by Bob Mayer
18
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 0930 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 5:30 p.m. Local
Thirty minutes of brainstorming had turned up no feasible plan. Riley kept silent, but he knew what the plan had to be. He'd known all along. Mitchell must also see that they had only one choice. Riley had desperately hoped someone else could come up with a less drastic course of action. No one had.
Riley was getting ready to speak when Mitchell beat him to it. "All right. Enough. It's time to face reality. We can't run from these guys. Not only can we not outdistance them carrying Olinski—and I don't want to hear any more bullshit from you about getting left behind," the captain warned Olinski, "but also there's no point in going west. For all we know there's another search line coming up the mountains on that side. There must be people at the crash site. West is out.
"North and south are out, too. The search line extends as far as we can see in both directions. We'd never be able to do an end run around the flank. For all we know it extends fifty kilometers each way. That leaves us with the original problem. We have to either head east or hide in place. We're fooling ourselves if we think we can do either.
"The bottom line is that we have to make the Chinese change their tactics. There's only one way I can think of to do that. Set up a diversion."
Mitchell let the significance of what he had just said sink in for a few seconds.
Olinski was the first to react. "I volunteer, sir. If you all could get me up to the high ground over there to the north, I could use the SAW and get their attention."
Mitchell had expected this and shook his head. "No. If the people doing the diversion are going to have any chance at surviving, they've got to be able to run. I'm not sending anybody on a suicide mission."
Riley raised his hand for attention. Everyone fell silent. "Here's what I propose. Two men, healthy men, take an SVD sniper rifle and the SAW machine gun. They go up in higher ground along that finger there to the north. Just after dark the one with the SVD starts taking out the Chinese along the search line. I'm sure they won't be practicing strict discipline. Hell, they'll probably have fires going all along the line. We shoot enough of them, and keep it up, until they have to react.
"The rest of the team hides. The best place will probably be down near the stream over there. Hopefully, once the shooting starts, the Chinese will break their line and move past those team members who are hiding, missing you in the dark. Once the Chinese go by, our guys head on down to the pickup zone. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to do it in the confusion. If you make any accidental contact, you can use the silenced submachine gun to take care of it. /
"The two guys in the hills keep the Chinese's attention as long as they can, then try to make it down to the pickup zone or, if that isn't possible, try to escape into the hills. Two healthy guys might have a chance where the whole group of us wouldn't. We coordinate a pickup zone back in the mountains for those two. If the rest of the team gets out tonight, you get base to run another exfiltration for those two on another night."
Riley stopped and looked at the captain. They both knew they had to go with this plan. It was the only way. It was feasible—all except the last part, Riley thought. There's no way those two men would survive. But at least they'd go out fighting.
The detachment commander stood up. "I agree, unless anyone can come up with a better suggestion." Mitchell looked each team member in the eye. No one said anything. "I'll decide who does what. Dave, come with me."
Riley and Mitchell walked about twenty meters away from the team and sat down on two rocks.
Riley preempted the captain. "Listen, Mitch. I know you're going to volunteer yourself to do this. Deep inside you know that's bullshit, for the same reasons you gave Olinski. We've got only four healthy men—me, Hoffman, Chong, and Comsky. It's got to be two of us. One of the two has got to be a trained sniper. That's between Comsky and me. We need to leave Comsky with the main party because he's the medic. That means I'm the one with the sniper rifle."
Mitchell didn't protest. He hated the decision. But it was the right decision.
Riley continued. 'Then it's between Hoffman and Chong for the SAW. Chong's qualified on the SAW and it's his weapon. I'd also prefer having Chong with me. If anybody can navigate our way through the mountains at night and keep us from getting tracked down, it's him. I'll leave Hoffman with you for another reason. If the exfil bird doesn't come tonight—and you and I both know it's a long shot—he's your best bet for figuring out something when you get to the coast, whether it be hot wiring a boat or rerigging a radio. You're going to need him."
Mitchell let out a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. "You're right, as always, Dave. It's going to be you and Tom. I'll give him the news."
46th Army Headquarters, Yanji, China Saturday, 10 June, 1000 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 6:00 p.m. Local
Yanji was a mining and industrial city with a population of one hundred thousand. Tugur was running the search operation from the regional army headquarters in the center of town. The six Z-9 attack helicopters of the 3d Aviation Regiment were crouched in the fields surrounding the headquarters along with eight S-70 transportation helicopters.
Tugur had taken the time to interrogate the hunters and miners who had been picked up in the sweep. Checks had confirmed their identities, but despite that, the local commander had been too frightened of the wrath of General Yang to release them. Unfortunately, that was the extent of his initiative. He had not thought to ask the prisoners if they had seen anything unusual. Tugur made up for this deficiency in his interrogation. They all replied in the negative, except for one disgruntled old miner who complained that someone had stolen the battery from his truck the previous night.
Tugur was interested in the report of the stolen battery. Who would go all the way up to the mountains to steal a battery from a truck? And if the terrorists had done it, why steal the battery and not the truck? Tugur puzzled over this but could not come up with an answer. He put it aside in the activity of coordinating the sweep's halt for the night. Still the detail gnawed away in the back of his mind. Something about the battery was important; he could feel it.
