by Bob Mayer
Yanji was a mining and industrial city with a population of one hundred thousand. Tugur was running the search operation from the regional army headquarters in the center of town. The six Z-9 attack helicopters of the 3d Aviation Regiment were crouched in the fields surrounding the headquarters along with eight S-70 transportation helicopters.
Tugur had taken the time to interrogate the hunters and miners who had been picked up in the sweep. Checks had confirmed their identities, but despite that, the local commander had been too frightened of the wrath of General Yang to release them. Unfortunately, that was the extent of his initiative. He had not thought to ask the prisoners if they had seen anything unusual. Tugur made up for this deficiency in his interrogation. They all replied in the negative, except for one disgruntled old miner who complained that someone had stolen the battery from his truck the previous night.
Tugur was interested in the report of the stolen battery. Who would go all the way up to the mountains to steal a battery from a truck? And if the terrorists had done it, why steal the battery and not the truck? Tugur puzzled over this but could not come up with an answer. He put it aside in the activity of coordinating the sweep's halt for the night. Still the detail gnawed away in the back of his mind. Something about the battery was important; he could feel it.
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1100 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 7:00 p.m. Local
From the tall tree Riley watched the olive-green tide reach high water for the day only a kilometer and a half away. He observed the soldiers' preparations for the evening. Like soldiers anywhere, they were gathering wood for fires to take away the night's chill. Riley noted the lack of defensive preparations. The trucks, with their heavy machine guns mounted over the cabs, were not tactically placed in positions with good fields of fire. Instead, they were haphazardly parked in the places most convenient for the company commanders.
The line had made it almost a kilometer past the pickup zone — only a fraction of an inch on the map in Riley's pocket but a significant distance on the ground. Riley continued to study the terrain as the sun went down. He and Chong would move out to the sniper position on the ridgeline as soon as it got dark. Satisfied that he had seen all he wanted to, Riley climbed down.
The rest of the team was waiting for him at the base of the tree. They'd spent this time building a small terrain model, using dirt, sticks, and small rocks. The men gathered around the scale model as Riley made his report, pointing out the places he was talking about.
"The sweep line's made it along a front basically from here, to here, to here. About a klick and a half from here and a little under a klick in front of the pickup zone, if you draw a straight line from our location to the PZ. They don't seem concerned about making contact. Looks like there'll be a bunch of guards standing around fires all along the line. The fires are about thirty meters apart. I still don't think you could sneak through. The off-duty people are bedding down for the night all around, wherever they feel like it. The vegetation isn't thick enough here to cover you."
Mitchell nodded his head in agreement as Riley continued. "The plan we decided on still stands. Tom and I will go up to this position here on the ridge. We'll leave at twenty thirty, after it's fully dark and they've had a chance to settle in down there. We'll take two of the remaining sets of PVS-5 night-vision goggles. The rest of you will move down here, to this stream that runs into the river. Hide as best you can in the thick vegetation along the bank. At zero zero thirty local I'll start picking off people along the guard line. It's about two thousand meters from where I'll be shooting to the nearest Chinese, so they're going to have to move forward to engage me. Once they get inside a thousand meters, Tom will open up with the SAW. We'll keep engaging them until they get to within five hundred meters, at which time we'll head on up into the mountains."
Riley turned to Mitchell, and the captain began to brief them on the rest of the plan. "After Dave and Tom engage, we wait. In the confusion, we try to find the best time to move through the Chinese line along the stream bank. They might even move everyone out and pass us by. At worst case, they're going to have to thin their line to go after these two. Either way, we go through. I'll be in the lead with my silenced MP5 and wearing the last set of PVS-5s. Hoffman and Comsky will carry Olinski. C.J., you bring up the rear. Hoffman and Comsky will use the silenced .22s if they have to shoot. C.J., you take Olinski's shotgun.
