The Repairman- The Complete Box Set

by L. J. Martin

  That said, the rice, kimchi, and soju taste pretty damn good, but the sack, a rolled-out bamboo mat, leaves a lot to be desired. Every bone in my body aches; my muscles hurt so badly I can feel my heartbeat in my biceps and thighs, but…we made it. I can’t imagine that the hard mats on the rough wood floors will offer much solace.

  The last thing Bo says, after he shows us to the hooch we’ll occupy, is, “This is the last easy day, boys. Weapons on the morrow, then another thrilling and entertaining lecture. Sleep tight. I’ll roll you off your mats at 0430. At BUD/S, this is how we start every day…before the real work begins.”

  “Fuck,” Pax says, and that’s all I hear until Bo is kicking the door in the morning darkness. I slept like the proverbial babe.

  5

  We’re both familiar with the AK47, and the Type 64—a copy of the FN Browning M1900—and the Type 66—a copy of the Russian Makarov—both semi-auto pistols. But the Type 58, 68, and new 88 assault rifles are new to us. Garino is conducting the class and explains that there are more sophisticated arms in use but not by the Korean People’s Army Ground Force or the reserve. These are the weapons we’ll most likely encounter, but won’t carry. We go to the range and familiarize ourselves.

  Then it’s front and center in the classroom again with Rutgar Paddington, formerly introduced only as a field agent. He looks like a spy, tall and thin, a bit of a ferret, with eyes always searching and quick head movements. His eyes are light blue and his hair on the blond side of brown. I can’t help but ask.

  “Are you going in-country with us?”

  “Yes, but way in the rear with some tan cream, which I’m already using, a dye job, and soft, very-dark contacts. Don’t sweat it. I was on the North Korean desk at State before I joined the company, and my Korean is better than Bo’s or the other guys who’ve just arrived. They’ve got to sit in…” He walks to a doorway and yells out; soon the rest of the team enters. Five operatives, each of whom have been promised a million bucks. All former Special Forces of some kind, including our lady helicopter pilot.

  “You fucking liar,” Pax says as she enters, and I know immediately what he means.

  “I said ‘dog-butt ugly,’ but I didn’t mention how foxy some dog-butts are.”

  “Right, a-hole.”

  Rutgar turns the meeting back over to Bo.

  “Lady and gentlemen,” Bo begins. “This is Mike and Pax, after these lectures known as ‘Chee’ and ‘Chong.’ Chee has been on similar operations in Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, Estonia, Russia, Paraguay, and Albania…or so says the memorandum I’ve been provided. He’s the team leader…which means he’s the eye of the shit-storm.”

  It seems to me Bo has a little trouble spitting that one out…I’d guess he thinks the job should be his. But he continues….

  “Chong, who was associated with all those operations, is a computer guy and your main, in fact only, contact with the outside world while you’re in-country. Both former Recon Jarheads. You’ll note we’re not using any last names, as you’ve already been instructed. What you don’t know you can’t give up.”

  Then he waves Pax and me over and makes introductions.

  “Ladies first,” he says. “This, gentleman, is as fine and accomplished a helicopter pilot as you’ll even meet. Ji Su—friends call her ‘Su.’ Did three tours in that hole, Afghani-shit-stan.”

  We shake with the lady, tall-for-a-Korean, pilot. Pax, of course, clings to her long-fingered hand a little too long. The lady has a bobbed haircut, raven-wing-black hair, of course, with ebony eyes that sweep the room like she’s watching for incoming MIGs. Perfect teeth, a sincere smile, and absolutely perfect unblemished skin, with lips red enough that no paint is required. Hard to tell much about the bod except she’s tall and thin, but I’d like to see lots more of that unblemished skin. I get the impression the top items of interest are bound down in military fashion, but the coveralls she wears don’t reveal much.

  When Pax finally drops her hand, he gives me a look that singes my eyelashes. I can’t help but grin.

  “And this,” Bo continues, “is Gun Ho—believe it or not, one of the most popular male names in NK. Former SEAL, and he has often proven to be gung-ho. Gun Ho is a fair hand with demolition.”

  “‘Gun’ okay?” I ask as I shake.

