Dmz this is the future o.., p.20
DMZ: This is the Future of War (Future War Book 7), page 20
“Your Excellency, we have only Lieutenant Yun and eight men upstairs and the four you see here, including myself. We estimate between thirty and fifty troops outside, armed with heavy-caliber weapons, probably including grenade launchers or demolition charges. They seem to be consolidating their…”
Shin could contain himself no longer. “You people chose this place! I would assume you chose it because it could be defended in the event of an attack like this! What the hell were you thinking?”
Kim let the outburst run its course. “Mr. President, I doubt the Captain personally had the final say in the decision to hold the signing ceremony here.”
It was the second time Kim had put the South Korean President in his place, and he stood, making it clear he did not intend to allow it to happen a third time. “I wish to speak with the commanding officer of the troops outside you say are ‘attacking’ us. I have nothing but your word, the word of a North Korean officer, that any of what you say is true. For all I know, you killed my officers upstairs in a cowardly ambush in order to kidnap and hold me hostage!”
Madam Kim slapped the table, causing everyone in the room to jump, not least Ri. But when she spoke, it was in a low and dangerous tone. “Mr. President, if you accuse my protection officers, then by inference, you accuse me. Be more careful with your words.”
The color in Shin’s neck rose into his face again and he leaned forward, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. “I will not be hectored by the illegitimate leader of a bankrupt State! I can see it all now – this was your plan all along!”
The North Korean leader turned to Ri. “Comrade Captain, the honorable President is clearly overcome by the danger of our situation. Please remove him to a safe place and ensure he receives the closest of protection.”
Ri was not slow on the uptake. He stood to attention and slapped his heels together, then snapped his fingers at one of his men. The man responded immediately and took the elbow of the South Korean President.
“Get your filthy paws off me!” the President yelled. A second agent stepped in to help the first and they guided the South Korean politician from the room, protesting all the way.
When the door to the stronghold was closed again, Madam Kim took a deep breath. “Thank you, Comrade Commander. That was most regrettable.”
“Yes, your Excellency.”
“It seems we must swerve around a few cattle on the road to peace.”
Ri smiled at the image. Then the grim reality of their situation returned to him.
“Please continue your report.”
“Yes, your Excellency. I was about to say the chances of escape are…”
There was a hurried knock and one of his men put a head around the door. “Comrade Commander, there is…” The man saw his Supreme Leader behind Ri and his words stuttered to a halt.
“Speak, man,” Ri ordered impatiently.
“A South Korean officer is approaching under cover of a white flag. He is asking to speak with our commanding officer.”
Madam Kim spoke before Ri could turn.
“That is you, Captain. See what they want.”
“Why would she be headed south, toward the dam?” Snake asked after he had squared the Shikaka away and repacked their backpack. They had tracked the fleeing truck for a few minutes then followed the narrow road it was taking to its end, where it ended at the Peace Dam. “I thought it was a tourist site?”
He was determined to continue in pursuit. Looking at their map, Snake saw that they had covered nearly half the distance down the Bukhan River to the dam. To their east, the stolen South Korean truck with their ally in it was headed the same way. They were on the two arms of a V, headed toward the pointy end.
“A North Korean saboteur maybe?” Kronk asked. “What do bad guys usually want to do with dams? Blow them up.”
“What’s downstream from there?”
“Chuncheon. Big farming center in central South Korea. A few billion giga-liters of water would probably mess it up real good.”
Snake threw the backpack over one shoulder. “Nah. Whoever is in that truck, the crossroads was their mission, not the dam.”
“Beats me, then. Maybe they got friends there.”
Snake had put his earbud in again and set the radio into ‘scan and lock’ mode to pick up any stray transmissions, friendly or unfriendly. He didn’t want to round a bend and bump into another North Korean patrol. He pointed south. “Well, I say we go find out.”
Kronk didn’t move. “Or, we could stay here, run a few close air support ops with our Shikaka while we wait for an evac, and not get killed by whoever is at that dam.”
Snake gave him a shove that got him moving. “There is a party going on downriver, Kronk. I never miss a good party.”
Colonel Cho ‘Keys’ Ban was starting to think his entire day had been about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Over Panmunjom, then in the sights of a Chinese-made Sky Arrow, and now back in the cockpit of a replacement Boromae fighter on what he knew to be a suicide mission.
He knew this for a fact, because it was a mission he had spent ten years training himself and other pilots for. And praying it would never be flown.
He had landed his crippled aircraft at Yanggu airfield and immediately been ordered back to Osan by chopper because as long as he was alive and combat capable, he was the most qualified officer in the South Korean Air Force to lead the coming attack.
The target was a military facility in Yongdoktong, 309 miles northeast of Osan Air Base, in North Pyongan Province in the far northeast of North Korea.
Yongdoktong was known to South Korea intelligence as the main storage site for North Korea’s stockpile of undeployed nuclear warheads. Buried 200 feet under a hillside in bunkers lined with steel reinforced concrete ten feet thick, there was nothing in the South Korean inventory that could penetrate the bunkers and destroy the weapons.
But South Korea had long ago decided it did not need to destroy North Korea’s nuclear arsenal. It simply had to bury it.