"We've got an hour and a half from when Dave starts shooting to make it to the pickup zone. We'll wait there until 0500. If no aircraft comes by that time, they most likely aren't going to be coming. We use the remaining two hours of darkness to move downslope and find a hiding place. The next night we'll continue on to the border. Any questions?"
C.J. raised his hand. "What about the markings on the pickup zone? And frequency? The aircraft is going to have a hell of a time finding that place — if it comes at all. Also, there still might be shooting going on. We probably ought to be up on the radio to assure them that we're really there."
Mitchell agreed. "We've got four infrared chem lights left; we can use those for pickup zone marking. We've also got infrared strobes on all our vests. Olinski will have the PRC68. We think it still works after Hoffman put it back together. If Ski sees or hears anything resembling a friendly helicopter, he's going to start calling on the agreed-upon frequency. Anybody else?"
Hoffman stirred and looked at Riley. "Top, they don't need to get within five hundred meters to engage you. They can start engaging you from the search line using the 12.7-millimeter machine guns on the trucks. They've got the range to reach out there."
Riley had figured his junior engineer would make that observation. He hoped no one would ask too many questions about the diversion team's role. Most particularly he hoped no one would ask questions regarding their survivability. "I've thought of that," Riley answered. "Those machine guns have the range but they're not going to be able to find us until they get close. I've got a couple of tricks I'll use to hide my muzzle flashes. The Chinese are going to have to move. Once we start popping their people off, they'll be so mad they'll be hard to hold back. I just hope enough of them come forward to allow you all to slip through without making contact."
Camp Page, ChunChon, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1229 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 9:29 p.m. Local
"Camp Page tower, this is army helicopter 579. Request permission to depart airfield on a heading of eight zero degrees. Over."
"Roger army helicopter 579. You are cleared for taxiway and departure. Over."
Jean Long released the brakes on the Blackhawk as Lassiter increased throttle. The aircraft rolled on its three wheels out to the main runway that ran the length of Camp Page. They turned and faced to the east.
Jean tenderly lifted the collective and slipped the cyclic forward, and the heavily laden helicopter pushed away from the clutches of the earth. A two-foot gap appeared beneath the wheels. Getting the feel of the unusual center of gravity caused by the internal fuel bladders, Jean hovered there for ten seconds. She glanced over at Lassiter, who smiled, shrugged, and nodded. Increasing power and lift, she quickly gained altitude and flew off toward the high mountains that encircled ChunChon to the east.
Yongsan Army Base, Seoul, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1230 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 9:30 p.m. Local
Hossey was laboriously working his way around the Pentagon via phone extensions. No one he had talked to on the night duty staff had any knowledge of a live mission run in this part of the world. It was almost as if there had not been any authorization for this action.
Hossey looked at his military phone book in frustration. He opened it one more time and started from the front, looking for any number that might connect him with someone who knew what was going on.
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1230 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 8:30 p.m. Local
Team 3 was splitting again, and this time it appeared to be permanent. Dave Riley could tell that Mitchell was very unhappy about the situ
ation. Chong was standing at the edge of the little grouping, saying good-bye to the rest of the team. Riley stood next to the captain.
"Take care, Mitch, and get these guys out."
Mitchell nodded. It was hard for him to speak. He felt completely helpless. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Nothing in his training had ever prepared him to order two of his men to go on a oneway mission. Not only that, but Dave Riley was his best friend. He didn't know what to say, but he tried anyway. "If there was any other way, Dave. I just can't come up with anything."
Riley put his arm over his friend's shoulder. "I know that. Hell, we both came up with the same plan. You just get those guys out and it'll all be worthwhile. You've got to hang in there and drive on."
Mitchell nodded. He didn't trust himself to say any more. The two men embraced briefly. Riley picked up his SVD and walked over to the rest of the team. Not much was said. There was nothing noble or heroic about the scene. Just a pervading sense of sadness tainted with desperation — the same atmosphere that has been present before battle since the beginning of time. Heroism and nobility seemed to come from others talking about events after they were over. Now, as they faced the spectre of death, none of the participants wanted to play their roles.
