by Larry Bond
“General Christopher!” came a shout from behind him. Tony turned to see the wing commander, Colonel Graves, jogging in his direction.
“What’s the status of that pilot?” Tony called out while pointing toward the crashed fighter.
Graves’ expression was one of relief, but the roar of a passing F-16 made it impossible to hear his response. It wasn’t until he got closer that he could finally answer. “He got out clean, sir, but landed as hard as you’d expect. He’s over at the infirmary now, being treated for some minor cuts and bruises. He’ll be sore in the morning, but otherwise he should be fine.”
Tony unconsciously rubbed his right arm, recalling a similar injury he sustained when he ejected from a crippled aircraft so many years ago. He shook himself from his musings and asked, “So, what’s the damage, Colonel?”
Graves and Tony walked into one of the shelters, mostly to get away from all the noise. “Confirmed three birds lost, including the Thirty-Fifth’s squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ortiz. His wingman said his aircraft was hit on the way out. No one reported seeing him eject, and he has yet to report in. Right now he’s listed as missing.”
“Damn it!” Tony cursed in frustration. The next strike had to be airborne in an hour, and the loss of the squadron commander was a severe setback. The Eightieth Fighter Squadron had taken off thirty minutes earlier and would soon be over the target area to plaster anything they found in the open. No one expected this attack to get the ballistic missiles, but it would force the Kim faction to keep them buttoned up in their hardened caves. The artillery bombardment was carefully timed to occur just as the second wave of strike aircraft cleared the area. Thirty minutes later the ground troops would begin their assault. By then the 35th was supposed to be back on station, loitering to the south, waiting for the SOF guys to provide the precise location of the bunkers’ armored doors. The schedule was very tight, and unforgiving. In the back of Tony’s mind was the Chinese threat to level the whole area with one honkin’ big nuke.
“How good is the deputy squadron commander, Andy?” he demanded.
Graves hesitated for just a moment, but the delay spoke volumes, “Major Jackson is a good man, General, but he’s barely been with the squadron for a month and . . .”
That was enough for Tony. Pivoting quickly, he spotted the crew chief working on the F-16 in the shelter. “First Sergeant!” he shouted loudly.
The man turned about, annoyed by the interruption. However, once he saw Tony waving to him, he broke out at a run. “Yes, General. What can I do for you?”
“Get me a ship.”
X Corps Headquarters
Northeast of Sunchon, United Han Republic
Tae watched with satisfaction as the second wave of aircraft bombarded the redoubt’s outer defenses. The explosions were so numerous that they continuously lit up the night sky. The sheer amount of ordnance being dropped on that parcel of land was difficult to comprehend. He momentarily felt sorry for the Kim faction, pinned down in their holes, thinking they might yet somehow endure to cause untold death and destruction on all their enemies.
That their ultimate defeat was inevitable wasn’t in question; it was whether it would come by way of the American/Han plan, or the Chinese plan. The general still shivered when he thought about the Chinese suggestion to drop a five-megaton nuclear warhead on the redoubt and be done with it—an option they refused to take off the table.
Major Ryeon walked up quietly beside his general and stared in amazement. He was also having trouble grasping the weight of firepower pouring down on his former countrymen. “How could anyone survive such a pounding?” he asked.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” remarked Tae as he kept his eyes on the flashes blooming on the horizon. The delayed rumble that followed could easily deceive someone into believing a storm was approaching—a bad one.
“And yet, you’d be equally shocked by how much of the Kim faction’s strength will remain intact. Don’t get me wrong, they will suffer many casualties, lose many fortified positions, but they will still be a force to reckon with. Our approach won’t be a leisurely stroll in the countryside, Major.” He briefly looked down at his watch and noted the time. The air strike would be ending soon.
“Are the unit commanders gathered?”
“Yes, sir, they’re assembled in the command tent,” replied Ryeon.
