by Bob Mayer
Jean scanned the instrument panel, then keyed her intercom to talk to Lassiter. "How do you arm these Stingers?"
Her copilot gave the answer she expected. "I don't know. I've never flown with them before. I imagine that switch down there on the lower right arms them. I know this button here on the cyclic fires them."
Jean had never flown with Stingers either. She hoped Lassiter's guess was right. With a little luck they wouldn't need the missiles.
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1750 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 1:50 a.m. Local
Mitchell scanned the small open field with the night-vision goggles. Aided by the light of the moon, the field appeared as it would in daytime. Its size was adequate for landing a helicopter. Several small trees would have to be cut down, however.
He turned to the other members of Team 3 who were crouched in the tree line on the southeastern corner of the field. "Hoffman and Comsky will help me take down those trees. C.J., you stay here with Olinski. Ski, turn on the FM and start monitoring it."
The three men moved out into the field. Using their survival knives, they began hacking down the small trees that would have impeded the landing of the helicopter they all hoped was on the way. C.J. watched as the men worked. He could hear the rumble of vehicles going by only four hundred meters to the east on the unimproved road. It was obvious that the Chinese were bringing more units into the area. He could also hear and see the two helicopters off to the northwest searching the ridgeline.
Riley and Chong had made it over the crest of the northern ridgeline. They paused briefly to rest while Riley checked the terrain to the east. As far as he could see were the headlights of numerous vehicles moving to the north and south. Making it to the coast was out. He turned and looked up the ridgeline to the peaks of the Changbai Mountain Range. This was not the direction he wanted to head, but it seemed to be their only choice.
He gestured to Chong, and the two resumed their scramble up the ridgeline. The two Z-9s were still flying only a kilometer to their south, quartering the ground in a grid pattern. They would be overhead in less than fifteen minutes. Riley wasn't afraid of being seen by the helicopters as long as it was dark. Avoiding the searchlight would not be difficult. Tomorrow morning would be a different story. Riley was not optimistic about their chances of seeing another sunset.
Their chances further diminished as two new S-70 helicopters, with searchlights on, flew by to the south, higher into the mountains. The two aircraft carefully set down about two kilometers to the west. They landed about eight hundred meters apart, then took off, heading back toward the coast. Riley had little doubt about what was happening. Someone in the Chinese headquarters was getting smarter. Their last option was being taken from them. They had nowhere to go.
Riley turned to Chong. "They're putting troops in ahead of us, up there, with those helicopters."
Chong wearily rested the butt of his SAW machine gun on the ground. "What now, Top?"
"We keep heading into the mountains. That bird can carry only ten troops on board. The net's thinner that way. We have a better chance of fighting our way through by going up." Riley looked up into the darkness. "They're only about two klicks away, so we'll find out soon enough. I'm tired of running."
2:00 a.m. Local
The pickup zone was clear. Mitchell sat with his back against a tree at the edge of the small clearing. The other members of Team 3 were crowded close around. They were all exhausted. Mitchell hated to think of what would happen if the helicopter didn't come and he had to get everyone moving again to find a hiding place before dawn.
Mitchell couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good night's sleep. Ever since the phone call to Jean's quarters had started him on this mission, he'd been running down on energy and sleep. No matter what the danger or situation, the body needed rest. Adrenaline could keep you going only so far. They were all cold, hungry, and tired. While they were moving, the physical exertion and fear kept the cold away. Now that they had stopped Mitchell could feel the night's chill penetrating his bones. He shivered briefly, the movement initiating pain in his cut that was beneficial in a perverse way—the pain kept him awake. He thought briefly of his wife in Korea, imagining her safe and asleep in her bunk. He wondered if he'd ever spend another night with her.
He tore his attention back to the present. There hadn't been any firing up in the mountains for quite a while. Mitchell wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He assumed that Riley and Chong were still running. The overflights by the S-70s indicated that the Chinese were probably airlifting troops into the mountains, which was bad news for the two men on the diversion team. Mitchell tried to accept that situation—they'd taken a chance on running the diversion. If an exfiltration helicopter didn't come tonight, he wasn't sure any of them would make it out. The Chinese now knew that there were people alive. Even though they were through the picket line, there would still be extensive troop operations throughout the area. The guard Olinski had killed would point the search back toward the border once the body was discovered.
Comsky was checking Olinski's and C.J.'s injuries in the dark, doing what little he could for them. Olinski was doing fairly well. Both breaks appeared to be clean. He was alert and monitoring the FM radio. C.J. was in worse shape now. The fall and subsequent movement had further aggravated the shattered arm. The man had lapsed into a sleep that was closer to unconsciousness. It was going to be very difficult to get him moving again. Mitchell knew he would have to, though. They couldn't carry another man.
Mitchell held his strobe light in his left hand. He checked to make sure that the infrared cover was firmly on. He was prepared to run out into the field and turn it on the second they had an indication that a helicopter was inbound. The IR cover on the strobe would prevent it from being seen by the Chinese helicopters. Only someone wearing night-vision goggles would be able to see the bright flash.