Reasons for being here, and for doing what they did, didn't seem to add up anymore.
Riley smiled and, as he walked out of the camp with Chong, softly called out over his shoulder, "See you all back in Korea."
Sokch'o Air Traffic Control, East Coast, South Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1306 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 10:06 p.m. Local
Sokch'o was the northernmost sizable South Korean city on the east coast. As such, the air and sea routes around it were guarded vigilantly. The entire coastline from the nearby demilitarized zone, south one hundred kilometers, was entirely fenced in to prevent infiltrators from swimming in. The airspace was tightly managed out of Sokch'o airfield.
On the radar screens at Sokch'o, Flight 579 suddenly disappeared. The Korean operator had been watching the flight with growing concern. According to the flight plan he had called up on his computer, 579 was on a training flight from ChunChon to Sokch'o and back. The flight had crossed the shoreline only one minute previously. The controller had expected it to turn any second and head back west. Now it was gone. He keyed his mike. Speaking with great difficulty in English, he broadcast: "United States Army helicopter Five Seven Nine. United States Army helicopter Five Seven Nine. This is Sokch'o Control. You have gone below allowable altitude. Acknowledge. Return to altitude. Over."
He waited a minute, then transmitted again. Still no reply. After five minutes, with no sign of 579 reappearing or replying, the operator reported to his supervisor. Ten minutes later, still with no response, a downed aircraft report was broadcast and search aircraft were alerted.
On board 579 Colin Lassiter had the aircraft skimming the wave tops as the Korean shoreline disappeared behind them. Jean Long was slouched back in her seat, trying to rest. In the cargo compartment, Hooker and Trapp had finished unpacking the duffel bag they'd brought aboard. Now they worked in the cramped space between the four bulging fuel bladders, stowing the weapons Hooker had brought from Yongsan and preparing for other contingencies.
They tied a 120-foot nylon rope to each of two large O-rings bolted to the top center of the cargo compartment. After making sure that both ropes were securely attached, they coiled each one separately in a weighted canvas bag. This was done carefully, to ensure that each rope would deploy without snags if the bag was thrown out the door of the helicopter. The weighted bag would pull the rope to the end of its 120-foot length.
The two men then carefully unbolted the frame for the two forward internal tanks and replaced all the bolts with wraps of 550 cord, the same line used for suspension lines on parachutes. This would allow the two forward tanks to be quickly cut free and removed, when empty, to make space for the team.
With the coastline out of sight, Lassiter gently eased the helicopter around to a heading of 42 degrees — right up the middle of the Sea of Japan.
US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida Saturday, 10 June, 1320 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 8:20 a.m. Local
Colonel Moore didn't like coming in to work on a Saturday, but having been gone the whole past week participating in the exercise up at Fort Meade, his in box was overflowing. He wanted to get a jump on the paperwork before Monday.
Moore was halfway through his first cup of coffee, and a quarter of the way through the contents of his in box, when he came across the duty log from the previous night. It was in his box because it was Moore's responsibility to brief his boss, the G-3, on Monday morning on everything that had happened over the weekend.
Moore slammed his mug down on the desk as he turned the page and read the notation about the strange phone call from a Colonel Hossey in Korea.
"What the hell," he muttered as he punched in the home phone number for the major who had been on duty then. He waited and then heard the line picked up on the other end.
A sleepy voice answered. "Major Mills."
"Mills, this is Colonel Moore. What is this notation in your duty log about a phone call from a Colonel Hossey in Korea?"
There was a brief pause. "Oh, yeah, sir. Some nutcake called and said that he was the commander of DET-K and that he had some men
on the ground in China who needed to be exfiltrated. He said it was part of some mission he was running for us."
Moore's mind raced as he considered this. "Did he say what kind of mission?"
