Battle Born (48 page)

“General Bretoff, Governor Gunnison, may I present General McLanahan, my deputy and chief of operations,”
Samson said. “He’s in charge of the Coronet Tiger program.”

“I feel like we’ve already met, General,” Bretoff said as he shook hands. He was a short, rather round man, but the devices on his uniform, both Regular Army and Nevada National Guard, attested to a long and distinguished military career. Gunnison was tall and silver-haired. He looked like a rancher or an old-time oil wildcatter; his steel-blue eyes promised no nonsense and warned that he would take no bull from anyone.

“Nice to finally meet you in person, sir,” Patrick said. “Sir, I realize you may think this is dirty pool, but it was the best way I could think of to convince you to agree to our plan.”

“I don’t understand half of what I’ve just seen,” Governor Gunnison admitted, “but I’ve never seen old Adam here so bug-eyed before, so it’s gotta be good stuff.”

“It’s the only one like it in the world, sir,” Patrick said. “We want to build an entire squadron of them, and we want to base them in Nevada. We need your support to do it.”

Gunnison looked the Megafortress over again, then rubbed his chin. “You know, son, I’m all for supporting our military and all that shit,” he said. “But we need to talk about the bottom line. Nevada doesn’t have a lot of money to invest in military planes, especially planes that the state can’t use for disaster relief or quick logistics, like we did the C-130s we had in Reno. This is all Cold War stuff to me.”

“We’re talking about basing at least eight and as many as twenty B-1 bombers in your state,” Patrick said. “Making improvements, hiring workers. The infrastructure construction and improvements would all be at federal expense. We give you the tools, pay to fix up your installations and surrounding infrastructure to
our standards, and pay for training and upkeep. The state pays a small salary to keep highly trained guardsmen and their families in the state; but when they are federalized, which we think with our mission will be quite often, they’re on our dime, not yours.”

“I’ve seen the budget figures and mission projections, sir,” Bretoff said. “Quite impressive. A one-of-a-kind mission, high-profile and very exclusive.”

“Where are you thinking of basing this unit?” Gunnison asked.

“They would be here until the unit stands up,” Terrill Samson said. “But we were thinking northern Nevada again, though perhaps not Reno. The old training base near Battle Mountain is a good possibility. Plenty of land, good neighbors, the old runway in pretty good shape for our planes. We know you want to send a little more industry and opportunity into the northern part of your state. We can help.”

That sold it for the governor. Any talk of bringing growth to sparsely settled north-central and northeastern Nevada was music to his ears. “I think we might be able to talk business, General,” Gunnison said. “What do you need from me?”

“We need you to assert your rights to these planes, that’s all,” Patrick said. “Your flight crews were involved in some . . . well, some aggressive flying tactics yesterday. The Pentagon wants to slap the crews down and confiscate these planes. You can’t let them do it, sir.”

“I’ve slammed my door in Washington’s face before, gents. We Nevadans enjoy doing that sort of thing.”

“They’ll threaten you with everything in the book,” Samson warned the governor. “Lawsuits, obstruction of justice, investigations, bad press, political pressure, threats to cut off federal funding . . .”

Gunnison took this in stride too.

“We’re not too concerned about that either,” Patrick said. “Frankly, sir, we’re worried about when the Pentagon gets to the money phase.”

“Oh?”

“Your planes here are worth a lot,” Patrick admitted. “The Pentagon will start with small numbers—fifty million. But they’re worth two, maybe three hundred million in spare parts.”

“Holy shit,” the governor exclaimed. “All that for these four little ol’ planes?”

“I’m talking three hundred million
each
, sir.” They saw him gulp in surprise. “I know, it’s a lot of money. But we’re asking you to say no. We don’t have a billion-dollar budget, but we’re offering to set up a flying unit like no other in the world. Only Nevada will have it. In fact, it may be worth more than a billion dollars to Nevada, but only in ways that can’t be shown on a balance sheet.”

“Who knows?” Samson added with a mischievous smile. “Maybe someday they’ll rename the base after the governor who took a chance and started it all.”