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1100 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 7:00 p.m. Local
From the tall tree Riley watched the olive-green tide reach high water for the day only a kilometer and a half away. He observed the soldiers' preparations for the evening. Like soldiers anywhere, they were gathering wood for fires to take away the night's chill. Riley noted the lack of defensive preparations. The trucks, with their heavy machine guns mounted over the cabs, were not tactically placed in positions with good fields of fire. Instead, they were haphazardly parked in the places most convenient for the company commanders.
The line had made it almost a kilometer past the pickup zone—only a fraction of an inch on the map in Riley's pocket but a significant distance on the ground. Riley continued to study the terrain as the sun went down. He and Chong would move out to the sniper position on the ridgeline as soon as it got dark. Satisfied that he had seen all he wanted to, Riley climbed down.
The rest of the team was waiting for him at the base of the tree. They'd spent this time building a small terrain model, using dirt, sticks, and small rocks. The men gathered around the scale model as Riley made his report, pointing out the places he was talking about.
"The sweep line's made it along a front basically from here, to here, to here. About a klick and a half from here and a little under a klick in front of the pickup zone, if you draw a straight line from our location to the PZ. They don't seem concerned about making contact. Looks like there'll be a bunch of guards standing around fires all along the line. The fires are about thirty meters apart. I still don't think you could sneak through. The off-duty people are bedding down for the night all around, wherever they feel like it. The vegetation isn't thick enough here to cover you."
Mitchell nodded his head in agreement as Riley continued. "The plan we
decided on still stands. Tom and I will go up to this position here on the ridge. We'll leave at twenty thirty, after it's fully dark and they've had a chance to settle in down there. We'll take two of the remaining sets of PVS-5 night-vision goggles. The rest of you will move down here, to this stream that runs into the river. Hide as best you can in the thick vegetation along the bank. At zero zero thirty local I'll start picking off people along the guard line. It's about two thousand meters from where I'll be shooting to the nearest Chinese, so they're going to have to move forward to engage me. Once they get inside a thousand meters, Tom will open up with the SAW. We'll keep engaging them until they get to within five hundred meters, at which time we'll head on up into the mountains."
Riley turned to Mitchell, and the captain began to brief them on the rest of the plan. "After Dave and Tom engage, we wait. In the confusion, we try to find the best time to move through the Chinese line along the stream bank. They might even move everyone out and pass us by. At worst case, they're going to have to thin their line to go after these two. Either way, we go through. I'll be in the lead with my silenced MP5 and wearing the last set of PVS-5s. Hoffman and Comsky will carry Olinski. C.J., you bring up the rear. Hoffman and Comsky will use the silenced .22s if they have to shoot. C.J., you take Olinski's shotgun.
"We've got an hour and a half from when Dave starts shooting to make it to the pickup zone. We'll wait there until 0500. If no aircraft comes by that time, they most likely aren't going to be coming. We use the remaining two hours of darkness to move downslope and find a hiding place. The next night we'll continue on to the border. Any questions?"
C.J. raised his hand. "What about the markings on the pickup zone? And frequency? The aircraft is going to have a hell of a time finding that place—if it comes at all. Also, there still might be shooting going on. We probably ought to be up on the radio to assure them that we're really there."
Mitchell agreed. "We've got four infrared chem lights left; we can use those for pickup zone marking. We've also got infrared strobes on all our vests. Olinski will have the PRC68. We think it still works after Hoffman put it back together. If Ski sees or hears anything resembling a friendly helicopter, he's going to start calling on the agreed-upon frequency. Anybody else?"
Hoffman stirred and looked at Riley. "Top, they don't need to get within five hundred meters to engage you. They can start engaging you from the search line using the 12.7-millimeter machine guns on the trucks. They've got the range to reach out there."
Riley had figured his junior engineer would make that observation. He hoped no one would ask too many questions about the diversion team's role. Most particularly he hoped no one would ask questions regarding their survivability. "I've thought of that," Riley answered. "Those machine guns have the range but they're not going to be able to find us until they get close. I've got a couple of tricks I'll use to hide my muzzle flashes. The Chinese are going to have to move. Once we start popping their people off, they'll be so mad they'll be hard to hold back. I just hope enough of them come forward to allow you all to slip through without making contact."
Camp Page, ChunChon, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1229 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 9:29 p.m. Local
"Camp Page tower, this is army helicopter 579. Request permission to depart airfield on a heading of eight zero degrees. Over."
"Roger army helicopter 579. You are cleared for taxiway and departure. Over."
Jean Long released the brakes on the Blackhawk as Lassiter increased throttle. The aircraft rolled on its three wheels out to the main runway that ran the length of Camp Page. They turned and faced to the east.
