Red Phoenix

by Bond , Larry

  Thank God. “Victor Two Seven. I have an immediate fire mission. Pattern Hotel. Repeat, Pattern Hotel.” Pattern Hotel would create a horseshoe-shaped curtain of American high-explosives around the base. That should keep the NKs from crawling up under the cover of their own barrage.

  Victor Two Seven’s answer was quick and horrifying. “Negative, Echo Five Two. Half my guns are gone. The rest of us are pulling out. We’ve got NKs coming down around our…” The artilleryman’s voice faded in a spray of hissing static as North Korean jammers swept across the frequency.

  Kevin stared at the radio for a moment. Then he heard a whistle from one of the sound-powered phones that linked his outlying positions to the outpost. He grabbed it.

  “Little.”

  “This is Donnelly, Lieutenant!” It was one of the men he’d assigned to the OP “We’re in deep, sir. Me and Smith can see two NK companies assembling down in front of us. And we seen another one moving around the flank a minute ago. What should we do, Lieutenant?”

  Kevin could hear the fear in Donnelly’s voice and it matched his own. Three North Korean companies. God, that was at least three hundred men coming against his forty or so troops. This was not the way it was supposed to work. Where was the artillery and air support those rear-area bastards had all promised Malibu West would get?

  “Lieutenant?”

  He started. He hadn’t answered Donnelly’s plaintive question yet.

  “Lieutenant? It looks like the arty’s starting to lift. What should we do?”

  Kevin could hear the noise from outside diminishing. Not much time left now. “Okay. Get back inside the perimeter. Get back to the trench!”

  He switched connections, trying to get Pierce’s bunker. Had to let the sergeant know what was going on. Had to find out what he should do. Nothing. Christ, didn’t anything work around here?

  Kevin put the phone down slowly. He was going to die. And it just wasn’t fair. Not at all.

  Everything went quiet. The shelling had stopped. Then he heard the whistles blowing from all around his hill. This was it. Kevin grabbed his M16 and headed out through the bunker door.

  Malibu West looked like a moonscape now, full of smoking craters, partially collapsed trenches, and smashed bunkers. Kevin could hear moans from all around him: “Medic! Medic!”

  Rifles fired from the forward slope of the hill, rising quickly from a few isolated shots to a continuous, crackling roar. The North Korean attack was coming in. He ran down what was left of the communications trench and stumbled into the firing line.

  His troops were up on the edge of the trench firing as fast as they could down the hill. But this time, they were being answered by the harsh rattle of North Korean automatic rifles and heavy weapons. And Kevin could see Americans lying dead or wounded along the trench floor.

  “Lieutenant!” Pierce grabbed his shoulder. “You all right?”

  Kevin suddenly realized he was covered in Jones’s blood. He must look like a walking corpse. He leaned forward to yell in the sergeant’s ear. “I’m not hit. Jones…”

  Pierce nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Well, we got a whole shitload of troubles, Lieutenant.” He half-ducked involuntarily as a grenade went off just outside the trench, spraying them with dirt and ice-cold snow.

  “We’re holding ’em for now. But Kostowitz and Ramos are down. Along with a bunch of others. The Dragon teams took a direct hit on their bunker. And we’re shooting up our rifle ammo too damned fast.”

  A GI next to him suddenly screamed and fell back away from the firing step. Most of the man’s right arm had been shot away. Kevin stared at the corpse in shock.

  “Lieutenant! Snap out of it! There’s others still alive who need you.” Pierce pulled him away from the body. “Look, we gotta have some support.”

  Kevin shook his head. There wasn’t going to be any support. He pushed Pierce away and jumped upon the dead man’s firing step to get a better look at what they were facing.

  The first wave of the North Korean assault had gotten to within twenty meters of the trench line before being stopped. But instead of retreating back down where they’d come from, the survivors had taken shelter in new shell craters on the slope, and they were laying down covering fire for a second wave now forming up inside the outpost’s barbed wire.

