One of the soldiers, a Korean, had his fist raised in the air, about to pound again.
"I said I coming. I here. What you want?"
An unannounced home visit?
Howell began to speak, but the Korean soldier held up his hand to shush him, "Ma'am? You are Yeo Min-jung. Mother of Kwon Jin-son?"
She nodded.
Howell stepped forward. "Of course she is. I told you, we've been meeting about their visas."
"I'm Sergeant Lee, from military intelligence." The Korean soldier stepped in front of Howell.
Must share her low opinion of the half-breed.
"We have a situation and require your assistance with the matter."
"Is this about Minister Meon? We need to dress for press?"
"No, Ma'am. No press at this time. If you'll collect your son, we'll escort you to Namsan Park. They'll explain everything to you there."
Jin-son rolled up to the door, laptop neglected across his legs.
"What's all this? We agreed to speak to the media if necessary, after we had our visas. Some trip to the park wasn't part of our deal with the Americans."
She sighed. "Must do what men say."
Looked very official.
Lee stepped through the doorway. Slipped between them. Circled around Jin-son.
Grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, but otherwise ignored her son. "It's about your brother-in-law, Ma'am. Your husband's parents died after the Party sentenced them to hard labor as dissidents, but your brother-in-law is alive and in Seoul."
My husband's younger brother? From the North?
What does this mean, that it's coming up now? Will it ruin everything for Jin-son?
She hadn't talked to the Americans much about Jin-son's uncle.
Didn't know much. He'd been a child when they ran.
She shook her head to clear it. "I go turn off bathwater. Lucky you not come five minutes later. Wouldn't have answered."
Lee gestured to the American soldier with him, who slid past them all with a smile.
"He'll take care of turning off the water. We don't have any time to waste."
He pushed Jin-son's wheelchair out the door.
They made it to the hallway when Jin-son engaged the chair's motors in reverse.
"Not so fast. You never answered my question."
Lee struggled against the powerful motors. Their contest rocked the chair back and forth in place.
"It's classified." He grunted, "Knock that off. You have no choice in the matter. Please come as a volunteer, but we'll take you under arrest if we have to."
Jin-son pushed on the chair's joystick even harder. "That'll look good on the news. Cripple dragged out of his home by the military."
Lee stopped.
The chair lurched backward, almost running over his toes, before Jin-son stopped it.
Lee leaned forward, mouth next to Jin-son's ear, spoke softly, "Want to see your uncle? Come with us. As I said, there's no time, but we'll explain everything as soon as we can."
Jin-son's Mother stepped forward to stand next to her son. "Come. Sergeant has honest eyes. Trying to do job. If he send soldier to deal with plumbing, we can take time to pay uncle visit. Discover why."
They wouldn't steal this opportunity away from her son, no matter how stubborn he was.
She knew to cooperate with the authorities. The last time she hadn't, her husband died.
* * *
1st Sgt. Keith Bishop stomped down the edge of a loose cobblestone in the courtyard outside the base of Namsan Tower.
Someone could trip on that thing.
Lee had introduced Jin-son and his mother to the Ranger leaders. Now Schnier, Harper, Lee, Michelle, and the Korean tiger mom huddled in the courtyard corner next to a fence of heart-shaped padlocks.
No love lost in that group.
Jin-son sat outside the discussion circle in his powered wheelchair. Leaned toward the group to listen.
Bishop gathered he'd been stuck without functioning legs pretty much his entire life, poor kid.
Having one of Bishop's daughters needing that much constant care growing up would've been tough. Thank goodness for his wife.
Parenting was tough enough with her to take the lead. Didn't want to even imagine having to raise a child with a major disability as a single-parent.
Trying to raise junior officers was bad enough.
What could he do to pull the shooters and the MI guys together?
To get Harper and Schnier to see they actually needed each other?
That they couldn't function as a team unless they trusted each other to do their job?
Maybe attaching Harper's MI platoon to the RRC had been a mistake.
They were fine behind the scenes, on the paperwork challenges, even as a Red Team to infiltrate friendly facilities, but during direct action missions aimed at the enemy, the Ranger Regiment's bread and buttah, Schnier's platoon needed to work smoothly with them.
To acquire real-time intelligence about the enemy and effortlessly integrate it into their battle plans.
Should fit together like a man and his huntin' dog, instead of going at each other like a hornet and a chainsaw, more dangerous to anyone else around them than to each other.
The mom raised her voice loud enough for even Bishop to hear, "This not deal! Not risk son's life. You say visa to America, maybe talk on TV about Meon, not talk to terrorist."
Schnier leaned back from the onslaught. "Ma'am, everyone in the city is at risk. You're in no more danger here than you'd be at home. We want you to speak to your brother-in-law. Help him understand the real consequences of his actions on people like you and your son."
Jin-son shook his head and muttered, "Not a Pawn. If my uncle's here, why not go talk to him?"
He pushed forward on his chair's joystick.
The oversized powered wheels rolled forward. Decent traction on those, even out here.
Bishop stomped another poorly angled cobblestone. He agreed with the kid. Why not at least talk to the bad guy in charge?
