by Bobby Akart
Bullets started flying at them, pinging off the bumper and skipping along the road beside their tires. Duncan took aim and fired at the guardhouse. It exploded in flames, and the gates creaked as the metal succumbed to the intense heat.
Through the carnage, Duncan could see men on fire running in all directions. Some bodies were intact; others were missing parts as they burned to death.
He switched to his rifle as Park prepared to burst through the flames and into the intersection. Sporadic fire came at them from Duncan’s right. Two soldiers were crouched behind a concrete barrier. Duncan kept their position in his rifle’s scope as the truck passed through the obliterated security gate.
As soon as the soldiers rose above the concrete barrier, Duncan used two perfectly placed shots to drive .338 rounds into their chests.
Park continued southbound, and Duncan took up a prone position at the tailgate to fire upon any vehicles that gave chase. He readied his rifle and waited for several minutes. When it appeared they were clear, he finally exhaled and allowed his tense body to relax.
Their escape was far from over, but they’d just accomplished two things. One, they’d escaped from Kusong. Second, they’d just bought themselves hours of valuable time, which provided them more options.
He allowed Park to drive another mile or so before he leaned into the window and told him to continue on this course and stop short of the next intersection. Then he heard it.
The whump-whump, whump-whump sound was obvious. A North Korean helicopter had been diverted to hunt them down.
Duncan had studied the intel on the People’s Army Air Force while at Misawa. Kusong was not an air base for their military. Their closest air combat division was at Kaechon, forty miles to their east. The base was the primary location for their older MIG-17 fighter jets but would most likely have Russian-made MI-24 attack helicopters.
Duncan hoped the helicopter hunting them down was a utility chopper along the lines of the Polish Mi-2. While it was likely armed with a twenty-three-millimeter cannon, it’s maneuverability wasn’t in the same class as the MI-24. Duncan could take it down with their last remaining RPG. However, if the approaching chopper was an MI-24, he and Park would be burnt toast riding in this truck.
He whacked the roof and yelled to Park, “Chopper! We’ve got to get out now!”
Park slammed on the brakes without warning, tossing Duncan around the rear like a rag doll. He regained his footing, grabbed his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He unpacked the final RPG and made his way onto the paved road.
“I’ve got our gear!” yelled Park. “Dude, we’re so close!”
“I know, but if the wrong kind of chopper is tracking us, it’ll be bad news, buddy.”
The men ran for the edge of the woods and waited. Duncan found a fallen tree to hide behind, and he waited for the helicopter, which was most likely following the road. He quickly surveyed the grounds around them. There wasn’t enough room for the chopper to land, not that it mattered, he was soon to learn.
Within seconds of the Polish Mi-2 rounding the tree-lined curve, two fifty-seven-millimeter cannons released from the chopper’s sides. Their escape vehicle exploded, sending a ball of fire into the air and causing a hole to form in the melting asphalt.
The pilots of the Mi-2 hovered for a moment to admire their handiwork, a fatal error. Duncan steadied his aim and took advantage of the stationary target.
He fired the last RPG. The munition burst from the launcher and maintained a perfectly straight trajectory. Instinctively, the pilot attempted to turn to the right to avoid being hit, providing the RPG the broadside of the proverbial barn as its target.
“Bingo!” shouted Duncan as the Mi-2 burst into flames after a series of detonations of ammunition and fuel cells caused a mushroom cloud of smoke and fire to soar upward.
“Yeah!” exclaimed Park as he joined his partner. “They’ll know where we are now. We’ve got a couple of small towns to avoid up ahead, but even walking through the fields, we’ve only got a few miles until we reach the land bridge to Sinmi-do.”
“Piece of cake, right?” asked Duncan with a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s go. Those suckers will be on us like white on rice.”
Duncan laughed. “Racist.”
“What? No, it’s not. It just means they’re about to be up our—”
“I know, just kiddin’.”
Duncan didn’t wait and began jogging into the woods. Park was close on his heels as the men started the final stretch to going home.
