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 instruc
tions, 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."
Riley and Chong settled in among the boulders on the crest of the small knoll and watched the Chinese squad approach in the moonlight. They were only two hundred meters away now, moving slowly toward them. Riley whispered to Chong. "Another fifty meters and we start firing. You work our right to left. I'll start our left to right."
Chong checked his machine gun and ensured that he had a round in the chamber and that the hundred-round drum magazine was seated properly. Riley laid out two more ten-round magazines for his SVD next to his left hand, where he held the stock of the rifle, for quicker reloading. He unhooked his M79 grenade launcher from his vest and removed the flechette round, replacing it with a 40mm high-explosive round. He put the launcher down next to him. They were ready.
Eighth Army Headquarters, Yongsan, Seoul, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1823 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 3:23 a.m. Local
"This is General Gunston. I'm going to patch you in to Colonel Ehrlich, who's monitoring the situation from the AWACS. It will save time,
rather than having everything relayed through me. I'll monitor on this end. He's got some news. Hold on a second." There were some beeps and clicks and then Gunston was back on. "Go ahead, Pete. General Parker is on the line."
"Yes, sir. Things are getting hairy over there. We've got the Blackhawk only a couple of minutes out from the area of all the activity. It's obviously been spotted, since we've got five Chinese helicopters vectoring in on it—two heading straight for it, two straight in from the north, and one moving to the east. They're about four minutes out from intercept and are being guided by a local radar. We've also got four fast movers scrambled out of Shenyang. They're nine minutes out."
Parker cut in. "What about our forces?"
"I've ordered the F-16s to move in to fifty miles offshore. Wildcard will be twenty miles off the North Korean coast in twenty-two minutes."
Parker considered the situation. "What do you think, General Gunston?"
"Sir, that helicopter is never going to make it out. Those Chinese helicopters vectoring in are probably armed. The Blackhawk doesn't have a chance against five of them, especially if they're being guided in. Even if it escapes them somehow, it still has the fast movers to contend with. It might dodge the jets for a while by getting low into the terrain and outmaneuvering them."
Ehrlich came back over the net. "Sir, we're running out of time. I'm also starting to get some radar signals from the North Koreans. I think all the Chinese air activity has spooked them. I'm patched in to both Wildcard and the F-16s. What do you want me to do?"
Parker closed his eyes. Whatever his decision was, the consequences would be severe.
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1823 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 2:23 a.m. Local
Mitchell turned on the strobe. His eyes squinting, he scanned the skies. Out of the wood line, Comsky and Hoffman carried Olinski, who was still on the radio with the helicopter. They could hear the inbound bird now, off to the east.
Jean Long was guiding along the river. Ahead, through the goggles she could see the lighter line of the unimproved road snaking across the ground. Not far now. She slowed down further, to fifty knots.
Lieutenant Wei felt the adrenaline race through his veins. He had never felt like this before. He was piloting the lead Z-9, following the azimuth given by Yanji Control. He couldn't see much by the light of the moon. According to Yanji they were only three minutes away from the intruder, who was slowing down. Wei pressed his send button and called the second aircraft. "We'll make one pass to see what's happening and spot the intruder. Then we'll turn around to the left and do a gun run. Guide off me."
2:25 a.m. Local
Riley took a deep breath, then let it out. "Are you ready?"
"Roger that, Top."
"On my round."
"Roger that."
Riley took another deep breath and held it. He pulled back on the trigger and the SVD spoke. Immediately he started sighting in on the second target as the roar of Chong's SAW rent the night.
Mitchell swung his head and listened. He could hear the helicopter close by now, but he thought he heard more firing up on the ridgeline. He heard it again. The burst of a SAW. It could mean only one thing. Riley and Chong were still alive, and they were fighting. Mitchell looked at Olinski, who lay on the ground next to him. Olinski was still monitoring the radio and hadn't heard the firing. Hoffman and Comsky were leading C.J. to the center of the field to join up with them. As the helicopter closed in, the roar of the bird covered up any sound of firing from the hills.
Long and Lassiter spotted the strobe at the same time. It flashed bright
ly on and off in their goggles.
"Roger, PZ. We've got your location. Turn off the light so we can land. Over."
A second later the light was out. Jean slowed the helicopter to a hover over the open field. She could see the men clustered below as she swung the aircraft about and faced to the east. She concentrated on bringing the helicopter down next to the small party on the ground.
Lassiter's voice came over the intercom. "We've got company heading this way. I count two helicopters coming in from the northwest. About two minutes out."
2:26 a.m. Local
Mitchell closed his eyes as the four powerful blades of the Blackhawk threw loose grass and debris through the air. The helicopter settled on its wheels only eight feet from where they crouched. Immediately Mitchell, Comsky, and Hoffman ran forward. They leapt on and began hacking at the 550 cord holding the two front internal fuel tanks. They freed the right one and shoved it out the door. Comsky jumped out and ran over to C.J. He picked up the injured pilot and thrust him into the helicopter, as Mitchell and Hoffman shoved the other forward tank out the left door. Mitchell grabbed C.J. and sat him down as Hoffman and Comsky ran back, hoisted the stretcher, and carried Olinski on board. The whole operation had taken only forty seconds. Mitchell turned and gave the pilot the thumbs-up.
With their goggles and helmets on, the pilots were unidentifiable to the men in the back. As Lassiter lifted off 579, Jean Long unbuckled her harness and turned around in her seat. She closed her eyes briefly in thanks as she saw her husband right behind Lassiter's seat. She threw a headset to him.
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