"No, sir. He did say that he had lost his commo with an SFOB we had set up at Fort Meade, so I figured this guy was one of those people you spent the week with up there at Meade, trying to test our security or something."
"What did you tell this guy?"
"I didn't tell him anything, sir. I hung up on him. He tried calling back a few times and I hung up on him every time. It was an unsecure line and I figured it was some sort of test."
"All right." Moore hung up the phone. Maybe it was just a further test by the Strams people. The thing that bugged him, though, was that Colonel Hossey was the DET-K commander. And the phone call had come just after they shut down the simulation. In the simulation the team had exfiltrated successfully. Moore rubbed his eyes. This whole thing was very strange. He looked at the clocks on the wall. It was 2:30 in the morning over in Korea. Probably couldn't get ahold of Hossey right now. He decided to make some calls first thing Monday morning, though, and check this out.
Korea
Saturday, 10 June, 1330 Zulu
Saturday, 10 June, 10:30 p.m. Local
The disappearance of army aircraft 579 quickly gained notoriety. Sokch'o Control contacted Camp Page Control with the report. Camp Page Control alerted the battalion commander of the 309th Helicopter Battalion. When the battalion commander found out that no one had authorized the flight, and also that live Stinger missiles were on board, he quickly notified his higher headquarters at the 17th Aviation Brigade in Seoul.
Following standard procedures, a nationwide alert was put out for the missing helicopter. All U.S. and Korean agencies were informed. A search was mounted off the coast in the vicinity of Sokch'o to look for helicopter wreckage. It didn't occur to anyone that the helicopter had not crashed.
Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1345 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 9:45 p.m. Local
Mitchell led his men carefully through the dark. It was only seven hundred meters south to the streambed, but they were moving very slowly.
The night was clear. The moon would be rising in another two hours. Until then, they had only the starlight to guide them. Mitchell was wearing the only set of night-vision goggles; the rest of the team stumbled along in the dark. Only four hundred meters to the east, they could see the fires of the Chinese picket line.
Mitchell tried to force all thoughts out of his mind, except for those needed to make this move. He didn't want to think about the two men heading up the mountain. He didn
't want to think about the slim chance that a helicopter would make it to the pickup zone tonight. He didn't want to think about what he would do when the helicopter didn't show. In spite of his efforts, these thoughts swirled around in his mind.
He was walking slowly, to allow those behind him to keep up. Hoffman and Comsky carried the stretcher, watching each step to avoid dropping Olinski. Hoffman, at the lead end of the stretcher, was only two feet behind the captain, following two small pieces of luminous tape sewn into the back of the captain's black watch cap. Comsky held onto the trail edge of the stretcher and shuffled his feet along the ground to avoid tripping. C.J. brought up the tail, staying in contact by continuously reaching out and touching Comsky's back.
After only a hundred meters, Mitchell realized that he was going to have to help carry Olinski. The man's weight was too much for Hoffman. Mitchell grabbed the lead end of the right stick with his left hand. His right arm was still tied against his side to prevent the sutures from pulling out, and his MP5 hung on its sling on his chest. The indomitable Comsky handled the tail end of the stretcher by himself.
Mitchell led the way through the undergrowth. They were going downhill slightly, as the terrain sloped into the streambed. After forty minutes, they reached the edge of the thicker undergrowth along the bank. Mitchell cautiously guided them downstream. He wanted to get as close to the picket line as they could before the action started. Slowly he moved them another two hundred meters closer. He halted the team in an area of especially thick underbrush. Carefully, trying not to make any loud noises, they crawled under the bushes and sat down in a tight circle to wait. It was 10:45 p.m. Another hour and forty-five minutes until the shooting started.
US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida
Saturday, 10 June, 1552 Zulu
Saturday, 10 June, 10:52 a.m. Local
That phone call the previous night was bugging Moore. It was a loose end, and he didn't like loose ends. If the Strams people were still playing their game, he wanted to know about it. They had more important things to worry about here than some stupid simulation.