If successful the attack would not save South Korea from the five or more nuclear weapons that North Korea already had deployed on mobile ground launchers and submarines. But it would ensure that if North Korea wanted to access the 20 or more warheads they had stockpiled for rapid deployment on reserve systems, it would take them days – perhaps even weeks – to dig them out.
Keys’ Boromae bumped up and down in warm air over sunlit waves as he led his two-plane element on a dogleg 400-mile course that would take them far out into the Yellow Sea west of the DMZ, before they turned sharply northeast toward the coast of North Korea, west of the North Korean capital Pyongyang.
In planning the attack they had considered, and trialed, multiple strike packages: including not just the Boromae, but also South Korean F-35 Panther stealth fighters and F-15K Slam Eagles. The F-35, less maneuverable than the nimble Boromae, could get to the target undetected, but not maneuver through the hills and ridges around it. The larger F-15K could carry more weapons but was easier to detect, and its standoff ordnance could not be launched from an angle that gave it a clean strike. They had also trialed adding multiple Boromae aircraft to the package to increase the chances of getting a bomb on target, but the more aircraft, the greater the likelihood of being detected, and no matter how many times they had simulated it or flown the mission in training, it had only confirmed that the best chance of mission success came from an attack by a single low-flying Boromae, protected by a decoy flight of sacrificial aircraft whose only job was to attract the fighter cover over the target and draw it away.
Keys had volunteered for the mission because it could be critical to the survival of his country. The flight leader of the decoy flight had volunteered too, but Keys was not entirely certain of her motives.
When he had returned to Osan he had seen the pilot arguing with the commander of the US 65th Aggressor Squadron. He’d already been briefed on the nuclear site strike mission by the commander of 35-7 Buddy Wing and had requested this specific pilot and their aircraft be added to the mission package.
Walking up to the two US squadron officers, he heard one of them shouting from a good 20 yards away.
“…then release a damn helicopter to me and I’ll fly it in there and pick him up. That’s the second machine we lost today and this time it’s one of ours! I saw him punch out. He’s still alive dammit, Salt!”
Yes. It was exactly who he had thought it was. The abrasive Australian.
Keys approached them quietly, listening to the argument a minute or more before they noticed him.
“Is there a problem here, Captain?” Keys asked the US officer.
“No problem, Colonel Ban,” the tall American officer said, with a forced smile. “I was just explaining to Lieutenant O’Hare that there are no assets available to search for downed aviators right now. If they are even alive.”
“Snake is alive,” the Australian growled. “I saw his chute.”
“This is the man you lost escorting my ground attack mission?” Keys asked. He’d been briefed on the results of the attack on the helo ride to Osan. “I am sorry.”
“Yes. With respect, not your concern, Colonel,” Salt told him.
Keys nodded. “Can we speak in private, Captain Carlyle?”
He took the American officer by the arm and led him away, leaving the Australian fuming.
When they had gone a short distance, they stopped. “Captain, would I be right in guessing that pilot is among your best officers?”
Salt looked over at O’Hare. He could see she was not finished with him, and she showed no sign of departing the scene until she was. He sighed. “Not my best officer by a long shot, Captain. But she is the best damn F-36 pilot I have.”
“Captain Carlyle, I have need of your ‘best damned pilot’. I cannot share the full details, but I have been ordered to fly a deep penetration mission and I need a wingman to cover my six. I saw that pilot in action in our Red Flag exercises. I want her on my wing.”
“I don’t know, Colonel Ban.”
Keys stiffened. “I can assure you, this mission has the highest priority. I …”
Salt put a hand on his arm. “Don’t misunderstand me. I am more than happy to release her. But are you sure you don’t want a more … suitable …”
Keys looked across and saw the fire in the woman’s eyes. He knew what he wanted.
“No, Captain. I don’t need just any pilot. I need that one, and four Ghost Bats.”
“That will require a formal request to the CO of the 65th.”
“Already done and verbally approved. The authority is probably waiting in your inbox. But I wanted to ask you personally.”
Salt shrugged. “Very well. I’ll tell her.”
“No,” Keys said. “It will be a very dangerous mission. She is an ally, not a citizen of the Republic. And as I understand, she is a private contractor too. I will ask her myself.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it, Colonel,” Salt said, looking relieved to have a way out. As he moved away, Keys walked back toward the Australian.
“Hey, you!” she was calling to Salt. “We are not done.”
“Lieutenant O’Hare,” Keys said, blocking her view. “Can we talk?”
He sympathized with the loss of her wingman and then explained his need. Explained, to the extent he could, why he wanted her watching his six. He explained that he had agonized over who to assign to join him on such a dangerous mission, but having personally seen her performance during the Red Flag exercises, he had been sure.
“In our own rehearsals, we used a flight of Boromaes, but the simulation often resulted in the loss of several pilots from the decoy flight. An F-36 with drone wingmen provides the necessary distraction, but with less risk.”
She’d listened. He couldn’t read her expression, as it seemed caught somewhere between residual frustration and skepticism.
“It is a mission from which it is highly probable we will not return,” he said at last. “I must be honest.”
