Thunder in the Morning Calm (19 page)

Jackrabbit and Kim the younger carried the crate to the aircraft. They passed the wooden crate up to Kim the elder, who pulled the crate into the aircraft. Gunner noticed the
S
painted in red on the side of the crate.

“Let’s get another one,” Gunner said.

“Okay,” Jung-Hoon said, and they stepped into the back of the panel
truck and lifted the crate, which had a
W
painted in red on it. The crate was not too heavy, perhaps fifty pounds. They quickly brought it out of the van onto the asphalt tarmac.

Jackrabbit and the two Mr. Kims formed a human assembly line — on the tarmac, on the wing, and in the aircraft. Passing the second crate up through their outstretched arms proved to be an easy task.

“One more,” Jackrabbit said.

“I saw it,” Gunner said. “We’ll get it.”

He motioned Jung-Hoon back to the truck. “We gotta hurry,” he said.

The third crate, slightly larger than the other two, had the letters
CRRC
painted on it. “I have this end,” Gunner said. “Okay. Lift.”

The third crate was heavier than the other two, but they quickly got it loaded into the aircraft.

“Y’all ready to take off?” Jackrabbit asked.

“Are you ready, Commander?”

Gunner savored the moment, gazing out over the small airstrip, relishing this, his last possible glimpse of a free nation, knowing that they may not return. At that moment, a car, a blue Hyundai, was speeding down the road, headed toward the airport. Suddenly, blue lights flashed from the car’s roof.

“Police!” Kim the elder said. “Probably nothing. But you better take off.”

Kim the younger dashed to his panel truck, started it, and squealed off the tarmac.

“Let’s go!” Gunner yelled from the plane. He strapped into the back jump seat, just beside the crates. Jung-Hoon jumped into the cockpit and cranked the engine. Jackrabbit climbed in.

The propeller turned about ten times, then stopped.

“Come on, baby,” Gunner said. He looked out the window. The police car had disappeared. The panel truck was speeding around the end of the building.

The single-engine prop wheezed and coughed, and the propeller spun twice and stopped.

Silence.

Jung-Hoon cranked the engine again. Finally, pay dirt! The deep, steady roar of the spinning prop whined in the air. Jung-Hoon pushed
down on the throttle, and the Bonanza began rolling. The plane started its quick taxi toward the west end of the runway, toward giant snow-capped mountains.

Gunner looked back at the terminal building as they rolled. So far, nothing.

A moment later, the plane reached the west end of the runway. Jung-Hoon did a quick U-turn and nosed the plane back to the east. “Ready for takeoff,” he said and pushed down hard on the throttle. The roar of the single engine intensified. The plane shook, then started rolling, picking up speed.

Off to the left, as the plane rushed down the runway, the doors to the brick terminal flew open. Two blue-clad Korean police officers ran out, waving their arms.

“Looks like they’ve got something on their mind,” Jackrabbit said.

“I do not see anything,” Jung-Hoon said as the Bonanza raced down the runway, past the officers, and nosed up into the air. A second later, the plane reached two hundred feet and kept climbing to the east.

Gunner looked back at the small terminal, now shrinking to postage-stamp size. Blue and red lights on the police car swirled in circles.

“Must have something to do with the weapons,” Jackrabbit said.

“I’ve got a bad feeling you’re right,” Gunner said.

The plane climbed out of the shadows of the mountains and into the late-afternoon sunshine, the bright orange ball of the sun behind them. Soon the deep blue waters of the Sea of Japan spread out in front of them.

They crossed over the shoreline, flying to the east. The plane kept climbing, then began banking to the right, slightly, toward the southeast, headed toward its official destination in Japan.

“Okay, we just flew out of South Korean airspace,” Jung-Hoon said.

“How much daylight left?” Gunner asked.

“A little over an hour,” Jung-Hoon said. “Barely enough to get to our ditch location.”

The plane kept climbing.

“Okay,” Jung-Hoon said, “we will be losing power soon. Doublecheck those boxes to make sure everything is secure. Don’t want things sliding around. And get them ready to unload. Once we get down on the water, I cannot take off again.”

“Good idea,” Jackrabbit said. He moved into the back area with Gunner. “Pass me that crowbar, Commander.” He pointed at a crowbar taped to the box marked with the red
S
.

Gunner reached over, pulled the duct tape off, and passed the crowbar to Jackrabbit.

“Box with the
S
is our supply box,” Jackrabbit said. “The box with the
W
is our weapons box. Let’s start with the supply box.” He popped open the top of the crate.

“Bonanza Whiskey-Four-Niner. Gangneung Control.”

