by Don Brown
“My big and powerful man.” Her finger traced across his chin. “A thought did occur to me about something.”
“A thought? What thought, my love?”
“That poor stupid girl. Don’t you think in an odd way she may have done us a favor by what she did?”
“A favor?”
“Yes. I was thinking that this might be the case.”
“What kind of favor?” He relaxed his grip and rested his hands on her shoulders. The sparkle in her black eyes roused his curiosity.
“My colonel.” She toyed with the dimple in his chin. “This is the most prestigious military encampment in all the DPRK, is it not?”
“Yes, of course. Nothing compares in terms of prestige. Not in the Democratic People’s Republic.”
“Umm. It makes me love you that much more, my colonel, that you can wield such power, that you command the confidence of Dear Leader. But tell me, you have now been commandant for three years, no?”
“Yes, it will be three years at the end of next month.”
“And because of your leadership here, your excellent record, there is a good chance that you will be promoted to general, is that not right?”
“I see that you have studied the career paths of my predecessors at this post.”
“I do my homework.” She flashed a sexy wink. “I want to fully understand the man of power I serve.”
“What is your point, my beautiful one?”
“Well, in the three years since you have commanded this encampment, not one of the old Americans has died, is this not true?”
“That is true. Prisoners have died over the years. Some were executed before I assumed command. But no one has died on my watch.”
“Precisely, my colonel. This exemplifies why you are so brilliant.” She blinked and smiled.
Song hesitated. He was about to order a three-man firing squad to fire a round of bullets into the heart of a traitorous pig, but now, in the moment, he felt mesmerized. “Many have accused me of brilliance, my dear, but how does the fact that no prisoner has died yet also exemplify my brilliance? These are old men. They could die at any time.”
“Think about it, my colonel. As long as they are alive, the DPRK has a valuable national treasure. The prisoners are a living symbol of our dominance over America in the war. Over the years, as they have dwindled in number, each prisoner has become more valuable to the DPRK.
“Once they are gone, I would be concerned that some in Pyongyang might not be so happy about such a loss. Anyone opposing your nomination to become a general might make an issue about it even though we both know it is truly a red-herring issue.”
“Go on,” he said.
“I do not wish to overstep my boundaries.” Her eyes filled with passion. “I believe that the DPRK is best served by your promotion, finally, to the rank of general. I know you are preparing for the execution of the girl. I do not wish to delay you as you carry out the work of Dear Leader. But I believe perhaps the girl is mentally deranged, and I would not want you to be accused in any way of ignoring that possibility.”
Either this girl was interested in promoting his career or she was the finest actress in all of the Democratic People’s Republic, Song thought. He studied her eyes for a moment. Either way, she exuded incredible intelligence, which magnified her desirability.
“You are not overstating your boundaries, my dear. I would reprimand you if you were. And we will proceed with the execution of this skinny piglet only when I say we will proceed. She can sweat a bit longer.” He released Mang from his arms and walked over to the mantel. He poured himself a shot of soju. The liquor slid down his throat, warming him instantly and making him feel just a little lightheaded — which was a good thing.
He walked back over to his irresistible flower. “Now then, my pretty, what were you saying about all this?”
“My colonel” — she tipped her head and blinked up at him several times — “you are in a predicament of fate. As the commandant of the most prestigious military prison camp, the only one holding Americans, one must instill discipline against prisoners and not appear to go too soft on them. Yet, on the other hand, because of their value to the DPRK, one must be very careful to keep them alive, especially at their age, without appearing too friendly to them. That is why, ironically, someone like this stupid traitorous piglet that you are about to have shot could continue to be valuable to you.”
“You think this American-loving backstabber can be valuable to me?” He sipped more soju. “My dear, I am the one who has been drinking.” He chuckled. “If you are attempting to persuade me to stay the execution of this little hog because she is somehow of value to me, you had better make it fast. My three overanxious firing-squad members could get so excited that they wet their pants. We need to get moving.”
