War Cry sts-9

by Keith Douglass

  "Yeah, got him in there," One-Twenty said. "I'm on him." The F-18 pilot in One-Twenty burned up twenty rounds as he blasted the three trees that hid the North Korean truck. Before the rounds hit, the pilots saw two men running from the woods. After the first run by One-Twenty, the North Korean truck exploded when one round hit the gas tank.

  "Now, let's see if we can find a tank or two," One-Sixteen said. "I've still got four Mavericks just looking for a place to call home."

  Don Stroh brought the SEALs the latest news about how the war had progressed. The big thrust to cut off the Seoul bulge had gone west fine for five miles, then bogged down with stiff opposition. The North Koreans had six tanks in the area, and evidently were planning a buildup for a thrust of their own.

  By noon the big maneuver to end the war had resulted in a stalemate, with neither side getting an advantage. The tanks were behind protection waiting for orders.

  General Reynolds was disappointed, the tankers were not happy, and the air support had been less than effective.

  This time when Stroh came striding into the assembly room, the SEALs hardly looked at him. He found Murdock and lifted his brows.

  "Got a good one for you, Lone Ranger."

  Murdock looked up from his MP-5. "Good one what?"

  "A mission, an assignment. There's an air base up north that's been giving the flyboys a bad time. It's so well defended with the latest missiles and antiair missiles that they can't penetrate it to knock out the planes that come from there. A lot of the MiGs aren't flying; they're keeping them back for some reason."

  "For their big push?"

  "Maybe. It's what time now? A little after noon — okay, twelve hundred. You're due at a briefing at one o'clock at Eighth Army HQ. I'll tag along. Don't bother dressing up. Your cammies will be fine."

  "When is this party taking place?"

  "The mission? If you get the job, it will probably be tomorrow at sunup."

  "Sunup, the worst time of the day. That's when a man should be sleeping. I dream of sleeping in to noon every day."

  "Sure you do. Let's go for a walk and a jump in a helo."

  They arrived at Army HQ south of Seoul with ten minutes to spare. Bird Colonel Chalmers led the session. There was an Air Force colonel, two majors, a master sergeant, and Lieutenant General Reynolds, commander of the Eighth Army in Korea.

  Colonel Chalmers briefed them all. "We've tried to neutralize the Sinuju Air Base. It's the major base for the North. They have most of their MiG fighters there. So far we haven't been able to break through their sophisticated air defense. We tried to send in smart missiles, but they get shot down. Our planes can't get near the place without taking fifty-percent casualties. There has to be a better way." He looked at the Air Force man.

  "We have a fine little device we call On Sight Radar Targeting, or OSRT. It works well, but must be used by personnel on or near the target. It works with the ground team lighting up exact pinpointed targets with a portable radar unit, which broadcasts that sighting and it's picked up by the attacking planes, which then lock on to the pinpointed target and fire, with devastating results.

  "The only trouble is the signal is not as strong as the target's radar in this case, and the plane would have to be well within enemy radar and missile range before we could launch. So that's not an option here. Sorry, Colonel."

  "So, what the hell are we going to do about that air base?" General Reynolds asked. When no one spoke, he looked at Don. "Mr. Stroh, you said you might have a suggestion."

  Stroh cleared his throat. Generals always had made him nervous. His highest military rank had been corporal. He pointed to Murdock. "Gentlemen, let me introduce Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock. Murdock and his Third Platoon of fourteen SEALs went in and brought out the Vice President from behind enemy lines four days ago. I'm sure you heard about it. On the way over here from the carrier, we talked about the air base problem. I think I'll let him tell you his suggestion."

  Murdock had been checking a map on the wall. He stood and went up to it. He touched the map at Sinuju.

  "Gentlemen, this must be where the air base is. Is that correct?" Some heads nodded and someone said, "Yes."

  "How many of you have seen a sniper rifle, only one chambered for fifty-caliber rounds? There aren't a lot of them around. The best is made by a small machine shop down in Georgia by the name of Georgia Gun Works. My men are specialists in using this weapon.

