North Korean Blowup

by Chet Cunningham

  “No drinking,” Hunter barked and he heard groans from the fifteen men behind him. They came to the bottom of the hill and a tiny creek that chattered down the canyon. Lush brush and oak trees grew in the area and Hunter led them into a shady spot.

  “We’ll take ten,” he said into his shoulder mike and all sixteen SEALs caught the word in their ear pieces. The SEALs dropped into the grass. Some of them washed off their faces in the creek. They knew not to drink the water. It wasn’t as pure as it looked.

  Rattigan looked for his platoon commander and found him sprawled in the shade. He held out a two way radio about a foot long and three inches square. It had a twenty-five mile range and whenever they were outside their personal radio six mile limit, Rattigan kept one of the big walkie-talkie sets on receive and an ear plug in his other ear.

  He pulled out the ear plug lead and handed the set to Hunter.

  “It’s the Admiral, Cap. Seems he wants to talk to you.”

  Hunter took the set and hit the send button. “Yes sir, Admiral. Hunter here.”

  “Glad I could reach you,” the small speaker said. “I’m still in my office. Just talked with the President and we need a meeting at the Farm in about an hour. How far out are you?”

  “About twenty three miles, Admiral.”

  “I’ll be at the Farm in a half hour. I’ll send a pair of Humvees to pick you up. Hike out to meet them.”

  “Roger that, Admiral. Tell the drivers we’re in the Glen Canyon off the Summerset dirt road. We look forward to the meeting.”

  “See you there. Out.”

  “Hunter out.”

  Hunter stood up and adjusted his combat vest. “Now hear this. Let’s form up in a column of ducks in squad order. We’ve got a date with the Admiral in a half hour.”

  “Oh shit, there goes my weekend barbecue with Wanda,” Somebody said.

  “How can we get back there twenty miles in a half hour?” Bancroft asked.

  “A pair of Humvees is coming to get us. My guess is that we’ve got a hot mission coming up. Usually the admiral gives us more notice than this.”

  Hunter waited until the men formed into squads two abreast.

  “Let’s move out. We’ll hike down to meet the drivers.”

  Forty five minutes later the Admiral had not arrived at the Farm’s main conference room. Hunter was there with his planning group. He had his usual strategy team: Bancroft, Senior Chief Chapman, Virgil Walden, and Long Kim Tran. The SEALs had taken time to wash up but still wore their blue Jeans and a variety of tee shirts with all kinds of slogans and ads on them. Most had soft drinks in front of them along with pads of paper and GI issue ball point pens. Chapman worked on creating a cross word puzzle.

  “Teen Hut!” a voice bellowed from the outside door. “The Admiral is on the bridge.” The SEALs shot upright to a strained attention.

  Admiral Marshal Harding strode into the room wearing his summer whites. He was slightly over six feet tall, his back pool-cue straight, and his hair showing a little gray denoting his fifty-three years. His face, once deeply browned from years on blue water, had faded into a soft tan showing a few worry lines.

  “At ease,” he said automatically. “We may have an out of the blue chance to do something about North Korea and her nuclear capability. He nodded at the men. “Hunter, Bancroft, men. I pulled you in from training because this is one we don’t want to let get away.

  “We now have an informant who was in North Korea two days ago. He says North Korea has two finished nuclear bombs and is making four more. We have no way to confirm this information. The man defected yesterday afternoon from a badminton team and has asked for political asylum. He brought a message from the kidnapped Korean American nuclear physicist who has been forced to run North Koreas nuclear program.

  “The President and the Crisis Committee has given approval for our action. The platoon will fly to Seoul, Korea leaving the Farm within three hours. Seoul will be your HQ.”

  The door behind the Admiral opened and Doyle Quinn slipped into the room and took a seat at the table.

  “Well, Mr. Quinn. Glad you could make it. You must have hit the same traffic tie up I did. You know about the North Korean situation.

  Mr. Quinn will be your contact with the CIA as usual, and will travel to Korea with you. Mr. Quinn, you have the floor.”

  Quinn stood. He was five feet six inches tall and slightly wide at the waist. He had black hair, darting dark eyes astride a hooked nose, and hands that always seemed to be moving when he talked.