He didn't even know his family was in Seoul. Knowing that might humanize them for him, hostage negotiation 101.
Anyway, it couldn't hurt, right?
They'd bring up a crisis response throw-phone, get the tangos inside talking on it, explain the family situation, surely he'd want to-
Jin-son was halfway to the glass door entrance into the base of the tower.
Dag-nabbit!
What was that fool-of-a-kid doing?
Bishop scraped the snow with his feet and sprinted all out after him, ballistic plates bouncing around on his chest.
"Hey, stop, you don't want to go in there!"
Harper and Schnier turned around, their conversation with the mom interrupted.
Jin-son stopped his chair in front of the glass double-doors.
Leaned forward.
Reached out to grab the door's handle.
Didn't he know they were booby-trapped?
Didn't he see the det-cord and plastic explosives wrapped on the other side?
He didn't have any experience on a battle-field, but common sense-
Bishop tackled Jin-son's wheelchair right as the kid snagged the door handle.
Bishop's flying tackle knocked the chair sideways and around. Instead of facing the door, it spun on its side, facing backward.
Jin-son spilled halfway out onto the ground, his legs strapped in, but his upper body lying on the cobblestones in the thin snow.
Bishop slid to a stop on his stomach, crushing white powder into thin ice, his chest and legs behind the wheelchair, but his head and neck exposed.
Before he could pull back, the doors exploded into shrapnel.
Glass everywhere.
Glass embedded in the wheelchair's bottom. Glass cut into his neck, rattled off his helmet.
Sliced his carotid artery.
Bishop took the same basic battlefield first-aid training all Rangers got. He knew what that meant for him.
&n
bsp; A dozen seconds to pass out. A few minutes at most before blood loss became fatal.
No way to safely tourniquet his neck.
He pressed his open hand into the skin above his collar. Blood spurted anyway, but now dripped from palm to elbow.
Stained the snow.
The patterns his life made in the crystals were gorgeous and unique, like his wife and daughters.
He glanced at Jin-son's horrified face. "You should be a lieutenant."
Jin-son shuddered, "I . . . , I . . ., I didn't . . . "
Bishop smiled to comfort the kid. "Tell 'em I love 'em. I'll see 'em in eternity, when their tour of duty in mortality is complete."
Chapter Forty-One: Working it out
Yang Hyo-jin hoped Sam saw her email.
She'd sent shorter messages to several co-workers, but wasn't sure what any of them could do.
Her hostage situation called for a military intervention.
She leaned against the broad glass window overlooking Seoul's lights. Stuffed a mixture of weird candy and chicken into her mouth. The North Koreans chose weird food.
Her wrists zip-tied to the railing at thigh-level in front of the window forced her to bend over to take each bite.
She preferred not to prolong the meal.
An explosion thumped from somewhere near the base of the tower.
She jumped as the window vibrated with the shock.
Kwon, the lieutenant who acted in charge of the terrorists, popped up his head at the table where he'd been eating.
Was Sam attempting to breach the defenses?
Smaller pops from down below, gunfire?
Got louder when the elevator doors opened. No actual elevator, but two soldiers with scoped rifles jogged out from the two central shafts.
Spread themselves out. Lay along the edge of the observation deck platform.
Hyo-jin dropped her plate with a crash.
Huddled as low as she could get.
Her ankles were zip-tied to the railing's base. She used the tension to keep her balance as she crouched and hung from her wrists.
Ninety degrees around the circle away from her, the soldiers at the edge of the floor fired at targets on the park's grounds.
A machine gun responded. All the glass on their side of the tower exploded inward as it traversed the area.
Every few times it hit created a small explosion, something different about the bullets. The projectiles chewed holes in the ceiling above the soldiers.
Pieces of an air vent cover rained down on them. A circular ceiling light popped when hit.
She was so exposed up here, but this was as small as she could make herself. Tall is good for volleyball, but not as great for hiding.
Kwon ducked down in response to the shooting. Moved underneath the planked table with the nuclear device on it.
Spoke in bursts on his radio.
The two soldiers retreated from the edge; back to the elevator shafts.
No one made a move to free her.
* * *
After the doors exploded, I stood back up. Ran after Bishop and the wheelchair.
A North Korean sniper's first round zipped in front of me.
Bullet scraped my left chest plate at an angle. Ricocheted and shattered. No penetration.
He sees me!
Slammed into the ground. Crawled forward.
Schnier right behind me.
At least I could run faster than him.
Schnier was up. Leapfrogged forward.
Down before the sniper could fire.
I took a snapshot double-tap at the sniper closest to us. Behind partial cover; A steel table in the tower.
Sniper ducked behind the table.
Not sure I got him. Hit the table.
Scared him, at least.
I got up.
Sprinted.
Dove behind the wheelchair.
On its side, internal batteries and motors made a fine shield. As long as the high-capacity batteries didn't explode. Lots of potential energy.
Not the best place to remain.
Jin-son lay on his side, strapped in.
Bishop sprawled across the ground next to him, hand on his neck.
Unconscious. Not breathing.
Not now! Not dying today. Not ever, if I could help it.
Schnier slid to a stop.