  "My suggestion is this. The McMillan M87R is accurate up to a mile away. We like to get within a thou sand yards for maximum efficiency. What we suggest is this. The Navy will put my SEALs into the water a short ways off the coast. We'll swim in, infiltrate to within a thousand yards of the targets, and wait.

  "Then the Air Force will launch a raid at the air base and get close enough so the North Korean air defenses will come on-line, antennas will display, and facilities vital to the operation will swing into action.

  "At that time, the SEALs will be able to identify and locate these devices, then reduce the antennas, hardware, and sighting facilities and anything else we can touch with our fifty-caliber messengers. The M87R's armor-piercing fifty caliber rounds are highly effective in putting hardware and antennas out of commission. We think we can do the job.

  "While we're at it, the Air Force raid on the field will be diverted until we have the facility neutralized. Then, when we give a SATCOM go-ahead, the Air Force can get back on course and complete the mission.

  "During that confusion, the SEALs will move back to the sea, swim out to a pickup by a chopper or high-speed boat off a destroyer. That's it."

  "How many of the fifties do you have now, Commander?" the Air Force man asked.

  "We carry three. We will need at least six more. The armorer on board the carrier says he has three. We need to find three more in your stores."

  One of the majors spoke up. "We have half a dozen in our recon platoon. We can furnish them to you before you chopper back to the carrier." He motioned to the sergeant. "If this is the course of action we're going to take."

  "Any other ideas?" General Reynolds asked. He looked around. Nobody said a word. The general sighed. He looked at Murdock again. "You must be the lieutenant commander who rescued one of my Major Generals three miles inside the North Korean lines."

  "Yes, sir."

  The general laughed softly. "Good work, Commander. If I could, I'd like to have a copy of your after-action report on that incident. Be good to keep it on file if I need it."

  "Be happy to send you one, General."

  The oldest man in the room shifted in his chair and stifled a groan. He looked at Murdock again. "Son, are you sure that this will work?"

  "No, sir. Fifty-caliber armor-piercing rounds simply don't come with a guarantee, but this sort of action has worked well before. Just to be cautious, you might have the Air Force send three planes over the target in a test run before committing the whole flight. If they don't draw a hail of fire, the whole group should be relatively safe."

  The Air Force man nodded. "We've been probing it every day for the past four."

  Murdock looked at the general. "Sir, do the SEALs have this assignment?"

  The general looked around his staff advisors. Most of them nodded. "I agree, Commander. You and your men have the job. Good luck getting it done, and exfiltrating. No unit in the Eighth could do a mission like this one."

  "We'll do our damndest, General. Now, if we could be excused, we'll pick up the weapons and get back to the carrier. We have a lot of planning to take care of."

  "You're excused, Commander. Good hunting."

  It took them a half hour to sign the paperwork for the fifty-caliber weapons and get them to the chopper and loaded on board. The fifties all had the five-round magazine instead of the ten-rounders the SEALs usually used.

  "Ammo?" the major asked.

  "Thanks, we've got plenty," Murdock said. "We better get moving."

  The major drove them in a Humvee to the airport where the Sea
hawk that brought them in was warming up. "How far are we from that air base?" Murdock asked Stroh over the scream of the rotor blades as the craft took off.

  "That's what we'll have to figure, and how to get you up there and back. A destroyer?"

  "Yeah, too far for an RIB. A chopper might attract too much attention. We don't want to have to swim more than a mile or so to shore."

  "We'll talk with the carrier guys."

  They did a half hour later. They had the CAG, a captain who handled the fleet screen security, and two commanders Murdock didn't know.

  "From the Monroe to that town up north is about two hundred and seventy-five miles — if we don't overfly any of North Korea, which we can't do," CAG Olson said.

  "A destroyer at thirty knots could get up there in about eight hours," one of the commanders said. "That would be a permanent platform for you, a base of operations."

  Murdock nodded. "Okay, up there by destroyer, then we take the two RIBs that we used before and motor in to a half mile offshore and swim on in. We'll have two Motorolas with two in the RIBs.