Gunnison hesitated—but only for a split second. He held out a hand, and Samson shook it warmly. “You got yourself an air force,” he told them. “Any chance I get to thumb my nose and bare my hairy cheeks at Washington I’ll take—they fuck with Nevada too much as it is already. You can do whatever fancy shit you want to ’em—the more the merrier. Battle Mountain is a pretty good name for the base—maybe name one of these monsters after the wife, paint one of those sexy nose art portraits on there.” He paused, then asked, “You’re going to fly these things over there in Korea, aren’t you? Protect Korea from being fucked by the Chinese again?”

“I’m afraid we can’t talk about any possible missions we might be involved in, sir,” Patrick said.

“Good answer, son,” Gunnison said, smiling. “I was in the first Korean War, and when I left I felt we still had a job to do. ‘Battle Born’ is our state motto, you know. Maybe now, with a few of these Battle Born beasts over there, you can finish the job me and my buddies set out to do back in ’52. Get to work, and give me a ride in her when you get done kicking some ass over there in Korea.”

NEAR NAMPO, PYONGYANG PROVINCE,
UNITED REPUBLIC OF KOREA
(FORMERLY NORTH KOREA)
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER

I
t was the most astounding sight imaginable: long lines of Chinese troops and vehicles marching to the Nampo docks, and hundreds of Korean citizens—residents of both the old North and South Korea—jeering and shouting at them. There were occasional former North Korean soldiers, mostly officers, in the march, and they had to dodge an occasional piece of fruit aimed in their direction. United Republic of Korea soldiers—again, from both North and South, genuinely united—stationed themselves between the demonstrators and the departing troops, keeping the citizens out of the road itself, but the crowds were orderly and the soldiers made no effort to stop their shouts and jeers.

And yes, there was even fruit to throw. When the former North Korean warehouses were opened up, citizens found tens of thousands of tons of food, fuel, clothing, and other supplies cached away all over the country, kept for party members, bureaucrats, and Chinese troops, or rifled by smugglers and black marketers. The black marketing was under control now—UROK troops dealt severely with the crooks—and for the first time in ages, fresh produce was reaching ordinary citizens.

The naval base at Nampo was one of the largest ports on Korea’s east coast, and North Korea’s largest naval facility. It was also the home of the People’s Republic of China’s Korean flotilla, a small fleet of surface and subsurface vessels based in North Korea to help train their client state’s large-and medium-ship fleet. China had had over twenty thousand personnel and forty ships permanently based at Nampo, plus several dozen other vessels that visited the port monthly while on maneuvers in the Bo Hai and Yellow Seas.

Today, however, the base represented the beginning of the end of Chinese occupation of the Korean peninsula. The last of the Chinese troops and their heavy equipment, that which could not be sent by rail or along the highways north to China, were preparing to leave the country. Twenty heavy roll-on, roll-off container ships were waiting at the docks to take the last of China’s war machine out of Nampo.

Korean troops lined the way, watching the procession. The departure was going smoothly until two American-made Humvees veered into the street and set up a blockade in front of a large green tractor-trailer rig. The Chinese officer in charge of the heavy equipment motorcade, who was riding in a general-purpose transport ahead of the rig, called an instant halt to the march and ordered his security troops to prepare to repel attackers.

At the sight of the Humvees, and the large, strange antennas atop them, the officer knew that what he had feared most had just happened. He got out of his vehicle and stormed toward the Humvees blocking the path of his trucks, his face looking appropriately outraged, annoyed, and murderous. He was encouraged to note that his own security forces clearly outnumbered the Korean troops lining the street. If there was going to be a fight, he would win it easily.

“What is the meaning of this?” the officer shouted. He had been assigned to Pyongyang for many years, and his Korean was fluent. “I demand to know why my trucks are being detained. Move your vehicles immediately or I will order my men to remove them for you!”

A Korean officer stepped out of one of the Humvees, approached the Chinese officer, bowed politely, and saluted. The Chinese officer noted the new United Republic of Korea flag hastily sewn onto the jacket, and sneered.

“Please forgive me, sir,” the Korean officer said, bowing again. The Chinese officer knew that Koreans seldom literally mean what they say—they might apologize a thousand times over, yet never mean it. Such was certainly the case now. “But we must search this vehicle for contraband weapons,” the Korean said. “I promise it will not take very long.”

