With an answering roar his platoon surged up the slope. Gunfire from the crest was sporadic now as North Korean soldiers began filtering back down the other side.
A Marine officer leads by example. The phrase from OCS was stuck in Morgan's mind, playing itself over and over as he took the lead.
"Marines!"
0535 hours
Southeast of Nyongch'on-kiji
The Yankee troops had materialized out of nowhere, and Colonel Li was faced with the very real prospect of having his entire command trapped between the Marines in Nyongch'on-kiji and those who were coming up the ridge toward him from the area where that one damaged helicopter had gone down. It had been bad luck that the aircraft had managed to make a soft landing, bad luck that their blundering advance through the darkness had caught his own battered command scattered and unready. Li saw almost from the beginning that his men were not going to stand against the Yankees. With the first grenade explosion, a dozen men turned and ran.
So much, he decided, for Communist patriotic solidarity. Despite continuing clashes with the puppets in the south, few of his men had actually seen combat. The reality was like being doused by a bucket of ice water.
"You!" he snapped, pointing at the man with the Type 80 MG. "With me!"
"Chucksiro!" the soldier replied. He looked terrified. "At once, Comrade Colonel!"
Two hundred meters down the northwest slope of the ridge, Colonel Li and the machine gunner came to an outcropping of boulders dimly visible now in the growing light. The base lay spread out below him. From here, Li could easily see the buildings, the dying fires, and three large American helicopters sitting on the tarmac on the west side of the camp. There were well over a hundred Americans in the camp now; he could see them moving in groups among the buildings, setting up a defensive perimeter.
They would keep, he decided. His first task was to stop the Imperialist Marines coming over the top of the hill behind him.
"Chogi!" He pointed. "Over there. Behind those rocks!"
"Ne, Comrade Colonel!" The soldier propped the Type 80 on a rock, the muzzle probing back up the slope.
The sky to the south and east was well along toward dawn, growing lighter almost minute by minute. Last night's overcast appeared to have broken up, and a few of the brighter stars were shining against the royal blue patches that showed through rents in the clouds.
Colonel Li looked up the hill. The crest of the ridge was clearly visible against the sky; anyone who came over that ridge would have to show themselves, and when they did…
His hand closed on the machine gunner's shoulder. "Chunbi toesyossumnikka?" he asked, his voice scarcely raised above a whisper. "Are you ready? They will be coming soon."
The gunner nodded hard, his eyes narrowing over the weapon's rear sight, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Pin them down, then run. Bleed them with pinpricks until they bleed to death. That was the way of guerrilla war.
Any moment now…
0537 hours
Southeast of Nyongch'on-kiji
Coyote saw the two Korean soldiers take cover behind the rock some fifteen yards from his position, setting up a machine gun to face back up the ridge. He'd heard gunfire on the far side of the slope a few moments ago. That meant friendlies were coming, his ticket off this hill.
It seemed like he'd lain there on the ground for hours, his leg throbbing so hard he was afraid to even try to attempt the walk down the uneven slope to the camp. Crawling on hands and one knee, Coyote had taken the radio, Kohl's pistol, and some fresh magazines for the rifle back to a hide in the tangled brush near the clearing. More than once in the past hours, bands of Koreans had passed him, most heading up-slope and away from the camp, and he'd remained silent and hidden, praying that they would not stop.
The growing light as dawn approached was raising the chances of him being discovered. If someone didn't come out from the camp to get him, some gomer with nothing better to do was going to find him… and if it came to that, Coyote was determined not to let the bastards capture him again. Once on this cruise was enough.
Besides, it was quickly clear to him that the Koreans were setting up an ambush. One of them appeared to be an officer, though their backs were to him and he could make out no details on the rather plain uniforms.
Only slowly did the realization that he could take both of them with Kohl's G3 rifle make its way through the shock and pain which had numbed Coyote's brain. The selector switch was set to full auto; if he emptied what was left of the magazine at them he would almost certainly hit them both.