  “Hey, SEALs. This is going to be a big one. The first job is to get three men into a small town of Sunan, twenty miles north of the capital city of P’yongyang, and without anyone spotting you, contact a former MIT professor named Dr. Kim Suk Sung. Your job there will be to determine if this man really is who he says he is, and if he knows the location of the bombs and bomb making plant. Simple, yes? After we get a go from the three men in Sunan, we’ll work out our operation to send in the rest of the team in covertly with plans to destroy the bombs and the production plant. Any questions?”

  “Who speaks Korean?” Senior Chief Chapman asked. “We’ve never been there before.”

  “I can get by in Korean,” Long Kim Tran said. “I think that Charlie Chang knows Korean, too.”

  “Hunter, you’ll lead the team in. Pick your men.”

  “Chang and Tran.”

  “Good,” Quinn said. “A six by will pick up all of you in front of your quarters in three hours. Take your regular weapons, but only ammo for the Bull Pups if you want air bursts. The rest of your ammo and any other weapons you can pick up in Seoul. We have a lot of assets there. Wear your tan cammies and floppy hats. Any more questions?”

  Hunter nodded. “Mr. Quinn, will we need a specialist with us to deactivate the nukes before we blow them into shrapnel?”

  “Your call, Hunter. We can train your best powder man on the way over in the plane, and while waiting in Seoul. Or we can authorize a specialist to go with you.”

  “Would this person be SEAL trained?” Bancroft asked.

  “No, but the best and one who can keep up with you. Our top man for this job is a woman, Commander Beth Darby. Yes, I know. Just a woman. She’s the highest rated nuclear device dismantler in the US. She’s twenty eight years old and has finished the woman’s Iron triathlon three times. The third time she won it. Swim? She can probably outstroke any man in this platoon. She runs marathons for fun. She was the top pistol shooter in her CIA class and second with long guns. She can take care of herself. Oh, did I mention she has a master’s degree in criminology.” Quinn looked at Hunter.

  He checked his men around the table. Each man in turn nodded. “We’ll go with the expert.”

  “She’s been briefed and will meet us at Andrews Air Force Base in about four hours. Admiral, back to you.”

  “That should do it. I believe this young man who defected. I think you’ll find that Dr. Sung is the real thing. Good luck. Keep in touch with my office with the mini SATCOM.” The admiral stood. The Seals jolted to attention as he walked out of the room.

  Quinn grinned at them. “So, we’re off on another one. Not our toughest, but one that has been frustrating the US nuke people for a long time. Meet you at the six by in three hours.”

  The SEALs hurried back to their quarters where Quinn filled in the rest of the platoon on the mission.

  They were ready in three hours. It was 1600. Once in the big covered army truck, Quinn broke out box lunches for everyone. They were hot KFC two piece chicken meals with potatoes and gravy, coleslaw and a biscuit. He passed out cans of Coke.

  “Hey, Quinn, you’re cooking is improving,” Tran jibed.

  “For that you get no desert,” Quinn shot back.

  Andrews Air Force Base was ready for them. The sleek Navy version of the business jet, the Gulfstream II, that the Navy called the VC-11,

  stood on the tarmac ready to go. The SEALs had ridden the luxury class aircraft before. It is used
by the armed forces mainly to transport high ranking officers who must move somewhere in a rush. This model held nineteen first class type airliner seats, had been modified with additional radar and communications gear, and a more complete galley. It flew at forty thousand feet at a maximum cruising speed of 496 miles an hour and could jump over 4,275 miles without refueling.

  The SEALs grabbed their favorite seats and stowed their gear under the seats and in the small storage area. Then the time honored command drilled through the plane.

  “Teen hut.”

  A suntan clad figure stepped into the passenger area. She wore the silver oak leaves of a full commander on her suntan uniform shirt lapels, and carried a small overnight bag. She was about five feet eight, slender with short cut brown hair and a curious grin. Hunter decided she was as cute as a butterfly on a cherry blossom.

  Hunter stepped in behind her.

  “Men, at ease. This is Commander Beth Darby, our nuke killer. Welcome her on board.”

