World war iii not how yo.., p.16
World War III: Not How you Imagined, page 16
“Do we know any details?” asked Barton.
“Only that the North Koreans seemed to be on patrol with three rounds of ammo per gun. I’ve got our people scurrying for an after-action report, but it may take a little longer given that we’re dealing with young inexperienced operators. They’ll have to be debriefed and a transcript created.”
“I wonder how long before we hear from the North Koreans? They’ll sell this as an American ambush and a heartless massacre.”
“Not so much as a whisper yet, but I can imagine their consulate will be sending someone over in person—they’ll be looking for leverage any way they can,” Vetters warned.
“Yes, that’s why we need some solid information about how it went down”, the president said adamantly. “I don’t want some young punk quasi-diplomat coming in here and be able to bully me due to me not knowing how the events actually took place.”
As soon as he shared his concerns with Vetters, the president walked to his desk and pressed the intercom. Instantly, a female voice answered. “Yes, Mr. President?”
“Until further notice, I don’t want any calls from anyone associated with North Korea—nothing!” the president instructed.
“Yes, sir, no problem,” answered his unflappable assistant.
“What about if their fearless leader calls?” Asked Vetters.
“Well, we’ll deal with that moment when it comes. One step at a time, Ron, one step at a time.” No sooner had those wise words crossed the president’s lips than his intercom came alive. He punched the intercom button.
“Yes, Vicki?”
“Sir, I thought I’d pass this on. Premier Dae Jung Jung is on the line.”
Vetters’ eyes met Barton’s and they both drew in deep breaths in unison. “Damn, we might be psychics,” chided the President.
“Okay, Vicki, tell him I’m in a meeting and that he’s welcome to hold for a few minutes, or tell him I’ll call him back as soon as I can,” the president instructed, still feeling frustrated and vulnerable with not knowing specifics about the DMZ event.
“Yes, sir,” said Vicki.
Barton stood behind his desk and looked across at his buddy and colleague. “Korea is starting to give me a whole bunch of bad vibes.”
“Yes, me too. Me too,” said Vetters.
“Ron, get on the phone to people that should know what happened over there. Get me some information—now!”
Vetters spun on his heel and was out of the Oval Office in record time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“The trick to being tricky is to be the only one who knows the trick . . .” The Author
PYONGYANG
The Premier of North Korea, also known as the President of North Korea, also known as the Supreme Commander of the KPA, also known as The Eternal President—his list of official redundant titles was long—sat at his desk drumming his fingers while staring at a huge oil portrait on the far wall. The painting stood twelve feet tall and made the premier look taller, thinner, and younger than he really was. He regarded the painting as a remarkable likeness.
Two of his underlings scurried about, trying to look busy even though there was nothing to do other than pretend to be busy. He’d literally been the one to dial the White House and was angered when told that the president would have to get back to him. Get back to me! he thought, becoming inwardly livid while outwardly holding a controlled, flat affect. “I’ll have my day, and I’ll have it soon!” he muttered to himself.
Unexpectedly, the phone rang and even though he was then alone in the room, he reached out to answer it with great dramatic flair. He preferred the large retro style phones and liked them to be red. He’d recently ordered that all phones in the residence were to be red in color and were to have rotary dialing systems. He hated the way technology made everything look cold and sterile—it was in stark contrast to his inner self, he thought.
“Hello,” Dae Jung Jung said.
“Please hold for the President of the United States,” said the polite female voice.
Dae Jung Jung found fury rising up his throat and was fully livid by the time President Barton came on the phone.
Barton began, “Mr. Premier, it seems we have a bit of an incident to work out.”
Dae Jung Jung spoke conversational English, having been schooled in English as a second language since age five. But he hated the counterintuitive language and all the people who spoke it. “Yes, it seems your troops are eager to cause my peaceful nation trouble. Four of my finest young men lost their lives due to your undisciplined soldiers,” the premier said dishonestly.
“That’s not how I hear it. I hear that your men were on our side of the DMZ and that your men fired first. I’ve also heard that your men only had three rounds of ammunition when knowingly walking across no-man’s land and onto the south side of the DMZ. How do you explain that?” Barton asked.
“Your side of the DMZ? You are not Korean. It is not YOUR side of anything!” exclaimed an animated Dae Jung Jung.
The premier may have spoken conversational English, but he had some trouble with a few consonants. Z sounded like C, R sounded like L, V sounded like B, and U sounded like oooh. His incorrect pronunciations would have been comedic had their usage not been vitriolic and malevolent.
“Mr. Premier, let’s not argue over details right now. We need to find a way to resolve our problems. May I make a suggestion?”
Before the flustered premier could answer, President Barton continued. “Why don’t we both issue a statement explaining that an accidental discharge of a KPA soldier’s rifle tragically struck and killed one of our soldiers? You can write a nice apology letter to our soldier’s parents, we’ll do the same for you, and we’ll put this behind us,” suggested the most powerful man in the world.