2:04 a.m. Local
The lift birds continued to fly by every eight minutes on either side. The two gunship Z-9s had flown by three minutes ago. Riley and Chong had easily hidden from the helicopters' searchlights. Now they were moving cautiously through the dark. Somewhere ahead enemy soldiers were working their way down toward them. The terrain along the ridgeline was broken and jagged, with a few stunted trees growing amid the jumble of rocks that crowned the long finger of high ground heading into the mountains.
Riley and Chong moved from boulder to boulder. In the bright moonlight they both removed their night-vision goggles and hung them around their necks. Getting into a moving firefight with goggles on was not a good idea—the muzzle flashes from weapons at the closer ranges would temporarily blank them out. The illumination provided by the moon would be more than adequate. Riley held his SVD at his waist, slowly panning the muzzle from left to right as he scanned the terrain ahead. His M79 grenade launcher was ready at his side. Chong followed closely behind and to his right, leaving himself an open field of fire for his SAW. Both had unsnapped the covers on the holsters of their 9mm pistols. They were as ready as they could be.
"When the strike of a hawk breaks the body
of its prey, it is because of timing."
Sun Tzu: The Art of War
21
Airspace, North Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1810 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 3:10 a.m. Local
Both pilots were awake and alert despite being tired. They'd been in the air almost six hours. The two had been switching off every thirty minutes, with one flying under goggles and the other resting. It had been an exhausting regimen. Now the two pilots would have to be at their peak. Jean and Colin both had their goggles on as they wound their way through the foothills of the Changbai Range.
Lassiter concentrated on reading the map and ensuring that they were on the correct heading, while Long kept watch ahead, flying the terrain. In two minutes they crested the first ridgeline.
"That was the border," Lassiter called out. "We're over China now."
Anxiety churned in their stomachs
as Long slowed the helicopter to eighty knots and started flying west, only twenty-five feet above the treetops. They knew the risks they were running now. Not only the Chinese but the terrain could be their enemy: a power line strung across in front of them, a radio tower, a microwave relay station, a tall hill coming up suddenly out of the dark. Any such obstacle could spell disaster.
Long headed west ten kilometers and then turned to the northwest, searching the ground for the small river that was to be their guideline. Lassiter continued to call out the instrument readings to her. They had agreed that she would fly the leg in. He would fly the leg out.
Long concentrated on flying. For the whole flight she had not allowed thoughts of what they would find on the pickup zone interfere with her performance, and she wouldn't now.
There was a quick intake of breath through the intercom. "Jesus, Colin. Take a look ahead."
Lassiter looked up from the instruments and scanned the night sky. It was obvious what the captain was referring to. He counted four aircraft in the sky ahead, higher in the mountains. Helicopters with their searchlights on.
"We're in for fun and games now."
Long took another view. "But it's also a good sign, in a way. It means the Chinese are looking for somebody too. It means there are people alive."
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1812 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 2:12 a.m. Local
At Yanji the radar operator in the mobile unit again counted the number of blips on his screen. It still wasn't right. One had entered his screen at the eastern edge, almost looking as though it had come out of North Korea, and was now intermittently appearing and disappearing. The radar image did not have an identifier code.
Junior Lieutenant Baibang called on the radio for the second time, asking the helicopter to identify itself. Again no answer. It was also flying too low to the ground. Supporting the 3d Aviation Regiment on numerous training missions, Baibang had never seen a regimental helicopter fly that low during the daytime, never mind at night. Baibang picked up the radiophone to army headquarters.
It wasn't hard for Mitchell to stay awake, despite his exhaustion. Shivering saw to that. The Chinese air activity was continuing. He wasn't sure he would be able to tell if an American aircraft was inbound until it just about landed. He looked over at Olinski to make sure that he was still monitoring the radio. Olinski had the little plug from the FM radio in his ear and was holding it in place with his good hand. He saw the captain's glance and gave him a negative shake of the head. Mitchell quickly scanned the others in the party. Comsky was peering into the dark woods, pulling security. Hoffman was scanning the pickup zone. C.J. appeared to be unconscious.
Mitchell checked the glowing hands on his watch: 2:14 local. He was tempted to pick up and start moving now. Even if a helicopter was inbound, they wouldn't be foolish enough to come in with all the air activity. They hadn't thought of this when they'd made the diversion plan. Now it was too late. An inbound helicopter was sure to be spotted.
2:16 a.m. Local
Tugur's presence had finally made things start functioning in the division forward headquarters. The report of the unidentified helicopter reached him only four minutes after it was called in. It was another piece of the puzzle falling into place. Things were beginning to make sense. The firing had probably been a diversion.
Tugur immediately called General Yang at Shenyang and quickly updated him. "We've got an unidentified helicopter inbound. It's only about ten minutes out from where the troops are fighting. I've already diverted all the Z-9s to try and intercept. We need some air force jets down here just in case."
Yang concurred. "I'll call the airfield here and get them moving. You must stop that helicopter. Force it down if you can. If not, shoot it down. I'll get back to you. Out here."
