his feet by the collar.

  ‘RPG,’ said Sammy, spitting out leaves. ‘Let’s finish these bastards.’

  He followed Sammy around the far side of the rocky overhang and into the open again, until they faced security doors over a concrete tunnel beneath the house.

  ‘You know about this?’ Sammy pointed at the dimly lit tunnel entrance.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Dozsa’s operations centre – built it a couple of years ago when he bought this place.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Lots of satellite and microwave communications, especially two-way traffic with a comms station in Khamti,’ said Sammy, meaning a large commercial relay facility in northern Burma that was actually owned by the People’s Liberation Army.

  ‘So Dozsa is going to help Pao Peng rule the world from here?’

  ‘At very least, it’s where he thinks he’ll control a missile launch.’

  They were now on the wrong side of the house to be targeted by the .50-cal but Mac was still paranoid. ‘We’re not storming that tunnel. This isn’t a suicide mission.’

  ‘Thought we’d try the emergency exit,’ said Sammy.

  Looking back, Mac saw the worried faces of Tranh and Lance. ‘Where’s this exit?’

  ‘On the other side of the house, in a small ravine.’

  ‘Sounds like you know this place,’ said Mac.

  ‘Sure,’ said Sammy. ‘I installed the satellite tracking system with a Singapore contractor.’

  ‘Sneaky bastard,’ said Mac.

  ‘I know the layout – we just need a diversion from this end.’

  ‘Ten minutes do it?’ said Mac.

  ‘Sure.’

  Mac gave Lance and Tranh a ten-minute mission clock and told them to stay hidden until then. Keying the radio, Mac asked Bongo to come in firing on that tunnel door on the stroke of ten minutes.

  ‘Can do,’ said Bongo.

  They crossed the driveway to the house and got caught in the searchlights of a roofless Humvee accelerating towards them down the driveway, the turret gunner loosing several rounds as Mac and Sammy scrambled over the road and into the trees.

  His hands shaking, Mac tried to get control of his breathing. The situation felt hopeless – there were so many soldiers and Dozsa’s base was too well defended.

  ‘This way,’ said Sammy, grabbing Mac by the arm.

  Mac’s legs wouldn’t move; his lungs were seized.

  ‘Shit – Sammy.’

  Stopping, the American looked behind. ‘Let’s go, McQueen.’

  His heart palpitating, Mac heard the Humvee arrive behind him, the excited Chinese voices chattering.

  Pushing himself to walk, Mac put one leg in front of another and started jogging towards Sammy, who looked past Mac and sent off a burst of full auto in the direction of the soldiers.

  Sammy grabbed Mac and pulled him along. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Mac, building speed on a knee that wanted to give up.

  Voices and bursts of gunfire sounded through the bush behind them as Sammy turned into a concrete opening that looked like a stormwater culvert. Pulling a keyring from his pocket, he handed Mac a small Maglite and found a large steel key.

  ‘One of the perks of doing my army trade in comms engineering,’ said Sammy, jiggling the lock. ‘The bad guys let you wander around in their little projects.’

  ‘Nice cover,’ said Mac, as the lock yielded and the door swung back to reveal a round tunnel that a man could just stand up in. It was 4.32 am – eighteen minutes until the North Koreans started their launch of the Taepodong-2 rocket.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen and the systems I’ve built,’ said Sammy, cocking the M4 and pushing into the small pool of light afforded by the Maglite. ‘Last year I helped build a system for an Indian billionaire’s super-yacht – it was a control centre for his own satellite.’

  Having pulled the door shut, they walked in single file for six minutes before Mac knocked the buttons on his G-Shock and saw they had fifty-five seconds before the ten minutes was up.

  ‘We close?’ said Mac as soldiers hammered on the tunnel door and then gave up, convinced their quarry must be elsewhere.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Sammy, his hand softly slapping another steel door.

  They stood in the dark, waiting for the clatter of the diversionary attack on the main entrance as Sammy pushed his key into the lock. Mac’s stomach ground like a meat mincer.

  The unmistakable sound of th
e Little Bird’s Gatling gun sounded like heavy rain on a tin roof and Sammy turned the key, pushing straight forwards as Mac hovered over his right shoulder with his rifle.

  As the door swung back, the noise of the fighting rose and Mac squinted into fluorescent lights in the white passageway. Ducking into an alcove, they watched two of Dozsa’s Israelis run out a doorway and down the corridor, handguns at the ready.

