War Cry sts-9

by Keith Douglass

  The little craft took another drastic turn, this time to the left, and continued for what Murdock figured was a quarter of a mile before the RIB angled back on its course toward the destroyer.

  "Can your chopper help out?" Murdock asked the coxswain.

  "Not unless I ask him to," the sailor said. "Hell, I want to ditch this turkey myself. Better have your guys stand up for the rest of the run, easier on the kidneys that way."

  The RIB heeled over again as it made a high-speed turn to the left again, held that direction for ten seconds, then whipped back to the right, and continued for another quarter of a mile before it angled away from the coast again.

  One more round came in, but it was barely heard over the roar do the RIB's engine.

  The craft made another sharp turn, then concentrated on moving to sea. They saw flashes of two more rounds, but the low-to-the-water inflatable boats were hard to spot on radar, and this time they had slipped out of the North Koreans' grasp.

  The coxswain throttled back to abut thirty knots to make it easier riding. Still, they were the first of the two boats to reach the Cole. They tied up to the stern of the ship and went up ladders dropped down from the helicopter landing pad. They changed into dry clothes in their assigned assembly room, and Murdock asked for a casualty report.

  Mahanani grinned at the commander. "Skipper, not a fucking scratch on this one. The JG has some blood on his hands, but he claims it ain't his. Says he had an up close and personal relationship with a North Korean sentry."

  "Good. Now let's get some chow and then bunk out. We've got an eight-hour ride back to the Hotel Monroe."

  Murdock and the JG had just finished their specially prepared steak dinners when a radioman found them.

  "Commander, you're wanted in communications right away."

  They both went, and the commo officer pointed to a radio and a handset. "The CAG on the Monroe wants to talk to you, Commander." Murdock took the microphone.

  "Murdock here, sir."

  "Good work with those fifties, Commander. We sent a flight of eighteen Hornets up that way. The first two found almost no enemy missile fire at that air base, and we went in with all eighteen and blew the place into hell. Our first count shows we caught fourteen of their fighters on the ground and demolished them. There were jet fuel fires all over the runway. Three of them tried to take off and got plastered into the concrete.

  "The front-line troops won't have any trouble with those fighters, and the rest of their Air Force is on the run. Good work. Oh, Don Stroh is here and panting to talk."

  "Thanks, Captain. We appreciate your comments."

  "Murdock? Yeah, you came through," Stroh said. "The Eighth Army general is pleased as a cocker spaniel with a raw steak. You have a nice nap and we'll see you when you get to this floating hotel. Oh, I think that the general and his staff have a new job for you, so don't cave in on me yet. This one could be important… as the others were."

  "Don't try to be nice, Stroh. It isn't like you. And I still say that I caught the biggest fish back there in San Diego."

  "Biggest, maybe, but I caught the most calico bass and those were the ones we grilled for the fish fry."

  "Wait till next fishing trip. See you later." Murdock gave the handset to the operator and he and DeWitt headed back to the assembly room.

  "He's got another job for us?" DeWitt yelped. "How about a couple of days of R&R somewhere?"

  "JG, this is Don Stroh we're talking about."

  Eighth Army Headquarters

  Near Seoul, South Korea

  Lieutenant General Richard F. Reynolds stood in front of the huge map in the war room and studied the red line that showed the present MLR. The Main Line of Resistance had been moving little the last two days. The Republic of Korea troops had weathered the attacks well, and had in some cases pushed back the NK troops after their first dramatic drive southward.

  The red marks could be wiped off and redrawn whenever news came in of advancements or attacks. Colonel Vuylsteke waved at the line north of Seoul.

  "We've trapped at least a battalion of NKs in this region. They stormed through with tank support. We actually fell back to sucker them in, then crashed in on them from both sides and the front and cut them off.

  "The cleanup process is starting. We saturate the area with artillery, then do daylight bombing in the morning followed by our assault on three sides. We should have it mopped up by noon."

  The general looked at the west side of the line. There the red marks extended only two to three miles south of the old DMV, which was still printed in permanent ink.