  An NK light machine gun burst tore into the ground in front of him, and Kevin ducked back below the lip of the trench. A 1st Squad trooper groaned and toppled back to the bottom, cursing and clutching at his stomach. Kevin couldn’t remember the man’s name. He looked away as the firing rose to a new crescendo.

  BELOW MALIBU WEST

  The North Korean major winced as the medic pulled the bandage tighter around his lacerated upper arm. It was ironic that his first wound of the campaign had come from his own country’s artillery. But it had been worth it, the major thought. He’d pushed his men right up to the edge of their own barrage—accepting casualties from friendly fire to close with the Americans before they’d had a chance to shake off the effects of the bombardment.

  The medic finished tying off the wound, and the major pushed him away, half-rising to a crouch to look over the edge of the gully his command group occupied. He could see the rocky hillside carpeted with bodies, but enough men had survived the first rush to pin the Americans down inside their trenches. Good.

  He glanced around for the commander of his second company, “Captain Han!”

  The man scuttled over to him, eyes wide under the lip of his Russian-style steel helmet.

  “You will take your company forward on my signal. We’ll wait for Koh’s attack to go in first. That should draw off enough of the fascists for you to close with their trenches. Clear?”

  Han nodded. “Yes, Comrade Major.” He scurried back along the gully to pass the word to his platoon leaders.

  The major watched him go and then slid back down to check his watch. Captain Koh’s 3rd Company should be in position behind the American-held hill any minute now. Soon they would find out how the imperialists held up under a two-pronged attack.

  OUTPOST MALIBU WEST

  Kevin was starting to regain his confidence when the sound of firing mixed with grenade explosions surged from behind them. That goddamned third North Korean company! Now they were under attack from all sides at once. He couldn’t hear a lot of American return fire from Lieutenant Rhee’s position either.

  Movement from down by the wire caught his eye. A second wave of snowsuited North Koreans were worming their way through, getting ready to lunge up the hill. Kevin looked frantically up and down the trench. He barely had enough men here to hold the NKs as it was. He didn’t have anything to spare for the rear slope. Could the South Korean lieutenant hold his ground without reinforcements?

  He grabbed Pierce. “Check with Rhee. See what’s going on back there.”

  The sergeant nodded and ducked back up the communications trench toward Rhee’s position. Kevin turned back to the forward slope.

  He walked up and down the trench, trying to encourage his troops. “Keep it up, guys. Keep it up. You’re murdering the sons of bitches.” Yeah, sure. He felt like a liar for even saying it.

  The fire from his line fell away as men were hit or ran out of ammunition. And now the North Koreans were taking advantage of it, advancing by short rushes from cover to cover—working their way up the hill.

  A grenade landed on one of his machine gun positions and silenced it. Kevin raced over to try to get the gun back into operation, but there wasn’t anything he could do. The machine gun’s barrel had bent under the full force of the grenade burst. The gunner and his loader were both dying.

  He lost track of time. The battle seemed to have been going on forever, although he knew that couldn’t be true. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. Where was Pierce? He needed the sergeant’s advice and steadiness. He didn’t think they were going to be able to hold here much longer.

  Kevin looked around frantically. His line was down to about half str
ength, and the North Koreans weren’t going back. What should he do?

  Bugles blared from the other side of Malibu West. Kevin spun around and saw Sergeant Pierce skidding down the slush-filled communications trench, arms pumping and head down. He put an arm out and the sergeant stumbled to a stop. Pierce nodded his thanks and gasped out his message, “NKs inside the perimeter. We gotta throw ’em—”

  Pierce’s head suddenly exploded, sending a spray of brains and blood over Kevin’s uniform. The sergeant crumpled into his arms. Oh, Christ. Pierce had been shot from behind. Through sudden tears Kevin saw North Koreans flitting up the communications trench toward him. He couldn’t move or speak. The men nearest to Kevin stared in shock at the body. Some dropped their M16s into the frozen mud.

  Time started running again. Still holding the sergeant’s body, Kevin looked up and saw a grenade flying into the main trench. He threw himself to the ground as it went off. The explosion rolled Pierce’s corpse over on top of him and tossed another man dead across his legs.

