Korea Strait (3 page)

“Guilty.”

“First time on the peninsula? Or you been with us before?”

“First time here, sir.”

“Well, we'll try to treat you right. Where are you in from, Dan?”

“Just joined the TAG group. Last assignment was in DC.”

“Where?”

“Well… the White House military staff.” He wondered if he should mention that, but no one had told him not to.

Jung smiled so radiantly that the mole almost vanished. “Excellent! They've sent us their best.” He turned to a willowy younger man who'd come up quietly behind him, and spoke rapidly in Korean. The younger raised an eyebrow, blinking at Dan. Jung gestured to him. “Commander Hwang, my chief of staff. Commander Lenson.”

They shook hands too, Hwang's palm lying limp in Dan's. The chief of staff smiled almost fawningly, but said only, “I am pleased to meet you, Commander.”

The lights flickered off, then back on. Shappell turned from the switch. Conversations cut off in midsentence. Men replenished their coffee cups, headed for seats.

The first PowerPoint slide went up, a yeoman began doling out briefing packages, and Dan pulled his new PDA out and began trying to figure out how to make notes with it.

SHAPPELL spoke more slowly than Pentagon briefing standard, Dan guessed to let the foreign participants keep up. After the usual cover slides, he got down to business. Dan checked that hard copies of the
presentation were in the briefing package. That'd save a lot of note taking.

Shappell kicked off by defining SATYRE 17 as part of a joint ROK and U.S. command post exercise called Ulchi Focus Lens, an annual joint and combined simulation-supported CPX that, as he put it, “trained Combined Forces Command personnel and major component, subordinate, and augmenting staffs using state-of-the-art wargaming computer simulations and support infrastructures.”

The participants were from four countries: ROKN, USN, the Royal Australian Navy, and the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force. The chain of command went from CFC—Combined Forces Command, successor to the old UN Command Korea—to CINCROKFLT. Thence to Fifth Flotilla, based in Chinhae, down to the exercise level. Dan noted that the overall OTC, officer in tactical command, would be Korean, the commodore of Antisubmarine Squadron 51. In other words, the three-flower he'd just met, Commodore Jung.

The next slide showed the units assigned:

Dan leaned back and tuned out for a while. In fact he almost fell asleep. He roused himself when he heard weather mentioned, and a female lieutenant commander took the stand. “Oooh ah,” Carpenter muttered, louder than he needed to. “Why don't you put some lipstick around my dipstick?”

Her slide showed an immense sea, six hundred miles across at its widest point. It was bounded on the west by Korea, on the east and south by the great embryo-curved main island of Japan, and on the north by North Korea and Russia. The south access was Tsushima Strait, where nearly a hundred years before, a Russian admiral had
come to grief after sailing halfway round the world. The northern was remote, icy La Pérouse Strait. She said briskly, “Climatology. It's going to be iffy out there, more than usually unsettled. For Phase One, participants can expect wind from the south-southwest at six to ten knots, seas three to four feet, and about sixty percent over-cast. Fog the majority of the time, with visibility less than four miles twenty-five percent of the time at sea level. Remember the current in the op area will be about one point five knots set to the northeast.”

Dan looked at the faces listening, brown, white, and yellow. All looked attentive, but how many spoke enough English to follow this? All comms for SATYRE 17 would be in English. He'd have to make them as transparent as possible.

Next up was a Korean. He had charts and sound-propagation tracings. A sonar guy. Dan rubbed his face, fighting to focus. He'd have to know all this cold once things started rolling. But the accent was tough to get through,
?
's instead of
?
's, and he wasn't sure he was getting it all. Apparently passive sonar ranges—“passive” meant sophisticated and enhanced listening only, without sending out pings—were going to be less than a thousand yards for hull-mounted sonars, with less than three kiloyards for direct path. The man mumbled, speaking into his papers. Dan got something like “With the soft sand bottom, bottom bounce mode wir be unreriable. Bathythermograph shows a negative gradient and no rayer. There wir be much fishing activity.”