“Excellent! Then let’s not keep them waiting.” The two men turned and walked quickly for the makeshift tent city a hundred meters behind them. As they approached, a guard lifted the flap. Inside a South Korean officer ordered loudly, “Attention!”
“Be seated!” Tae barked, gesturing for everyone to sit. As the men took their seats, the general noted the blend of uniforms—soldiers from the North and South fighting together. He was still struggling with the concept, even though he’d worked hard to make it happen, and silently conceded that it would likely take him the rest of his life to reconcile his mixed feelings. Although hastily built from various former DPRK and ROK units, his command was nearly a full-strength corps, with a brigade of the North’s best tanks, four infantry divisions, and several batteries of excellent South Korean artillery. Many of these men had served with him from the beginning of the civil war and he knew how worn out they were, even though their faces beamed with excitement. They had just one more battle left to fight.
“Comrades, in less than ten minutes the artillery barrage will begin. Our units are already in position for the final assault on the Kim stronghold. As soon as the artillery commences firing, Major Ro will lead two Reconnaissance Bureau comp . . . Correction, two Han special forces companies against the Sunchon airfield. Once the airfield has been taken, we will step off and attack along the southeast corner. The Chinese have already begun their assault to the north, and surveillance reports indicate the Kim holdouts have committed some of their reserves. We will attack from the opposite direction and force them to use what little they have left to try and fend us off.
“We must make them believe that our three corps attacking from the east and south are a crushing threat to their survival, so we must strike fast, and we must strike hard. The goal is to force the Kim faction to pull assets away from their western flank and thin their lines for the special forces assault group. We cannot hold back tonight. We must hit the enemy with every drop of our strength.”
Tae paused and stepped away from the map board, approaching the first row of chairs. Looking intently at his audience, he spoke with a tempered voice. “For many of you, the adversary we face includes individuals we once knew as comrades, colleagues, and perhaps even friends. I understand your mixed feelings—the confusion, even the awkwardness of working with our Southern kinsmen. I understand, because I share them as well. But you must put that all aside tonight; for tonight we fight for our land.
“For the people in those mountains do not share our dreams for the future,” stressed Tae as he pointed toward the redoubt. “In fact, they are doing everything in their power to prevent that dream from coming true. They either cannot, or will not, see the possibility of a new way of life—one without constant fear, one without ‘the state,’ one with hope. After tonight, if you wish to stop being a soldier, and do something of your own choosing, you will be free to do so. But tonight, I need you to fight one last time to free our people from the deadly plague that is the Kim regime. Are you with me?”
The cheering was deafening.
Han Special Forces Assault Group—Ghost Brigade
45 KM Southwest of the Landing Zone, United Han Republic
Cho looked out the window of the Surion helicopter and saw the greenish-hued terrain pass by in a distorted blur. He didn’t even want to think how low they were, or how fast they were going. Both were undoubtedly in the “very unsafe” category as far as normal civilian operations was concerned. What was I thinking? he thought to himself. Cho raised his night vision goggles and closed his eyes. He struggled to concentrate on happy thoughts as the helicopter bounced abou
t unevenly in the night air. Stay calm. Don’t think about your stomach. It would look very unprofessional if he threw up on the Ghost Brigade command staff.
The twenty-four helicopters flew in two long columns a mere fifty meters off the ground. Each of the formations was led by three US Army AH-64D Apache Longbow gunships as escorts for the nine troop-carrying Korean Surions. The Americans would also provide close air support should the Korean assault group run into resistance, and act as a backup just in case something went wrong with the strike aircraft. Each of the Surion helicopters carried two pilots, two gunners, and nine commandos. Between the eighteen transports there was a handpicked company of the Ninth Special Forces Brigade—about to be unceremoniously dumped into the heart of the Kim redoubt.
A hand grabbed Cho’s shoulder and gently shook him. Opening his eyes he saw Master Sergeant Oh in the dim light; he was holding something in his hand. “Here, chew on this. It’ll help keep your gut from rebelling.”