Chapter 51
November 15
Coast of Korea Bay
Sinmi-do, North Korea
Sinmi Island sits off the coast in West Korea Bay. At twenty square miles, the mountainous island is the largest within North Korea’s territorial waters. Known for its small fishing villages and steep jagged peaks, the extraction point was chosen because the island has nearly a hundred small inlets and miles of coastal shoreline to choose from.
A single road encircled the sparsely populated island. On the western shore, a small peninsula that was completely uninhabited jutted out into the shallow water. The white sandy beaches were ideal for their extraction by the thirty-five-foot-long Naval Special Warfare Rigid Inflatable Boat, or RIB.
These high-speed watercraft were capable of reaching sixty-mile-an-hour speeds with four passengers. The dual Caterpillar in-line diesels were turbocharged, making them perfect to encroach into North Korean territorial waters and make a fast retreat without being detected.
Exhausted from running the final stretch of beach to the appointed extraction point, Duncan and Park sat in the woods in the event a fishing boat or wayward soul happened by their position. Their bodies began to relax, and their mood was upbeat.
“Twenty minutes to spare,” said Duncan as he checked his watch for what seemed the millionth time since setting foot in the Hermit Kingdom.
Despite the rapidly dropping temperatures and a light mist blowing off the bay, both men were sweating. Park still wore the dead soldier’s uniform, which was made of heavy green felt. It helped him retain heat, but the additional sweat was pushing him towards dehydration. Duncan still resembled a North Korean local when observed from a distance.
Their clothing choices had served them well as they crossed the final two miles over the land bridge connecting the North Korean mainland with the island. Remarkably, during those stressful twenty minutes as the two men ambled along separate from one another, not a single North Korean patrol came onto, or off, Sinmi-do.
Nor had they detected any patrol boat activity. There were numerous fishing ports along the mainland, and Duncan surmised their pursuers were concentrating on those first.
The wind picked up slightly, and the mist turned to a steady drizzle. Both men adjusted their hats and clothing to stay dry. Duncan checked his watch again. It was fifteen minutes past the hour. If he was nervous about the delay, that meant Park was about to lose his mind with anticipation. He wasn’t as flexible as Duncan was during a mission. He believed in planning, timing, and wasn’t much for adapting in the field.
Duncan decided to make some small talk. “A week ago, we were sittin’ on the Lucas and you were squallin’ about being bored. Are you happy now? Did you get your adrenaline fix?”
Park started laughing. “Screw you, cowboy. I guess I would’ve preferred an operation that blew up a bridge or strong-armed a Russian spy instead. You know, a little appetizer before they threw us into the fray.”
“A warm-up op. That would’ve been nice.”
Park shuddered as he wrapped the coat around his body. “You’re gonna be famous, you know.”
Duncan laughed. “Why? Because I’m the one that pulled the trigger? This was a team effort, buddy. There’s no way to pull that off without you.”
“Seriously, Duncan. You’re gonna need to hire an agent and stuff. I see book deals, movie rights, appearances on all the news networks. You’ll be just as famous as that gu
y who killed bin Laden.”
“Maybe,” said Duncan with a shrug. “What was his name, anyway?”
“I don’t remember,” replied Park dryly with a laugh.
“Me either. Listen, they told us to keep our mouths shut about this op. I seriously doubt the United States government wants to take credit for the assassination of a world leader, even if he is a stooge. My guess is the agency is already starting a disinformation campaign pointing fingers of blame at some poor sap, you know, an up-and-coming general of some kind.”
Park nodded. “Yeah, probably right. We won’t even get a medal.”
“Heck, Park, we probably won’t get Thanksgiving Day off.”
The two men sat in silence for a while as minutes suddenly turned to more than an hour. Occasionally, a boat could be heard in the distance, but it wasn’t the high-pitched whine the powerful diesels would produce on the RIB.
“I hate not having comms,” said Park.