A hefty, six-foot-plus American captain in trop whites with chubby cheeks and short blond hair broke into the presentation. His name tag read LEAKHAM. “How about biologics?”

“Biologics” were noise from biological sources, mainly shrimp, which made a hell of a racket for so small a creature. The Korean bobbed his head. “Very good question, sir. There wir be high biorogics and high revelberation.”

Carpenter leaned and muttered, “Meaning: Conditions are gonna be shit.”

Henrickson: “And if the wind kicks up it'll be even worse.”

Dan nodded. Terrible conditions to hunt submarines in. On the other hand, if there was no layer, a sub couldn't hide under it. And high environmental noise tended to blind a submarine. Sound was their only window on their surroundings, unless they wanted to risk poking up a scope or radar head. The moment they did a hunter
could pick them up, visually, by radar, or by electronic surveillance. “It might work to our advantage,” he whispered.

“Yeah…or not.”

Shappell took the floor again. “The officer in tactical command. Commodore Jung.”

The stocky Korean stood fiddling with the ivory holder a moment, looking around. Then handed it to his chief of staff with a lordly gesture, and locked his fingers behind him.

“Welcome to Korea, those new to our waters. First let me say we value having you by our side, both to teach, and to learn. Korea is very grateful for her allies. If I can ever show how much in some way, please let me know.”

Once again Dan noticed how colloquial his speech was. Jung wasn't speaking from notes. He was just winging it. The guy had to be thinking in English. The chief of staff handed the holder back reloaded with a fresh filter tip. Jung bent it to the lighter, took a reflective drag, spoke with exhaled smoke.

“You will learn many new things in what
others
call the Sea of Japan. To us it is our Tong Hae: the Eastern Sea. Our people have sailed it from time immemorial, and on it—a bit to the south, in the Korea Strait—our great admiral Yi Sun-shin defeated his country's invaders through boldness and innovation.

“Boldness and innovation—we too must discover these virtues within ourselves during the next few weeks.

“Three points I wish all to bear in mind. First, all maneuvers must be made safely. We will not lose or injure a single man. We will not risk damage to ships or aircraft. That is our primary operational concern.

“Second, recall that strategy is driven by water conditions. As Mr. Ku said, water and sonar conditions will be tough. In Phase One, all sensors and teams must be tuned to the maximum. Once we begin free play, all assets will have to be deployed with maximum efficiency.

“Third: We've found the progressive barrier strategy works best in the shallow, noisy Tong Hae, especially near the salient that thrusts out from the coast between Kangnung and Changgi-Ap. Therefore my intent at this moment is to implement a succession of barriers, once we have identified and localized the threat and the
Schwerpunkt
”

“The guy reads Clausewitz,” Henrickson whispered. Dan give him a lifted eyebrow, not sure who was surprising him more, Jung or his own second in command—if he
was
second in command. The Korean commodore seemed to be on the ball. Which would, if true, be a welcome change from the last foreign officer Dan had worked closely with, an arrogant and dangerous idiot from the Pakistani Navy.

“Our motto will be
katchi kapshida…
we march ahead together. All right, any other comments or questions?” Jung finished.

Dan jabbed up a hand and stood at Jung's smile. “Commodore, if Imay… Dan Lenson, heading up the TAG team. I'd like to say a few words about the data-collection requirements of this exercise.”

A rain-mist obscured the hills. Dan zipped up the complimentary black portfolio, etched with the ROKN insignia, that the chief of staff, Hwang, had handed him as the briefing broke up. “So, what about it?” he asked his guys. “Pretty standard?”

Wenck said, “Yep. Pretty standard, sir, I'd say.”

“Anything I should have picked up on that I didn't?”

“The ass on that tea girl,” Carpenter said, leering. Dan noticed Rit didn't let an opportunity pass to crack a suggestive remark. It wasn't PC, and it wasn't current Navy policy, either. But a good many sailors, particularly those with a certain number of years in, spoke the same way, at least in male company. What Dan found intriguing was the sideways glance O'Quinn gave him. Disgust? Interesting.