  “Better than ‘Ho,’” he says, with a laugh, “and that’s how I was known in the teams.” He has a genuine smile and a grip like a concrete foundation re-bar guy who bends steel for a living. I’m glad I get my paw back un-mangled. He’s two inches shorter than either Pax or me, probably an even six feet, and four inches wider. The guy has no neck, and his shoulders seem to flare from under his tight-to-skull ears. I’d hate to challenge him to pushups, pullups, or clean-and-jerks.

  “And another Frog, Jin Soo, known as ‘Jinny’ to his friends, but you should get used to his given Korean handle. He was a com guy in the teams and will carry both SATphone and the latest in radios that will reach the mother ship, Black Gold, from anywhere in NK.”

  He, too, has a shake like coiled steel around your hand. No smile, but a nod and straight-in-the-eye contact. A solid guy, in every sense, as every SEAL seems to be.

  And the final guy is about five feet, four inches, gray hair shaved to a quarter inch, tatts on both exposed arms and showing under the V-neck-tee he wears. He’s Asian, and part Korean I presume, but it’ll be hard to deny his adopted country as his tatts will give him up.

  “Butch, say howdy to Mike and Pax,” Bo says and can’t help but grin.

  Butch, we’re informed, is the son of the former bosun’s mate on the Pueblo. He has watery eyes, a three-day stubble as gray as his buzz cut, and enough hair growing out of his ears and nose that it’s pretty clear he’s past picking up discerning women in the saloons. The eyebrows make up for the lack of hair on his head. Two fuzzy two-and-a-half-inch caterpillars that have grown together. He raises one as he eyes us and shakes, saying nothing.

  “Butch is half Korean and knows the Pueblo prow to rudder, as his father served on her and drilled her into his head, and will stick with me. Our primary task is sinking the Banner-class environmental research ship, commonly called a spy-ship, upon which his daddy served.”

  Butch has a soft voice, but determined, and adds, “Proudly served, which got him a year in a shit-hole, thanks to those pig fuckers and the pissant who leads them…his father to be exact, but the shit flows downhill and from grandfather to father to fat fucking a-hole current Dear Leader…and I’m looking forward to putting my old man’s old home on the bottom of the Potong.”

  I ask, with a smile, “What do you really think, Butch?”

  He nods but doesn’t laugh. He’s dead serious.

  But I can’t help but ask, “Can you keep up, Butch?”

  “You joking, you dipshit? You wanna go a couple of rounds right now?”

  “No, sir. But I’ll be responsible for getting everyone home, and I take my responsibilities very seriously…so I have to ask.”

  “Sonny, I’m in my sixth decade, fifty-seven next birthday. I’ve damn near ridden my eight seconds and don’t much give a shit if I come back or not. Like Dr. Strangelove, I’ll ride the old girl to bottom and smile and wave at y’all on the way down. You worry about saving your own butts and whatever else y’all are up to in that dung heap. I’ll worry about old Butch and sinking the Pueblo.”

  I smile, shrug, and shake my head. ‘Old Butch’ sounds more like a Wyoming cowboy than a former Navy bosun’s mate, but as we are instructed not to know too much about our team members, I don’t ask.

  What you don’t know you can’t tell.

  We all take a seat, and the next lecture begins.

  And we find out how close we might be to nuclear holocaust.

  6

  The first thing Bo does is excuse Butch.

  “Butch, head over to the canteen, and grab a cup of mud and a piece of pie. This talk is NTK…need to know only. We’ll come and get you if need be.”

  “
Pie is good,” he says and is gone in a flash. The old boy moves just fine for his age.

  “Moves alright for an old man,” Pax says.

  “You reading my mind these days?” I ask.

  “God, I hope not. In your mind would be a terrible place to be.”

  “Gentlemen,” Bo snaps, and we pay attention. Rutgar is sitting nearby, and it looks to me like he’s monitoring what Bo has to say. And Bo begins...

  “The mission is to extricate Sen Mi-Ran, the ambassador’s daughter, and twin granddaughters, Sen Mi-Na and Hye-Ja. They are being held at Re-education Camp One, Kaechon, about twenty-five clicks northwest of where the Pueblo is permanently moored on concrete pilings. Each of you will have a battle plan, which you will not open until you’re deployed in operational groups—”

  I interrupt, “Why?”