“No. I would never suggest such a thing, my colonel. No. No. I would only suggest that you do have an option that could serve you well either way. If you proceed with the execution, you will have shown that there will be no toleration of stealing in your camp.
“On the other hand, if you decide to teach her a hard lesson short of execution, you can use her again, as a tool, as one willing to secretly help the old Americans survive. Using someone like her helps to make sure that the old prisoners do not die on your watch, my colonel. That would crush any arguments your political enemies might throw against you with Dear Leader when you are nominated for general.”
“Hmm. Interesting, my lovely.” He decided that his sexy little kitten clearly hoped to someday become the wife of a general. “But I have already sentenced her to death. I can hardly afford to look weak before my men.”
She smiled and gently ran two fingers down his face. “I am not suggesting that you not execute her. That is your decision. But there are many ways to prove that you are a strict disciplinarian — many measures that you can take whether you have her shot or not. I believe you can use such a meaningless rodent to your advantage if you so choose.” She planted an electrifying peck on his cheek. “I am sure that whatever you choose will be irresistibly exciting, and I cannot wait to see how you dispose of this little swine!” She draped herself against him. Her kiss was atomic. He let it linger for a moment, then pushed her away. Duty called. The execution loomed. But she had given him much to think over.
“Later, my love. We must deal with the traitor.” He slipped on his coat and stepped out the door.
Downtown hotel
Seoul, South Korea
Commander. Excuse me, Commander!” the hotel clerk said as the trio rushed past the front desk, out toward the black pickup parked out front.
“Gotta go!” Gunner waved at the attendant.
“You have a telephone call.”
“Who from?” Gunner shouted back across the lobby, walking quickly away from the check-in area and toward the revolving doors.
“The USS Harry S. Truman.”
That announcement stopped him dead in his tracks. Frigid air blew in every time the front doors were opened.
“Sounds like they want you back on board the ship with all this shootin’ going on,” Jackrabbit said.
Jackrabbit was right. Gunner’s mind shot into hyperdrive. If the Navy ordered him back to the ship, any chance of finding a clue about his grandfather would be forever lost. Yet he was a naval officer and duty called.
Still … the US government had ignored these secret rumors all these years …
Plus, the admiral had granted him thirty days’ leave. But he had said that if the situation heated up, he would call him back to duty. Cancel his leave.
Of course, the call could be about anything. No message was left. Nothing like “Commander McCormick, contact the ship immediately.” If they wanted him back immediately …
“Better make up your mind, Commander,” Jackrabbit said.
Jackrabbit was right. A decision beckoned. And he was a naval officer. And duty called. He turned back toward the desk.
But the image of his young g
randfather in uniform stopped him. Perhaps they were only trying to verify his address. After all, he was on leave. They would call back if they needed him.
“Tell them that I have already left, please.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Gunner turned and stepped through the front door into the frigid air.
CHAPTER 10
USS Harry S. Truman
the Yellow Sea
General quarters! General quarters! General quarters! Man your battle stations! Prepare to launch jets!”
The booming voice of the Truman’s executive officer thundered over 1MC, the ship’s public-address system. His words blared into every compartment of the giant supercarrier, echoing against the steel bulkheads and off the flight decks. Five thousand United States Navy crew members scrambled in chaotic precision to various parts of the ship, manning stations to defend her from enemy attack.
Rear Admiral James Hampton was taking no chances. Now that two Super Hornets had been fired on by North Korean MiGs and the Hornets had blown both MiGs out of the air, an attack on the Truman could be imminent.
“Has anybody found Commander McCormick yet?” Hampton demanded as he paced back and forth, checking his watch. He glanced down at the latest intelligence communiqué generated by Lieutenant Jim Porter. As a junior lieutenant, Porter was bright enough, but he was young and green. Hampton preferred the experienced McCormick at his side if missiles started flying. McCormick may have been distracted recently, but Hampton had supreme confidence in him.