Her expression relaxed. “No, I get it. You don’t want to risk your own guys, so you’re asking me.”
“No, that is not it at all. The importance of this mission…”
“That’s all right,” she interrupted. “I get it.”
“No, please, Lieutenant. Seriously, I …”
She put a finger on her lips. “It’s cool, Captain. I’m in.”
“… want the best possible … sorry? You agree?”
“Yes, Colonel. But there is one condition.”
Keys folded his arms. “I am not used to having to negotiate with junior officers.”
“Good, because this isn’t a negotiation. You want me covering your six, you will use your influence to get an evacuation flight organized for our downed man. My pilot’s emergency beacon activated when he punched out, we know exactly where he went down.”
It was a fair request. In effect, a life for a life. “You have my word.”
Her face was suddenly calm. She gave Keys a very big, rather insincere smile. “So, exactly how deep is this deep penetration mission?”
He’d been completely honest with O’Hare. Most likely they would not even make the target, or if they did, they’d be shot down by North Korean anti-air defenses around Yongdoktong. Because between Osan and the target was a sea bristling with Chinese anti-air missile cruisers, a North Korean coastline covered by Russian-made S-300 surface to air missile systems, and hilltops surrounding the target, bristling with low-level air defenses.
But he’d been true to his word. He’d used his personal influence to guarantee that as soon as the situation in the air over the DMZ had stabilized, a South Korea Air Force search and rescue mission would be dispatched to look for the American aviator.
For the hundredth time since taking off, Keys ran his eyes across his instrument panel, visually confirmed his altitude, checked that O’Hare was welded to his wing in her Kingsnake and studied the map of radar signatures that was constantly updating on his threat display.
And then he ran his eyes over the photograph he had taped to the instrument panel above the Boromae’s single panoramic multifunction screen. A photo of twin girls, in matching outfits and genuine Rayban sunglasses their father Keys had bought for them.
Twenty miles to their west, off the coast of Dalian, was a Chinese Renhei missile cruiser, radar up and continuously sniffing the sky over the Yellow Sea. To his east were land-based North Korean radar installations on the coast west of Pyongyang and Chongju.
O’Hare had suggested that she carry a mixed anti-radar and anti-air missile loadout on her machine. But he had decided against it. Any attempt to destroy Chinese or North Korean radar installations would simply alert them to the possibility of an attack on Yongdoktong, so Keys would have to ‘thread the needle’, flying under and around the enemy radar coverage, risking discovery every single second of his ingress.
Theirs were not stealth aircraft. Their American allies would not risk such top-secret technology so deep inside enemy territory in case it was shot down and the wreckage delivered to China. But the Boromae and Kingsnake both had a low radar cross-section, for non-stealth fighters, and his own aircraft had been stripped of everything on it that could give a radar return, including unused weapons hardpoints.
The only weapon hanging from the belly of his Boromae was a single 5,000 lb. GBU-28 ‘bunker buster’ laser and GPS guided bomb.
Keys ran his routine check of instruments, sky, sea and photograph again. As they approached the waypoint at which they needed to turn toward North Korean airspace, he waggled his wings. The Australian was observing complete radio silence, flying high above him with her eyes glued on his aircraft, turning in perfect unison as he brought them around on a heading for the next waypoint, a hundred miles distant and about 10 miles northwest of the target. The afternoon sun fell behind him now, lighting his instrument panel in golden light.
The only way to hit the tunnel entrances leading down to the bunkers was to come in from the north, down a narrow river valley that wound like a snake. North Korea had chosen the site for exactly that reason. It could not be attacked with conventional bombs delivered from standoff range. Cruise missiles were not nimble enough to navigate the twists and turns of the river valley. The five miles of the river valley northwest and southeast of the target bristled with radar and anti-air defenses.
Keys knew from the hundred practice runs over similar South Korean territory that he’d made training for this day, that rounding the last bend in the river – if he reached that far – he would have a half-second in which to mark his night-dark target and release his bomb, before he had to throw his machine onto a wing and bank hard right, clawing over a nearby ridge to point his machine at the North Korean coastline.
Keys had made the attack run a hundred times over the practice range, and a thousand times in his head. He’d never once thought about the egress: about getting away after delivering his ordnance. The attrition rate in simulations had been near 90 percent.
There was no point worrying about his egress. Not really.
In the cockpit of her Kingsnake, Bunny O’Hare was most definitely thinking about her egress. Hell, she was already thinking ahead to the burger and beer she would be having somewhere tonight.
She had no plans to die today.
They had cued up aerial refueling for their Ghost Bat wingmen and their Kingsnake had near a hundred miles greater range than the South Korean Boromae, even fully loaded with air to air missiles. Not to mention, the South Korean aircraft would be flying nap of the earth, loaded with a 5,000 lb. bomb, burning fuel like there was no tomorrow – while they would be flying high cover, near supercruise speed, sipping fuel like a teetotaler sipping whisky at a wake.
“The best route I’ve plotted gives us between 23 and three and a half minutes of fuel in reserve on meeting the refueling aircraft, depending on events over the target area,” Noname told her. “Or, if you don’t manage our fuel carefully, we will run out of fuel over the Yellow Sea.”
