by Andy Harp
Will made it to the stream, moving fast, working through the rocks. The cold water fazed him little. The snowstorm’s intensity increased. On his body, he felt a pelt of ice, immediately melted by his body heat. He heard the rumble of the waterfall ahead. The cold penetrated his feet, which he could hardly feel. He knew time was slipping away.
Past the waterfall, Will slid down, slipping under its icy flow, briefly out of sight.
First things first, he thought. I can hide from the North Koreans. I can’t hide from that laser.
It suddenly occurred to him. Will felt for the small scar on his abdomen, recalling the visit to the dentist’s office arranged by Krowl. Just below the skin, he felt a metal disc, the size of a quarter. It was like a bullet in his side. He knew what it did. I need something sharp, he thought.
Will reached down into the bottom of the streambed. Feeling through the round, smooth stones, he found a single sharp one resembling a piece of flint. He tugged with his icy cold, blue fingers. Then he grabbed the flap of skin, feeling the small disc in his grasp. He pulled the skin tight between his fingers, and held it in the flow of icy water from the waterfall.
Fifty-five seconds left before the next satellite shot. He gave himself a five-second leeway on his count. Between the cold water and his tight grip, the skin turned blue.
“One, two, three.” He cut into the flesh, blood dripping down his side. Will exhaled with the pain, making no noise.
A bright silver disc popped out, plunking down into the water below the pool of the waterfall. Without pause, he resumed running, moving quickly over the snow accumulating again on the rocks. Blood poured down his side from the open wound. Far worse, the numbing effects of the cold crept through his body.
Blood droplets stained the white snow as he worked his way down the stream. Will could hear the commotion of the men following his trail. An occasional rifle shot rang out. They were still shooting at shadows.
Another brilliant flash of light. The boom of the fourth strike knocked him down again, this time into the cold stream. He looked back, several meters upstream, where a cloud of steam rose from where the waterfall once stood. It was now a crumble of rocks.
I haven’t much time, he thought.
Will wasn’t worried about Krowl anymore. To Krowl, it would appear that his last satellite strike had killed his target. The satellite would then be moved from its Korean GEO orbit to the other side of the world.
No, the cold was now the enemy. The North Koreans were now the enemy. Krowl would be another day.
Will worked through the stream, hopping from rock to rock, ignoring the cold, moving at a marathoner’s speed. The men behind him were moving but not closing. The snow and stream rocks slowed them. He was able to maintain a constant, rhythmic pace—until the lake.
I can go around it, but I’ll only leave a longer trail, Will thought. No choice—he jumped headlong into the icy water. He couldn’t feel the wound at all now, the ice cold water erasing any conscious thought of pain. Knowing time was running out, Will stroked steadily across the center of the lake. He maintained one conscious thought: I will survive.
Captain Sang led the lead patrol, hot on the trail down the streambed.
“Captain, he’s hurt,” said one of his soldiers.
The droplets of blood led down the stream.
“Do not kill him,” said Sang.
“Yes, sir.”
“Pass that word.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain, they’re bringing up the 112th battalion,” said the radio operator, following Sang closely.
“We’re heading toward the shoreline,” said Sang. “It’s getting dark. Tell them to bring up the naval patrol to cut off any escape.”
“Yes, sir. A patrol from Wonsan Harbor is heading south at this time.”
Sang looked up at the cliffs above the streambed, but his target remained hidden.
Will shivered uncontrollably as he dragged himself out of the brutally frigid water. The trail would stop on the other side, causing the North Korean patrol to split up and to go around both sides of the lake. Darkness would slow them further. Still, he had to get some protection to survive.
The cold water had flushed and numbed the wound, but it soon began to bleed again. He had to act fast.
Will worked his way up the streambed on the other side, crossing behind the large, round boulders to a group of pine trees—the pine trees where he’d left his second backpack.
He was shaking, his teeth chattering beyond control. Barely able to maintain consciousness, Will was now a blue tint from head to toe. He pulled aside the pine straw, grabbing the backpack from the hole.
From inside, Will pulled out two silver, plastic packs, ripping them open. Two large patches, similar to brown oversized band-aids, were marked—one as nutrition, the other as glucose/maltodextrin. He pulled the tape off each, sticking them to the sides of his neck. Both subcutaneous feeds pushed high-energy fuel into his bloodstream, directly through his skin.
Will also removed a small clear tube, no bigger than a tube of superglue. It was marked “permabond.” He broke off its white cap and clinched the two edges of the wound with his fingers. He winced as he squirted the clear, glue-like substance onto the edges of his wound. Will held the skin together for slightly over a minute as the wound sealed. He used a handful of snow to wash off the remaining streak of dried blood.
A noise of men clattered through the woods to the north side of the lake. They were close and getting closer. It didn’t matter—his most immediate problem was still the cold.
Will ripped open another package marked “Soldiers Systems Center Natick Labs—SEACU.” SEACU was devoted to supplying the best military equipment in the world, and this was it. Will’s hands shook as he pulled on an olive brown, rubber-like jumpsuit—black soled shoes, gloves, and a hood, all built into a single garment. Will slipped the suit on, covering everything but his eyes, but the olive brown color stood out, even near the stand of pine trees.