“Me too. Listen, you don’t think our boys would disavow this mission so much they’d leave us hangin’, do you?” asked Duncan.
“I gotta say, a couple of things bothered me. First, our buddy James Bond seemed in an awful big hurry to catch a flight the other night. It was as if he handed us the key to a stolen car, patted us on the head, and dashed into the terminal to flee the scene of a crime.”
Duncan shook his jacket to repel some of the moisture that had begun to soak it. The coat was not meant for protecting him from the elements, but rather it was merely a useful prop to complete the mission.
“The other thing was the mining town after we left the hide,” said Duncan as he recalled the scene in his mind. “We hadn’t been gone ten minutes and the place was crawlin’ with soldiers. I suppose I could’ve underestimated their response time, but I found it strange they’d be deployed to that half-abandoned place.”
“That too,” added Park. “What time is it now?”
“After eleven.”
Park was getting antsy. “Dude, five-plus hours late. They’re not comin’.”
“C’mon, man. Don’t panic. They may be held up by patrol boats.”
Park shot back his response. “Have you heard or seen any patrol boats? Look around. It’s pitch black out there. Patrol boats would be shining their lights around the bay, looking for any type of vessel in the water. There would be choppers buzzin’ the coast. Even if they were dispatched from Pyongyang, they would have joined the hunt.”
Duncan didn’t have a response, but he was getting the sinking feeling that Park was right. He was beginning to feel expendable. He too was puzzled by the lack of pressure being placed on all parts of the Korea Bay coastline. The military could’ve deployed their million-man army to this region by now. Why haven’t they?
“Let’s give it ’til midnight—zero hour. If they’re not here by then, we’ll find our own way out of the country. Got any cousins in South Korea?”
“Yeah, actually, quite a few. You get us to South Korea, and I’ll have us treated like heroes before we head home. Deal?”
“Deal!”
Chapter 52
November 16
Sinmi-do, North Korea
It was zero hour. Temperatures had begun to plummet, and the drizzle had turned to a steady rain. Duncan and Park had moved up the hill to seek any form of shelter from the conditions. A rock outcropping provided them some relief from the moisture, but not the cold, which had now soaked through their clothes into their bodies. The predicted cold front had arrived slightly early. By tomorrow afternoon, the winds and blowing snow would hit North Korea, making travel by water impossible for as long as a week. Both men agreed that avoiding capture, especially under these circumstances, would be impossible for that length of time.
“China’s closer,” said Duncan as he and Park weighed their options. “It’s at least ninety miles to the Northern Limit Line from here.”
The Northern Limit Line was a disputed territorial boundary that separated the Yellow Sea from the Korea Bay. Since it was drawn as part of the 1953 Armistice Agreement by both North Korea and the United Nations, numerous conflicts had occurred as North Korea refused to acknowledge the demarcation line as agreed upon.
Although the U.S. Navy didn’t maintain a presence in this part of the Yellow Sea, the South Koreans did. If they could commandeer a boat and make their way into international waters, then hopefully Park could talk their way onto one of their patrol boats or even a frigate.
“Do you think we’ll even get the words U.S. embassy out of our mouths before the PLA busts us in the chops?” asked Park. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Duncan as he studied his wrinkled fingertips. His hands were beginning to get numb.
“The closest point of safety is back on the UN freighter,” replied Park.
“How are we gonna explain that to the captain?” asked Duncan sarcastically.
“Who cares? The captain has an obligation to hoist us up out of the sea. And besides, we’ll be on board doin’ the explaining. What’s he gonna do, throw us back overboard?”
“Good point,” replied Duncan. He thought about Park’s suggestion, and it began to make sense. At this hour, stealing a boat would be easier. Navigating through the small islands that dotted the coastal waters would provide them some cover. “I wish I had marked the GPS coordinates of the freighter before we left. I just never imagined we would be returning to it.”