“We made a couple ship-to-shore calls to the hotel he’s registered at, Admiral,” said Captain Anthony Farrow, Hampton’s chief of staff. “They said he just left.”
That brought a short burst of profanity from the admiral. “Did he get a South Korean cell phone?”
“Don’t know about that, sir.”
“Shouldn’t we have worked that little detail out before we sent him ashore?”
“Well, yes, sir, Admiral. We should’ve ordered him to pick up a South Korean cell and provide us the number. My apologies, sir.”
“All right. Don’t worry about it, Tony. I’m the one who granted his leave to begin with. Keep trying to raise him.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
“When you find him, tell him I’ve canceled his leave and he needs to report back here ASAP.”
“Will do, sir.”
The 1MC broke in. “Now hear this! This is the XO! Two inbound missiles approaching! Repeat: two inbounds approaching! Prepare for evasive maneuvers and brace for impact!”
“Throw me my helmet, Tony! I’m headed to the bridge.”
“Sir, with all due respect, we need you to move below decks. It’s too dangerous topside if there’s impact.”
“Tony, you can go below decks if you want, but I’m going topside. I need to see what’s going on. Now throw me my battle helmet. That’s an order!”
“Aye, aye, sir! … I’m coming with you!”
Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp
The steady cold wind from the north numbed his lips and fingers. But for Staff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon, the cold gave him renewed strength. As he awaited the order for the execution, he patroled the camp with a sense of purpose and resolve.
Where was the colonel? Undoubtedly detained for an excellent reason. He decided the colonel probably had begun the paperwork for the commendation or medal he would receive for his discovery of the slimy pill thief. Or maybe the colonel was even considering a promotion for him. Yes, of course. That was it.
Bullets would soon explode into the twisting, worthless snake of a woman. Kang imagined how the colonel would announce his promotion, standing at attention in the courtyard. Perhaps the colonel would even call him into his office and announce that finally, he, Staff Sergeant Kang Ho-soon, would be given the opportunity to meet Dear Leader himself! He glanced over at his two colleagues, their AK-47s strapped over their shoulders, rubbing their hands together like a couple of idiotic chickens shivering in the elements. “Chung! Cho!” he snapped. “Check your rifles! They must be ready for the execution!”
They looked at each other and shrugged. Neither one said a word.
Kang was about to give another order when Chung pulled his AK-47 from his shoulder and Cho did the same. And just as Kang had ordered them to do, they each began checking the safety mechanism on the side of their rifles.
Good. His leadership was now unquestioned. The execution of the pig would seal his position and earn him his much-deserved promotion.
USS Lake Erie
the Yellow Sea
on patrol twenty miles east of USS Harry S. Truman
Inbound missiles, range twenty-five miles and closing, Captain!” the weapons officer announced.
Captain Hugh Bennett, the skipper of the Aegis-class heavy cruiser USS Lake Erie, looked through his binoculars toward the eastern horizon. Somewhere out there, not yet visible to the human eye, in the airspace above the line where the sea gave way to the sky, two enemy missiles were closing rapidly on the ships of the United States Carrier Strike Group Ten.
The missiles, fired from somewhere in North Korea, were either Chinese-made CSSC-3 “Seersuckers” or KN-01s, the North Korean enhanced version of the Seersucker. Either one had a potential range of up to two hundred kilometers and enough firepower to obliterate any ship in the battle group.
But Bennett knew, as did every member of his crew, that the North Korean missiles were targeting the biggest prize that any enemy of the United States could hope to claim — a nuclear supercarrier, this time the USS Harry S. Truman, with five thousand souls aboard and a carrier air wing consisting of more than fifty jet aircraft, eight helicopters, and enough firepower to single-handedly wipe out the functional operating structure of most nations on the face of the earth.
