Thunder in the Morning Calm (12 page)

A testy game of high stakes, such high-speed maneuvering through the skies made for an aerial powder keg that could blow at any moment.

“Werewolf. Bobcat. Here they come.” The voice boomed through the plane’s air-to-air radio control and into Jacob’s headset.

“Roger that, Bobcat. Got ‘em on my radar. Looks like a couple of ‘em. Same drill. Hang on. Let’s get out of this bank and break for the ship.”

“I’m with ya, boss,” Morrison said. “I feel the need for speed!”

North Korean MiG-21s
on patrol over the Yellow Sea

L
ieutenant No Chul-Su, Korean People’s Air Force, eyed the two inbound American fighters on his cockpit radar screen. The jets were
rocketing toward the coastline, but in the excited rush of the moment, he could not determine their intentions.

He switched his broadcast radio to international frequency. “American F-18s! You are violating the sovereign airspace of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Turn back or you will be fired on!”

US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea

D
id you hear that sucker?” Morrison asked. “Yeah, I heard him,” Jacobs said. “Those MiGs have screwed-up radar. Let’s get the heck out of here. Set course two-seven-zero degrees and hit afterburners … On my mark.”

“Roger that, boss. Setting course two-seven-zero degrees.”

North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea

N
o response from the Americans. Had they heard him? They were banking, slightly. But were they turning to fly back out to sea? Or were they altering their course from Namp’o to Pyongyang? At this speed, they could drop a concussion bomb or a laser-guided missile on the palace of Dear Leader within minutes!

There was no room for error. He could take no chances. He had been trained for instances like this, and when in doubt, he was called to defend the Motherland!

He had no choice. He reached down and activated the plane’s fire-control radar. Then he reached for the “missile launch” button.

US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea

B
eep-beep-beep-beep
Beep-beep-beep-beep

Beep-beep-beep-beep

The cacophonous rapid beeping drew Commander Jacobs’s eyes to the missile-lock alarm.

“Skipper, he’s locked on!” Morrison yelled.

“I see that!” Jacobs said. “On my mark! Hit afterburner!”

“Roger that.”

“Two … one … now!” Jacobs pushed down the plane’s throttle, and the jet’s afterburner kicked in, firing the Hornet through the skies with a missile-like burst.

“Skipper, we got a missile in the air! Running up our rear! Right now!”

“Okay! Follow me! Climb to the sun!”

“With ya, Skipper!”

Jacobs pulled back on the stick and the Super Hornet climbed at a steep angle. He steered the nose straight into the overhead sun. The rays were so bright that he could barely make out the climbing altitude on his altimeter: 10,500 feet … 11,000 feet … 11,500 … The idea was to pull the heat-seeking missile into the sun’s rays.

“You still with me, Bobcat?”

“Still with ya, Werewolf, just off your wing. But that missile’s still closing!”

“Okay okay … it hasn’t decided which one of us it’s gonna lock on. Feed range updates!”

“Range three hundred yards and closing, sir … Range … two hundred fifty yards … range two hundred yards … Missile closing fast, sir!”

Jacobs glanced at his altimeter: 13,000 feet … 13,500 feet.

“Okay, stick with me, Bobcat. Don’t panic. On my mark, break hard right and launch chaff and flares. I’ll break left. Got it?”

“Got it, skipper! On your mark.”

“Range!”

“Range one hundred yards …”

“Stand by … be ready …”

“Range seventy-five yards … Range fifty yards and closing … Skipper?”

“Hang on …”

“Range twenty-five yards …”

“Now! Break! Break!” Jacobs bulled the stick to the left and fired chaff and flares out the rear of the jet. The jet pulled hard to the left,
like a peeling stripped off a giant banana. Powerful g-forces pushed him back into his seat. He looked back and saw an explosion lighting the blue sky.

“Dear Jesus, please not Morrison.”