  “What you don’t know you can’t divulge, and, believe me, the Ministry of People’s Security, the MPS, and the Bowibu, or National Security Agency, have ways of extracting information you’d rather not know about.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Mr. Weatherwax—pardon me, ‘Chong’—Ji Su and her unmarked chopper will be deployed on the Black Gold in the Yellow Sea just west of the mainland of the Republic of Korea...South Korea…only five clicks south of the border with the North and eight clicks off the Republic coast. Because of the angle of the coast on the Yellow Sea or west side, the Black Gold is almost due south of your objective."

  He points to a spot on the map with the laser pointer.

  “Su and her chopper, and Pax, will remain onboard Black Gold in TOC, control center unless there’s an absolute no-other-solution reason to have her extract either of the two teams...or both, which we don’t anticipate. Mr. Weatherwax…Chong…will be assisted on board the drilling ship by a computer whiz kid from NSA, one from the CIA, and one from DOD, and a drone operator from the Air Force who’ll be controlling a Grey Eagle, launched from here if its use is absolutely required. TOC, tactical operations command, the control center is a state-of-the art facility with access to military and NASA satellites and some hardware that’s on a need-to-know basis.

  “The teams will be the TOC: Mr. Weatherwax and Ji Su on the ship along with the government team; Extraction: Mr. Reardon, Gun and Jinny, who’ll extricate the ladies; and Pueblo: myself and Butch, who will demo the Pueblo and put her on the bottom of the Potong River in the capital city of Pyongyang. A drop by Ji Su will deploy a surface vessel up the river from the Yellow Sea to a spot ten clicks or so southwest of the city. Then we’ll be surface towing the submersible vehicle, which we’ll deploy to the two click and then abandon our surface ride and proceed underwater, by Dräger…re-breathers for you civvie fuckheads. We have a dam near the mouth of the river to traverse, but, luckily, there’s construction going on and helicopters in use there, and we hope, we hope like hell, Ji Su can place three loads just upriver from the dam from her bird, painted and marked to match the construction choppers—“

  “Why three?” I ask.

  “Trip one will transport the surface vehicle and trip two the underwater device so Butch and I can get the final ten clicks upriver to within a quarter-mile of the Pueblo underwater. Then, when we know we’re good to go, trip three will deploy us and our weapons. Then we’ll recover some American pride and sink the soiled lady. The mini-sub is an SDV, a SEAL or swimmer delivery vehicle, the modern version of what’s essentially a tube with a propeller stuck on the back. It can be as compact as needed, sized to fit just one warrior or as many as six. It’s a ‘free-flooding’ vessel, which means it’s filled with water. The warriors inside or mounted horseback, depending on type, breathe through their own scuba tanks, Dräger, or from onboard oxygen reservoirs. The other two will carry the Zodiac…surface boat…and our team and weapons.”

  “I thought Gun was the demolition guy?” I ask.

  “He is, and his talents will be utilized along with you and Jinny. The plan is in your dossier, which you’ll open and study after you’re separated into teams.”

  “Okay. But let’s get back to basics for a moment. I’m still in the dark as to why me, why a bunch of ex-military rather than active guys up to speed with all this gear—”

  “As you were told, our government has to have plausible deniability. We don’t want to start a war; we want to prevent one, and Ambassador Kim Hyun-hee is integral to that ambition. Prior to being appointed to his post, he was the head of NK’s nuclear program. He was displaced by the Dear Leader’s second cousin, who’s a numbskull and a minor-league administrator. Dear Leader did not want to retire Kim, so he promoted him so his cousin could take the prestigious job. Another reason Kim wants to defect. It seems his pride is wounded. And Butch is our cover. The North has been tracking him and his father, and the Sink-The-Pueblo organization for years. So he, and the sinking, is a cover for the defection.”

  “How’s that to come down? The defection, I mean,” Pax asks.

  “Above our pay grade,” Bo says, with a tight smile. Then he adds, “But we have a time constraint. Kim will be at an International Symposium meeting in Belgium in five days, and we must have the ladies in hand, safely in hand, at exactly that time, or he’ll be escorted back to NK under armed guard, or worse, killed in Belgium by the NK State Security Department, agents of which escort every North Korean of any stature when out of the country. If we don’t get the ladies and Kim out, it could be years, if ever, that we have a chance to get such a high-ranking NK official, and maybe never a look into their nuke program.”

