“We would need qualification and clarification on this matter before endorsing any armed intervention. It is common knowledge that the Chinese Government has long been the confidant and ally of dictator Kim Jong-un, and as such, the United States would counter-propose that the make-up of the troops sent into the region be from those nations other than permanent members with possible vested interests.”
It was a pointed barb – a thrust with a diplomatic stiletto, even though in truth is was little more than a symbolically provocative gesture. Traditionally the ground force responsibilities for peacekeeping missions often fell to the developing member nations while the permanent member countries funded the Department of Peacekeeping’s $8 billion budget.
The Chinese Ambassador’s face registered his outrage and indignation.
Virginia Clayton went on doggedly. “It is – with regret – the only way that such a resolution can be accepted by the government of the United States.”
There was a long moment of awkward silence, and then a harsh roar of protest from across the room.
“The permanent representative of China has requested the floor,” the council president announced, raising his voice above the sudden clamor.
“Mr. President!” the Chinese Ambassador was on his feet, his bunched fists propped on the counter-top. His face was flushed. He stabbed an accuser’s finger at Virginia Clayton. “The Americans are close allies of the South Koreans, yet they blame China of wishing to influence the peace-keeping efforts of the United Nations. This is preposterous. China has a long record of diligent international efforts to maintain peace. We most strongly protest any claims of such behavior. The proposal we have tabled tonight is to bring peace back to the Korean Peninsula. Any suggestion otherwise is out of order.”
The debate raged across the chamber for two more hours before the resolution to send a multinational peacekeeping force into Korea was unanimously adopted. The force on the ground would be made up of member nations excluding China and the United States.
At the conclusion of the vote, Virginia Clayton gathered her documents quickly and left the chamber. Behind her there was still the clamor of voices, and a sense of bewilderment.
Chapter 2:
USS HALEY (DDG137)
NAVAL BASE SAN DIEGO
CALIFORNIA
Commander Bud ‘Buddy’ Slattery stopped at the edge of the pier for a moment, pausing to look up at USS Haley. She looked like what she was – a warship; a man-of-war with the kind of practical functional beauty that perhaps only naval personnel could truly appreciate. Slattery drew his eyes from stem to stern, taking in the high blade-like bow, the forward gun position and then the destroyer’s main superstructure. He lifted his gaze beyond the array of electronic domes into the night sky to admire the rake of her mast. She was all sleek angles and lines – designed for speed and stability in the roughest of seas.
And he was her new Commander.
He felt some of his fatigue and despondency slip away. For a moment, instead, his resolve returned, sparked by something intuitive deep within his soul. He felt uplifted – inspired by the Arleigh Burke class destroyer… and everything she represented.
Slattery lifted his chin, drew back his shoulders and stood just a little straighter.
I didn’t ask for this – not this way, at least, he thought to himself with a stir of determination. But it’s happened – and all I can do is the right thing by the men who serve in her, and the man who captained her.
Bright floodlights spilled pools of yellow light across the concrete pier. Slattery stepped out of the shadows. He wondered how long it would take.
A few moments later, the sound of four bells rung out, broadcast through the ship’s intercom system. An electronic voice declared to the crew, “Haley… arriving!”
“That was quick,” Slattery grunted.
He strode to the gangway. The officer of the deck was waiting for him. The man looked a little surprised. Slattery snapped a salute to the OOD, and then asked permission to come aboard. Haley’s XO appeared.
As he stepped off the brow, there was a final short sting of a bell.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” the lieutenant commander was a man in his late thirties with a close-cut crop of hair the color of corn and a wide smile full of perfect teeth. “I’m Tom Braye. It’s an honor.” The two men shook hands. “We thought you would be arriving tomorrow.”
“So did I,” Bud Slattery replied with a weary grin.
The XO caught the tone of his new commander’s voice and guessed its significance. “Is that why there’s no Change-of-Command ceremony, sir?”
Slattery nodded. “We’re in a hurry, XO,” he said. “And… and well, in the circumstances… it’s hardly a cause for celebration.”
The XO’s face became bleak. “We’re all sorry to hear about the death of commander Braithwaite. It hit some of the crew pretty hard. I understand he was also a personal friend of yours…”
Commander Bud Slattery said nothing.
*
There were crewmen watching the new skipper’s arrival from every vantage point. One of the ship’s deck seamen nudged a Gunner’s Mate in the ribs and screwed up his face with disapproval. “So that’s the guy, eh?” The seaman looked unimpressed. He shook his head. “Well he ain’t no Commander Braithwaite, that’s for sure.”
Commander Braithwaite had been Haley’s previous Commanding Officer – right up to the time of his tragic death from a heart attack.
The Gunner’s Mate was young. There was a husk of awe in his voice. “They say Slattery skippered an old Oliver Hazard Perry to within three miles of the China coast back in ’95.” He had heard the story told and re-told a dozen times in the days since the announcement of Slattery’s appointment, and each time the story became more incredible until it was more myth than fact. “And he did it disguised as a fucking trawler! Can you believe that? It was the first ship to sail so close to the Chinese mainland through the South China Sea since the Second World War.”