Slowly, so as not to make a sound, he raised the rifle. As he'd been taught in survival school, he took in a deep breath, released half, and held it, centering the sight over the back of the machine gunner. His finger closed on the trigger.
A single shot rang out… but only one. The machine gunner leaped up as though stung, scrabbled with one hand at his back, then fell. The officer whirled about, clawing for a holstered pistol. With a slow-motion sense of arrested time, Coyote saw the gleaming gold cartridge stuck in the G3's mud-caked ejection port, saw the Korean officer drawing his pistol and raising it in both hands. He recognized him. Li!
Coyote hurled himself to one side, gasping as fresh agony seared his leg from ankle to hip. Li's pistol barked and the aviator heard the bullet's snap inches from his ear. Coyote reached for Kohl's pistol, lying on the ground a foot away. Li fired a second time, and a pile driver struck Coyote high in the left shoulder, knocking him back.
He lunged, his fingers closing on the hush puppy's checkered grip. His left arm refused to obey orders, but he managed to heave the pistol up one-handed and squeeze the trigger. The softened blast of the suppressed weapon was drowned by the crack of Li's pistol. Dirt spat, stinging Coyote's face, but he held his wavering hand as steady as he could and kept firing, three shots, four, five, six.
The hush puppy's slide locked open, the magazine empty. Colonel Li remained standing, his automatic still clutched in his right hand. The man took a step, the pistol coming up once more…
Then he toppled forward, hitting the ground with a thump, facedown. The SEAL pistol fell from nerveless fingers.
Coyote was not sure how much time passed before hearing returned to his ringing ears. "Hey, fella! Fella!"
Someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up into a hideously green-painted face under a steel helmet. "Lieutenant Morgan, U.S. Marines," the face said. "Hang on. We'll have a corpsman up right away."
Then night returned and Coyote slipped away into oblivion.
0545 hours
P'yongyang-Ead Airbase, PDRK
Pak stood at attention in front of the general's desk. It was almost dawn, light enough that he could look through the window behind General Yi and see the line of MiG-21s lined up on the tarmac outside.
He was still angry. Hours after his return to Wonsan two days ago he'd been summoned to P'yongyang, then grounded with no reason given. Pak had spent the better part of thirty-six hours waiting, fuming… and now listening with increasing despair to reports of American attacks near Wonsan. He should be out there, leading his squadron against the Imperialist enemy!
"So you still believe your Plan Dagger was a success, Major?" the general asked.
Pak swallowed. "Sometimes, Comrade General, success or failure cannot be measured solely by the number of kills-"
"I read your report, Major! It happens that I do not agree with your conclusions! Your so-called ambush of the American aircraft was a waste of precious national resources… worse, a waste of good pilots!"
Pak decided that it would be better to keep silent. He remained at attention, his eyes fixed on the MiGs in the window at Yi's back.
"Nevertheless," the general continued. "It seems you are to be given another chance, whatever my own reservations on the subject." He handed Pak's orders across the desk. "Please note the signature."
Pak did so. His eyebrows arched. "I… I am hon
ored, Comrade General."
"Yes, I imagine you are. It seems there are those at Party Headquarters who agree with your notions on tactics." He sighed and looked away. "They are, apparently, more interested in politics than in the realities of men and machines."
So, the conflict here was one of politics. Pak had thought as much. "It is not our place to question the wisdom of our superiors, Comrade General."
Yi shot the major a look of pure venom, and Pak wondered if he'd gone too far. He was, after all, a very low-ranking piece in the chess match unfolding between the leadership in P'yongyang and factions within the North Korean military itself. If he overstepped his authority, the general could still crush him, with or without the signature on those orders.
"You have been given a new mission, Major," Yi continued. "A mission vital to the success of this… this plan devised by our Beloved Leader." He used the common euphemistic title for North Korea's president.