  I’m suspicious, so I ask, “So, there’s no secondary motive to this op? Give us the whole story.”

  “Okay, most of which you already know. As I’m sure you know, it’ll only take between thirty and forty minutes for an ICBM to reach anywhere in the U.S. from North Korea. They exploded their first nuke in 2006 and have been going balls out since. We’ve tried everything diplomatically to get them to stand down, to no avail. China, the big brother to the west, has been no help. Why, we don’t quite understand—unless NK has discovered some mineral deposits we know nothing about. We suspect lithium or plutonium. They provide hundreds of thousands of tons of iron ore and coal to China, but China can get iron ore or coal from lots of places, and I happen to know we’ve offered to underwrite the additional cost of ore from Australia or South America...which they’ve ignored. I’m going to let Rutgar Paddington take over from here for a while.”

  “Gentlemen,” Rutgar says as he rises and walks to the head of the room and takes the laser pointer. He turns and eyes each one of us in turn, taking a full minute to scope the room. Then he continues, “The so-called ‘Dear Leader’ is a fucking madman who’s killed members of his own family and believes in the reunification of the Korean people and peninsula even if it means the death of more than half of his people and all those in the south. He has an underground labyrinth in which he and his can hide—deeper, we believe, than our biggest bunker-buster can reach. Now, let me do a quick-and-dirty look at why he’s so confident...so wrong...but so confident.

  “And even if we wipe him off the face of the earth, it could mean many millions of American lives and an economic disaster that could turn us into a third-world country. If you recall, the bombing of the twin towers and the loss of more than three thousand lives cratered the American economy for a good while. What do you think an ICBM with a nuclear warhead on an American city would do? Not to mention the loss of a million lives or more.”

  It’s silent for a long moment in the room, and then he continues.

  “North Koreans put nuclear warheads on short-range missiles in 2013. Now they've advanced to ICBMs. But they have yet to perfect the reentry...the cones have to be perfect and have to burn off evenly, or it will disrupt the trajectory. We think they’re both trying to develop that skill and trying to buy it on the international market. So, yes—there’s a secondary motive, but you don’t have to concern yourselves with it. Of course, even if they miss their target in the U.S. by five hundred miles,
it’s still a devastating hit. So we’re more than a little concerned.

  “So, step one is to extract the ladies, and the sinking of the Pueblo is step two, along with Ambassador Kim Hyun-hee stepping into the American embassy in Brussels. We’ve spent more than a month getting rid of markings and even serial numbers on anything going downrange. Now we have two more days to familiarize you all with all that specialized, sanitized, equipment you’ll have the use of for the balance of this operation…. I won’t be here to assist, as I have another assignment on the other side of the world.

  “But first, let’s recon the battlefield, and, for that, Commander Garino will do the honors. Now, here’s your toy and downrange expert. Commander!”

  With that, Garino strolls in and takes the podium.

  7

  “Lady and gentlemen,” he begins after he grabs the laser pointer and hits a spot on the map of the north. “I’m going to hit only the high points, so each team will have a general idea of what the other team is tasked with. Some particular details for each op will be in your orders, to be opened only when you’re separated and underway…security concerns.”

  I wish they’d quit insinuating that we’ll be captured and tortured. Do they know something we don’t?

  He continues. “The Pueblo will be reached by surface up until we’re from ten to as close as seven and a half clicks from her location. A situational determination. The river is too populated from there on to go surface. Now to the extraction. The Kim ladies, married name ‘Sen,’ given-name daughter, Mi-Ran, twin twelve-year-old granddaughters Mi-Na and Hye-Ja, are in the guest house of the gentleman who is the head man at Kaechon Re-education Camp just three clicks northeast of the city of Kaechon, and fifty clicks northeast of Pyongyang. A fine gentleman, name, believe it or not, Fang Chan-Dong. A colonel, probably responsible for twenty thousand or maybe more—far more—deaths of his countrymen. If you get him in the crosshairs, don't hesitate unless it compromises your mission.