Natyn, Peter the Great Bay Thursday, 8 June, 1608 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 1:08 a.m. Local
Omsk stared in amazement as the second helicopter flew off into the dark night. He would have sworn that the helicopter was going to crash into the ship after he turned on the searchlight. It had passed only ten feet above his head, striking the radar mast. Looking up, Omsk could see that the mast had been severed just below the tip. Who were those fools? he thought, just as Chelyabinsk staggered onto the deck.
"What the hell was that?" Chelyabinsk roared.
"A helicopter," Omsk replied.
"What helicopter? Whose helicopter? What hit us?" Chelyabinsk barked out questions.
"I don't know, sir. There were two of them. They had no lights on. The first one kept going. The second dove right at us when I turned on the searchlight. We'd picked them up only a minute ago, coming from the direction of the American ship."
Chelyabinsk stopped yelling at his junior lieutenant. It was obvious that the man was ignorant. He ordered the ship's searchlight turned off.
Back in his cabin, Chelyabinsk sat down and tried to figure out what he would report. How the hell can I put together a report when nobody seems to know what happened? Probably some army pilots out of Vladivostok in training—maybe buzzing the American ship. That fool Omsk must have blinded the pilot by turning on the searchlight. I'm surrounded by idiots. Well, Omsk would pay dearly for the damage to the ship. I'll file the report when we get back to port, Chelyabinsk thought. The captain turned off the light and went back to sleep.
Changbai Mountain Range, China Thursday, 8 June, 1630 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 12:30 a.m. Local
"Fuck this shit. Let's go home."
C.J. turned his eyes momentarily from the mountains flashing by and glanced at his copilot through the goggles. He knew that the little wimp would chicken out when things got tough. He'd never liked flying with Yost and had complained to the captain several times, saying he didn't think Yost had the right stuff to make a flight like this.
"Listen, Yost, we're only three and a half hours out. Those guys will be waiting for us. We're going in."
"Bullshit, C.J. We had a blade strike at least. This thing could shake apart on us any minute. Plus somebody knows we're here now. We'll never get out. That ship will be waiting for us when we come back."
"So we come back south of there. No big deal."
"Come on, C.J. We'll never make it. Fuck those guys. Nobody will blame us for turning around. Not after hitting that ship."
As he flew, C.J. considered what Yost was saying. True, no one would blame them for turning around now. In training, a blade strike is considered an emergency that requires immediate landing, followed by replacement of the entire transmission of the helicopter, since a blade strike can cause damage to the gears. If the transmission seized up while they were flying, the UH-60 would have all the aerodynamics of a rock and would land accordingly.
If that ship reported them, the Soviets would be alerted, which meant they might have lost almost three hours in reaction time. C.J. figured that the Soviets must be on alert—hell, that asshole was missing part of his mast. If that was so, then they would just have to come out over North Korea.
C.J. carefully felt the controls, playing with them slightly. Everything felt normal—no unusual vibrations, just that brief loss of power
when they hit. At least they didn't shoot at us. Probably means they had no idea who we were, C.J. reasoned.
He really couldn't blame Yost for being scared. They all knew that the Blackhawks, loaded with more than sixteen hundred gallons of fuel, were an explosion waiting to happen. If they crashed or were shot down, they wouldn't have to worry about the Chinese finding any wreckage. There wouldn't be enough left of the aircraft to make an ashtray. Yost was probably envisioning that fate.
C.J. laughed to himself. I've never heard of a helicopter having a midair collision with a ship. That was a first. It'll make a great bar story when I get back. If I get back.
Ah, screw it, C.J. thought. He turned to his copilot. "OK, Bud. Let me put it to you in terms you can understand. I'm flying this bad boy and I'm taking it in. If you don't want to go, the door is to your right and you're welcome to leave at any time." The senior pilot brought the helicopter even closer to the earth, negotiating the mountain passes.
"His potential is that of a fully drawn crossbow:
his timing, the release of a trigger."
Sun Tzu: The Art of War
12
Target, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1805 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 2:05 a.m. Local
Mitchell counted down for Riley and Comsky; Chong counted down for Trapp. "Five, four, three, two, one."
The three SVD shots sounded as one in the clear night air.
At pump station 5, the watchman stared at his screens in confusion as all three cameras at compound 8 went black. He cursed. It had to be another system malfunction.
"Go," Mitchell hissed.
Hoffman and Smith leapt from the tree line and sprinted. Eighteen seconds later they were at the eastern fence. Hoffman hooked the line charge onto the fence while Smith unreeled the firing wire. Eight seconds later Smith fired the charge and a six-foot gap opened up in the fence, beckoning them in.
Nothing registered at pump station 5. The T sensor on the eastern side of compound 8 had been broken for a week now. As required by the rules, a work order had been submitted for its repair.
2:06 a.m. Local
Twenty seconds after the hole appeared, Hoffman and Smith were at the berm. They began strapping the charges on the wires. It took them forty-five seconds to put on all six. Hoffman then connected the fuses while Smith placed the platter charge beneath the pipe and laid out the two thermite grenade rafts. The two engineers ran their respective detonating cord back to each other and hooked the wires together.