North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea

L
ieutenant No looked up through the cockpit glass. The bright explosion several thousand feet above his head meant a direct strike! His wingman, Lieutenant Lee Ung-Pyong, flying about twenty yards off his right, had a wide grin on his face and flashed a thumbs-up.

The adrenaline flowing through No’s body had taken control. His hands shook and his mind rushed with a thousand thoughts. He had just destroyed a vaunted fighter jet of the United States Navy!

In a matter of hours, he would become a hero of the Korean people! He, and he alone, had now sent a message to the cowboy fliers from the aircraft carriers to think twice about taunting the coastline of the Motherland. Soon, he would be sitting in the presence of Dear Leader himself, receiving all the accolades that he had earned and deserved for this act of heroism. This would be hailed as the greatest North Korean military victory since long before his birth, when the Navy captured the American spy ship the USS
Pueblo
.

Indeed, this would be an even greater feat than the
Pueblo
. For there, the Americans were only spying. But here, the Americans had invaded the airspace of the DPRK with hostile jet warplanes. What a difference a matter of seconds had made. His star would rise faster than a blazing comet! He would be immortalized as the pilot who single-handedly saved the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.

US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea

T
ruman Control. Viper Leader.” Jacobs had switched to the direct frequency for the ship. “We’ve been fired upon by North Korean MiGs!
Repeat, we’ve been fired upon. Evasive maneuvers taken. Status of Viper Two uncertain.”

“Viper Leader. Truman. Copy that. Damage report?”

“Truman. Viper Leader. Uncertain. I’m fine. Haven’t located Viper Two.”

“Viper Leader. Truman. Roger that. You are authorized to release weapons and use force to defend yourself. Repeat. You are authorized to use force to defend yourself.”

“Truman. Viper Leader. Roger that. Understood. Understand upgraded rules of engagement. Authorized to use force.”

Jacobs armed his missiles and looked back over the horizon for a parachute. A staticky crackling came through his headset.

“Werewolf! Bobcat! You okay?”

“Bill!” Jacobs felt himself exhale at the radio call from his junior partner. “Thank God! You okay?”

“I’m fine. That missile hit one of our flares and blew. I got bounced around a bit, but I’m airborne.”

“You need to head back to the ship?”

“Negative. Unless you order me back,” Morrison said.

“You up for a fight?”

“Let’s go get ‘em. I don’t appreciate getting shot at.”

“Good!” Jacobs felt himself grinning. “Then let’s go kill a Commie!”

“Sounds like a plan, boss! I’m right behind you!”

Jacobs pulled back on the stick again, turning the plane back toward the last known location of the MiGs.

North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea

K
aech’on Control. Red Vulture One.” Lieutenant No radioed his home air base, located fifty miles north of the national capital of Pyongyang. Kaech’on was the headquarters for the First Combat Air Command, which was responsible for defense of the capital city.

“Red Vulture One. Kaech’on Control. Go ahead.”

“Kaech’on Control. Red Vulture One. Be advised we have engaged
enemy aircraft … US Navy F/A-18s violating DPRK airspace. I ordered them to turn back. They refused. I fired. Advised, one enemy jet destroyed per visual confirmation.”

“Red Vulture One. Kaech’on Control. Copy that. Return to base.”

“Kaech’on Control. Red Vulture One. Roger that. Setting course for home base. We’re on our way.”

“Red Vulture One! Red Vulture Two! Second enemy fighter is on radar!”

“What?” No looked down and saw the same two blips on his radar screen that his wingman had just reported. How could this be? He had seen the explosion himself! And now, somehow, two American jets were on his tail!

Beep-beep-beep-beep

Beep-beep-beep-beep

Beep-beep-beep-beep

The missile-lock alarm cut a panicky static throughout his cockpit. The Americans had locked on to him! A cold sweat washed over his body.

“Red Vulture Two! They’ve locked on to us! Hit afterburners.”

US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea

R
ange to target, two miles,” Jacobs said, his eyes focused on his fire-control radar and his right thumb resting on the missile-fire button. “Morrison, I’ll take the one on the left. You take the one on the right. Copy that?”