A supercarrier would be the ultimate trophy for any of America’s enemies. Bennett’s mission, indeed the principle mission of his ship and crew, was to protect that carrier at all costs. And while his ship and crew had drilled for this scenario on dozens of occasions, this was the Lake Erie’s first life-and-death encounter against live missiles fired at the carrier.
Bennett dropped his binoculars and swiped beads of sweat off his forehead. With every eye on the bridge riveted on the eastern horizon, the weapons officer tracked the position of the inbound missiles.
“Inbound missiles, range twenty miles and closing, Captain,” the weapons officer announced.
“Launch interceptors.”
“Launch interceptors. Aye, Captain.”
The aft section of the Lake Erie lit up with two sudden bursts of fire and billowing white smoke. Out of the fire and clouds of smoke, two SM-3 antiballistic missiles shot straight up and away from the back deck, kept climbing high above the ship, and then curved out from a vertical trajectory into a horizontal one, now flying parallel to the contour of the sea. Behind them trailed white streaks of smoke, marking their rapid race across the sky to the east. Computers within their internal guidance systems, interfacing with data being fed by radar from the ship, steered the missiles in their flight on an intercept course with the inbound enemy missiles.
That was the theory anyway.
Now Bennett could only pray. And wait. The life-or-death fate of thousands of sailors depended on the accuracy of those interceptors.
“Fifteen seconds to impact …”
Dear Jesus, help us, he prayed.
“Ten seconds to impact, Captain.
“Still inbound, Skipper. Five seconds to impact. Four … Three … Two …”
Bennett brought the binoculars back to his eyes just in time to witness a fireball explode in the sky. Cheering erupted on the bridge.
“Quiet!” Bennett ordered. “Weps! Status!”
“Sir, we got one! The other’s still inbound. Course locked on the Truman!”
Swooooooooooosh!!!!
The second North Korean rocket shot right over the top of the Lake Erie, flying from port to starboard at an altitude of perhap
s two hundred feet. Bennett watched it streak in the direction of the carrier. “Give me that!” He snatched the ship-to-ship radio that was already dialed in to the carrier’s frequency. “Truman! Lake Erie! One missile still inbound! Repeat: missile still inbound! Emergency evasive maneuvers!”
USS Harry S. Truman
the Yellow Sea
Admiral’s on the bridge!” the bridge watch officer shouted, as Admiral Hampton stepped onto the bridge.
“Forget me!” Hampton barked. “Carry on!”
“Right full rudder! All ahead flank!”
“Right full rudder! All ahead flank! Aye, Captain!”
The ship’s nuclear-powered engines screamed at full power. The ship banked hard to her right, cutting so hard and steep in the water that the port edge of the runway rose up toward the sun. Captain Charles Harrison, a rugged sea veteran, sat in his captain’s chair in the middle of the bridge.
“Grab your hats!” Captain Harrison yelled.
Admiral Hampton lost his balance but had a tight grip on a steel railing.
The Truman tipped sharply to starboard, like a giant canoe about to capsize. But the Harry S. Truman did not go over. With her bow now lined up and facing the oncoming missile, the Truman cut through the sea almost with the catlike agility of a small speedboat. This gave the missile a smaller target, from the 1,092 feet of the ship’s length to 252 feet, the ship’s beam, or width.
“Inbound missile, time to impact sixty seconds, Skipper!”
“Fire interceptors!” Harrison yelled.
“Firing interceptors! Aye, Captain!”
Poof …
Poof …
Two Mk 57 Mod 3 Sea Sparrow missiles shot off the side of the ship and headed east.
“Time to impact forty seconds.”
“Fire RAM Launcher!”
“Fire RAM Launcher. Aye, Captain!”
Poof … Poof … Poof … Poof … Poof … Poof … Poof … Poof … Poof … A barrage of short-range blast fragmentation warheads shot off the bow from the portable RIM-116 Rolling Airframe Missile launchers.