  "What about this side? Any movement?"

  "Not much, sir. The NKs simply extended their supply lines too far, too fast, and couldn't keep the troops furnished with ammunition, let alone food and gasoline. We're in good shape on the west front, and should have the NKs pushed back to the DMZ within three or four days."

  "So, we're making progress. How long do you think it will take us to win back the real estate that we gave up?"

  Colonel Vuylsteke shook his head and laid down his pointer. "On that score, we can't say. It depends a lot on how hard the ROKs fight, how well our own supply lines work. We didn't have the chance to stockpile food, ammunition, and gasoline the way the North did. I'd say two months at least to get back to where we were."

  "I'm getting lots of flack from Washington and the Pentagon," General Reynolds said. "They say get it over with quickly. I can't convince them that we have a war on out here. They think of it as a small flare-up, a minor support mission for a needful ally. It's goddamned war if I've ever seen one."

  "I agree, sir," Colonel Vuylsteke said. He pointed back to the center of the map. "Sir, you asked about the Ninety-first Tank Battalion. They were in that first cutoff push we made. They held their position, and now have joined in the closure of the trap of that battalion of NKs. They are functioning well, and we have lost only one tank in the strike."

  "Yes, good." The general threw his riding crop into a chair and sat down across from it. "We need something dramatic, something swift and deadly to convince the North Koreans to pull back to the former lines. We need to talk again. This foiled attack may have reduced the NKs' military's role in the government."

  Colonel Vuylsteke drew a circle in red around Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea. "Here is where we need to strike, General Reynolds. If we hit the capital hard with fifty planes, we might be able to convince them the war is too costly."

  "Come on, Colonel. It sounds good, but it won't work. Remember Vietnam and then again in the Gulf War? You can't bomb these people into surrendering. It just isn't practical. We need something else. I want you and G-2 to get together and come up with some ideas. We need a good plan, one that will work. Something like that air raid on the Sinuju air defenses. Now, that worked."

  "The Navy gets credit for that one, General. The Navy and a handful of SEALs."

  "What I heard. I don't care who pulls the trigger. We need a plan, a surprise, something stunning. Not a nuclear bomb on Pyongyang. A practical, workable plan that will set North Korea back on its haunches. Get to work. I want it first thing in the morn ing." Colonel Vuylsteke nodded and hurried out. The general got to his feet and studied the map.

  Where should their next thrust be to push the NKs back into their own country? The DMZ had been least penetrated on the east. Might be just the place to drive them back across the line and let them stew a little.

  A month, maybe two it was going to take to convince North Korea that they had to stay on their side of the lines or there would be shooting. The Pentagon, Washington, and the American people wouldn't stand for it that long. The six-day Gulf land war was too much for the public. Two months more of this Korean fighting, and the Administration and the Army brass would be roasted alive.

  What in hell would it take to shake the NKs right down to their bootstraps?

  General Reynolds paced his reinforced office for half an hour. No course of action came to him. Damn
! Maybe G-2 would come up with some kind of a plan. He hoped so. A glance at his watch showed it was 0135. He'd better get some sleep. When did he tell Colonel Vuylsteke to have a plan ready? He couldn't remember. Shit, now he was losing his memory. No. He remembered. He'd said first thing in the morning. That always meant at 0600. Not a lot of time to sleep.

  By the time Colonel Vuylsteke reported to his general at 0600, General Reynolds had been working over his maps and reports for a full hour. He waved his top planner aside and finished what he had in front of him, then looked up.

  "So?" Reynolds asked.

  "We have a plan we think will work. It should shake the whole of North Korea right down to its floppy sandals."

  "Good, put it on hold for two days. Tomorrow morning I want an offensive thrust into the old Changdan sector. The penetration there is less than three miles. I want to get the NKs driven back to the DMZ and held there. How long will it take you to get the troops ready, to bring up a battalion in reserve to beef up the attack, and get out tanks over there to lead the thrust?"