  Gasping for breath, Mac moved from the alcove and followed Sammy down the hall to a door. The door was locked but they could see behind the security glass a room that looked not unlike the bridge of a modern container ship.

  ‘Ready?’ said Sammy

  ‘For what?’

  ‘This is the C and C room for the Taepodong-2,’ said Sammy. ‘It’s a copy of the North Koreans’ mission control at Pondong-ni.’

  ‘So . . . ?’

  ‘But destroying this won’t do anything,’ said Sammy. ‘If Dozsa got the whole file that was downloaded from Aussie intel, then he can access the North Korean missile program whenever he wants.’

  The sound of gunfire got louder and something blew up.

  ‘Let’s take this part slow,’ said Sammy.

  ‘I don’t see why we don’t just blow the whole place,’ said Mac, uncomfortable about having the mission seized by a Yank with strange agendas.

  ‘Dozsa might have a copy of the file,’ said Sammy, taking his keyring from his pocket again.

  ‘Any file taken from Aussie intel’s security system is no-copy,’ said Mac. ‘That’s why Dozsa needed the stolen Top Secret desktop system to get the download. That’s what he had Quirk using in the Mekong Saloon.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Sammy, opening the door and pushing through, ‘that’s your story.’

  Grabbing Sammy, Mac pulled him around. ‘Listen, there is no file copy – we can blow this whole place right now.’ He tapped his backpack.

  ‘You brought charges?’ said Sammy, nervous.

  ‘Of course I brought charges,’ said Mac, sweat running onto his top lip. ‘This shuts down the entire Pao Peng power grab.’

  ‘Who do you work for, McQueen?’ Sammy sneered. ‘The West or the Chinks?’

  Mac noticed how people like Sammy could use a racial description that Mac wasn’t allowed to use himself. ‘Keeping the Chinese out of a war around the South China Sea is good for the West, Sammy, and that means stopping a rogue like Pao Peng before he gets going.’

  ‘You really think my bosses are going to allow that?’ said Sammy.

  ‘Allow it?’ Mac gripped Sammy’s arm. ‘This is an Aussie gig, Tonto – I don’t need your permission.’

  ‘I’m sorry, McQueen.’ Sammy’s expression changed as he cocked his handgun. ‘Dozsa’s room stays live.’

  The truth of it dawned on Mac. The Americans didn’t want an end to this program: they wanted to own it and run it themselves, probably with deniable contractors, just as Pao Peng had used Dozsa’s services.

  ‘You’re nuts,’ said Mac. ‘We have a chance to end Pao Peng’s Greater China fantasy right here.’

  ‘Pao Peng will find another way,’ said Sammy, pistol coming up to Mac’s sternum. ‘I’m sorry, buddy – I have my orders. Drop the guns.’

  ‘You’re a wanker, Chan,’ said Mac, dropping his handgun and rifle as he was ushered into the room by Sammy.

  ‘You don’t need to die, McQueen, just stay out of my way.’

  Mac saw the banks of screens and four Koreans sitting in front of them. Walking to the main console, Sammy issued commands in Korean as he waved the gun at them.

  Standing slowly, one of them argued and Sammy shot him in the heart and then between the eyes before he hit the floor.

  The others put their hands in the air and the one Sammy addressed nodded so hard it looked like his head would fall off.

  The yes-man jogged to a PC running below the screens and tapped on the keyboard.

  ‘They’re already in,’ said Sammy, marvelling at the visual displays on the wall. ‘Look at those screens – that’s the North Korean Army’s C and C systems we’re looking at. That’s what the technicians are looking at in Pondong-ni, right now. We’re going into the ten-minute launch countdown.’

  ‘Can’t we stop it?’ said Mac.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Sammy. ‘I want to see how it works.’

  After exchanging words with the Korean technician, Sammy turned to Mac. ‘Thanks to Ray Hu’s excellent buying, this system is cloning and mimicking every router and switch in the North Korean network – this is beautiful.’

  ‘Let’s grab the file and get out of here,’ said Mac, agitated.

  ‘Just hang on.’ Sammy brought his handgun back to Mac’s heart.

  After another stream of Korean, the technician stared at Sammy wide-eyed, shaking his head. When Sammy pointed the gun at his head, the man continued to protest but used a mouse to change one of the screens.

  Looking closer, Mac could see what the technician was altering: the screen showed the North Pacific, featuring a small white cross in the middle of the ocean at which the missile was being aimed. As Mac watched the screen, the white cross moved westwards.

  ‘Sammy, what are you doing?’

  The Korean technician, on hearing Mac’s tone, turned and yelled at Sammy, tears in his eyes. He wore a third eye before he hit the floor.