“What is it?” asked Cho.
“Ginger gum.” The commando smiled broadly. “It’s our best defense against lunatic pilots. They’re always trying to get us to vomit. They think it’s a cute game. Sick bastards!”
“Thank you,” Cho replied gratefully. He popped the stick of gum into his mouth and immediately felt a tingling sensation from the strong spice. It didn’t take long for the soothing effect to quell his upset stomach.
“Sergeant Cho, what unit do you belong to? I don’t recall ever seeing you before with any of the ROK Special Forces brigades, and your accent sounds northern,” inquired Oh.
Cho looked at the senior enlisted man with wariness, uncertain if Oh was just trying to make small talk to pass the time, or if his question was of a more probing nature. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my affiliation, Master Sergeant. Let’s just say I’ve been to where we are going.”
“Ah, I see. Well, it’s always a good thing to have a guide in a strange land,” Oh replied politely. Then leaning closer, and with a more serious tone, he said, “Since you’re probably not a special warfare operator, stay close to me and do as you’re told. Before you do anything, and I mean anything, make sure Colonel Rhee or I give you permission. And for God’s sake, don’t do anything heroic. If you follow these instructions to the letter, there is a reasonable chance you’ll survive this mission. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly,” Cho answered with a note of irritation. As far as Oh was concerned, the new sergeant was an amateur who needed a last-minute introduction to Special Warfare 101. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time, so the next best thing was a harsh warning. Cho understood Oh’s motivation; the man was a consummate professional and expected the same from his colleagues. Clearly Oh didn’t like having an “untrained” individual on this mission. But even if he meant well, the gruff delivery left Cho’s ego bruised. He didn’t like being treated like a child.
Rhee waved his hand, grabbing everyone’s attention. Pointing to a tablet, he marked their location and said, “We’ve reached the break-off point. The other formation will peel off and take their own route in. The ride is liable to get a bit rough once we start flying down these valleys, so make sure all your gear is secure. We land in sixteen minutes.”
Cho braced himself. Now it’s going to get rough?
Hellcat Strike
Over Incheon, United Han Republic
It had been awhile since Tony felt so good. He was in heaven, literally. The sixteen F-16Cs of the Hellcat strike were organized into four flights, flying high above Incheon as they headed north to their loiter station. Each flight had one bird with two GBU-31 2,000-pound armor-penetrating bombs for the hardened missile storage bunkers, and three aircraft with four GBU-38B 500-pound high-explosive bombs for everything else. Once the SOF guys pinpointed the location of the armored bunkers, fifty-six bombs would descend on them like a pack of wild dogs, or cats, in this case.
General Carter was fuming, and he let Tony know it as the strike passed by Seoul. But Carter wasn’t so angry that he ordered Tony to abort. No, Carter knew this raid had to work, or else. And as much as he would hate to admit it, both men knew Tony was the right guy, in the right place, at the right time. Oh, there might be a disciplinary hearing afterward; perhaps a letter of reprimand would find its way into Tony’s record, maybe. But in the end, he was at peace with his decision. This would be his last chance to fly a combat mission, and any punishment the air force could come up with would be well worth it.
Still, Tony knew there would be hell to pay when Ann found out about his little junket. And Randy Carter would make sure Ann knew about it. “C’est la guerre,” Tony mumbled to himself.
“Puma lead, this is Lighthouse. Hold you on course three four five, speed five hundred, angels thirty. Nightstalker one and two have delivered the package and are holding to the west. There are no friendlies above angels five. There are no bogies to report,” concluded the air battle manager on the E-3C Sentry.
“Roger, Lighthouse. Hellcat strike proceeding to station,” replied Tony.
“Puma lead, DPI coordinates will be relayed by Dog Pound via JTIDS.”