  Vuylsteke relaxed and grinned. "General, we have a buildup started in that area. We can finish it today and get the tanks shifted over there and blast out at daylight tomorrow. You want to hear about our plan to end the war?"

  "No, not now. Let's get this attack rolling and see how it goes. All we have to do is drive them back to the DMV all along the line."

  The general looked at Vuylsteke, who had lifted his brows.

  "What?"

  "All along the line, sir? Twenty-five miles? That's going to take us six months."

  "We'll see. Get things in motion. I want to be behind the troops when they charge out in the morning."

  "Sir, I hope that means way behind, like five miles."

  General Reynolds snorted. "Al, you know me a hell of a lot better than that. Get my Humvee ready. Now, don't you have a few orders to give?"

  Colonel Vuylsteke waved a partial salute and hurried out of the room.

  During the rest of that day, the ROK forces facing the enemy along the Changdon sector sent out four patrols. Two were set up to make contact with the enemy, judge any strength he might have at that point, and return. Both patrols came back bloodied and with two dead. The NKs appeared to have strengthened their lines at this point.

  Near sunset. General Reynolds sent an order for a prisoner patrol. They had to bring back if possible an NK officer who knew what the situation was across the line.

  Colonel Vuylsteke shook his head as he reported on the last patrol to come in.

  "They were met in force, General. A fourteen-man patrol was to make contact and bug out. They made contact and almost got wiped out. Heavy machine guns, mortars, and some kind of recoilless rifles. They were so close our ROKs could see the back blast."

  "So?"

  "Looks like the NKs can reinforce a sector too. We've thought for a long time we have some security leaks. Somehow they knew we were building up along there and did the same thing at the same time. There's no point in trying for that attack in the morning. We better call it off before we lose a lot of men and get exactly no where."

  "Is that what the South Korean officers think as well?" General Reynolds asked.

  "Yes, sir, and this time they're right."

  General Reynolds sat in his chair and stared at the big map. "All right, call it off. Leave that battalion in reserve up close until we know that the NKs have thinned out that sector." He threw his favorite riding crop across the room and stared at his top aide.

  "Now, Vuylsteke, let's hear about that great plan you have for ending the war. Remember that we can't drop a nuke on Pyongyang."

  "Agreed, General, but we think you'll like our plan almost that much. Six of us got together and were up all night putting this together. It's simple, really, and the risk factor is practically nil."

  Yellow Sea

  USS Monroe

  Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock took DeWitt and Jaybird along with him this time when he was called to the admiral's cabin just after evening mess. They had been resting up for the past day and a half, and wondered when the next shoe would fall. It was now.

  "Admiral's got something big to talk to you about," Don Stroh had said ten minutes ago. "We best get right up there and have a chat."

  In the compartment were the Admiral, CAG Olson, the captain of the carrier, and two more officers Murdock didn't know. The three SEALs and Stroh edged into the room.

  "Good, we're all here," Admiral Kenner said. "This one is about as top secret as they come. No one outside this room, except perhaps the rest of the SEALs, is to know anything about what we say here. Is that completely understood?"

  The men in the room nodded or gave a curt "Aye, aye."

  "I've had a request for a strike by the SEALs from General Reynolds, commander of the Eighth Army and the ROK forces now fighting along the DMZ in Korea. It's a bit unusual." The admiral stood and moved to the back of his chair.

  "You may have noticed that I said the general has given us a request, not an order. This mission is top secret, but it also is entirely a volunteer one. I won't give an order for you SEALs to undertake this project. If you want to accept it, it would have to be by the decision of the entire SEAL contingent. Is that clear?" The admiral looked directly at Murdock.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Fine, then let's proceed. General Reynolds is under extreme pressure to end the fighting. The politicos in Washington say end the fighting with the troops in place and redraw the DMZ.

  That's not acceptable to the Army or to the South Koreans. The pressure is growing by the day.

  The American public thinks a land war should last only four days like it did in the Gulf.