“Copy that, boss,” Morrison said from the cockpit of his F/A-18. “Ready to fire on your command.”

“Roger … on my mark … fire!” Jacobs pressed the missile-fire button. The plane jumped, and less than a second later an AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missile pasted a white streak of smoke through the skies at two-and-a-half times the speed of sound. Off to the right, an identical smoke streak trailed a Sidewinder shooting out from Morrison’s plane.

“Let’s see if you can get out of this one, suckers!”

North Korean MiG-21s
over the Yellow Sea

R
ed Vulture One! … Missile in air! … Check that … two heat-seeking missiles on our tails!”

“Red Vulture Two! Pull up! Pull up! Into the sun!” Lieutenant No grabbed the stick on the MiG-21 and pulled back frantically, causing the jet to point upward. “Hit afterburners!” The plane shot up into the sky, climbing like a rocket. “Prepare to fire chaff!”

US Navy F/A-18s
over the Yellow Sea

C
ommander Jacobs craned his head skyward and squinted against the brightness as he watched the two MiG-21 “Fishbeds” rocket upward toward the sun, trying to replicate the same evasive maneuver that he and Morrison had just pulled off by the skin of their collective teeth.

“Range to target, 100 yards! … Range to target, fifty yards!”

The “Fishbeds” — as MiG-21s are referred to by American fighter pilots — suddenly broke in different directions, launching chaff and flares into the sky.

But the Sidewinders honed onto their afterburners.

BOOM!

The first jet exploded in a fireball. Then the second Sidewinder ran up the tail of the other Fishbed.

BOOM!

Twin fireballs lit the sky as the flaming hulks of what moments ago had been sleek fighter jets dropped through the air.

“Truman Control. Viper Leader. We have a confirmed kill on two MiG-21 Fishbeds. Repeat, confirm kill on two MiG-21s.”

“Viper Leader. Truman Control. Roger that. Confirm two MiG-21s shot down. You are instructed to return for debriefing.”

“Truman Control. Viper Leader. Roger that. We’re on our way.”

Kim Yong-nam Military Prison Camp

T
he hard trunk of the old birch tree pressed into her back. The rope was cutting into her arms and wrists. Around her waist and feet was more rope, and the rope around her chest and abdomen was so tight she could barely breathe. In a few hours, they would shoot her. She would die against this old tree that she had admired for its natural beauty. Thinking this, her heart raced and tears slid down her face.

Death loomed. Her death. She knew it. She thought of her mother, who had taught her in secret, away from the prying eyes of the Communists, to always do what was right and not to worry or fear. She knew her mother would be proud. For she had done the right thing. She had tried to save the life of the dying old man, even if it now meant facing a firing squad.

She closed her eyes and tried whispering verses from the New Testament she had kept hidden in her government-issued apartment. “In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

Reciting these verses from the first letter of Peter brought a sense of calm that cascaded from her head down. She smiled and began repeating the passage.

“In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief …”

Tongy’mak Municipal Airport
South Korea

T
he man watched the red-and-white Cessna 150 circle the west end of the runway, then line up for final approach.

Another slow morning, he thought. Just four takeoffs and three landings on this Friday, counting the Cessna that was about to touch down. No flight plans filed for the afternoon. The larger airports up the coast, at Samcheok and Donghae and Gangneung, had nearly driven him out of business.

Kim Jung-man knew that business was stagnant everywhere. Flight lessons, which accounted for more than half of his income in the previous year, had been in free fall the past few months. Many of his clients had moved their planes to the airports up the coast. Others, unable to afford the maintenance cost of keeping a private aircraft flightworthy, had sold their planes or, in some cases, simply abandoned them. The prolonged recession had crippled his charter service, driving customers to commercial air, their automobiles, or mass transit.

And now, faced with an onslaught of calls from impatient creditors, both business and personal, Kim Jung-man was being forced to make some hard decisions about the future of the airport.