The AWACS's large rotodome continued to track 579 as it flew through the Changbai foothills. Colonel Ehrlich watched as the helicopter wove its way through the terrain. It was about ten minutes' flying time from all the Chinese activity. Whoever was flying that thing sure had balls— it was flying right into a hornets' nest.
One hundred and twenty miles to the west of the coast, Ehrlich also had the four F-16s out of Misawa circling. And somewhere out there, screaming toward the coast at more than a thousand miles an hour, was Wildcard. Ehrlich was in radio communication with the aircraft if he needed to talk to them, but radio silence was the standard operating procedure for Wildcard. Its orders were to take up a position twenty miles off the North Korean coast near Najin and be prepared for further instructions. Ehrlich didn't know what was going on, but things were going to get hot real soon.
Chong discerned the enemy soldiers first. He gripped Riley on the arm and pointed. Riley stopped and squinted into the darkness. There were ten of them, seven hundred meters away and heading downslope. The Chinese were spread out, weapons at the ready, with twenty meters between each man. Riley looked around quickly. About a hundred meters ahead of them was a small knoll of boulders rising slightly above the rest of the ground. He pointed it out to Chong. "We'll make our stand there."
2:19 a.m. Local
Junior Lieutenant Baibang started guiding the Z-9s toward the inbound helicopter. He had two Z-9s coming down from the mountains out of the north. He gave them an intercept path directly toward the intruder. Three others were lifting off out of Yanji. The sixth Z-9 from the 3d Aviation Regiment was unable to fly because of maintenance problems. Baibang gave two of the three out of Yanji an intercept vector straight down the river. The third he gave an easterly approach, just in case the unidentified aircraft turned and ran for the border.
The inbound intruder was flying at about eighty knots. The Z-9s could easily beat that in a flat run at altitude. Baibang glanced at the clock. The two out of the mountains should intercept in eight minutes if all factors stayed the same.
Even as he finished giving instructions, a new voice came over his radio. "Yanji Control, this is Tiger Flight leader. We are four J-7s just lifted off and heading your way. Request approach and intercept information. Over."
"We've got four fast movers lifting off out of Shenyang, sir." Ehrlich swore. "This thing's getting out of control. They must have picked up the Blackhawk on local radar." He turned and looked across the cabin to the bank of equipment and the operators sitting in front of it. "Do you have any emitters down there?"
A young air force technician turned from the screens toward the colonel. "Yes, sir. I've got a dual emitter located in Yanji—820 megahertz 280 pulse, and 890 megahertz 650 pulse. From the signal wavelength, I'd say it's close to a P-15 Flatface early-warning radar. A little off. Probably a Chinese copy."
Ehrlich turned back to his side of the plane. "How long till the fast movers are in the area near the Blackhawk?"
The analyst next to the radar operator quickly calculated. "Twelve minutes, sir."
"All right. Relay the data to Wildcard and the F-16s. Bring the F-16s in to fifty miles off the coast. How long until Wildcard is on station?"
"Twenty-five minutes."
"Get me General Gunston on the line."
2:20 a.m. Local
"Start calling, Colin."
Lassiter keyed the FM radio with his right foot. He read from the note attached to his knee pad. "Duncer, Drager, Dirtie, Dwinki, Doinke, Dopple, this is exfiltration helicopter. Over." He waited a second and then repeated the message, again using the mission code names of all the members of Team 3 left behind.
Mitchell saw Olinski start abruptly. "What have you got?" he hissed.
Olinski shook his head as he strained to listen. Then he nodded vigorously. He grabbed the small radio and pressed the send button. "Exfiltration helicopter, this is Dopple. I say again, this is Dopple. We are awaiting your arrival at agreed-upon location. It will be marked with infrared strobe. I say again, infrared strobe. What is your ETA? Over."
"Roger, Dopple. We are five minutes out. Mark pickup zone in three, and stay on the net. We're going to need to load fast. Over."
"Roger, exfil aircraft. What type of aircraft are you? Over."
"Blackhawk. We'll land facing east. Over."
"Roger, facing east. We'll be ready. We've got five pax. One on stretcher. Over."
"Roger, five pax, one of which is on a stretcher. Listen up—we've got internal tanks on board. The front two are empty now and held in place with 550 cord. You're going to need to cut the 550 cord and dump the two tanks as soon as we land. We've got only the two pilots on board and can't help. Over."
"Roger. Cut out two front internal tanks. We'll be ready. Over."
"ETA five minutes. Over."
Olinski turned to the other members of Team 3, all of whom had been listening to his end of the conversation. "We've got a Blackhawk five minutes out. Sir, you need to mark the pickup zone in three minutes. Comsky and Hoffman, get ready to bring me out. When we get to the bird we need to cut out the front two internal fuel tanks and throw them off. They're held in with 550 cord."
Mitchell pulled out his strobe. Fatigue and the cold were forgotten. He turned to Comsky. "Get C.J. awake. I'm going out into the field to mark the PZ." Mitchell started moving out as Comsky shook the pilot. C.J. painfully became conscious.
"Let's go, man. Our ride's coming. There's a bird inbound."