  “Hoo-yah,” The SEALs shouted in unison.

  “Well now, it’s been some time since I’ve heard that. I’ll try to stay out of your way. Oh, I forgot I don’t need these.” She took off the silver oak leaves and dropped them into her pocket. “How were the chicken dinners?”

  “Just fine, ma’am,” Lenny Chapman said. “I’d introduce you to each of the men, but most of them about now are so tongue tied that they forgot their names.”

  “No problem, I came prepared.” She reached into her bag and brought out three inch square name tags and two marker pens.

  “First names only and stick the tag on your left shoulder. I’ll have them memorized and down pat by the time we get to Honolulu.” She passed out the stick on tags and started the pens down the line.

  Bancroft and Quinn came in. The SEALs had left the front four seats empty as usual, for the officers and Quinn. Beth tossed her bag on an empty front seat and settled in. Quinn came back from the small pilot’s cabin. “We take off in two minutes. Everyone buckle up. The steward knows you have just eaten but had no desert. He’ll have desert, coffee and soft drinks ready for you in about twenty minutes when we reach cruising altitude. First stop is Los Angeles, then Honolulu and on to Seoul. Thank you flying Quinn Airlines.”

  Somebody threw a floppy hat at him. He caught it, grinned, and threw it back. Then sat down and belted in.

  Seoul, Korea. Twenty hours from Washington DC and over 9,300 miles later, the VC-11 landed smoothly at K-16, near Songham just outside of Seoul. It is a Korean air base which also hosts two US Army units, the First Battalion of the 52nd Aviation Regiment and the 595 Maintenance Company.

  Quinn looked at some notes. “This is a ROK and US Air Base with a PX, post office two snack bars, gymnasium, pool, recreation center and a good golf course just three miles away. Not that you’ll have much time for any of this. We have a barracks assigned and a meeting room and we can draw any ammo and weapons we need. First business is to get Hunter and his two men off to North Korea. We have two destroyers with Seahawks on them in port here. We’ll work out the details tonight.

  “Some of you slept, some of you didn’t. We’ll have chow in about half an hour brought to our barracks. Commander, we have one of the Sergeant’s rooms for your comfort in the barracks. Best we can do for you. Everyone stays together on this mission. It’s black. No one is supposed to know that we’re here.”

  Beth nodded. “No problem, Quinn.”

  “Okay, it’s yours, Hunter. We have a six by to take us to the barracks. Let’s move.”

  Later that night, Hunter, Tran, Chang, and Quinn met with two Navy commanders to figure out how to get the trio of SEALs on the North Korean coast. Commander Vuylsteke did most of the talking. Commander Wells nodded a lot. Quinn made the introductions not using any rank. The two commanders seemed a little taken aback by this but they didn’t say anything.

  Tran shook his head as he looked at the map. “Commander Vuylsteke, I don’t see where we can go in. From what I hear, the North Koreans have one of the toughest coast defenses in the world for fifty miles each way along the shoreline near P’yongyang.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tran looked at his leader. “Cap, if I may?”

  “Sound off.”

  “My suggestion is we can’t run an IBS to shore and hide it. No way we could bury it so the K’s wouldn’t find it. So we swim in from a mile out. We could use the IBS to come in to within a mile, then have a coxswain take it back to the destroyer.”

  “What’s the stand off limit here for North Korea?” Charlie Chang asked.

  “They claim twelve miles and radar out twenty,” Commander Wells said. “If we get inside their twelve, they send out fighters to warn us away.”

  “So we can use the IBS under their radar from twelve into one mile and swim on in,” Hunter said. “That’s the how. Now where?”

  “We have some intel on their coastal defenses,” Wells said.

  “They are heaviest right across from P’yongyang. Twenty miles up the coast should be easier. Mr. Quinn you have any late data on that area?”

  Quinn spread out a detailed map of the terrain around Sunan. “We talked to our informant from Sunan. He said it is hilly and almost due east of Hwajil-ll a town of about fifty thousand right on the coast. We should go north of that town and then come inland before we go south to Sunan. About five miles north of Hwajil-ll is a flood plain from a river and there are numerous inlets. This might be the landing target.”