Tony acknowledged the report that the E-8C JSTARS command and control aircraft, code named Dog Pound, would be relaying the aim points from the special ops team to his strikers by digital data link. All the pilots had to do was release the weapons within parameters and the GPS guidance would do the rest. With the team on the ground providing a differential GPS correction, the bombs should land within a handful of inches of the target—more than close enough.
As Tony was signing off, the air battle manager chimed back in once more with a cheery, “It’s good to see you back in the saddle again, Saint. Good luck. Lighthouse out.”
Smiling, Tony radioed his instructions to the other three flights. They’d be on station in fifteen minutes.
X Corps Headquarters
Tae was pleasantly surprised that the commandos took so little time to secure the airfield. On the one hand, the general was pleased with their rapid progress; on the other he knew the air base had been practically unprotected. Only a minimal troop complement had defended it, and rather badly at that. Most were untrained conscripts; they were zealous, but had no chance against Ro’s professionals. Very few surrendered.
“Comrade General, Major Ro reports the bridging units will be in place shortly and his commandos are ready to forge ahead,” reported Ryeon.
“Very good! Tell Ro to have his commandos scout out these two main roads to the southwest.” Tae pointed on a map to the roads that climbed into the foothills. “I need to have a better idea of what defenses are up there. We’ve met almost nothing! They must be concentrating their forces up there in those heights. And get some of those miniature UAVs up there as well!”
“Yes, sir!” shouted Ryeon on the run.
Tae shook his head. Where were the Kim forces? he silently wondered. Both the Chinese to the north and the American and Han armies to the east and south had met very light resistance and were advancing quickly into the hilly terrain. Either they had grossly misjudged the Kim faction’s strength, or they were holed up in a reinforced central core. Tae was betting on the latter. Frowning, the general started trotting over toward his aide. “Major Ryeon! Get me a vehicle! We’re heading in!”
Ghost Brigade
Rhee’s half of the company worked their way quietly up the ridgeline a little over a kilometer from the landing zone. Major Maeng’s half landed about four kilometers to the east and would be making their way to the northwest. With any luck both groups would get a fix on the target and set up their real-time differential GPS transmitters. The US fighter-bombers tasked with making the main attack would have the most precise target fix possible.
They met no opposition as they landed, and a quick survey of the area showed it had been hit repeatedly by aircraft ordnance. Many of the destroyed positions they inspected were decoys—the gun emplacements made of steel barrels and piping. Rhee had expected some of this, but the lack of any bodies ma
de him wonder where the Kim faction had put its strength. Did the earlier Chinese attempt to cross the Chongchon River draw most of their assets to the north? Rumblings of artillery from all around him told him the battle along the perimeter still raged.
Cho hung close to Master Sergeant Oh and an American colonel named Little. After jumping out of the helicopter, Cho briefly considered hugging the ground. The ride in through the valleys was unspeakably bumpy. Rhee’s warning that things would get “a bit rough” was a gross understatement. Cho reminded himself to thank Oh for the ginger gum again. Without it, Cho would have certainly embarrassed himself.
Cresting the rise slowly, Rhee pulled up his night vision binoculars, made a quick sweep, and then focused on where they needed to go. What he saw answered his earlier question. Some two hundred meters ahead was a heavily reinforced defensive line with real machine gun emplacements and what looked like mortars. The defensive positions were hidden in a grove of trees and had multispectral camouflage netting over the top. Rhee couldn’t see the bunkers behind the tree line—their intended overlook position.
Dropping back down, he motioned for Little and sergeants Cho and Oh to get close. Whispering he said, “We have a little problem. We can’t use our preplanned survey site. There is a strong defensive position in the trees ahead. We’ll have to maneuver to the secondary site to our right.”
“Rhee, that grove of trees is almost a semicircle,” observed Kevin. “We have to assume the Kim defenses will follow along the tree line. There isn’t a lot of cover to our right; you’ll have to set up the DGPS transmitter in the open. You’ll need a little distraction to shift their attention from that part of the line.”
“True. Any suggestions?”