The plan, called Saebyok Chosumnida ― the Fortunate Dawn ― had been conceived as a way to humiliate the United States on the world stage. Initially, it had involved only the capture of the American spy ship; the Party leaders believed that espionage confessions by the ship's crew would holster North Korean prestige… especially with the Soviet Union. The PDRK's Russian allies, mired in the legacies of perestroika, had drastically cut their military aid packages to socialist countries around the world… especially to those that could not pay. In the People's Democratic Republic, this new austerity had resulted in especially severe shortages of parts and spares. Many MiG-21s had already been cannibalized just to keep the others flying.
Chance had given Major Pak his opportunity to shoot down an American F-14, but the government had seized on that victory, added it to Saebyok Chosumnida's promise. P'yongyang had authorized Pak's Plan Dagger two days earlier for that reason; the more aircraft and pilots the Americans lost in their attempts to punish North Korea, the more foolish and helpless they would appear to the rest of the world, especially in Moscow and Beijing.
And now that the Americans were attacking Wonsan in force, there was an even greater opportunity. Suppose they lost not just aircraft, but one of their warships.
Pak glanced through his orders. "I am directed to escort a flight of fighter bombers, Comrade General. The target… He looked up. "The American amphibious forces off Wonsan Harbor."
Yi jerked a thumb over one ornate shoulder board. "Correct. We are loading four Nanchang Q-5s with AS-7 missiles. The American amphibious ships will be loaded with aviation gasoline, with ammunition, with troops. A solid hit by a one-hundred-kilo warhead coming in at Mach 1-"
"A triumph, Comrade General!" Pak's heart pounded in anticipation.
Yi's mouth twisted unpleasantly. "Perhaps. The mission will be code-named Plan Vengeance. You will brief the men of your squadron, then ready your aircraft. You should be cleared for takeoff within two hours."
"Yes, Comrade General!"
Yi nodded toward the papers in Pak's hand. "You have your orders from our government, Major. I will add one of my own. You have shown a disturbing tendency, these past few days, toward an independence of thought and action unbecoming to one in your position. I am thinking of your attack on the American F-14s five days ago. Your mission this time will be to escort the Nanchangs, not to engage in aerial dogfights. Victory this time will be measured by the survival of the fighter bombers, and by nothing else. Defeat is unthinkable. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly, Comrade General." Yi was telling him to get the Q-5s through to their targets… or not return. The implied threat did not worry him. Already he thought he saw a way to slip the Q-5s past the American defenses. "Our Beloved Leader will have his victory, I swear it!"
CHAPTER 28
0600 hours
Kolmo Peninsula
Dawn came to the rugged hills of North Korea in blue and gold, accompanied by the thunder of explosions and the howl of LCACs drifting across the rocky beach, a barren stretch of coastline designated Blue Beach.
The hovercraft came ashore at Blue Beach less than a mile from Wonsan's large airport and military airfield, climbing well beyond the surf line before settling to the sand on deflating skirts. LCACs were designed to carry troops and vehicles well inland on flat terrain, but the Kolmo Peninsula presented the MEU with a special problem: narrow beaches backed by rocky slopes too steep for hovercraft to climb. Ramps dropped across the LCACs' fore and aft skirts, and Marines pounded across the sand, taking cover along the base of the slope. Overhead, AH-11 SeaCobra gunships swooped and darted like dragonflies, seeking targets called in by Marine aviators serving as forward observers on the ground.
But there were no targets on the beach, no organized resistance at all. Within ten minutes of coming ashore, Marines had seized the dirt roads on the seaward face of the peninsula leading to the airfield which lay on the level ground above.
The slope was too steep for LCACs, but not for the amphibious tractors which followed them. Scores of them were swimming ashore in the wakes of the hovercraft, trailing smoke to hide their numbers. They were ugly, snub-nosed craft officially designated AAVPs for "Armored Assault Vehicle, Personnel," but known more descriptively to the Marines who rode them as "tuna cans." Each carried twenty-one riflemen as well as a squat turret mounting a machine gun, 40-mm cannon, or TOW missile launcher. By H plus 1, foot patrols had reached the airport, the AAVs close behind.
