Battle Born (32 page)

In a fit of rage, Kong leaped out of his seat, grabbed Cho, punched him in the stomach, threw him into the deputy commander’s seat on the other side of the console, then closed and latched both hatches. Only momentarily did he feel a flash of regret and shame for striking or even touching a superior officer and an elder—acts that went against everything Koreans were taught from birth. But this nation’s survival and defense were more important than the whinings of a gutless old man.

“Colonel, you must—you
will
help me carry out the attack order,” Kong said. He inserted the commander’s and deputy commander’s launch keys into the locks, then pulled Cho up so his face was right next to the key switch. “When I give the word, you will turn the launch key. You must do it at the same instant as I do, within a fraction of a second, or the missile will dud itself.” After the countdown was initiated, as a security and safety measure the keys had to be turned within two seconds of T minus zero, and they had to turn simultaneously. Launch crews spend time every week practicing this procedure. It was very unlikely that this whimpering
old man on the verge of a breakdown could do it properly.

Cho, half collapsed against his seat, sobbed like a child. “Do you understand, Colonel?” No response. Kong pulled out his sidearm and aimed it at Cho’s head. “Do it, Colonel, or I will put a bullet in your brain and end your miserable, cowardly life right now.”

“I can’t . . . I won’t do it,” a weeping Cho protested. “I want to get out of here. I want to go home . . .”

“Your home—
our
home—is being destroyed by the capitalists and their American puppet masters right now,” Kong shouted. “The only way to save our homeland is to stop the South, and the only way to stop them is with our missiles. Now put your hand on the key and turn it when I give you the signal!”

“No! No, I cannot—”

“I will kill you if you do not do as I say
!” Kong burst out, the muzzle of the gun quivering. “Put your hand on that key!”

“Kill me!” Cho shouted. “Kill me! If I cannot go home, you may as well end my miserable life right now!”

Twenty seconds to go. Time was running out. Kong had only one thing left to try. “Sir, I neglected to tell you,” he said, his voice now calm and soothing. “Headquarters left a message for you. They are ready to award you a fine pension and recognize your value to the fatherland. They are going to retire you with full military honors, sir.”

“A . . . a pension?” Cho said weakly, finally turning toward Kong. “A full pension? Upon my retirement?” Color began returning to his face, and he straightened up in his seat. “I am to be awarded a pension and a full retirement?”

“With full military honors,” Kong said, “as befitting
a commander so loyal and dedicated to the fatherland.” He motioned to the code book, with the decoded launch execution and weapon pre-arming codes in it. “This is the last order you will be given, Colonel. Your last official act. Do as I say, and the Glorious Leader himself will pin the Star of Honor on your chest. He has even authorized a passport and travel if you wish: Hong Kong, Ho Chi Minh City, Tripoli, even Havana.” Kong glanced up at the countdown clock—shit, less than ten seconds to go! “Ready, Colonel? Your last act before your retirement. Turn the key to the right when I tell you. I will say ‘Ready, ready,
now
’ as I bob my head, and when I say
now
, you turn the key. Do you—”

Suddenly, a tremendous series of explosions shook the command car, followed by the sound of a jet fighter screaming overhead. The string of bombs sounded as if a giant were running toward them, and then one of the giant’s boots kicked the command car. A five-hundred-pound bomb exploded just a few feet outside it, sending both men flying into the bulkhead from the impact. Cho screamed.

Kong picked himself off the deck and looked over just as Cho shouted, “Damn you all for condemning me to Gobscurity forever!”—and turned the launch key.

Kong’s hand shot out to his own key switch. It would not be simultaneous but . . . He turned the key. It worked! The missile launched! The roar of the Nodong-1 was a hundred times louder than the bomb that had just exploded outside. Kong checked the system readouts and was pleased—they showed a fully pre-armed warhead and a fully aligned heading and navigation system. The missile was alive and tracking perfectly. He had done it! He immediately hit the PRELOAD command switch, which automatically moved the transporter-erector-launcher assembly to its preload condition and also commanded the second Nodong
missile to raise up to load position, then he hurried outside.

