by Bob Mayer
Target Surveillance, Operational Area Dustey, China Wednesday, 7 June, 0300 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 11:00 a.m. Local
Hoffman studied the compound for the hundredth time through his binoculars. Chong was quietly sleeping ten feet behind him, underneath the branches of a dead pine tree.
They had picked a spot to the northeast of the compound, in the wood line. The compound's access road came out of the tree line more than two hundred meters to the southwest. The northeast corner of the fence was about fifty meters away, directly in front of him. Sitting on his ruck, ten feet into the tree line, with the camouflage net in front of him, Hoffman knew that he was virtually invisible from the compound and service road. Also, he had seen something that made him feel less vulnerable. He noted what he called "Chinese mistake number one": The Scoot cameras were all inner directed. The cameras obviously were remotely controlled by someone at pump station 12. They scanned the compound randomly, but had never yet looked outside the fence. The two on the opposite fence corners looked along the fence and inside the compound. The one on the berm looked down the pipe, then turned back into the compound to surveil the pylon and the pipe as it crossed the river.
Another good sign, Chinese mistake number two, was that the compound didn't seem to be mined. Hoffman couldn't guarantee it, but he'd bet on it. The grass was too high inside. Mines would have to be checked and serviced at least every six months, and the grass couldn't have grown that high in that short a time period. Also, more convincingly, there were random vehicle tracks throughout the compound, probably left by maintenance vehicles.
Chong had pulled the first three hours of surveillance; now it was almost the end of Hoffman's three hours. He woke up Chong to replace him. Just as Hoffman lay down to catch some sleep, they both heard a sound they had hoped they wouldn't — the beat of rotor blades.
Hoffman rolled out of his bivy sack and joined Chong. They both spotted the helicopter coming out of the north. From their training they quickly recognized it as an old Russian MI-4 Hound model that the Chinese had redesignated the H-5. Memorized specifications flashed through both soldiers' minds. The Hound had a crew of two and could carry up to fourteen soldiers in its cargo bay. It was an unarmed helicopter used for transport or scouting.
The H-5 was flying about fifty meters above the pipe. As the helicopter drew up to the compound, it flared to a hover and slowly settled down to land inside the fence on the west side of the berm. A Chinese soldier jumped out the door on the left side of the cargo compartment and started walking the inside perimeter of the compound.
"Now we know it isn't mined," Hoffman whispered to Chong as the blades of the H-5 slowed and the noise level dropped. The soldier appeared to be calling to someone on a hand-held radio. He was tapping the strands of the T-sensor fence every ten meters or so, obviously checking its functioning. When the soldier got to the eastern side of the fence it became apparent that something was wrong. He hit the same location several times, each time talking into his radio and apparently getting a negative response. Finally he threw up his hands in disgust and continued on with his inspection.
"Now that's mighty interesting," Hoffman muttered. "Looks like their stuff breaks down as much as ours does. Chinese mistake number three."
When the soldier finished his inspection, he got back into the helicopter, which lifted and flew to the south compound across the river, where the same procedure was followed. Finally the H-5 lifted and headed south.
ORP, Operational Area Dustey, China Wednesday, 7 June, 0300 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 11:00 a.m. Local
Riley was shaken awake from his sleep by Mitchell, who was pulling security. "Listen," Mitchell hissed.
They heard the helicopter and tracked it by sound. When they heard it die down to their southeast they knew that the aircraft had landed near the target site.
"There's no way they could have spotted those guys," whispered Riley as he and Mitchell exchanged questioning looks. "It's got to be a normal security flight."
After ten minutes, they heard the whine of the chopper pick up again for a minute, then die down. Ten minutes later they heard it pick up and fly off to the south.
"They must check each compound," Riley deduced. "I wonder what kind of helicopter that was. I hope it wasn't one of their attack helicopters."
"And I hope those guys don't fly at night," Mitchell said. "If there's a helicopter in the air when we do the exfiltration, that could cause some trouble."