  North Koreans jumped up onto both sides of the trench, firing down inside it at full automatic. Kevin could hear his men screaming and trying to surrender. He lay still in the mud, trying to control his breathing.

  The firing stopped. Everything was quiet for a moment, and then Kevin heard a chorus of groans from what had been his line: “Medic! Medic! I’m hit.”

  Laughter drifted downwind, harsh guttural laughter. Someone shouted an order in Korean and rifles cracked. Moans turned into screams and then into silence.

  Kevin tried to stop the tears he felt dripping into the blood-soaked ground under his face. Corpses don’t cry. He heard more loud voices as men jumped down into the trench, their combat boots squelching into the mud. He held his breath.

  The North Koreans were making sure of their handiwork. Kevin didn’t look up, but he could hear men moving down the line toward him. Every now and then they stopped and fired a burst into an American who’d been wounded or lying doggo. There were fresh screams.

  The boots were coming toward him. Oh, God. Please make them think I’m dead, please, Kevin prayed without moving his lips. The boots stopped. Don’t move. Whatever they do, don’t move, Kevin told himself. He heard a dull, meaty thunk from his left and then something cold and sharp sliced across his ribs. A bayonet. He bit down the pain and stayed still, waiting for the bullet that would end everything.

  But the bayonet pulled back and the boots moved away down the trench. They thought he was dead.

  There were isolated pistol and rifle shots from around the perimeter as they finished off others who’d survived the attack, but the North Koreans didn’t come back. Kevin lay amid the bodies of his men, alone with the knowledge of his failure.

  Malibu West had fallen.

  ______________

  CHAPTER

  23

  First Kill

  DECEMBER 25—ABOARD USS JOHN YOUNG

  Commander Michael Deveroux, USN, studied the plot carefully. His ship, a Spruance-class destroyer, had slipped its moorings and left the South Korean navy port of Chinhae an hour earlier. Now they were ten miles outside the harbor, moving south at fifteen knots through a narrow passage between the islands of Kadck-do and Koje-do.

  The start of the war had caught almost everyone in Chinhae by surprise. Everyone but the North Korean commandos who’d infiltrated the port. The crew of John Young, anchored there on a port call, had come awake to the harsh rattle of automatic weapons fire and then the unending, thundering roar as a fuel storage depot went up in a towering ball of orange-white flame. One South Korean frigate fueling from the depot had been caught by the blast and she’d turned turtle, the water hiding the mangled metal of her upper works.

  Deveroux shook the image out of his mind. He had his own ship to look out for now.

  Seventh Fleet’s orders had been clear and concise. “Proceed at best speed to Yokosuka, Japan.” Once there, Deveroux had no doubt that they’d be ordered to serve as a convoy escort or formed into a battle group sortieing against the North Koreans. Well, good. They hadn’t asked for this war, but the shooting had started and John Young would get a chance to show her stuff.

  Right now, though, she had to make it to Japan. It was only a ten-hour run across the Korea Straits, but Deveroux knew that might be a very long and lonely ten hours. North Korea had a sizable diesel-electric sub fleet and dozens of fast attack missile craft—any of which might be out there lurking in wait for his ship.

  He’d asked for air support, but all of the Seventh Fleet’s P-3 Orion ASW aircraft were fully engaged. And South Korea’s S-2F Tracker squadron had been hammered hard by a North Korean air raid earlier that morning. Essentially his ship was on her own.

  Outside, the sky was paling to a predawn gray, but it was always dark inside the dimly red-lit Combat Information Center. Deveroux swept his eyes over the ship’s status boards. Hull-mounted passive sonar operating. Active sonar on standby. Surface and air search radars operating, sweeping the sky and the sea for enemy contacts. He looked across at the antisubmarine warfare officer. “How are the water conditions?”

  “Still lousy, sir. You know what this area’s like. Strong currents, shallow water, mixed-up salinity. And there are dozens of wrecks on the bottom. Jap freighters we sank during World War II. Passive detection’s lousy, but we can’t turn on active sonar without getting blanked by our own reverberation. It’s gonna be tough to hear anything out there, Captain.”