  “That water up there is going to be cold,” Chang said. “I’d suggest we use the IBS to go into a quarter mile from the beach. We can go the last mile at five mph and they won’t hear the motor. A quarter of a mile and some waiting time to find a good beach will be plenty long enough in that cold water.”

  “He’s right,” Hunter said. “Quinn, see if you can get a weather report about water temperature in Korea Bay off P’yongyang. We may have to wear wet suits and change.”

  “Will we be going in with Korean style clothes?” Chang asked.

  “All arranged.” Quinn said. “You’ll go to wardrobe tomorrow for fitting.”

  “What weapons do we take with us?” Tran asked. “It’s probably instant on the spot execution for anyone caught with a firearm.”

  Hunter rubbed his forehead. “How about eighteen-round Glocks for all of us and I’ll pack an MP-5?”

  “You’ll have to conceal it well,” Chang said.

  “Do they wear loose fitting shirts and jackets up there?” Hunter asked.

  “We’ll talk with the tailor shop in the morning about that,” Quinn said. “They should come up with something to hide one little sub gun.”

  “When you’re ready, we’ll fly you in a Seahawk out to my destroyer,” Vuylsteke said. “What about timing?”

  “You have at least two IBSs on your ship?” Tran asked.

  “I’ll check. If we don’t we’ll get them.”

  “Be sure they check out the motors,” Chang said. “I’d hate to have to paddle one of those for ten miles.”

  “The president said the sooner the better on timing,” Quinn said. “You’ll want to go in at night. Would tomorrow night be too quick?”

  “How long to steam up to our drop point?” Hunter asked.

  “It’s a dog leg up there for about two hundred miles. At thirty two knots it will take us about six and a half hours. Or we could steam out early and have the Seahawk ferry you up to us about half way.”

  “Too many variables for disaster in that one,” Hunter said. “Let’s take the six and a half. Say we want to get on shore about twenty-two hundred. We allow an hour for the run in with the IBS and the swim.

  “We shove off from the port at fourteen thirty,” Tran said.

  The commander looked at Tran with surprise.

  “He’s my computer mind,” Hunter said. “Sounds about right. Seven and a half hours from twenty two hundred. Any problems with that, Commander?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll send my Seahawk here
to pick you up at thirteen thirty.”

  “Then when we make certain Dr. Sung is who he says he is, we call Quinn on the SATCOM who will be on your destroyer.”

  “We’ll stay on station out about thirty miles until we get your call for a pickup,” Vuylsteke said.

  Hunter nodded. “Good. Then we can work out later how to handle the rest of the work. Now we don’t know the locations. If the bombs are close by, we might stay there and get the rest of the men in. If they are to hell and gone, we might come out with the twelve civilians.”

  “Roger that, Lieutenant. We’ll work it out with Quinn well in advance. How long will it take for you to confirm the mission?”

  “Depends if we can find the right house in the dark the first night,” Hunter said. “If not we’ll have to wait until the second night. What about commo? Do you have a SATCOM available?”

  “Mr. Quinn said he will provide us with one for each ship.”

  “Good, we’ll use channel eight for contact. That should be a clear channel.”

  “Eight, right. We’ll have them preset.”

  “Now, if all goes well and we get to Dr. Sung, how do we arrange to take twelve people out of the country without getting ourselves and them filled full of holes?” Hunter asked.

  “If we take the two torpedoes out of the SH-60’s we can take on twelve civilians and you three if you need to come out,” Vuylsteke said. “Some children I’d figure. We’ll have to work out the place and the timing after we get a go on the mission.

  “Fair enough,” Hunter said. “My thought is that the civilians should be out of country before we start the search and destroy.”

  “Agreed,” Quinn said. “I can get official clearance on that, but you’re in the field, and they’ll go with your recommendation.”

  Quinn stood up. “That should about do it for tonight. Vuylsteke and Wells we thank you for your help on this one.”

  “Our pleasure, Mr. Quinn. Commander Wells will be in touch with your tomorrow about the next transport job with you.”

  The two destroyer skippers left the room.