They both knew that the big advantage American helicopter aviation held over the Chinese was superiority at night operations. American pilots had been flying for years with night-vision goggles, whereas the Chinese had only very recently introduced night flying and were still inexperienced. They also didn't have night-vision goggles.
Riley settled back in his bivy sack and tried to catch a couple more hours of sleep before it was his turn to pull security.
Target Surveillance, Operational Area Dustey, China Wednesday, 7 June, 0500 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 1:00 p.m. Local
Chong was just starting his last hour of surveillance when he heard the rumble of a vehicle engine to his left. He peered along the tree line. A small BJ-212 four-by-four utility truck pulled out of the woods, following the service road, and drove up to the locked gate of the compound.
The sound of the engine died, and three men got out. Two, with slung Chinese Type 56 automatic rifles, started walking around the fence in a clockwise direction. The third stood by the jeep and waited.
Chong watched as the soldiers passed only fifty meters in front of him. He could see their faces and the bored expressions. Even the helicopter hadn't made it all seem as real as these Chinese soldiers walking only a short distance away. Somehow, up until now, the mission had still seemed like some sort of sophisticated training exercise. The armed Chinese soldiers brought home the truth of the situation.
Chong's heart stopped when one of the soldiers came to a halt almost directly across from him at the northeast corner of the compound and turned toward the wood line. The other kept going, turning the corner of the fence.
Chong swore that the man was looking straight at him. Every muscle in Chong's body was tensed. He fingered his SAW machine gun with
his right hand and his grip tightened. He figured he could take out the man in front of him and the other going around the compound. Then he and Hoffman would have to shoot the third guy at the jeep before he could call on the radio. Chong shifted his glance and saw the third soldier sitting on the hood of the truck.
The man directly in front of Chong reached down, opened his fly, and sighed as he began to urinate. When he was done he turned and caught up with his comrade on the far side. They continued their inspection. After completing the circumference of the compound, they returned to the jeep. All three climbed in and the jeep drove off.
Chong slowly relaxed. He pulled out his notebook to enter the incident in his surveillance notes. After two attempts he realized he couldn't write because his hands were shaking so hard.
ORP, Operational Area Dustey, China Wednesday, 7 June, 1130 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 7:30 p.m. Local
The sun was low in the western sky. Riley lay next to his ruck on the edge of the seven-man encampment and peered out into the darkening forest. He'd already been on security for forty-five minutes. Before Mitchell turned in to get a few hours of needed sleep, he had given Riley the encoded message for the next send. He got up and took the message to Lalli.
The commo man was leaning back against his ruck, already hooking up his equipment.
"How's the leg?"
Lalli looked up at his team sergeant. "Pretty good, Top. Comsky had to resew it, because all the stitches pulled out on the walk here, but it's doing OK now. Devito gave me a whole bunch of antibiotics to swallow. I'm trying not to move it too much. I'll be all right."
"Think you'll have any trouble making it to the pickup zone?"
"No, shouldn't be a problem. What about at the target? You want me to take O'Shaugne
sy's place, right?"
"Yep. Take it easy and get some rest after this send."
Riley left him and went over to the northwestern side of the camp, which was his security responsibility. Devito was awake ten meters away on the southeastern side. They were keeping up two men at a time for security, leaving Lalli out of the rotation so he could make all the radio contacts.
Riley started war-gaming again in his mind, trying to look ahead for possible problems. The exfil still worried him, but there wasn't a thing he could do about those logistics. There was an added problem with the exfil that had not come up during the briefback. Depending on how quickly the Chinese reacted after the pipe was blown, the airspace on the way out could become very dangerous. Additionally, they still had to go over either North Korean or Soviet terrain to make it to the ocean. If the Chinese called a military alert along the border after the attack, it could set off a corresponding alert with the Koreans or the Russians. Neither would look kindly upon a helicopter coming out of Chinese airspace and violating its borders.