“You test my patience, President Barton. You have been most provocative as of late, and I know that you know what I’m talking about. The people of North Korea are a patient and loving people, but they will not tolerate aggression from the world’s largest bully.”
“Yes, I do know what you’re talking about, and I wish that hadn’t happened. It was not an action authorized by me. But, we must both strive to be larger than our circumstances. It is one of the burdens of leadership—to make decisions that benefit the masses but bring little or no personal satisfaction,” President Barton explained.
“You dare to instruct me in the ways of leadership? Very well, I had hoped to do this peacefully, but you leave me no other choice. The United States of America has far too long been an imperial invader. The North Korean people are tired of you occupying land that should belong to all of Korea. I don’t want to be unreasonable—you have seventy-two hours to remove your forces from the thirty Eighth parallel,” said the out-of-control Premier of North Korea.
Having issued his ultimatum, Dae Jung Jung hung up his antique phone and looked across at the giant painting that resembled someone younger, stronger… taller.
Yes, he thought. They will not soon forget the reign of Dae Jung Jung.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“But for the love of a woman, a man would sit empty” . . . Unknown
SARAH
Dole had spent several days decompressing on base prior to going out amongst the public. Bridget had been the most challenging mission of his career—full of tactical firsts, impossible occurrences, and the deaths of close friends. He needed time to get his head on straight. But being the kind of guy that he was, he soon found himself wanting to walk in the sunshine and needing to have dinner amongst normal loving human beings. And he desired the company of a woman.
With time in the bank and leave orders in his pocket, he soon found himself walking through the doors of the Outback Steakhouse. Sarah was busy behind the hostess’s greeting stand, but when she looked up and saw Dole, it was impossible for her to hide her joy. She dropped her paperwork and ran into Dole’s arms like it was a scene out of a romance movie. She wrapped her arms around his body and squeezed as if she were trying to become one with the soldier she’d known only briefly. It was long enough to know that she wanted more—as much as she could get.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Sarah said breathlessly.
“I can tell,” Dole said, smiling, “I’ve missed you, too. I’m on leave.”
“Really?”
“Really!” Dole answered, with a sustained smile.
He liked Sarah; she had understated qualities that were yet to be discovered. He considered himself a good judge of character and he liked everything about her.
“You know, I’ve stayed with this job hoping against hope that you’d come back for me,” Sarah openly confessed.
“Well, then, I’m glad I came back, because I just don’t see you as a career Outback Steakhouse type,” Dole said teasingly.
“God, I’m really in a tizzy now.”
Dole was excited that she was excited. She was schoolgirl innocent in her attraction to him, and he found it incredibly sexy.
“Ya know something? I’m starving. Can I get a seat?”
“Of course… but do you want to eat here? I can take off for the rest of my shift and we can go eat together with no rush.”
“Are you sure you can leave? Will it get you in any heat with the prime minister?”
“Prime minister? Is that a cut of meat joke?” Sarah asked, laughing.
Dole laughed heartily. “I wish I could say that it was an intentional joke, but I’m not joking about not wanting to get you in trouble.”
“It won’t be a problem. Let me go tell my boss that I need to split early and we’ll go find some place cozy and you can tell me about what you’ve been doing.”
Dole secretly wished that he could share the details of his life with her; it would validate the sense of trust he felt. But secrecy was the never-ending watchword in his world of quiet warfare, so he’d have to lie his ass off in order to sustain the conversation. Situation normal, he thought.
Sarah was back quickly. She’d shed her apron and was wearing a light sports jacket that made her look like a preppy businessperson. Dole liked the look, but he didn’t know why. They walked out of the restaurant and stood hand in hand.
“Where to?” Dole asked.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Other than you?” Dole said, teasing an already edgy Sarah. She blushed, something she’d not done the first time they were intimate.
Dole followed up quickly with a serious answer to her original question. “I’m sorry. You know me—I’d like a thick steak. So where other than the Outback Steakhouse can we get a steak and also get what you want, too?”
“This area is all about steakhouses. Let’s walk around the block and I’ll show you why my place of employment is just barely holding its own in this town.”
Dole liked the idea of a casual walk. If took less than ten minutes at a relative snail’s pace, compared to his usual speed when humping a rucksack across hill and dale. The stroll was relaxing. He cherished the pleasurable pace; he needed more normal downtime.
“Here it is, The Steak Shack. The best steaks within… well, within a long drive from here,” Sarah said, beaming.
“Damn. If the steaks equal your enthusiasm for them, then I’m ready to eat!”
They entered the restaurant in mid-evening and left long after all other customers had paid their checks and left the building. They talked as waiters cleaned around them, and as busboys swept the floors, they’d lift their feet out of the way. When the owner approached to say he had to close the doors and go home, it felt to both of them as if they’d just got there.
Dole paid the bill and left a tip of equal value.
“Oh my God; nobody tips like that,” Sarah exclaimed.
“Sure they do. I do it all the time,” Dole lied playfully.
“Funny, I don’t remember you and your buddies leaving a memorable tip that first night. Speaking of… how are your buddies?”