The Nodong missile was long gone by the time Kong made it outside the command car—all he could see was a trail of white, acid. It arced across the sky toward the southeast, so he knew it was on course. Then he checked the progress of the reload and knew he would be launching no more missiles. The nearby bomb explosions had damaged the car containing the reload missile; white and orange smoke—the missile’s fuel and oxidizer—was beginning to billow out. By the time the reload missile itself was visible, its corrosive fuel had all but leaked out. It would set itself on fire, perhaps even explode, in minutes. Unit Twenty was effectively dead. Nothing else to do but find another missile—or escape into friendly hands.

“We did it!” he heard behind him. Colonel Cho leaped off the steps of the command car and ran over to Kong. “We launched her! You and me, Captain! Our job is finished. We obeyed our orders and did as we were told, and now it’s time for our reward.”

“Yes, sir,” Kong said. “Time for your reward.” He pulled out his pistol and put two bullets into Colonel Cho’s chest, then one more into his brain after he hit the ground.

MASTER CONTROL AND REPORTING CENTER,
OSAN AIR BASE, REPUBLIC OF KOREA
THAT SAME TIME

S
pecial Agent Law’s mini-Uzi was in her hand in an instant, but before she could reach the Vice President or level her weapon, several South Korean special forces soldiers burst into the observation room. All of
them carried M-16 rifles at port arms—at the ready, but not leveled or aimed at anyone. General Park was right behind them, standing in the middle of the doorway. He now had a sidearm strapped to his waist, but the weapon was not drawn. Law raised her weapon . . .

“Wait, Corrie,” Vice President Whiting shouted. “Don’t shoot!”

Everyone froze. Corrie Law could have easily mowed down every South Korean in the room—with the soldiers’ weapons visible, the threat was clear and present, but there was no way they could defend themselves in time. They could see the cold, dead look in Law’s eyes: no fear, no hesitation, no mercy. Her gun muzzle did not waver. If the Vice President gave the order, they knew she would open fire and put a three-round burst into each one of them before they had the chance to get into a firing stance.

“Put your weapons down on the floor
now
or I will fire,” Law shouted.

“What’s going on there, Ellen?” CIA Director Plank asked on the cell phone.

“Don’t, Corrie . . .”

“I said, put your weapons down!” Law repeated. She raised the Uzi so she could use the sights; the muzzle tracked every movement of her eyes as they caught the slightest motion of the soldiers. Law maneuvered herself between the soldiers and the Vice President, then positioned her back behind a console so no one could get a clear shot at her. Summoning the only bits of Korean she knew, she shouted, “
Mit ppali
! Down quickly!”

“What’s going on here, General?” the Vice President asked. She held the cell phone behind her back, pointed outward against the chance Plank might pick up the conversation. “Why do you have soldiers in here? Are we your prisoners?”

“No, Madam Vice President,” General Park replied. “You are our guests, and a witness.”

“Witness? Witness to what?”

“Close your telephone connection with Director Plank and I will tell you,” said a new voice. And Kwon Ki-chae, the president of South Korea, entered the room. He ordered the soldiers to lower their weapons and leave; General Park remained.

Vice President Whiting raised the still-active phone to her lips. “I’ll call you back, Bob.”

“What in hell’s going on there, Ellen?”

“President Kwon and General Park want to have an urgent parley with me, in private. I’ll call you back.” “Urgent parley” was a code phrase for “The situation here is tense; have help standing by.” She pushed a button on the phone, closed it, and slipped it into an inside jacket pocket.

General Park issued some instructions by radio in Korean and then turned to Whiting. “All wireless communications from this facility will be jammed now, Madam Vice President,” he said. “It is for our protection.” It was obvious he knew that the Vice President had activated a function on the phone that kept the line open and transmitted a locator signal.

“Jamming our locator signal could be considered a hostile action, General,” Whiting said evenly.

“Discussing activities inside our country’s most secret command and control facility with the Central Intelligence Agency could also be considered a hostile act,” General Park said. “As you Americans might say, that makes us even stephen.”

“Please be seated,” President Kwon said, motioning to a chair. He gave Park an order, and the Air Force general immediately unbuckled his holster and handed the weapon over to Special Agent Law. “I promise, we mean you no harm.”