That was one of the main reasons Riley had kept to a minimum the time between the actual attack and the pickup at the PZ. The less time between the two, the less time the enemy would have to react.
FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Wednesday, 7 June, 1145 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 8:45 p.m. Local
Hossey considered his situation. They'd received a "roger" from the team, reference the first message fifteen minutes ago. Everything seemed to be secure on that end. The only thing left for him to worry about was the exfiltration the next night. So far that was looking good, except for one potential problem.
The debriefing of the MC-130 crew after their return had brought out the information about the radar in the vicinity of Vladivostok— the radar that had caused them to switch on their spider leg and hit the drop zone ten minutes early. Hossey had relayed that information to the SFOB with an advisory that this same radar might affect the exfil helicopters. Following the debrief, the Talon crew was catching a few hours of sleep, then would fly back to the Philippines later in the day, with strict instructions not to discuss the mission they had just participated in.
Other than the intruding radar, Hossey was relatively satisfied. The message traffic from the SFOB was back up to normal and it was just a matter of waiting.
Fort Meade, Maryland Wednesday, 7 June, 1155 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 6:55 a.m. Local
Meng pondered the issue of the radar mentioned in the FOB's message. He had no idea whether or not it would be able to pick up the inbound helicopters. He looked around Tunnel 3. The men who would have the answers were seated down below him. Meng was considering how he could ask them, when the answer suddenly came to him. His fingers flew over his keyboard and he pressed the enter key.
In the front of the room on the message board a new communication from the FOB appeared. The SFOB staff watched it carefully. Since the initial confirmation of the ANGLER report on the team's infiltration, things had slowed down.
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET
TO: CDR USSOCOM/ SFOB FM/ MSG 52
FROM: FOB K-l
REF: MCI30 DEBRIEF
1. TALON CREW INDICATED RADAR SOURCE
VICINITY 132 DEGREES LONG/ 42 DEGREES 40 MINUTES LAT/ POSSIBLE RADAR MAY AFFECT EXFIL AIRCRAFT/
2. WAVELENGTH OF RADAR INDICATES MOST LIKELY POT DRUM TYPE/
3. TALON DEPARTED 0900 ZULU TO RETURN TO HOME BASE
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET
Meng smiled to himself as Olson reacted to the message by ordering his air operations officer and intelligence officer to get on top of the situation and brief him in one hour. The air operations officer ordered imagery of the area while the intelligence officer started scouring his data, searching for Soviet ships that carried the Pot Drum-type radar along with information on the radar capabilities.
Meng settled back to wait. He'd let the SFOB do their job.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Wednesday, 7 June, 1200 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 8:00 p.m. Local
O'Shaugnesy had the radio set up and pointing at the designated satellite. At exactly 1200Z he heard the hiss of the burst through his headphones, and the DMDG indicated message successfully received. He turned off the PSC3 radio. O'Shaugnesy hand-copied the unintelligible letters flowing across the screen of the DMDG. He handed the encrypted message to Olinski, who was pulling security, and then crawled back into his bivy sack for a few hours of sleep before it was his turn at security and surveillance.
Olinski pulled his poncho liner over his head and, using a red-lens flashlight, copied the message onto his one-time pad. Below the letters on the pad, he slowly broke out the message.
ZEROTW OMSGRO GERZER TWOXXC ONFIRM
PZXXXP ZXXYOU RSHOSS EYXXDR ATTSXX
Olinski hated reading messages in their six-digit blocks. This one told him nothing new. The forward operating base rogered the team's second send, and this was the second one the FOB had sent. No change in weather, and the FOB wanted a confirmation on the location of the pickup zone. The captain should confirm pickup zone Drable on his next send, since Olinski hadn't gotten back to him, either over the PRC68 FM radio, or in person, with a negative report. Mitchell was probably reading this message right now.