On the left forearm, the suit had a velcroed flap of material. When Will pulled it back, a small LED panel was revealed. He aimed it at the snow-covered woods, pressing on the LED of the personal integrated area network. The suit, employing its microprocessor, scanned the snow-white and brown terrain. Like a chameleon, the suit instantly turned to a matching snow-white and brown color. He lifted up the backpack, pulling a small cable from a side, velcro-closed pocket. As he plugged the cable into the suit, the backpack changed to an identical color—white and brown. Will turned nearly invisible, and did so just in time.
Sang’s patrol had rounded the lake and neared the stand of trees. “Captain, we have lost the trail,” Will heard one of them say.
Sang looked around the lake, seeing the other half of the patrol approaching from the south side of the lake.
“Where should we go, Captain?” said the soldier.
“Follow this stream to the beach. He must be heading toward the water.”
Will, understanding the Korean perfectly, moved out of the tree stand and toward the stream, heading due east. As darkness fell, he stepped into the streambed. Again he reached into his backpack, pulling out a pair of wraparound glasses, also from the SSC Natick Laboratory. The lightweight night-vision glasses gave him a daylight view of the stream. The clamor of the troops from behind diminished as the snowstorm continued to build.
At the point where Will had stopped two days before, he felt the full brunt of the snowstorm and the winds blowing in from the Sea of Japan. Below him, he saw the lights of an increased number of soldiers at the point to the south. He also saw the lights of men closing from the roadway to the north. In the dark water, lights bobbed up and down near where the ASDS was anchored. North Korean patrol boats were criss-crossing the bay.
Will had a score of DPRK troops on all sides of him, with Sang’s patrol now less than fifty meters behind. The patrol had spread out, and was now on both sides of the streambed, behind and up the rocky slopes. They
would search and search until they found him.
Will turned toward Sang’s net of men, back up the streambed, to the west. A few meters up the stream were three snow-covered boulders, still within sight of the rocky beach. The soldiers were close—close enough that, in the green glow of his night-vision glasses, he could see the stars on their hats and collars. He saw their Kalashnikovs. He could see their eyes.
Wedging in between two of the boulders, Will used the suit’s LED microprocessor to match the color of the rocks. He pulled off his backpack, removing from it a small black remote control device shaped like a deck of cards.
Will punched in a series of numbers, put the device back in the pack, placed the pack underneath his chest, and leaned over, using the suit to camouflage his presence. He bent down, trying to breathe slowly and relax, forcing his mind elsewhere.
At that moment, Sang stood on the rock above Will.
“Captain, he must be between us and the beach,” said the soldier.
“Slow the men down,” said Sang.
“Yes, sir.”
“No, stop the men. Tell them to be totally quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
Will slowed down his breathing, forcing himself to hear only the water bubbling past.
“Let’s wait,” said Sang.
“Yes, Captain.”
Sang pulled out his pistol and chambered a round. From atop the rock, he could see the stream, the beach, the road bridge below, and the patrol boats in the dark water beyond.
“He’s between here and the water.”
“Yes, sir,” the young radio operator whispered as Will heard the crackle of radio traffic. A swarm of patrol units chattered back and forth.
“Turn the radio off,” said Sang.
Then silence covered the woods. The only thing heard was the stream of water running over the rocks. Sang waited, and Will remained as still as possible, less than an arm’s reach from the captain’s boot.
“Sir, look.” The radio operator pointed down the stream, to the other side of the bridge. There, between the rocks, was a flash of light. “That’s him.”
“Let’s go,” said Sang. “Radio the units to close on the bridge now!”
The radio operator’s radio buzzed with traffic as others converged on the bridge. The patrolmen moved out, clambering with excitement. The prey was in the trap.
Sang stopped the last of his patrol as his men moved downward to the bridge. He turned back upstream.
“Captain,” said a soldier, “they found a tent, and they think he’s still in it.”
A shot rang out as an impatient Kalashnikov fired at the small, snow-covered tent.
“Dammit! Stop all firing!” cried Sang.
A bright flash halted the radio operator’s chance to reply. The explosion lit up the pitch-black sky, momentarily blinding the army. As the darkness returned, Sang’s radio chattered loudly as they closed in on the remains of the tent. A billow of smoke floated up between the boulders. Sang and his men ran down the rocks to the road and bridge just above the debris and smoke.
“Captain, we have him,” said a soldier.
“Alive?”
“No, sir.” The North Korean held up, by the wrist, a severed arm. It was covered in blood. “Form the men up,” said Sang. “I want every man to be accounted for.”
“Captain?”
“I want to be assured that’s the arm of our prey, not one of ours.” The units formed up on the road. No one was missing. Sang now canvassed the guards to the south and to the north. No one was missing there, either, or unaccounted for. They continued to canvas the nearby units until well after first light.
“Sir,” said a soldier, “we have debris of a Soviet frogman’s suit, another Spetsnaz uniform, and a Soviet Type-64—all destroyed by the explosion.”
“Then maybe we got him,” said Sang. “Not maybe, sir.”
