Battle Born (38 page)

A bat-wing symbol appeared on the lead F-15’s threat scope, but the pilot got no warning tone, indicating that he was being painted with friendly radar. He immediately dismissed the indication, thinking it was his wingman taking up his position on the perch again, covering his leader. “Avalanche, Bullrider One, moving into position on bandit one, record a heater track, now.”

“Copy, Bullrider . . . Bullrider One, bandit at your six o’clock low, five miles, closing rapidly. Bullrider, can you delouse?” That was a request for the wingman to try to identify the newcomer.

Low? His wingman was
low?
That meant the target on his threat scope
wasn’t his wingman
! Oh,
shit
! “Bullrider flight, you got that bogey? You see him?”

“Negative, lead!”

“Bogey one six o’clock, three miles . . . two miles, closing fast!”

“I got him, lead, I got him!” the wingman cried out. “He’s right under you!”

Not for long. Just as the lead F-15 pilot rolled right a bit to get a better look underneath him, the B-1 bomber, in full afterburner, zoomed up directly in front of him. The pilot instinctively rolled hard left and pulled until he heard his stall warning horn, then rolled out. “Billy, you got him in sight? You got him?”

“Screw that, lead! I lost sight of you! I’m lost wingman! I’m blind! I’m level ten thousand!”

“Bullrider Two, collision alert, snap right forty degrees now!” the AWACS radar controller shouted. The
lead F-15 pilot had rolled up and right into the path of his wingman on the high perch. The second F-15 took immediate evasive action. It was just in time—the two planes missed each other by less than two hundred feet, without either pilot seeing the other’s plane.

The lead F-15 pilot mashed his mike button as he jerked his control stick over hard, waiting for the crunch of metal and the explosion he knew was going to happen. “
Knock it off, knock it off, knock it off
!” he shouted on his command channel. That was the signal to all aircraft to stop maneuvering, roll wings level, and assess the situation. He had lost complete situational awareness, and any maneuver he might make could cause an accident or death.

“I got you in sight, lead!” the second F-15 called, after he rolled out of his snap-turn. “I’m at your five o’clock, one mile. I’m climbing to eleven thousand.”

The near-miss rattled the lead F-15 pilot so much he had to drop his oxygen mask to keep from hyperventilating. Damn, what in hell was wrong with those bomber pukes? They used their aircraft like missiles, not giving a damn about peacetime safety-of-flight. Two near-misses within just a few seconds of each other—that was too much!

“I’m going to nail those sons of bitches if it’s the last thing I do!” the lead pilot shouted to himself as he snapped his oxygen mask back in place. No hot dog Guard bomber pukes are going to make any Eagle driver look like a putz!

At two hundred feet above the ground, Patrick felt safer now than he had for most of the flight in the Nellis range—he wasn’t accustomed to flying so close to other aircraft while on a mission, let alone “enemy” aircraft. He noticed he had pulled his shoulder and lap belts so
tight that they hurt, but he didn’t even consider loosening them. Again, for the umpteenth time, he checked his ejection levers and ejection mode switches, mentally targeting the levers in case he had to go for them while they were upside down or pulling lots of Gs. This crew seemed hell-bent on making the worst happen.

Were they reckless? Maybe. Were they dangerous? Some might think so. But the question was—were they
effective
? Did they get the job done? So far, protecting their tanker and their wingman, the answer had to be yes. But at what price? When were these stunts going to finally catch up with them?

Rinc Seaver steered the bomber back around in a bootleg racetrack pattern, rolled back in over their lead-in point. Long got his altitude calibration, then took his initial fix and high-resolution patch of the target area. The bomb release—another Combined Effects Munitions cluster bomb attack, a few hundred meters beside where the other B-1 had dropped—was almost an anticlimax.

Were they effective at hitting their assigned targets? Definitely—but, again, at what price?

“I heard a ‘knock it off’ call, crew,” Patrick announced on interphone. “Stand by. I’ll be on the voice SATCOM. Everyone else toggle off.” Patrick got an acknowledgment from the rest of the crew, then dialed up the secure voice satellite channel. “Firebird, this is Aces Two-One secure.”