The deck seaman made a scornful face. “You believe everything you hear?”
“For sure,” the young Gunner’s Mate said confidently. “I even heard the XO talking about it to the ship control officer. They said that the old man rigged his frigate with deceptive lighting and then ran right it up to the Chinese coast using nothing but commercial radar.”
The seaman grunted and then sniffed. “Well if he’s so shit-hot, why has our Buddy-boy been polishing a seat with his ass in an office? Tell me that, will ya?”
AOJI-RI CHEMICAL COMPLEX
NORTH KOREA
It was a delicate operation made perilous by the special warheads attached to each of the five missiles. White-coated technicians from the chemical complex clucked and fretted in small groups. They spoke in urgent whispers, like anxious parents, while North Korean Army weapons load crews clad in chemical MOPP gear worked the mobile cranes to hoist each missile onto the flatbed transport lorries.
The teams worked through the night under the brilliant white glare of arc lights, their palms sweating inside the heavy rubber gloves and their breathing labored by the need for extreme caution. It was dawn before each of the virus-tipped missiles were loaded and ready for departure. The guards stationed around the high wire fenced perimeter of the compound were troops from the North Korean Special Operations Force, clad in camouflaged uniforms and wearing black berets. As the trucks rumbled slowly out through the compound gates in belches of black diesel exhaust, the elite troops assigned to their protection mounted quickly into their vehicles and raced forward to form the vanguard of the convoy.
Once free of the Chemical Weapons complex the line of vehicles turned southeast…
USS HALEY (DDG137)
NORTH PACIFIC OCEAN
Commander Slattery looked up from the reports on his cabin desk and checked the time just as he heard movement in the passageway. His XO knocked discreetly, then leaned in through the door.
“We have Raven and Carmicha
el on radar, sir. They’re off our port bow and coming on station.”
Slattery nodded. “Thank you, XO.”
He slipped on a comm-set and patched himself into the destroyer’s 1-MC address system. He thumbed the transmit button, connecting him to every space in the ship.
“This is the captain speaking.
“Our orders are to join the Seventh Fleet, and we will sortie as a Surface Action Group of destroyers with USS Raven and USS Carmichael who will sail with us to Hawaii for refueling and then into the South China Sea,” he paused for a moment, aware that the XO watched him with keen appraisal. “I don’t need to tell you that we are sailing into harm’s way. Tensions are high in the area and everyone will be expected to be alert and at their best. Due to the nature of our mission, I am instigating a communications lockdown, effective immediately. There will be no social media, and no information revealed to anyone about our destination or our mission.
“That is all.”
C.I.A. HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY
VIRGINIA
“You’re early,” Mark Bowen said from his chair as the National Security Advisor walked into the Operations Room. He set his coffee cup down on the edge of his desk and stretched his back.
Walter Ford gave a theatrical grimace. “Busy days,” he said. “There’s a war going on in Korea you know.”
Bowen nodded and reached across his desk for a sheaf of papers. “Yeah,” Bowen said. “That’s why I think you’ll be interested in what we’ve picked up on satellite. Interesting stuff, Walt.”
“Really?” Ford frowned. He didn’t like the ominous tone in the other Intelligence Officer’s voice. Bowen was a good analyst. He translated ‘interesting stuff’ to ‘serious shit’ and the frown on his face deepened to grave concern.
Ford accepted the papers and stared down at them, leafing through several pages and images without any of the detail registering. He dragged an empty chair over to Bowen’s desk and sat.
“What have I got here?” he asked, “and what do I need to know?”
“You are holding a dangerous stick of dynamite, my friend,” Mark Bowen said in a level voice. “Images we took off a satellite pass over North Korea, and an analysis of what those images mean.”
Walter Ford didn’t look back at the papers. His eyes stayed fixed on the Intelligence Officer across the mess of his desk. “Give me the short version.”
“The reconnaissance photos show a location in the Northern region of North Korea. It’s a secret plant, Walt. One that’s not on any official lists, but it’s a place we’ve had our eye on for the last few years. Last night we picked up activity – military activity; half a dozen heavy trucks in convoy heading into the plant and increased security activity around the perimeter.”
“Go on,” Walter Ford drew a deep breath. He didn’t like the dire direction this information was taking.
“It’s a chemical and biological weapons plant,” Mark Bowen said at last, “at a place called Aoji-ri. It’s a big one, Walt – and we have reason to believe they deal with the really nasty stuff, you know?”
Ford nodded his head. North Korea had a long history of chemical weapons violations, rumored caches of weapons, and a checkered history of poisoned gas and biological weapon experimentation. Verifying stockpiles of such hideous weapons by the international community was practically impossible, but at least two significant reports had been published in recent years, including a damning State Department report in 2014 that concluded North Korea retained the release of chemical weapons as a viable military option and most-likely had the capability to produce anthrax, smallpox, and hemorrhagic fever viruses.