A voice came over the loudspeaker in English, with a heavy Korean accent. “Set course for zero-niner-niner degrees. Climb to five thousand feet. Maintain until further instruction.”

Jung-Hoon clicked on the microphone. “Gangneung Control. Whiskey-Four-Niner. Setting course for zero-niner-niner. Climb to five thousand. Await further instructions. Roger that.” Jung-Hoon looked back over his shoulder as the plane turned slightly. “I take it they included the wetsuits?”

Jackrabbit held up a black rubber wetsuit and examined it. “Looks about your size, boss,” he said to Gunner

“We’d better get suited up quickly,” Jung-Hoon said. “That water is freezing.” He looked over his shoulder. “Commander, change places with me and let me get suited up first.”

“You want me in the cockpit?” Gunner swallowed hard. “I know nothing about flying.”

“Do not worry, Commander. Set on automatic pilot. Not enough room for three in the back.”

“Okay.” Gunner exhaled. He crouched and slipped himself between the two cockpit seats and nestled his fanny in the right seat, opposite Jung-Hoon, who then slipped into the back.

Gunner watched the plane’s altimeter change: 3,500 feet, 3,750 feet, 4,000 feet. The plane remained in a climb, on automatic pilot, with Jung-Hoon in the back and away from the controls. This did not resonate well in the pit of Gunner’s stomach. He surveyed the seascape below. A few ships, miles apart, cut through the water in the late-afternoon sunshine, but from four thousand feet above the surface, the water seemed calm. From the back of the plane, short zipping noises cut through the roar of the engine.

Jung-Hoon, now covered in black rubber except for his face, which was partially covered with a black shoe-polish goo, slipped through the space between the two front seats and back into the cockpit. “You had better get your wetsuit on, Commander. We will be in the water soon.”

“Got it,” Gunner said. He moved to the back of the cabin, where Jackrabbit, also in a black wetsuit, was applying grease to his face.

“Your wetsuit’s right there, Commander,” Jackrabbit said. “Better hurry.”

“Right,” Gunner said. He started with the suit inside out, put his feet in first, then peeled up the rubber, making sure it was plenty tight. A few minutes later, he zipped the suit up under his chin.

“Here. Paint your face. It’ll help keep your face warm if you go in the water. Plus, it’ll make it harder for the enemy to find a target.”

“Got it,” Gunner said as he started smearing black grease on his face.

Jackrabbit opened the largest crate, the one with the letters
CRRC
painted on it, for Combat Rubber Raiding Craft. Inside was a model FC 470 manufactured by the Zodiac Group for the Navy SEALs and for Marines. “Perfect,” he said. “Sure need it on a mission like this one.”

“Is the Zodiac ready?” Jung-Hoon asked.

“It’s here. Got a CO
₂
tank to inflate it. Got the motor. Let’s hope that sucker inflates before the plane sinks.”

“Weapons?”

Jackrabbit opened the
W
box. “Rifles, pistols, bullets, grenades. Everything the commander bought.”

“Supplies?”

Jackrabbit checked the
S
box again. “GPS device. MREs. Clothes. Thermal tent. Wire cutters, et cetera. All here.”

The radio sqawked again. “Bonanza Whiskey-Four-Niner. Gangneung Control.”

“Gangneung Control. Whiskey-Four-Niner.”

“Bonanza Whiskey-Four-Niner. Contact Pohang Control on frequency two-one-eight.”

“Gangneung Control. Whiskey-Four-Niner. Contacting Pohang Control on frequency two-one-eight.”

“Whiskey-Four-Niner. Have a nice day.”

Jung-Hoon switched to frequency 218. “Pohang Control. Bonanza Whiskey-Four-Niner is with you at five thousand feet. Course zero-niner-niner degrees. Destination, Hamada, Japan.”

“Bonanza Whiskey-Four-Niner. Pohang Control. Roger that and welcome aboard. Maintain course zero-niner-niner degrees at five thousand.”

“Pohang Control. Roger that. Whiskey-Four-Niner maintaining five thousand feet at course zero-niner-niner.”

A few moments later, Jung-Hoon asked, “Do you gentlemen like riding roller coasters?”

“Used to ride ‘em at King’s Dominion near Richmond when I was a kid,” Gunner said. “Loved ‘em.”

“Strap in. I’m getting ready to take us down.”

Gunner sat in the jump seat and strapped on his shoulder harness.
Clicks
from latching seat belts reverberated throughout the plane.

“Everyone ready?” Jung-Hoon asked.

“Ready,” Jackrabbit said.

“Ready,” Gunner said, though his heart pounded like a jackhammer within his wetsuit.