They turned and ran back toward the hole in the fence, unreeling the det cord. At the fence Hoffman placed the end of the cord into the fuse ignitor. He muttered "boom" as he pulled the ignitor.
2:07 a.m. Local
At pump station 5 an alarm bell rang stridently. Something was wrong— pressure was dropping rapidly. Pumping was automatically stopped and word relayed along the line: Complete pipe failure somewhere between pump stations 5 and 6.
2:09 a.m. Local
The team walked quickly through the woods, Chong in the lead wearing goggles.
Hooker had wanted to know if the pipe would drop, Riley remembered. He couldn't wait to tell his battalion commander. Dropped was too simple a word to describe the destruction they had just wrought. Even now the glow from burning oil lit up the sky behind them.
The explosion had worked perfectly. The six wires snapped like rubber bands. The pipe held still for a few seconds, then collapsed into the Sungari River with a roar. While the suspended pipe was going down, the platter charge had exploded, burning a hole cleanly through the bottom of the still-standing section of pipe in the compound. As oil poured out, it was ignited immediately by the thermite grenades.
Perfect, Riley thought. Less than three minutes from start to finish. Perfect.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1900 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:00 a.m. Local
Olinski had heard the explosion at 2:07 a.m. Thirty minutes ago, as planned, he'd gotten a radio call from Captain Mitchell over the PRC68.
"We're on the way. Everything went according to plan. Complete destruction. Send the PONDER. Out."
Olinski had carefully encrypted the message and now it was ready to go. He burst it out at exactly 1900Z.
Putting the PSC3 radio back in his rucksack, Olinski left Reese watching O'Shaugnesy while he went out to place infrared chem lights into each small depression of the inverted Y.
FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Thursday, 8 June, 1905 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:05 a.m. Local
Hossey anxiously decrypted the message:
ZEROFI VEPOND ERXXXP ONDERX XAAADA
&nbs
p; GGERBB BCOMPL ETECCC DDDEEE TELLYO
UKNOWW HOITDR OPPEDX XDOUBL EXXXXX
Using the message format book, he interpreted the codes:
Type: (Target destruction report) PONDER.
AAA: (Target name) DAGGER.
BBB: (Extent of destruction) COMPLETE.
CCC: (Wounded) none.
DDD: (Killed) none.
EEE: (remarks) TELL YOU KNOW WHO IT DROPPED.
DOUBLE.
Hossey felt some of the tension in his body ease, and he allowed himself a small smile. "Sergeant Major," he said, handing the message to Hooker.
Hooker protested the remarks with a grin on his face. "I never doubted
that it would drop, sir. I just wanted to see if they had done their homework. Now all we need is a successful exfiltration and we'll be home free. They done good so far."
Fort Meade, Maryland Thursday, 8 June, 1930 Zulu Thursday, 8 June, 2:30 p.m. Local
Finally Meng allowed himself a sigh of relief. The team had interdicted the pipe and, based on his other data, the exfiltration looked good. Both helicopters had left the Rathburne on time. A blow had been struck to an artery of the Dragon. The Old Men would have to notice.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1915 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:15 a.m. Local
Team 3 was whole again. All twelve members were in the same place for the first time since they had separated at the pipeline three days ago. That made Dave Riley feel a whole lot better. But looking at O'Shaugnesy dampened his spirits.
The man was in bad shape. Comsky had told them, when he'd come up to the rally point, that O'Shaugnesy's condition was deteriorating. Keeping him out of shock was a full-time job for Reese, who was lying with the wounded man in a bivy sack to give him his body warmth. O'Shaugnesy's wounds were starting to smell, which meant that infection had gotten a foothold.
At least the birds were en route, thought Riley. We'll get him out and to a hospital tonight. The man would be scarred for life, but at least he'd be alive.
Riley checked his watch. Forty-five minutes until the birds showed up. They still had heard no activity in reaction to the explosion. More than an hour and nothing. Riley was surprised. But he figured that the Chinese still didn't know what was happening. Riley hoped that by the time they figured it out, Team 3 would be long gone.
Pump Station 5, China Thursday, 8 June, 1930 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:30 a.m. Local
The foreman of the pump station had alerted the reaction platoon within a minute of the first indication of trouble. It had taken the platoon more than thirty minutes to get everyone awake and prepared to depart the pump station. The foreman was still waiting for a radio call back from the platoon leader.
He had just received a call from the duty officer of the 118th Division, whose area of responsibility included this section of pipeline. The duty officer reported that the 3d Aviation Regiment, in response to the division's request, had dispatched a helicopter to investigate.
Airspace, China
C.J. didn't really trust the Doppler. As he liked to put it—the Doppler might tell you what street you were on, but when you've got to knock on somebody's door, you need to do better. In preparation for this mission, C.J. had memorized the satellite imagery and the location of PZ Drable.
Because of his distrust of the navigational device, C.J. made his plan for getting to the PZ as simple as possible. Fly on azimuth until he hit the Songhua River, then follow it northwest. When he reached the fork where the Songhua split from the Sungari, he knew he'd be about seven minutes out from where the Daqing-Fushun pipeline crossed the Sungari. Prior to that crossing he'd slide north about a kilometer from the river and parallel it west. Two kilometers after crossing the pipeline, he should see the infrared chem lights and strobe on the pickup zone.