Jean tenderly lifted the collective and slipped the cyclic forward, and the heavily laden helicopter pushed away from the clutches of the earth. A two-foot gap appeared beneath the wheels. Getting the feel of the unusual center of gravity caused by the internal fuel bladders, Jean hovered there for ten seconds. She glanced over at Lassiter, who smiled, shrugged, and nodded. Increasing power and lift, she quickly gained altitude and flew off toward the high mountains that encircled ChunChon to the east.
Yongsan Army Base, Seoul, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1230 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 9:30 p.m. Local
Hossey was laboriously working his way around the Pentagon via phone extensions. No one he had talked to on the night duty staff had any knowledge of a live mission run in this part of the world. It was almost as if there had not been any authorization for this action.
Hossey looked at his military phone book in frustration. He opened it one more time and started from the front, looking for any number that might connect him with someone who knew what was going on.
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1230 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 8:30 p.m. Local
Team 3 was splitting again, and this time it appeared to be permanent. Dave Riley could tell that Mitchell was very unhappy about the situation. Chong was standing at the edge of the little grouping, saying good-bye to the rest of the team. Riley stood next to the captain.
"Take care, Mitch, and get these guys out."
Mitchell nodded. It was hard for him to speak. He felt completely helpless. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Nothing in his training had ever prepared him to order two of his men to go on a oneway mission. Not only that, but Dave Riley was his best friend. He didn't know what to say, but he tried anyway. "If there was any other way, Dave. I just can't come up with anything."
Riley put his arm over his friend's shoulder. "I know that. Hell, we both came up with the same plan. You just get those guys out and it'll all be worthwhile. You've got to hang in there and drive on."
Mitchell nodded. He didn't trust himself to say any more. The two men embraced briefly. Riley picked up his SVD and walked over to the rest of the team. Not much was said. There was nothing noble or heroic about the scene. Just a pervading sense of sadness tainted with desperation—the same atmosphere that has been present before battle since the beginning of time. Heroism and nobility seemed to come from others talking about events after they were over. Now, as they faced the spectre of death, none of the participants wanted to play their roles.
Reasons for being here, and for doing what they did, didn't seem to add up anymore.
Riley smiled and, as he walked out of the camp with Chong, softly called out over his shoulder, "See you all back in Korea."
Sokch'o Air Traffic Control, East Coast, South Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1306 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 10:06 p.m. Local
Sokch'o was the northernmost sizable South Korean city on the east coast. As such, the air and sea routes around it were guarded vigilantly. The entire coastline from the nearby demilitarized zone, south one hundred kilometers, was entirely fenced in to prevent infiltrators from swimming in. The airspace was tightly managed out of Sokch'o airfield.
On the radar screens at Sokch'o, Flight 579 suddenly disappeared. The Korean operator had been watching the flight with growing concern. According to the flight plan he had called up on his computer, 579 was on a training flight from ChunChon to Sokch'o and back. The flight had crossed the shoreline only one minute previously. The controller had expected it to turn any second and head back west. Now it was gone. He keyed his mike. Speaking with great difficulty in English, he broadcast: "United States Army helicopter Five Seven Nine. United States Army helicopter Five Seven Nine. This is Sokch'o Control. You have gone below allowable altitude. Acknowledge. Return to altitude. Over."
He waited a minute, then transmitted again. Still no reply. After five minutes, with no sign of 579 reappearing or replying, the operator reported to his supervisor. Ten minutes later, still with no response, a downed aircraft report was broadcast and search aircraft were alerted.
On board 579 Colin Lassiter had the aircraft skimming the wave tops as the Korean shoreline disappeared behind them. Jean Long was slouched back in her seat, trying to rest. In the cargo compartment, Hooker and Trapp had finished unpacking the duffel bag they'd brought aboard. Now they worked in the cramped space between the four
bulging fuel bladders, stowing the weapons Hooker had brought from Yongsan and preparing for other contingencies.
They tied a 120-foot nylon rope to each of two large O-rings bolted to the top center of the cargo compartment. After making sure that both ropes were securely attached, they coiled each one separately in a weighted canvas bag. This was done carefully, to ensure that each rope would deploy without snags if the bag was thrown out the door of the helicopter. The weighted bag would pull the rope to the end of its 120-foot length.
The two men then carefully unbolted the frame for the two forward internal tanks and replaced all the bolts with wraps of 550 cord, the same line used for suspension lines on parachutes. This would allow the two forward tanks to be quickly cut free and removed, when empty, to make space for the team.
With the coastline out of sight, Lassiter gently eased the helicopter around to a heading of 42 degrees—right up the middle of the Sea of Japan.
US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida Saturday, 10 June, 1320 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 8:20 a.m. Local
Colonel Moore didn't like coming in to work on a Saturday, but having been gone the whole past week participating in the exercise up at Fort Meade, his in box was overflowing. He wanted to get a jump on the paperwork before Monday.
Moore was halfway through his first cup of coffee, and a quarter of the way through the contents of his in box, when he came across the duty log from the previous night. It was in his box because it was Moore's responsibility to brief his boss, the G-3, on Monday morning on everything that had happened over the weekend.
Moore slammed his mug down on the desk as he turned the page and read the notation about the strange phone call from a Colonel Hossey in Korea.