  "With this in mind, General Reynolds asked his staff to come up with a plan to end the war quickly. It has. They have pitched that plan to us.

  "I've been on the phone with the general for twenty minutes, going over this plan. We agree how it might work. Here it is.

  "Briefly, it's a head-hunting mission. The idea is to execute the top three men in the North Korean government, all of whom are Army generals. You may remember that the former leader Kim Jong II was overthrown by an Army coup a year ago. The generals now rule with an iron fist. The fourth man in the government is a civilian who had some power in the Jong government. That's it. This type of an attack is unusual for our military. We had headhunters in Vietnam, but usually for much smaller targets. SEALs, it's up to you. Mr. Stroh has checked with his people, who talked to the President. He has approved the mission if the SEALs okay it. I suggest you men return to your unit and consider this request. I'll expect your decision within an hour."

  The admiral looked at the SEALs.

  "Aye, aye, Admiral," Murdock said. Then he, DeWitt, Jaybird, and Stroh turned and walked quickly out of the admiral's cabin. "Holy shit," Jaybird blurted out once they were in the companionway. "We go in and do a triple snuff on their top three guys."

  "Amazing, outrageous, but it might just turn the trick and get that fourth man to call off the war," DeWitt said.

  "Skipper?" Jaybird asked.

  Murdock shook his head. "Got to think about this one. We'd be going into the heart of North Korea. Probably Pyongyang, their fucking capital. They'll have massive power and guards and elite troops guarding everything and everyone. We don't even speak the language. How in hell…"

  They hurried back to the assembly room provided by the Navy, where they had their gear and hung out. Murdock held up his hand and indicated Don Stroh should wait outside. He silently agreed.

  "A mission, Skipper?" Holt asked as soon as they got in the room.

  Murdock called them around and told them what they were being asked to do, and that it was a volunteer operation.

  "Since when does the Navy ask us if we want a mission?" Bradford asked.

  "Like now," DeWitt said. "This is not our usual covert job. It's above and beyond. Not the type of action that U.S. military usually does, and when we do, it's under extreme se
crecy and always on a volunteer basis."

  "We've been headhunters before," Harry Ronson said. "No big deal."

  "It is a big deal when you're dealing with the head of a foreign government," Murdock said. "We didn't knock off Saddam, you'll remember."

  "Yeah, but we should have," Jaybird said.

  After a chorus of cheers subsided, Murdock looked around. "So, talk it up. How do you guys feel about this kind of an action?"

  "We'll be in the heart of enemy country, right?" Mahanani asked.

  "Probably," DeWitt said. "Intelligence will have to tell us where these guys are. I've heard that they never get together. Paranoid as hell. They do business by phone and radio. They don't want to invite another coup."

  "We get them with the big fifties or our KA-BARs or what?" Lampedusa asked.

  "Depends," Murdock began.

  The rest of the men chimed in. "On the situation and the terrain!" A lot of hooraying followed.

  "Everybody will go?" Quinley asked.

  "We still work as a team," Murdock said. "We need every body we have. We're down to thirteen. I'd say everyone would go."

  "Hell, count me in," Miguel Fernandez said. "You fuckers want to live forever?"

  There came a lot of yelling and shouting and hooraying again. When it settled down, Murdock started to grin as he watched them.

  "You realize we've never been asked to undertake a mission before. We've had assignments and missions and operations. This is a first. We go in if we want to. Since the admiral said it's a volunteer operation, each of you has a vote. I know, I know, unusual for a military operation. This is an unusual request. What do you say?" Everyone who wants to go on this expedition, raise a hand."

  Murdock looked around the room. Hands began going up. He lifted his. DeWitt's was the first up.

  He checked every man. It was unanimous.

  "Hands down. Everyone who will not go on this outing into North Korea, lift one hand."

  He waited a minute, then another long pause. No hands went up. They had left Stroh in the companionway outside the door. Murdock told the closest man to go bring in Stroh. He came in, his face flushed, and Murdock knew that the CIA man had been furiously pacing the companionway.