They'd hit the Songhua River twelve minutes ago and were still heading northwest. There was danger in following the river, but C.J. figured at 125 knots the helicopter would be past anybody on the ground before it could be identified.
The route heading back was also as simple as he could make it. They'd reverse the route in, flying back down the Sungari and taking the right fork along the Songhua. Then C.J. planned on deviating slightly from the inbound route. He didn't want to cross Soviet airspace, so he would go a little farther south. At the end of the Songhua they would fly over the Sungari Reservoir, which was almost 150 kilometers long. C.J. liked the idea of using the reservoir because he could open up the throttle and go faster over the water. They'd skim the surface of the reservoir to its southern end, then follow an unnamed stream up into the Changbai Mountains. They'd crest the mountains just short of the North Korean border and then it would be a straight shot, due east to the coast and the Rathburne.
C.J. decided to let Hawkins land first when they reached the PZ. When Hawkins took off, he would land and, while the rest of the team was loading, he could hop out and quickly inspect the helicopter to see if he could figure out what damage they'd done during the collision with the ship.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1945 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:45 a.m. Local
Fifteen minutes. They collected their rucksacks into a large pile and Riley lay three primed thermite grenades on top. They'd been briefed to reduce the weight as much as possible. Everyone would keep their weapon and vest, but the rucks would be torched. If found, there would be a mass of melted equipment—which had been sterile to start with. Riley would ignite the grenades as he went forward to get on the second bird.
Team 3 was clustered on the edge of the pickup zone in two groups of six. The members of the first lift had O'Shaugnesy wrapped in a bivy sack; they would carry him using a poncho. Everyone's ears were straining, listening for the sound of rotor blades.
At 3:47 a.m. they heard blades off to the east. Too soon, thought Riley. But maybe they're ahead of schedule. Olinski stood next to him with the earplug for the PRC68 FM radio pressed against his ear, listening in case the pilots called them.
The blades were getting closer. Still off to the south. Was the idiot following the pipeline this close? Riley wondered. Then he realized what the sound probably was—a reaction force to check out the pipe. As long as the Chinese aircraft stayed down there, it would be okay. Only ten more minutes.
Airspace, China
Thursday, 8 June, 1953 Zulu
Friday, 9 June, 3:53 a.m. Local
The fork of the two rivers appeared right on schedule. CJ. slid the Blackhawk to the north of the Sungari River. Seven minutes out.
The kilometers flashed by beneath them. Five minutes. C.J. could see a glow off to the southwest. Those sons of bitches must have blown up something big, he thought.
Two minutes. The pipeline flashed by beneath them. C.J. slowed down. He started scanning to the right as Yost scanned to the left, looking for the IR chem lights and strobe.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1958 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:58 a.m. Local
Trapp stood at the junction of the Y and turned on his IR strobe. He could hear helicopters coming from the east. The one that had come by earlier, to the south, had quieted down.
A minute and a half later the helicopters were very close.
4:00 a.m. Local
C.J. could see the strobe and the inverted Y. Perfect. Seven hundred and fifty kilometers from the Rathburne and a flawless linkup. He slid over the pickup zone to let Hawkins land first.
Hawkins flared his Blackhawk and started to settle in. C.J. could see the figure with the strobe extinguish it. Damn, this is a tight pickup zone, CJ. thought, as he watched Hawkins maneuver. We wouldn't have been able to fit in both birds anyway.
Hawkins brought the helicopter to a halt on the ground. Five men carrying a sixth came running forward. They slid in the bivy sack, then clambered on board.
The first Blackhawk started to lift.
Target Dagger, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 2000 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:00 a.m.
Local
Captain Lu was senior officer on board the MI-4 helicopter that had flown up to investigate the drop in pressure. It hadn't been hard to find the cause, even in the dark. A fire was still burning in the northern compound of the Sungari River crossing, and the pipe across the river was gone. He ordered the pilot to land near the service road.
Soldiers from the pump station platoon were gathered around their trucks at the service road, watching the fire. They weren't getting any closer than they had to. The men scattered as the helicopter settled down and the officer got out.
Lu cursed to himself. He didn't know what could have caused such a tremendous accident. Probably another engineering screwup. It would be their job to find the cause and fix it. Then Lu scanned the area with his binoculars and saw the hole in the fence. And, as his own aircraft shut down, he heard the sound of helicopters off to the north.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 2001 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:01 a.m. Local
Riley watched the first helicopter lift. He pulled the fuse running into the thermite grenades. After ensuring that the fuse was burning properly, he ran forward as the second bird landed.
Riley jumped on board, then stared in disbelief as the pilot hopped out and started running around the aircraft. What the hell was he doing?
Target Dagger
Lu screamed at the pilot of the helicopter to get it back into the air. Slowly the blades started turning. Lu was elated and scared at the same time. Elated at the thought of actually capturing the saboteurs; scared of what would happen to him if he didn't.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 2002 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:02 a.m. Local
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