Law immediately went over to the door and tried it, keeping both Kwon and Park covered with her mini-Uzi; it was locked. “So we
are
your prisoners,” Whiting said. “We can’t communicate, and we can’t leave.”

“You will be free to leave in a very short time,” President Kwon said. “But first I invite you to watch history in the making, unfolding right before your eyes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“May I?” Kwon asked, motioning to the large windows overlooking the command center to indicate to Law where he was going to move. He went over to the windows with Whiting. General Park took a seat behind the communications console. “The culmination of years of planning, a year of intense preparation, months of espionage and infiltration work, and hundreds of billions of won. The expense almost bankrupted us, especially with the financial downturn throughout Asia in recent years. We lost many fine men and women to the Communists, on both sides of the DMZ. We are about to witness the fruits of their sacrifice.”

“Mr. President, what’s going on?” Whiting asked. “What are you planning to do?”

General Park said something in Korean, and Kwon nodded with a broad smile and what sounded to her like a muttered prayer. “Our first units are approaching the coastline,” Kwon told Whiting. “The Eleventh Patrol Squadron out of Inchon has the honor of leading the attack. Their call sign is ‘Namu.’ The counterjammer aircraft will be inbound sixty seconds later. Their call sign is ‘Pokpo.’”

“Attack?”
Admiral Allen exploded. “What attack? You mean the exercise attack?”

“The Eleventh is an S-2 Tracker maritime patrol unit, flying one of the slowest and most vulnerable planes in our inventory,” General Park said. “However, these planes have been modified as tactical jamming aircraft.
They will shut down all of the Communists’ search radars between Haeju and Kaesong. They are being followed by F-16KCJ aircraft carrying HARM antiradar missiles. Any Communist radar that attempts to counter the jamming will be destroyed. A similar attack is commencing from the west toward Nampo and Pyongyang itself, from the east toward Hamhung and Hungnam, and from the south at Kimchaek and Ch’ongjin.”

“This is crazy! This is suicide!” Vice President Whiting exclaimed. “Won’t the North Koreans see those planes coming or see the jamming on their scopes and warn the rest of their defenses? They might start a retaliatory strike the second they notice all this happening. They might be starting an attack of their own at this very second!”

“In fact, Madam Vice President,” General Park said, “the Communists issued the first attack warning over fifteen minutes ago.”

“What?”

“It is virtually impossible to fly anywhere within two hundred miles of North Korea without some Communist radar site detecting you, whatever your altitude,” General Park said calmly. “The Communists start tracking our aircraft almost from the moment they are launched. When our planes were within ten minutes’ flying time of their airspace—the amount of time it takes the slowest North Korean fighter pilot to get off the ground—the early-warning radar sites issued a warning to all other air defense sites throughout North Korea. The warning was relayed to the Military Command and Coordination Facility at Sunan, near Pyongyang.”

“But if the North Koreans know you’re coming,
why in heaven’s name are you doing this?
”

“Because, Madam Vice President,” President Kwon
replied, “the North Korean Central Command Facility issued instructions to all installations to continue to monitor the aircraft but to take no further action. They then issued an ‘ops-normal’ message to military headquarters in Pyongyang.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because, madam, it was a United Republic of Korea officer who issued those orders. Or, to be more precise, a North Korean patriot, working together with South Korean military assistance officers. The North Korean military command and control headquarters at Sunan, such as it is, belongs to North Korean patriots who desire nothing else but the reunification of the peninsula under a free, democratic government. They have decided to shut down the Communists’ military machine and allow us to assist them in destroying the most dangerous elements of it.”

At that moment a Klaxon went off in the observation room, and red revolving lights started blinking everywhere. On the public-address system they heard: “For Namu Two-Five, for Namu Two-Five, and for Pokpo Three-Eight, for Pokpo Three-Eight, this is Airedale, Hot Dog Hot Dog Hot Dog. Turn to heading one-five-zero immediately. Acknowledge.”

Both General Park and President Kwon started to chuckle. “I have always thought that was very amusing,” Kwon said. Whiting stared at him. Total chaos was breaking out in the command center, and these two men were laughing through it! “The code words you Americans invent for serious situations such as this are very comical. What a refreshing sense of humor you people have.”