“Just that those sonar ranges are awful short,” Henrickson said. “That's going to make this whole exercise tough. Maybe even dangerous.”

Dan said, “How dangerous?”

“You'll see,” Henrickson said.

O'Quinn said, not looking at either of them, “He means that as the ranges close down, the risk of collision goes up. Pretty much a reciprocal relationship.”

An awkward silence. Dan wondered why. He was missing something. But what?

“And that weather briefing sucked,” Wenck added.

“Yeah, I'd like to have her suck my—”

“Give it a rest, Rit,” Dan told him. “Donnie, you were saying—” “She didn't mention the tropical depressions. Maybe it's early in the season, but I've never been here when wasn't at least a couple storms hanging around the Philippines. If they power up and head west they'll hook right over where we're gonna be operating.”

Dan nodded. “So what now?” he asked Henrickson.

But Carpenter answered. “What now? Shit, sir, we're all gonna head on over to Itaewon. Start at the Rambunctious and slam down some brewskis. Then, who knows. The night, she is young. Like those sweet little brown-sugar mama-sans.” He smacked his lips. “You comin' with us? What happens in Korea, stays in Korea.”

“Thanks, but I'm going back to the hotel and crawl into this op order.”

“Gotta break loose, Skipper. We're gonna be out at sea next three weeks. No beer, no nookie.”

He was tempted, but grinned and shook his head. “Next time—okay? The newbie's got to study up. You guys have one for me. Let's get together at zero-eight for breakfast and talk over the ship assignments, and then—what time's the flight to Pusan?”

They said noon. He shook hands, slapped backs, and moved off.

Then he turned back and beckoned to Henrickson. The analyst peeled off, yelling to the others to wait. “Yeah?”

Dan lowered his voice and turned away from the street. “Two questions, Monty. One: who's in charge of this outfit?”

“Which outfit?”

“Us. TAG Bravo. Is it you or me?”

“You're the one with the silver oak leaves.”

“You're the one with the doctorate.”

Henrickson snapped his head back and forth. “Uh-uh. We're under orders. TAG works looser back in the building, more collegial, but when we're on the road, it's all military. Next question?”

“Okay, that clears things up. Next is, what's the story on this O'Quinn character? Why do Rit and Donnie call him ‘Captain'?”

“Because he's a captain.” He caught Dan's puzzled frown; if O'Quinn was a captain, why was a commander in charge of the team? “A
retired
captain.”

“Oh. Okay… retired. I guess that makes sense. But why do I get the feeling…?”

Henrickson lowered his voice. “I figured everybody knew.”

“I just got here.”

“Remember the
Buchanan?
”

He searched his memory. A guided-missile cruiser, the class before Aegis and the Ticonderogas. Hadn't there been an accident…? “The collision. The guys who were below—”

“Right. The engine room, main space was flooding. Joe was in command. And he lost it. Ordered the hull techs to weld a hatch shut. Saved the ship, but… left six guys on the wrong side of the hatch. He wasn't going anyplace after that. Resigned after the court of inquiry. Lost his wife too. I don't know the story behind that part, but she's history.”

“Holy smoke.” Dan glanced O'Quinn's way. The man stood alone, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from his lip as he studied the mist-wreathed hills. “So what's he doing here?”

“Oh, he knows his stuff. Works for a civilian contractor now. But if we ever get in a tight spot…”

Dan could finish that sentence: don't trust him not to weld the hatch shut on you.

“Anyway, so long.”

“So long, Monty. See you guys in the a.m.”

THE hotel phone's electronic cheep sounded so much like the one that had been in USS
Thomas W. Horn
's at-sea cabin that in the split second before he was awake he relived the whole explosion, the damage, their daylong fight to keep her from going down that sunny afternoon off the Israeli coast. By the time he reoriented and got his eyes locked on the red light that was the only illumination in the darkened room, his heart was pounding and he was bathed in sweat. His upper spine felt as if someone had mauled a log splitter into it.

“Lenson,” he snapped.

“Hey, Dan? Dick Shappell. With CNFK?” He sounded taken aback at Dan's tone. “Sorry to get you up.”