  The RIBs will wait for us to come out. Since it'll be daylight by then, they might move in closer and give us some support with their machine guns if we need it. We'll go in to hit the beach about 0300. That should give us time to get through any coastal defenses, find the airfield, and get in position where we'll have the best shots at the antiair antennas. Then we wait for dawn to bring in the Air Force. We send them a go message on our SATCOM. That way we avoid any problem with forwarded messages through the RIB coxswains and the destroyer. We can contact the Air Force on TAC One. Then the Air Force can send in the attack. We'll have it timed down to about a half hour either way. It will have to be light when the NKs bring out their defenses. Otherwise we won't know what to shoot at."

  "You'll take the whole platoon?" Stroh asked.

  "Yes, all thirteen of us. Nine fifties and four subguns on guard duty. The destroyer can stay six or seven miles offshore away from any surface radar."

  Stroh looked at his watch. "Eight hours. It's now almost three… fifteen hundred. You better get your men ready while the captain picks out the lucky destroyer and we get our two RIBs on board and get you a chopper to that destroyer."

  "Have your men ready to travel and on the flight deck in an hour, Commander," the fleet screen commander said. "We'll send the RIBs to the destroyer before you go. We'll have chow for you on the destroyer. We'll assign the Cole to you, that's the DDG 67. Let's move it, people."

  Stroh talked to the Air Force by radio, and found they had some aerial recon photos of the North Korean air base and surrounding area. He had them faxed to the Cole, where they would be waiting for Murdock.

  Murdock had called Jaybird on the way into the meeting with the CAG and the captain, and told him about the mission and to get the men ready to roll. They would have an eight hour boat ride to get their weapons and equipment checked.

  As it turned out, they were dropped on board the Cole moments after another chopper put their RIB boats on the fantail. They had arrived on the destroyer more than an hour before the 1800 departure time.

  The SEALs were given a modest-sized assembly room amidships, and there rearranged their weapons. Sterling, Holt, Adams, and DeWitt kept their submachine guns. Everyone else was issued a .50-caliber sniper rifle. All had fired it at least fifty times before.

  "Listen up," Murdock said. "We'll go over the mission again. We will be taking an eight-hour ride north near the port city of Sinuju, damn near the Chinese border. Our target is the big air base there south of the town.

  "We will be shooting up everything that shows that it is, or even looks like it might be, radar equipment, antennas, firing centers, missile-launching centers, radar of any kind or type. That's our job. We need to blind these folks so they can't see the UN planes coming in.

  "We shoot hell out of them, get back to the coast, and take a swim out to our RIBs and we're home free."

  "How many rounds will we each have?" Bradford asked.

  "How many can you carry?" Murdock asked. "I'm thinking forty rounds per man is about right." Bradford shrugged. "They weigh nine pounds per dozen. Make it forty-eight per man; that's only thirty-six pounds for ammo."

  Somebody groaned.

  "Can we get ammo vests, those front and back pouches we've used to carry mortar rounds in?" Ronson asked.

  "Jaybird, see what you can find out from the ammo guys on board. You subgun guys will take double ammo, and hope we don't need it. You'll be our close support."

  Jaybird finished using the phone and came back to the group. "We've got vests for ammo. Somebody is bringing up ten of them for us. All the ammo we need will be here in an hour."

  "Chow time in two hours," Murdock said. "Then some sack time and we'll be ready to get on the RIB at 0200. Any questions?" There weren't any. "We've got some daylight pictures of the target. Can't see much, but we know we'll have good fields of fire at the antennas from the south end of the field. Come up and look at them if you want to."

  Half the men moved up to check out the photo faxes that had come from the Air Force. Six sailors showed up at the door with boxes of ammunition.

  "You guys starting a war?" one of the sailors asked.

  "No, we're ending one," Jaybird told the man as they stacked the crates of .50-caliber rounds inside the room. Murdock was the first one there to try a load of forty-eight rounds. He put twenty-four in the front of the vest and the other half in the back with it in place over his head. He stood up and winced.

  "We'll cut the load to forty rounds," he said. "Thirty-five in the vest and five in the magazine. Let's get it done."

  "Move it," Jaybird called. "We've got less than an hour and a half to our special chow call."