Or most of them. Sergeant Calvin Peters slammed his fist into the side of the AAVP's hull. "Okay," he growled. "Which of you dickheads has been eatin' apricots?"
"Not me, Sarge." The driver blinked at him owlishly through Marine-issue glasses. "Shit, we all know better than that!"
"Oh, come on, Polaski!" The AAV's gunner was fresh out of boot camp, obviously too raw to understand the realities of Marine Corps physics. "You don't believe that apricot curse stuff, do you?"
Peters's eyes narrowed. He pointed one camo-smeared finger at the gunner. "it ain't crap, puff, and don't you forget it. One of these babies throws a track, there's only one thing it could be. God damn it to hell!" He slammed the amtrack's green-and-brown-painted hull again in disgust. "Okay, Marines! Fall out! We walk from here!"
It was an article of faith among Marine Corps officers and men alike that if you ate apricots on a tank or an amtrack, that vehicle was going to break down. Any track driver could recite an endless list of incidents where vehicles had been crippled by the "apricot curse."
The Marines piled out of the amtrack as the driver shut the engine off. The AAV had crested the ridge near the south end of the airport, wallowing up the rocky slope like some massive, high-snouted, prehistoric beast, when the portside tread let go with a crash and a grinding clatter.
"Cover us," Peters shouted to the gunner. The track's turret slewed about, its 40-mm cannon probing the smoke which hung like thick fog across the top of the ridge. "The rest of you guys, c'mon! By fire teams!"
Three by three, the Marines advanced into the fog. Their mission had been to check out the south end of the airport, but the smoke was so thick there there was nothing to check. Reaching a bomb crater, Peters waited while five other men dropped in behind him. Off to the left, Peters could make out the charred skeleton of an aircraft ― a MiG-21, it looked like, its back broken.
"Navy pukes sure flattened this place," one of the men said. "They could sink the whole stinking country," Peters replied. "Wouldn't bother me at all! Weber! Gould! Take point!"
"Right, Sarge!" The two men rose and clambered over the lip of the crater. The smoke was clearing now, revealing the tattered outline of structures ahead, buildings, and a stone tower. That must be the traffic control tower, Peters thought.
A flash of light winked from the tower platform, accompanied by the chatter of an assault rifle on full-auto. Stone chips and sparks gouted from the tarmac. Weber, arms outstretched, toppled backward into the crater.
The other men opened fire, pumping round after round toward the tower, the building, and
anything else they could see through the thinning smoke. The AAV opened up as well, its cannon adding a deep-throated thunder to the gunfire.
Explosions gouged chunks of concrete from the tower. "Go!" Peters yelled. "Move it! Move it!" The Marines rolled out of the crater and charged, moving in short rushes until they reached the building.
Peters used his tactical radio to signal the AAV. "Cease fire! Cease fire!"
They found the sniper behind the tower, what was left of him. The airport buildings appeared to be deserted.
"My God, Sarge!" Gould called. "Will you look at this!"
Not sure what to expect, Peters joined the Marine rifleman. He was standing on a boulder outcropping a short distance behind the buildings, looking toward the west.
The smoke was lifting there, like smog above a city. Morning light filtered through, catching the buildings on the far side of the bay.
They were perhaps a mile and a half from the waterfront and well above it, looking down into the city. Modern skyscrapers mingled with shacks, and everywhere was the clutter of industrial plants and shipyards, factories and smokestacks. A squared-off tower rose next to the water, the Wonsan Sports Complex. Fishing boats and small craft crowded against the jetties of the commercial waterfront.
"So that's Wonsan," Peters said.
"Yeah, and that ain't all, Sarge." Gould pointed. "Take a look there. To the south, just to the left of that big gray mother."
Peters did not need binoculars to recognize that ship. He'd seen it before, during briefings on the Chosin. "That's Chimera," he said. "That's the goddamned Chimera!"
The captured ship now lay less than two miles away. Beside her was a warship, flying the red and white naval ensign of the Soviet Union.
"Let's get back, Gould. The choppers'll be coming in soon."
"Yeah. Right, Sarge."
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