“This is Firebird,” Dave Luger responded. They authenticated themselves once again; then: “Hey, Muck, we just got a call from Avalanche, the AWACS controlling your Red force in the range. They relayed a safety-of-flight violation regarding your crew. Claim you busted the ROE by flying too
close
to the fighters?”

“They call a KIO?”

“Affirmative.”

“You get any radar data?”

“It’s coming in now . . . Yep, it looks like your guys flew within a half mile of one of the F-15s. ROE says two miles on day one. Avalanche passed along more radar data that says you did it earlier too, but the Red force recorded no violation.”

That was it, Patrick thought. A range safety violation was an instant bust on a predeployment exercise. If it was toward the end of a successful exercise, or if it was once at the beginning of an exercise, it might be forgiven—but not twice in one sortie. “Copy,” he said. “Ask if Bullrider still wants to play.”

“Stand by,” Dave Luger responded. A moment later: “Message from Bullrider flight reads as follows: shit yes we’ll play. Any ROE the Bones will comply with, they’ll accept.”

“Relay to Bullrider that the fight’s on, level three ROE,” Patrick said. “Anything else?”

“Yes, we’re monitoring something on Air Combat Command’s tactical comm network, an ‘all stations’ alert broadcast,” Luger replied. “We’re polling all our sources, but everyone seems to be shutting up and not answering the phones, just listening. We might hear it on CNN before we hear it from the DoD.”

“Okay,” Patrick said distractedly. They were fast approaching the second target complex. “I’ll call you back after we leave the range.”

“Copy. Sorry about the bust. Have fun. Firebird out.”

THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM
THAT SAME TIME

N
o, wait . . . sir, it’s not an invasion,” Secretary of Defense Chastain said in shock at the Pentagon reports he was hearing. “It isn’t troops crossing the DMZ—
civilians
are. North Korean civilians. By the
thousands.
And there’s no resistance from the South. All South Korean border posts are deserted. No response at all from North Korean border troops either. The DMZ is wide open and completely unmanned on either side. Hundreds of artillery emplacements, rocket launchers, tank traps, response routes, minefields—all deserted. On
both
sides.”

“What?”
Martindale exclaimed. “It must be some kind of mistake.”

“I’ll get confirmation, sir.” But he stopped short. “Sir, I’m getting another report. This one’s from the Korean Central News Agency—that’s the official North Korean government bureau of propaganda. They’re broadcasting that riots have broken out all over Pyongyang and that Government House and the presidential palace are under siege. They are calling for support from the Army to help put down the riots. And wait, more reports . . . They say that the central radio and TV broadcasting center is also under siege. They’re broadcasting mobilization orders to dozens of active, reserve, and paramilitary units, including the two corps units set up to protect the capital.”

“That’s odd,” said the President. “Why would the civil broadcasting system be used to issue response and assistance orders? Why not use the military networks?”

“And why haven’t those units already responded to the South Korean attacks?” asked Philip Freeman, the national security adviser. “They must have seen those
South Korean jets coming almost as soon as they left their bases, and certainly long before they even crossed the DMZ. That was almost twenty minutes ago. What the hell’s going on over there?”

Chastain put his hand up, listening intently; then he lowered the headset and stared at it blankly. “Arthur?” Freeman asked. “What’s happened?”

“KCNA just went off the air,” Chastain replied. “It reported that the government information bureau said the headquarters was being overrun by rioters and agitators, supported by deserting Regular Army soldiers. Then someone else came on a few minutes later and identified himself as a supporter of the new United Republic of Korea.”

“The what?” Martindale asked. “Is that a nationalist faction? An opposition group?”

“I don’t know,” Chastain said. “Never heard of it before. But they claim to be the representatives of the new United Korea. They claim that President Kim Jong-il has evacuated the capital along with several members of the Korean Politburo and his cabinet. They say he’s on his way to China to seek asylum.”

“This . . . this is extraordinary,” Martindale exclaimed. “I can’t believe this is happening. North Korea is simply . . .
capitulating?
The borders and checkpoints just disappeared?”