Dole had become skilled at lying to cover his job, but he’d not yet had to lie to Sarah to cover the death of a friend… of friends.
“Actually, two of them are still in my unit, but the other two have been permanently reassigned. They’re pretty far away and I doubt that our paths will likely cross again. They were great guys, so their friendship will be with me even if they’re someplace else,” Dole said, lying with practiced expertise.
“It must be nice to work with people that you can care about like that,” Sarah said innocently.
“Yes, yes it is,” Dole lamented without revealing the sorrow.
Dole and Sarah had just walked back to the parking lot of the Outback Steakhouse when Dole’s phone demanded his attention. It was a text message—one word: Wanda.
He suddenly felt exhausted again. For the first time since he’d been a Special Forces operator, he had a sense of resentment for being a slave to the process. Sarah read his body language.
“You’re going to have to leave again, aren’t you?” She tried to hide her disappointment.
Dole took a long deep breath and then wrapped his arms around Sarah, squeezing her as she had him only hours earlier. “Yes. It’s important, and I really don’t have time to explain. But, not to worry. Owl be bach,” he said in his best Schwarzenegger voice.
Sarah also took a breath. “And I’ll be waiting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“People who make no noise are dangerous” . . . Jean de La Fontaine
AURAL ARRAY
As expected, General Johnson received a call from his buddy at NewWave Technologies two days after they’d met. Bob Lewis was a CEO, but he was also a PhD electrical engineer—he knew business and he knew physics. His background as an engineer was complemented by his being a notorious audiophile, owning a home based sound system that could have been the envy of many large recording companies. It was reportedly valued at over $600,000 and consisted of only five components.
His lifelong immersion into the science of sound made him a providential choice to troubleshoot the problem brought to him by General Johnson and the President of the United States.
“What do you know about background noise?” Lewis asked of Johnson.
“Not much, other than I know it exists in abundance in modern times,” answered General Johnson.
“You’ve got that right. Our modern landscapes and skies are a cacophony of aural chaos, but not so much as to be completely unknowable. If we take an imaginary super-sensitive microphone and point it at any area of the sky and record the total noise contained in that sky, and if we did this for a period of time—say, like a year—we’d then have an aural map. The map would provide a way to paint a picture of what’s normal for that section of sky across an extended period of time,” Lewis said, laying the foundation for the salient point.
“Okay, go on.”
“Then let’s say we’re interested in finding out if any new sounds have been added to that map of the sky while we weren’t looking. The best way to do it is with a subtractive method—electronically cancel out the known noises, leaving anything that’s left as being new. You can then compare the new noise to another catalog of known threat noises that you expected may someday arrive in your sky.”
A pregnant pause told Lewis that the light bulb had gone on over Johnson’s head. “You’re telling me that the North Koreans literally heard us coming?” he asked.
“In theory, I believe it’s a reasonable answer. It would be easy to reproduce in the laboratory, but in the real world, it may be problematic. But if you’re a rogue nation, you may not care if it’s one hundred percent accurate. It could explain why your B-2 and free-falling soldiers were shot at by surface-to-air missiles. They’ll shoot at anything that sounds like or similar to a noise they’ve cataloged. Or, they’ll just shoot at anything that sounds different.”
“Damn. Is it that easy?”
“No, it’s not easy. There’s a lot of equipment needed, a ton of channels, software filters, listening stations, interfaces between aural array and weapons platforms—it would be complex in execution. But, yes, the theory is rather simple,” Lewis said.
General Johnson sat for a moment. “If you were a betting man would you bet your house that this is how they’re finding us in the skies?”
“You know me, John; I’m not a betting man. So I’d put my house on the line, no problem.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“Well, there’s more,” Lewis added.
“Aww, shit.”
“The beauty of their detection system is as long as a machine makes noise, they’ll be able to find it. There’s no practical way to defeat such a system unless you can invent silent airplanes, and that means silencing even the noise made by the air passing over the skin of the aircraft.”
“Shit,” the general said again with conviction.
“However, there may be an impractical way to confuse their system to the point of it not being able to pinpoint a new noise source. We simply overwhelm it with more noise than it can keep track of. Eventually they might be able to expand their data bases to deal with the larger noise picture, but by then, you will have had your way with them,” Lewis said, offering a telephonic smile of encouragement.
“Okay, how do we overwhelm them with noise?”
“Ahh, that’s the impractical part.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“The maximum number of people who can keep a secret is three, and that’s only if two of them are dead” . . . Benjamin Franklin
SUMMER 2017
THE INSTITUTE
Just as Dole had done, Laurent had also taken some time off from the business of being a professional, cutting-edge soldier. He’d traveled to remote venues where the likelihood of encountering unpleasant people was unlikely in the extreme. He’d sailed on calm Caribbean waters, hiked tall mountains in Kenya, and was on his way to Peru when he received a text message. They’d promised to leave him alone unless a world-class shitstorm was breaking loose, so when he checked the text and saw ‘Wanda’, he was neither surprised nor disappointed. It was simply time to go back to work.