Chapter 41
“Oh, my God.” Kevin Moncrief saw the flames streak across the sky. From the ASDS, it was odd seeing the explosion—the water above them muffled the sound.
“What’s up, Gunny?”
“We lost him, Hernandez.”
“Bullshit,” said Hernandez.
“No, it came from the tent.”
“Gunny, we need to go in there.” Stidham, now standing, rocked the mini-submarine with his large frame.
“Men, we got orders to beat it back to the Florida,” said the lieutenant.
“Lieutenant, I don’t know,” said Moncrief.
“Gunny, we got a swarm of patrol boats overhead, some with sonar. They can’t get to us right now, but they are looking for us. We’ve got to get out of here now.”
Moncrief knew the lieutenant was right. He could hear the churn of propellers above him from several different directions. The beach, from north to south, was swarming with lights.
“Okay.”
“Gunny.” Both Hernandez and Stidham stared at Kevin Moncrief.
“Gunny, staff sergeants—the skipper ordered us to get back to the boat. He’s got something important,” said the lieutenant.
Moncrief sensed that was the thing to do. “No, let’s button this up,” he said.
Neither Hernandez nor Stidham could believe what was being said—not by Kevin Moncrief. “Guys,” Moncrief said, “follow me on this.”
The two men sat back down as the lieutenant pulled the hatch over, sealing the opening. The boat floated up from its moorings, turned, and headed west into deeper waters.
“She’s moved,” the lieutenant said.
“How deep?” said Moncrief.
“Two hundred feet, thirty miles out.”
“Are we being tracked?”
“Not now.”
“I don’t want to lead them to the Florida,” said Moncrief.
“We’re clear now.”
“Let’s go deeper.”
“Yes, sir, fifty meters,” said the lieutenant.
“Head north for thirty minutes.”
The mini-submarine tilted over and banked as it headed north. The lieutenant sensed that the patrol boats’ attention was still toward the shoreline. In deeper water, North Korea had very limited assets. At best, they had one diesel submarine, 1950’s vintage, on the east coast. Most of their submarine assets were on the west.
After some time, the ASDS tilted again to the west, banking as it turned.
“The Florida is on the move,” said the lieutenant. “It’ll catch up to us ten nautical miles to the north.”
“Let’s slide deeper,” said Moncrief.
“Sir, seventy meters.”
“Good.”
The ASDS had returned to the boat the day before, recharged, and then returned to its present location. It was perfectly silent and undetectable by sound.
“No patrol boats,” said the lieutenant.
“How far?”
“One nautical mile.”
“And on depth?” said Moncrief.
“Yes, sir.”
The mini-submarine slid up in alignment with the boat, slightly above and behind. It pulled up over the moorings and floated down, clanking as metal connected with metal.
Moncrief felt the floating sensation cease as the ASDS came to rest on top of the much bigger boat. He heard the rush of compressed air and felt his ears pop as the mini-submarine sealed itself onto the Florida.
The hatches banged as they swung open. Moncrief led the way into the brightly-lit mother submarine.
“Are we secure?” J. D. Hollington waited at the base of the ladder.
“Yes, boss, we’re locked on,” said the lieutenant.
“Let’s move to deeper water.”
The Florida headed east, making time and depth and putting distance between it and North Korea.
“But, Skipper. . .” Moncrief caught the skipper at the control room.
“Yeah, Gunny?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“No need,” said Hollington.
“Skipper?”
> “Gunny, we’re making knots out and running deeper. As soon as things quiet down, we’ll turn back to the west and check things out. We’re following our orders now.”
“What are they?”
“Abandon mission,” said Hollington. “Leave area immediately. Straight from the Pentagon.”
“When did you get them?” said Moncrief.
“Just before the explosion.”
“Before?”
• • •
The wind continued to blow inland, driving snow toward Will harder and harder. He waited behind the two boulders, well after the explosion. He waited still, long after the North Koreans had left the area. Just before dawn, Will moved inland, back up the stream, toward the little lake.
At the lake, he moved south at a constant pace, building up a rhythm through the snow. As he did so, Will kept the Diamond Mountain peaks to his left, traveling through deep stands of pine trees and drifting snow. He kept moving past daylight as the snowstorm continued to rage, almost instantly covering his tracks.
At midmorning, Will stopped at a culvert under a gravel road that headed east. He was well into a valley on the other side of the mountains from the shoreline. Here, the stench of open sewage forced him to breathe shallowly through his mouth. North Korean farmers fertilized the rice fields with whatever nutrient they could find.
Will felt the rumble of vehicles as they approached from the west. He looked down into the water pooling around the culvert and saw ripples form from the vibration. With the last vehicle, Will pulled out toward the western edge of the culvert—the convoy was heading up the valley. As he watched the Soviet-built supply trucks move south, Will noticed the movement of a North Korean soldier, just west, to one side of the road. He appeared, and then as Will watched, disappeared behind a snow-covered mound. He did it again and again.
Will then saw another man in a similar olive-colored uniform appear from another mound. As he made out the shape of the first, Will spied a series of mounds stretched across the valley.