  Deveroux nodded. “Yeah. Well, at least the North Koreans will have the same problem. Hell, those old Romeo-class boats of theirs will probably have to rely on periscope sightings instead of that crappy sonar they’ve got.” He studied the plot again. “How’s the LAMPS helicopter doing?”

  “He’s been aloft for forty-five minutes. We’ll be launching his relief in another fifteen, sir.”

  “Well, ensure we have continuous coverage till we get into deeper water. With the LAMPS’s radar we should be able to pick up a periscope in time.”

  “Yes, sir.” But the ASW officer didn’t sound especially convinced.

  “Captain.” It was his executive officer and navigator, calling down from the bridge. “We’re almost up to that chunk of rock they call an island.”

  The passage they were steaming through held only one obstruction. A small, barren point of land rising above the water midway between the two larger islands that bounded the passage out into the Korea Strait proper.

  Deveroux made a decision. “Very well, let’s put it to port.” They would pass the small island on the right, well away from the main track to Pusan. He suspected that South Korea’s main port was probably not a very healthy place to get closer to at the moment.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”John Young heeled slightly as she came around on her new heading.

  ABOARD DPRK GREAT LEADER

  “I have a passive sonar contact, Comrade Captain.” The sonar operator’s voice was jubilant. “Bearing three five zero degrees.”

  Senior Captain Chun Chae-Yun smiled slowly. The enemy vessel had done precisely what he’d thought it would—turn to avoid Pusan. And now it was coming into his sights.

  He looked around the crowded control room, marveling all over again in its clean, modern equipment. Acquiring this latest-model Kilo-class submarine from the Russians had been another brilliant stroke by the Great Leader for whom it was named. Its sensors were much better than those on the Romeo-class subs, and its anechoic coating made it almost impossible to detect in these shallow waters.

  He had taken advantage of that to lie hidden near a small island in the middle of this passage out of Chinhae, the main South Korean naval base. Long hours of waiting had followed, waiting for the first enemy vessel to fall into his trap. Now the waiting was almost over.

  “What’s our battery state?’

  “Ninety percent, Comrade Captain.” Excellent. They had more than enough battery power to maneuver against this contact.

  “Very well. Left standard rudder. Come
to course two seven zero degrees.”Great Leader swung right, closing on the sonar contact and moving slowly at five knots to reduce the chance of the enemy’s sonar detecting them.

  Five minutes passed endlessly. Chun could feel his heartbeat accelerating as the sonar operator continued to report contact. The technician worked with the signal, analyzing it and comparing it with known signatures.

  “Contact positively identified as a Spruance-class destroyer. Screws turning for fifteen knots.”

  His first officer asked, “Should we come up to periscope depth for a visual sighting?”

  Chun waved the suggestion away. “No. They haven’t heard us yet. Let’s not give them a chance to see us either.”

  Another minute passed. Chun watched his control room crew feeding bearings and other data onto the fire control computer. It would determine the position, course, and speed of the target and compute the firing angles for the sub’s torpedoes.

  Any moment now, Chun thought. It was a short-range solution. The torpedoes would travel quickly, and there would be little warning time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a green light appear on the computer console.

  “We have a firing solution, Comrade Captain! Contact now bearing three four one degrees. Course one eight zero degrees, still fifteen knots. Estimated range at twenty-three hundred meters, torpedo run time ninety seconds.”

  Chun wheeled to his weapons officer. “Fire!”

  Great Leader shuddered as two ET-80 wire-guided torpedoes were shot out of their tubes and accelerated toward the American ship at fifty knots.

  USS JOHN YOUNG

  “Shit! Sir, we’ve got hydrophone effects bearing one three five—evaluated as torpedoes inbound!”

  The sonarman’s shout almost stopped Deveroux’s heart. Oh, my God. He grabbed for the bridge intercom. “Mr. Hall, torpedoes bearing one three five!” He didn’t have to tell the conning officer what to do.