Park stood and shook off the cold. He was rejuvenated now that they had a plan. He patted Duncan on the shoulder. “C’mon. I’m done with North Korea. Let’s go find a ride. We’ll sail a heading of due west, which should take us in the direction of where they anchored. Hopefully, they’re still there.”
Duncan stood and readied himself for the trek back to the nearest fishing village. “They should be. The UN crew had a lot to unload, if I remember correctly.”
“Hey, I feel pretty good,” started Park. “Why don’t we go up and over to save some time? The terrain’s nothing like we had to deal with at Kusong.”
“Sure, I’m up for it. Lead the way, Ranger!”
The men began the hike up the six hundred feet of elevation until they reached the top. The colder air hit them as a wind gust crossed the more barren landscape. They meandered through the pines and began their descent when they came upon a small road barely wide enough for a Jeep. The road was made of gravel but was a welcome relief for two tired operatives who had struggled to keep their footing on the uneven forest floor.
They’d traveled a few hundred yards down the mountain when their backs were illuminated with flashlights.
“Jeongji! Jeongji!” yelled a North Korean soldier, ordering Duncan and Park to halt.
Duncan responded by leaping for cover down the side of the road, but Park was a second too late. The gunshot tore through his left shoulder, causing Park to spin around and tumble down the embankment.
“Park!” shouted Duncan as he reached to help his friend. Automatic fire tore up the pine needles near Park’s body, striking him in the foot.
Duncan scrambled up the embankment, twice losing his footing in the wet grass soaked by the now steady freezing rain. He returned fire, which created a thunderous boom of the Barrett’s muzzle echoing up and down the trail.
The shouting continued, and the soldiers desperately looked to find the source of the return fire. One of the soldiers fired widely above Duncan’s position, but Duncan didn’t shoot back. He returned his attention to Park’s lifeless body, which lay sideways against a tree stump.
He scrambled down the bank and immediately felt for a pulse. His breathing was slow and shallow, but at least he was alive. Duncan frantically looked around to assess his options. He heard the crackle of a radio and then running footsteps in his direction.
Are there more? If not now, there will be soon.
“Park, are you with me?” asked Duncan as his head swiveled from the road to his unconscious friend. “Crap!”
Duncan
couldn’t hold them off. Even if this patrol of what seemed like two men could be neutralized, the sound of radio chatter reminded Duncan that he couldn’t outrun a two-way. He needed to get Park out of there. But to where?
The small road wasn’t an option. Most likely, any additional patrols would come roaring up the hill right towards him. Plus, being in the open left him no cover against the soldiers pushing their way towards their position.
He bent down and hoisted Park onto his shoulders. Park’s good arm was draped over Duncan’s left shoulder, and his right leg was slung over the right shoulder. Duncan quickly contemplated grabbing his rifle, but he simply couldn’t juggle Park and the weapon. He’d have to rely upon his sidearm and the magazines stuffed in his back pocket.
After kicking the Barrett under a fallen tree and pushing some pine needles to obscure it from view, Duncan, slowly at first until he got his balance, made his way through the forest as quickly and quietly as possible. The flashlights illuminated parts of the forest but not in any discernible search pattern. He was working his way down toward the beach when he heard a vehicle sling gravel as its tires spun during the ascent uphill.
More voices. More soldiers. Too many to make out a number, but the flashlights told the story. They were running down the hill in his direction.
Duncan picked up the pace, now moving at a slow trot with the weight of Park pushing down on his shoulders. His muscles ached from the cold damp conditions they’d endured. Now, at four in the morning, he was fatigued, cold, and out of energy.
Yet he continued his descent. The soldiers were getting closer. They began to fire off rounds in his direction, which were deflected by the pine trees. The number of rounds tearing off the bark began to increase. It was a matter of time.
No man left behind!
Duncan continued as he began to slip and lose his balance before crashing into a pine tree like a pinball banging against a post. More gunfire. The flashlights became one. Duncan caught his breath and began to run along a sandy creek bed leading toward the sound of running water below.