Turning off his light, Olinski put his SPAS 12 shotgun across his knees and leaned back against his ruck. He scanned the open area encompassing the pickup zone. Odds are that nothing will happen here, Olinski thought. But then he had heard a helicopter earlier in the day. Since this area had so few open fields, there was always the possibility that the Chinese might use this one for something — practice landings maybe. A slim possibility, but that's why they were here.
In the dark of the night Olinski watched the stars appear. This is beautiful country, he thought. Relatively uninhabited, at least in this area. Plenty of game, and miles of unspoiled wilderness. Too bad this is the only way you could come visit — with the United States Air Force travel service, he chuckled.
Fort Meade, Maryland Wednesday, 7 June, 1300 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 8:00 a.m. Local
The satellite imagery had arrived and Meng listened with interest as General Olson was briefed by his staff. Colonel Moore, who seemed more and more to Meng to be the key man on the USSOCOM SFOB staff, was handling the talking.
"We've got pretty good imagery of the area the Talon said they were receiving the radar output from. The pictures show a Komar-class Soviet patrol boat moving roughly in a northeast direction along the coast. Plotting the ship's course out, if it keeps going at the same speed and in the same direction, it will be four hundred kilometers north of the point where the Blackhawks plan on crossing the coast."
Olson nodded. "What do you have on the ship?"
The SFOB S-2 handled that. "Our intelligence on that ship indicates it does have the Pot Drum early warning radar. That system is rated out to less than twenty kilometers and definitely has no over-the-horizon capability. They shouldn't be able to pick up the birds going in or out. Besides, the Soviet radar is so lousy, they could be only ten kilometers away and I don't think they'd pick out those birds coming in over the wave tops."
"What kind of armament on the ship?" asked Olson.
"It's pretty outdated. Two launchers for SS-N-2A, which are surface-to-surface missiles, and one twin 25mm cannon in the front. The cannon can be radar controlled against air targets by the Pot Drum, but it has to acquire first. The Komar-class boats are mainly used for close-in coastal patrolling or attacking surface targets. They're the oldest active patrol boats in the Soviet fleet."
Meng was relieved to learn that the potential problem could be discounted. The last thing he wanted was to lose one of those aircraft. They had to get the team out on the first try. If they didn't succeed on the first attempt they wouldn't have another chance, because the Chinese would be alerted after destruction of the pipeline.
Olson seemed relieved too. He ordered his staff to tell the FOB not to worry about the radar. He also commented that he was quite i
mpressed with the simulation's realism — finding that Soviet ship and using it in the play of the problem.
PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Wednesday, 7 June, 1400 Zulu Wednesday, 7 June, 10:00 p.m. Local
At the end of his two-hour shift, Olinski woke up O'Shaugnesy and handed him the night-vision goggles. Olinski wearily crawled into his bivy sack and was asleep in minutes.
O'Shaugnesy was tired. He hung the goggles around his neck and lay his MP5 down at his side as he leaned back on his rucksack and looked out into the darkened pickup zone. Between pulling security and making contacts, O'Shaugnesy had had only two hours of sleep since leaving the FOB more than twenty-four hours ago. He slowly scanned the open area.
An hour had gone by and O'Shaugnesy felt himself nodding off. He jerked himself awake, then cocked his head to one side. He thought he'd heard something. There it was again. Something was moving behind him in the trees. O'Shaugnesy turned slowly and peered through the woods.
The meager light from the stars and moon didn't penetrate the foliage. O'Shaugnesy couldn't see anything, but he could hear it. Something big was moving out there and it was damn close. He reached down, picked up his MP5, and slipped the safety off, placing the weapon on semiautomatic.
He peered into the darkness. Whatever was out there was big, man-sized, and it was coming this way. One-handed, he reached down, grabbed the night-vision goggles where they rested on his chest, and slowly brought them up to his eyes. He turned them on. The darkness disappeared and the area in front of him suddenly became clear.