Crouched behind the doorway's edge. Positioned out of sight from the interior.
Hidden too close to the tower for snipers on the observation deck to hit him. Not without leaning way out and back, exposing themselves to fire from our men in the surrounding park.
He pointed back at the wall around the perimeter of the courtyard, "Both to cover."
I shook my head. Pointed at the Army truck backed up to the tower's loading dock, "Faster. Get them into the back. Drive to medical."
He nodded. "Got Bishop."
A Mk 48 machine gun opened up from out in the park. Its belt of periodic spotting rounds lit up one part of the observation deck above. Added volume to the precision sniper fire from both sides.
Rained down shards of glass.
I dropped my carbine to hang from its strap.
Pulled my combat knife. Sliced the straps holding Jin-son's legs to his chair.
"Go!"
Schnier dove across the entrance. Grabbed Bishop under his arms. Lifted.
I pulled Jin-son up. He fell the rest of the way out of his chair.
Atrophied legs made it easy to pull him onto my back. Fireman's carry.
Ignored Schnier. Focused on jogging Jin-son to the back of the truck.
Schnier lugged Bishop right behind us.
When I had Jin-son on the truck bed, Schnier was only two steps away.
Helped him lay Bishop into the back.
Schnier climbed up. Held them in place.
I charged across the truck bed to the driver's door. Pulled it open.
Climbed from the bed into the cab.
The truck's push-button starter meant no keys. Engine roared.
Schnier pounded on the back of the cab.
Floored it.
Curved left and right. Threw off anyone with a scope. Crossed to the opposite side of the courtyard.
Bishop hadn't looked good. Not good at all.
Turned down an access road at the edge of the courtyard. Led behind the nearby three story cable car terminal.
Schnier pounded on the cab.
I glanced back.
He patted down on the air with a flat hand, signaling me to stop. The terminal building shielded us from the tower's direct fire.
Didn't we need to get Bishop to medical care?
I stopped the truck, anyway. Maybe he knew something I didn't.
With no more obvious targets, and no one needing to expose themselves, the shooting slowed on both sides.
Schnier tapped on the door's glass window.
One of his men ran up from the corner.
Michelle emerged from hiding nearby with Jin-son's mother. Guess they'd retreated here when the shooting started.
I rolled down the window.
Schnier leaned forward, around the edge of the cab from the truck bed.
"No use. He's gone."
No way.
Dead?
Bishop?
I flashed to my childhood, standing at the top of the stairs, in the hallway outside my bedroom.
A twenty-something social worker from Child Services huddled next to a San Diego Police Department sergeant. They bowed their heads. Wanted to look anywhere but at seven-year-old me.
They'd sent my sixteen-year-old babysitter home. Woke me up in the process. She'd been there most of the night; much later than she intended.
All I knew at first was my parents were late.
"We regret to inform you . . . earlier tonight your mom and dad died from collateral damage. They weren't the target of the blast. The police don't think it had anything to do with them.
"I mean . . . they were in the wrong pla
ce at the wrong time. We're so sorry."
Didn't know what collateral damage meant. Not then, but I hated it.
Took my parents from me.
"I'll stay here with you today. This sergeant will be downstairs, just in case."
Bishop was like a replacement parent. Took me under his big Cherry 7-UP drinking wing.
Now he was gone as well.
I took a deep breath. Shook my head. Refused to cry.
Not like that night. A grown man couldn't bawl like a seven-year-old, no matter how much he needed to.
Schnier got Jin-son out of the back of the truck. Leaned him in the dirt against the station's gray stucco wall.
His mom sat with him.
Michelle pulled me out of the truck's cab. Gave me a hug.
I tore away. Not going to let someone in again.
Hurt too much.
The dude from Schnier's platoon drove the truck away, presumably to take Bishop's body somewhere safe, not that it mattered now.
Michelle gave me space. Talked to Jin-son and his mom instead.
Schnier glared at Jin-son.
Started to say something.
Stopped.
Hammered the base of his fist into the wall. Over and over.
Must've cared about Bishop almost as much as I did. Knew him longer, anyway.
Took another deep breath. Wasn't the only one suffering here.
Couldn't think about Bishop's family. Not yet.
"We still have a job to do."
I tried to get the words out, "Bishop would want us to do our duty. To stop those guys. Otherwise more people die."
More collateral damage than the world had ever seen.
Lee stepped up. "Shooting's over. Seem content to bunker back in."
"Can we talk to them?"
He shook his head. "Not enough safe cover to toss a throw-phone where they can get it without exposing themselves.
"Could try a white flag, but then someone would have to see if they planned to start shooting or not the hard way."
Schnier growled. "Gimme a Goose and I'll personally blow the place down.
Lee couldn't help himself, "Sir, our ROE from Major Williams doesn't allow that level of destruction.
"Not in the city."
Friendly cities like Seoul suck for Rangers. A recoilless rifle firing rockets into the tower would be satisfying, but short-lived.
Schnier was using his heart, not his brain.
I needed to use my brain. Grief would have to wait.
"Hyo-jin is still up there, along with a nuclear weapon."
Techno Ranger Page 34