“Okay,” Jackrabbit said, “here we go.”

“Pohang Control. Bonanza Whiskey-Four-Niner. Still at five thousand and course zero-niner-niner. Be advised we are having electrical and engine trouble. I am concerned that we may lose power.”

“Whiskey-Four-Niner. Pohang Control. Copy that. Do you want to set a course back to Pohang?”

“Pohang Control. I think we need to set down. I don’t know if we can get close enough in for a glide landing.”

“Whiskey-Four-Niner. Pohang Control. Copy that. Right now, you are still closer to Korea than Japan. If you have to make emergency water landing, you are better off closer in to shore.”

“Pohang Control. Roger that. Request permission to set course for emergency landing at Pohang.”

“Whiskey-Four-Niner. Go to ten thousand if possible. Set course for two-five-three degrees to Pohang.”

“Roger that. Whiskey-Four-Niner is climbing to ten thousand, setting course for two-five-three.” Jung-Hoon pulled back on the stick. The plane began to climb. He flipped off the radio and flipped off the transponder. “I just turned off our transponder. Let me get us on the right course, and then I’ll drop us out of here.”

He executed a wide loop to the left. The compass showed the plane changing directions: 099 degrees … 085 … 060 … 040 … 000 … 350 …

“There, that should do it,” Jung-Hoon said. “Three-five-zero degrees sets us on a course slightly to the west of due north. Okay, hold it there.” The nose of the Bonanza locked straight out at three-five-zero. “I’ll call them and we’ll make a little dive. This will make it more difficult for them to track us via radar. He flipped the radio back on. “Pohang! Whiskey-Four-Niner! I have total engine failure! Losing power! Losing control of the aircraft! Whiskey-Four-Niner! Mayday! Mayday! Whiskey-Four-Niner declaring emergency!”

“Whiskey-Four-Niner! This is Pohang! Copy that. Declaring emergency. Whiskey-Four —”

Jung-Hoon shut off the radio, silencing the air traffic controller midstream. “Okay, Commander. Let’s see if this is as much fun as your roller coaster at King’s Dominion.”

Jung-Hoon pushed down on the stick. The plane nosed down, at first into a shallow angle, then at a steep angle. Gunner’s stomach flew into his throat. The plane shook as it dropped like a rock. Gunner looked over Jung-Hoon’s shoulder. A wall of blue-green water rushed up at them … faster … faster …

Gunner clung to a handle bolted inside the cockpit. The altimeter kept dropping: 3,500 … 3,000 … 2,500 … 2,000 … He had not done much praying in the last couple of days, but at this point, instinct took over. “Jesus, help us!” … 1,500 … 1,000 …

“Hang on!” Jung-Hoon shouted.

The plane dropped like an out-of-control roller coaster. Gunner saw Jung-Hoon pull up on the stick.

“Respond! Respond!” Jung-Hoon said.

… 750 … 500 … 250 …

The rotation of the altimeter slowed, and the Bonanza’s nose seemed to come up as the plane’s angle flattened out.

… 200 … 150 …100 …

Gunner looked out. They were still racing at the water, but at a shallower angle now.

… 75 … 50 …

The Bonanza leveled off and now flew just over the water, so low they seemed to be skimming the waves.

“Thank God,” Jung-Hoon muttered. “I am going to have to bring us down a little lower to make sure we stay below shore radar.” He feathered down on the stick just a touch.

… 50 … 35 … 25 …

“Okay, that puts us at twenty-five feet over the water,” Jung-Hoon said. “That’s a risky altitude at this speed, but that should keep us below their radar.”

Pohang Airport Control Tower
South Korea

H
e declared an emergency and went into a loop to head back here. When he reached three-five-five degrees, he started losing altitude.” The air traffic controller kept his eyes on his radar screen as he explained this to his supervisor, who was peering over his shoulder. “At that point he reported power failure and continued dropping. We lost communication with him, and we lost him off the radar screen.”

“Pass me your microphone,” the supervisor said. “Open emergency frequency to all planes.”

“Yes, sir.” He passed the microphone back to the supervisor.

“To all planes in the area. This is Pohang Control. Be advised that we have lost contact with a yellow Beechcraft Bonanza en route to Hamada, Japan. Call letters Romeo-Hotel-Xray-Whiskey-Four-Niner. The plane disappeared off our radar two minutes ago. Coordinates thirty-six degrees, thirty-four minutes, eight seconds north latitude, one hundred thirty-one degrees, two minutes, fourteen seconds east longitude. Repeat, all planes in the area, be on the lookout for yellow …”