  16

  Yellow Sea

  Off Sinuju, North Korea

  The RIBs, Rigid Inflatable Boats, moved smartly through the water, covering the seven miles from the destroyer Cole toward the shore. There was no nighttime fog, no onshore flow, just a bright night with light from a half-crescent moon.

  Murdock, in the lead boat, asked the coxswain to pull up at what he figured was a half mile from North Korea. The last mile had been done at four knots so they wouldn't le ave a wake or make so much noise that they could be heard over the surf ahead.

  DeWitt brought his RIB alongside.

  "How's the time?" Murdock asked.

  DeWitt checked his waterproof watch. "Oh-three-ten," DeWitt said. "Close enough. Time to get wet?"

  "Right. Make sure the two Motorolas and the SATCOM are watertight. No backup on this one."

  "Done," DeWitt said.

  "Over the side," Murdock said, and the thirteen SEALs eased off the RIBs, entering the water without a splash. The SEALs wore full wet suits to guard against hypothermia, with cammies over them, full cap, and goggles. They went in without their heavy Draeger rebreathers, so they would be on top of the water.

  Murdock powered up out of the water for a look. He spotted a building near the shore that showed one light, and aimed for that. The SEALs stroked noiselessly through the Yellow Sea swells, moving quickly toward shore. The heavy .50-caliber rifles were slung over their backs, and they had to work harder than usual to stay on top of the water with the additional load of thirty-five pounds of ammunition most of the men carried.

  Murdock hit the breaker line and body-surfed partway in until he could get his feet on the sandy bottom. He paused and surveyed the beach. No obvious defensive fortifications. He saw no lights or troops. The house with the light he had aimed for was now dark. It was the only building he could see.

  He motioned to Holt, and the two moved forward with the next wave, stretching out so they could hand-crawl the last surge of the wave, and lay on the beach like pieces of driftwood.

  They were swept in another three feet by the next wave. Holt looked over and shook his head. He found no opposition. He lifted his submachine gun and drained the water out of the barrel.

  Murdock gave
a hand signal, and the rest of the platoon moved into the beach with the aid of the breakers. Murdock and Holt got to their feet and ran forty feet across wet and then dry sand to a scattering of shrubs and small brush just in back of the beach line.

  They scouted the area, both gave thumbs-up signs, and Holt waved the rest of the SEALs to come ashore.

  All the men drained their weapons' barrels, checked the loads, and were ready to fire.

  Murdock put two of the subguns at the head of the platoon, and the other two men with submachine guns at the end. They moved forward cautiously. Thirty yards inland they came to a dirt road, which did not appear to be highly traveled. The men were spread ten yards apart, and went over the path all at once in a rush.

  Murdock checked the map he had memorized and the aerial shots of the airfield. He could see some lights to the left making a blush in the sky.

  That was the direction to the airfield.

  They turned north and moved like ghosts in the night. The subguns all had suppressors on them.

  There would be no un-silenced shots fired until the big guns began working over the hardware on the air base.

  A jet aircraft took off, passing almost directly overhead of them at no more than two hundred feet.

  "Must be the right part of town," Jaybird said.

  They moved faster then, bypassed a pair of houses, and detoured across some rice paddies to avoid a small collection of buildings that might be a village.

  They lay in the grass near a small stream. Nothing moved ahead of them. The locals were all sleeping by that time. At 0330, Murdock motioned the men ahead. They waded ankle deep through the tiny stream and angled more toward the bright lights. They heard a plane evidently land somewhere ahead of them on the large air base.

  The two lead scouts with their MP subguns had just come to their feet and ran toward a small shack directly in their path when two men came out of it, stretched, and walked toward the platoon. Sterling and DeWitt dropped to a crouch and let the men come to them. Both the North Koreans wore uniforms.

  Sterling and DeWitt pulled out their KA-BAR knives and waited. The North Koreans were chattering and not watching where they were going. One almost stumbled on Jaybird Sterling, who lifted up and rammed his knife hilt deep upward in the man's belly just under his rib cage. The blade sliced through three vital organs, then lanced into the heart, killing the soldier instantly.