“You will do no such thing!” the Chinese officer retorted. He withdrew a folded legal document with the seal of the new United Republic of Korea and the seal of the People’s Republic of China on its cover. “Under the terms of the agreement between our nations, we are permitted to pass without hindrance during this withdrawal period. Step aside!”

“You are permitted undisturbed movement of personnel and equipment as long as you do not possess contraband items,” said the Korean officer. “We have reason to believe that you are carrying illegal special weapons.” He motioned to the large antennas on his trucks. “Those are radiation detectors, sir. It is our opinion that you are carrying at least two and possibly more nuclear warheads in those trucks. You must allow us to inspect your trucks before you may pass.”

“We will not!” the Chinese officer shouted. “You are not entitled to inspect our cargo. We are carrying only official records, personal items, and office equipment.
All of it is the property of the People’s Republic of China. These trucks contain the remains of Chinese soldiers and family members who wish to be reinterred in their homeland. Disturbing their caskets would be sacrilege, punishable by the shame and humiliation of your ancestors. Now step aside, sir. This is your last warning.” He shouted an order to his troops, who promptly knelt and raised their weapons to port arms, ready to open fire. “Your men are far outnumbered, sir. Now stand back and let us pass, or there will be bloodshed.”

“We will not stand aside, sir,” the Korean replied. “We do not want a fight, but we will respond with force if necessary. If you have contraband weapons in that vehicle, they will be confiscated, and the rest of your men and equipment may board the ships. Do not force us to fight.”

“Then move your vehicles. Let us pass without any more delay, and there will be no fighting,” the Chinese said. He turned again to his men. “You men, move those vehicles! Do it peaceably, but use force if—”

Suddenly, there was a
swooosh
and just a hint of a streak of smoke through the sky, and seconds later the Chinese officer’s vehicle was hit. A cylindrical missile, perhaps three feet long and six inches in diameter, spun through the air like a stick tossed into the air, then bounced and skittered across the ground, with smoke belching from the blunt aft end. It did not explode, but it knocked the vehicle sideways so hard it almost sent it off the road. The Chinese troops scattered; some took cover, but remarkably, no one opened fire. The demonstrators also scattered, moving a safe distance away, but not so frightened as to leave the scene.

The missile was silver-colored, with short, straight fins protruding from its midbody and aft end. The nose was blunt. A thick tangle of thin wire, like monofilament
fishing line, trailed behind it. The Korean officer went over to the missile and kicked it with the toe of his boot, then lifted up the wire so the Chinese officer could see. “This, sir, is a TOW missile round,” he said. “Wire-guided, range of approximately four kilometers, with a four-kilogram high-explosive impact warhead. This is only a dummy round, of course. But I promise you, sir, all of the rest of the rounds we fire will be live ones. We have over a dozen gunners scattered nearby, and two helicopter gunships with more TOWs and Hellfire missiles ready to respond. Many of us will die if fighting starts, but many more of you will die too. We will then proceed to sink your transport ships and kill every last one of your soldiers onboard.”

“We were promised that there would be no interference or coercion during our withdrawal!” the Chinese officer shouted, his voice quivering in fear. “We were promised no demonstration of force, no military presence, no intimidation . . .”

“And we were promised that all nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons would remain in place for proper disposal,” the Korean officer retorted. “My men have detected nuclear weapons in that vehicle. We will now search it and confiscate any contraband weapons, or we will kill every last one of your men and destroy all of your ships and vehicles. You may choose, sir. Choose wisely.”

“You would dare to disturb the eternal sleep of the honorable dead?” the Chinese officer asked. “Have you no conscience? Have you no shame?”

“If I am wrong, sir, then I will publicly and personally apologize to the families of those whom I have disturbed,” the Korean officer replied. “I will accept the shame of my nation. But I will search these vehicles.
Now
. Will you please step aside, sir?” The Chinese officer
shook his head, then ordered his men to back away from the trucks.

Sure enough, the semi was filled with six large wooden boxes, sealed with steel straps. The boxes bore the inscription of death, plus information on the deceased’s family and town of origin. Some were draped with regimental flags, the symbol of a dead soldier; one was draped with a Chinese flag, signifying the remains of a high government official. The inscription said the remains were that of the senior military attaché assigned to Nampo, the third-highest-ranking member of the Chinese bureau in Nampo.