The National Security Advisor leafed through the pages and found one of the photos. Dark shapes had been marked and labeled on the print for clear identification.
“Those shapes in the photo you’re holding are trucks - a convoy of them. But they’re not troop transport vehicles, Walt. They’re missile transports. They’re too long with too many wheels to be anything else.”
“Transports for what?”
“We think they might be at the Aoji-ri factory to load a consignment of special Nodongs.”
“Nodongs?” Ford sounded vague.
“It’s a medium range, road mobile ballistic missile, designed specifically to strike against population centers. From what we can gather, it seems to be an enhanced version of the Scud C. It’s about fifty feet long, Walt, and it can carry a 1200kg warhead. We think Kim’s technicians got help from the Russians and Chinese to build them.”
Walter Ford felt a rising sense of incredulity and outrage. “Why isn’t this location on our lists of North Korean targets?” the National Security Advisor circled back to pick at an earlier thread in the conversation.
“It is,” Bowen said. “And it has been monitored, but in a covert manner. We didn’t want the bad guys to know that we knew about it, so it hasn’t been featured in any reports, or in anything published on the internet. Some of the imagery has also come from the National Geospatial Agency, and you know how they like to keep their work secret. Everything we have on the plant has been kept internal – up until now.”
Walter Ford grunted again. The NGA was based at Fort Belvoir, and while other elements of America’s high-tech surveillance network were regularly featured in the media, the NGA was somewhat more mysterious.
“So what do you make of the images?” Ford asked.
“One of my guys here believes they’re preparing to fire chemical or biological weapons at South Korea,” Mark Bowen laid it out on the table. “He’s spent the night analyzing the images and collating all the background reports we have in the system. He’s pretty confident this picture shows North Korean troops loading three… maybe four chemically tipped missiles into the trucks for transport.”
“Transport? Where?”
Bowen shrugged his shoulders and made a half-hearted attempt to smooth the rumples from his tie. He hadn’t left his desk in over twenty-four hours, and he was still wearing the same clothes he had been when Ford had arrived the previous morning. “We don’t know that yet,” Bowen admitted.
Walter Ford grunted, and for a long moment both men lapsed into troubled silence. Ford was imagining Kim Jong-un launching a chemical weapons strike on Seoul as the South Koreans enveloped Pyongyang – a last desperate act of defiance from a deranged dictator.
He licked at dry lips. “Who did the work on this?” he gestured with his hand at the report.
“Blakely,” Mark Bowen praised the young analyst who had first alerted him to the troubling satellite image. “Nick Blakely.”
“Is he good?”
Bowen nodded. “Yeah, Walt. He’s damned good. He knows his stuff and he has good instincts. If he says this represents a move by Kim to prepare a launch of chemical weapons against the South, I’d bet a month’s salary on him being right on the money.”
UNDERGROUND BUNKER
PYONGYANG
NORTH KOREA
“Comrade Hwung, you must stop him,” Defense Minister Choe spoke in an urgent rush of words, his voice made hoarse by the need to whisper. The two men stood in a small, darkened room in the east wing of the underground bunker. Through the solid concrete walls they could hear the faint rumble of vibration from the nearby Pyongyang subway system that was being used to move troops throughout the capital. “The ‘Songun’ weapon will bring plague to the entire globe. It cannot be released!”
“I know exactly what the ‘Songun’ is, Comrade Minister,” Hwung said calmly.
“Then you know it’s disastrous potential!” Choe’s features twitched with his agitation. He flung his arms in the air. “I thought it was another folly,” he admitted. “I have heard nothing of this weapon for three years. I thought the Chief of the Sixth Bureau of the General Staff Department had abandoned the program. Now, suddenly, it is active? How can that even be?”
Hwung’s expression stayed remarkably passive. He fixed his gaze on the Defense Minister. “Becau
se I was given authority over the project,” he said. “It was taken from the administration of the Sixth Bureau and given to me to supervise. It was I who oversaw the final secret stages of the weapon’s development.”
“What?” the Defense Minister was shocked – and stung by the offense. Kim Jong-un had not trusted him with this knowledge. Choe felt the barb of the insult like a slap across the face, but it only seemed to incense him further. “You are the Great Leader’s most trusted advisor. He will listen to you before any other. You must speak to him – dissuade him from deploying this weapon. Even a nuclear attack would be better than this!”
Choe was sweating profusely, the acrid tang of his fear thickening the air. “You have been by his side since his father ruled. You are the one man he believes.”
Hwung gave a grunt, and for a second his steady gaze faltered. Choe saw his chance.
“When the war is over, the Great Leader will be deposed. The Western governments will want him to stand trial…” the Defense Minister’s voice became oily. He had to set the bait with great care. Hwung was a clever man, loyal to the young Kim. “And in that void, who would be better to assume leadership to rebuild our great nation than the Director of the General Political Bureau?”
The offer hung in the air; the promise of a tantalizing prize…
Dead Storm: The Global Zombie Apocalypse Page 4