  ‘You,’ said Sammy, at another technician with his arms raised.

  The technician ran to replace his dead colleague, and the cross continued moving, out of the North Pacific to Japan.

  ‘No, Sammy,’ said Mac, moving towards the American before facing the barrel of the handgun.

  ‘I like you, McQueen,’ said the American. ‘But I will shoot you.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing, Sammy?’ said Mac, raising his hands further as Sammy’s gun steadied between his eyes. ‘You can’t target Tokyo – who the hell do you work for?’

  One of the major themes of the Australian Secret Intelligence Service since Mac had joined was the emphasis on stability in the region. Mac was watching that come undone in front of him.

  ‘I’d never bomb Tokyo,’ said Sammy, smiling. ‘Watch this, McQueen.’

  As the technician shook his head and the first tears rolled down his face, Mac saw why. The small white cross wasn’t stopping on the Japanese capital – it continued westwards, across the Sea of Japan and the Korean Peninsula until it came to rest on a thick black circle.

  Beijing.

  Chapter 69

  ‘No, Sammy,’ said Mac, not believing what he was seeing. ‘Not this.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Sammy. ‘There’s only one way to deal with North Korea and that’s to have the Chinese do it.’

  ‘A missile bearing down on Beijing?’ said Mac. ‘The Chinese won’t deal with North Korea, they’ll turn it into a car park.’

  ‘I agree,’ said a voice, and looking up, Mac saw Joel Dozsa at a small observation window looking down on the control room. A shot cracked from Dozsa’s rifle and as Mac turned to dive under a desk, he saw Sammy collapsing on the floor, a bloody cavity in his chest.

  Three more shots thwacked into the lino floor, spraying Mac with blood and concrete dust. It was obvious Dozsa didn’t want to put holes in his control room, and looking across the floor Mac saw Sammy was bleeding out over his M4.

  Putting his foot out, Mac dragged at Sammy’s body, trying to retrieve the rifle, but Dozsa shot at him.

  The harsh screech of Korean filled the hallways as Dozsa yelled a command, unable to leave his window to walk around and enter the control room.

  One of the technicians walked behind the console, bending to pick up Mac’s discarded rifle. Seeing a limited opportunity, Mac accelerated in a running crouch from behind the desk, hitting the Korean in a ball-and-all tackle as a bullet pinged off
the floor from Dozsa’s rifle. Taking the Korean in a twisting grapple tackle, Mac hid behind the man’s profile as they sailed through the air.

  Landing as the Heckler bounced free, Mac realised the Korean was dead, two shots in his chest intended for Mac. Grabbing at the rifle’s stock, Mac managed to pull it back without getting one of Dozsa’s bullets in his hand.

  Checking for load and safety, the lino now slick with blood and stinking of cordite and burnt circuitry, Mac took two deep breaths and turned, firing at the mezzanine window with the Heckler. Panes of glass splintered and the bullets peppered the walls around it. But Dozsa was gone.

  Keying the radio, Mac saw it was not responding in the sealed room. Outside, the gunfight raged on, getting closer now.

  Looking at his watch, he saw it was 4.42 pm – in eight minutes the real control room in North Korea would lock in its final settings, giving telemetry commands to several hundred different aspects of a ballistic missile launch. At ten minutes before launch, the general in charge of the program would turn his key and the mission controller would turn his, and the final countdown to ignition and firing would begin.

  In this case, however, the final countdown wouldn’t commence on North Korea’s terms – it would prepare to launch according to the override coming from this control room. The systems in the North Korean control room wouldn’t register the change; their system would be simply operating in a vacuum while Dozsa’s control room gave the real commands. The North Koreans would be unable to change the launch until they looked out the window and saw their T2 missile arcing due west towards China rather than east, into the Pacific.

  Standing, Mac looked at the map on the big screen. Waving at it, he tried to tell the Koreans to change the target but the two surviving technicians were hiding, not wanting to come out.

  Checking the upstairs window and the door for signs of Dozsa or his soldiers, Mac pulled the C4 charges from his backpack and eyed the framework on which the mainframes and junction boxes were built. Crawling under the frames – essentially heavy-duty Meccano scaffolds – Mac planted a charge on the side of the server stacks and set the timer for five minutes.

  Turning, he crawled back to the control room, noticing a hollow clap under his knees as he passed over, and slapped the other charge on a metal upright and set the timer for five minutes. Standing as he picked up the Heckler, he saw a commotion at the door.