“It’s Germany all over again, sir,” announced Director of Central Intelligence Robert Plank as he strode quickly into the Situation Room, carrying a stack of reports and photographs. “Sorry I’m late, sir, but I had to wait for all the latest downloads and field reports. It’s true. Entire Regular Army, Reserves, and paramilitary units are deserting their commands and either marching on Pyongyang to join the rioters or moving south with their families and a few belongings. When they reach the Military Demarcation Line, they just
keep right on going, because all of the South Korean checkpoints are wide open. Panmunjom, Kangseri, Kumhwa, Sehyonni, Sohwari—every one of the border towns has opened the barricades. All of the tank traps and artillery emplacements are still manned, but they’re simply standing by in place—there’s no attempt to stop, detain, search, or identify anyone. An entire army of spies could be crossing into the South, and nobody would know it. The minefields are being blown up in place—
by South Korean soldiers.
They’re clearing a safe path for anyone from the North to cross over.”

“What’s the status of our bases?” the President asked.

“All secure and closed up tight,” said Arthur Chastain. “However, the Korean-owned bases are wide open. They’re being used as relocation and refugee centers. It’s absolutely incredible. The South has simply opened its doors.”

“That’s right,” said Plank. “Route 1, Route 3, Route 43, Route 5—all roads and highways that cross the MDL are open. No border inspections, no searches, no identity papers required. The South Korean government’s already begun opening up relocation offices along the DMZ to assist North Koreans in finding relatives—it’s clear they had it all planned. They’re providing transportation away from the no-man’s-lands around the border areas and are even changing North Korean won to South Korean currency! It’s the most incredible thing I’ve seen since the fall of the Berlin Wall.”

“I’ve got to talk to China,” the President said. “It’s urgent that I speak with President Jiang directly, right away.”

“State is working on it,” Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale called out in response.

The President shook his head in frustration. Jiang
Zemin rarely spoke to world leaders on the phone and never initiated calls. Martindale, too, preferred face-to-face talks, but this was a crisis, and this cultural stigma against using the telephone was maddening. “Bob, what are the Chinese doing?”

“Sir, I know it seems extraordinary—but I don’t think they’re doing anything,” Plank replied. “All I have are the daily force status reports, but they all reported normal deployments and no unannounced troop or aircraft movements.”

“But what can they hit us with? What kind of retaliation can we expect?”

“Sir, there’s about a quarter of a million Chinese troops within one day’s march of the North Korean border, and those troops can easily cross into South Korea and overrun the capital within days—we couldn’t stop them if we wanted to without using nukes,” Plank said. “We’re trying to get a more precise status report now, but that could take a few hours. There are about a dozen rocket and artillery units that can launch an attack within moments, and another dozen with weapons that can easily reach into South Korea. The truth is, they can retaliate at any moment.”

“If we launch our planes or mobilize any troops, we’ll look like we’re participating in what’s happening,” said Freeman. “And if we don’t, they’ll get slaughtered if China or North Korea attacks.”

The President nodded. “We’re sunk no matter what we do—unless everyone holds fast and stays away from the red button,” he said. “I hope our words get to Jiang.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Transmit an order to all our forces: everybody stand by. We watch and wait. No aircraft lift off—not reconnaissance, not intelligence, not support, and especially not attack planes.”

“Mr. President,” Freeman said earnestly, “I strongly
advise you take your command center airborne. That’s the safest place for you, and you can still keep in close contact with all your forces globally.”

“Will the Russians or the Chinese know if I depart Washington?”

“Yes . . . probably, after a time,” Freeman said, after glancing at Plank and getting a nod. “But that doesn’t matter. You should—”

“Then I’m staying,” the President said resolutely. “Unless we actually see ICBMs appearing over the horizon, I’m staying. That goes for the senior leadership as well.”

“Sir, you know that if the Russians launch an attack, all of our political and bureaucratic institutions will suffer greatly, even be wiped out,” Jerrod Hale said. “Congress is still in session; the entire leadership is still in town . . .”

“I don’t think the people will give a rat’s ass if the political and bureaucratic institutions get wiped out, Jerrod,” the President said wryly. “In fact, I think they’ll see it as a sad but welcome relief.” Then his tone grew serious. “But since you mention it, you’d better send a military aide over to the congressional leadership and let them know what’s happening. I’ll leave it up to them if they want to adjourn. But make sure they know I’m staying.”