The Korean Intercept (33 page)

"In position and on your ass, sir."

The Blackhawk was a half-mile back, maintaining position, waiting to ferry in the Army Ranger team. The response from the Blackhawk's female pilot was cool, calm and collected.

Donnelly positioned his Apache in a five-hundred-foot hover, and the other did the same, allowing the weapons officers to fix the target in their sights.

The layout of watchtowers, barbed wire and gun placements was clearly etched in the FLIR's infrared glow, including SAM launchers at each corner of the perimeter and ZPU-4 four-barreled anti-aircraft artillery.

Donnelly said, across the radio, "Initiate."

"Time to rock and roll," muttered Kendall.

The helicopters unleashed a salvo of missiles, turning the gloom into an out-of-control fireworks display. Instant chaos engulfed the target site. Anti-aircraft artillery began returning fire, their tracer bullets crisscrossing the darkness, joined in by smaller arms fire from the towers and ground emplacements.

Donnelly and his wingman throttled their choppers into a combat approach, head-on at the source of the sparkling green tracers whizzing around them, head-on into the blazing barrage. Both gunners and pilots wore helmets with Target Acquisition and Designation Sensor devices attached. Everywhere the gunners looked, they directed FUR beams that automatically allowed them to sight in on any target, whichever way they looked. It was not necessary for a WO to actually eyeball a target once the infrared beam picked it out. The gunner sighted by reading off the numbers from an instrument panel on the side of the sighting device. When a laser-designated Hellflre missile was triggered by the weapons man, the FLIR screen flashed LAUNCH. A clock counted down the missile's flight time.

Donnelly saw a watchtower evaporate in a violent cloud of smoke and flame. Kendall found something else to fire at and pressed his button, sending off a burst from the chain gun. AAA fire from a ZPU-4 splattered against the armor of the Apache's right side, jarring the gunship. Donnelly swung the war bird around, maneuvering into a slow sideways crawl.

"I see the bastards," Kendall growled across the intercom. He fingered the button for an extended burst from the chain gun at the artillery position that had been camouflaged with netting. Orange-red flame tracked the rounds that completely destroyed the gun and those manning it in a blasting flash. Resistance from the bandit base had generally tapered off to practically nothing, except for the occasional random of flash of rifle fire. Kendall said, "I see figures running from the base, away from the fighting."

"I see them too," said Donnelly. He made his decision. "All right, Big Bird," he said over the radio. "It's a hot LZ down there, but if we want out of here before the Chinese or the North Koreans show up, it's now or never."

"It's now," came the woman pilot's reply. "We're coming in."

The Blackhawk launched some heavy fire from its own missiles and chain-gun as it rotored past, then touched down in the center of the now-deserted compound.

From his hover position, Donnelly saw the squad of Army Rangers tumble from the side of the Blackhawk while the door gunner swept M-60 fire at anything that moved. Then a SAM was fired at the Apache, but not from the base below; instead, from approximately one click to Donnelly's starboard side. He pulled hard in a reflexive evasive maneuver while Kendall automatically activated their "black hole" infrared suppressor system. The missile detonated in the air somewhere nearby behind them.

Donnelly snarled. "Who the hell ordered Chinese?" He heard the
plang! plang! plang
! of small arms fire hitting his helicopter, again not from the base below but from the same approximate point of origin as the SAM. He nosed the Apache in the direction it was coming from. He saw movements—tanks, personnel and trucks. "See 'em?" he asked Kendall.

"See 'em!" Kendall confirmed.

The weapons officer unleashed a pair of rockets at a line of moving troop carriers that burst apart in a flash of multiple explosions, following the rockets up with an extended burst of 30mm gunfire, obliterating their ranks, sending survivors diving for cover. Missile after missile, rocket after rocket, 30mm after 30mm poured in at ground force from the circling Apaches.

 

In the cell she shared with Bob Paxton, the bombardment was discernible to Kate at first as no more than a dull series of vibrations.

From where he huddled in his habitual crouch on the far side of the cave, Paxton was studying her. "I hope to God that's the cavalry coming to the rescue. Right about now that martial arts stuff of yours is going to come in a lot more handy than praying."

"I wasn't praying," she said. "I was meditating. Meditating and martial arts are one and the same, Bob. Didn't you know that? The martial arts first came to Asia from India with Zen Buddhism in the sixth century."

He sighed, and seemed to physically deflate. There was fear in his eyes. "God, woman, I wish I was as resourceful as you are."

The distant sounds of explosions and the power of the concussions increased. Powdered dust drifted down from the cave ceiling, and Kate felt as if she was being draped in a lace shroud. She folded her arms as a shiver passed through her.

"Funny, I don't feel resourceful." Another concussion impacted, stronger than the others. "Bob, God help us. I feel like a victim with no hope."

 

Yokohama

 

The comm center for this operation was a comm van parked near the hangar where General Turtle had held the briefing.

An Isuzu two-door approached, and braked to a stop next to the van. Headlights and engine were extinguished.

Tuttle withdrew from where he'd been standing in the van's back door, watching the row of video monitors over a communication specialist's shoulder and listening to the conversations over the tac net. The van's retrieval system was constantly receiving, sorting and filing intel communications downfeed from innumerable sources, from AWACS planes to direct satellite links.

Meiko Kurita emerged from the car and strode forward and, for an instant, the male inside Tuttle could not help but naturally admire this fine figure of a woman, all slim hips and just the right amount of curves, muscular and strong, beautiful, alluring. He considered the similarities between Meiko and another woman, the other woman in Trev Galt's life named Kate, who was at the heart of this mission as far as Galt was concerned. Tuttle had always liked Trev and Kate as a couple. She was competent and dedicated, as evidenced by her having attained co-pilot status on a US. space shuttle flight. She also happened to be one of the most physically attractive women Tuttle had ever known. One Japanese, one American apple pie, but they could have been sisters.

"General."

"Meiko. Thanks for coming."

A handshake, and she squeezed his hand in both of hers to keep it from being perfunctory.

"Thank you for allowing the sentries to let me pass." She scanned the shapes of warehouses surrounding the hangar and helo-pad. "I would have never guessed that this was anything but an air freight company, as the street sign claims. And the government licensing was in order when I checked. You must trust me a great deal, General."

"Trust is a simple word," said Tuttle. "Unambiguous. You deserve to be in on this. You've been to the safe house. You know everything, maybe more than we do. We'll make good use of that intel you gave us on the
yakuza
connection with Kurita Industries. And you deserve to be in on this phase because of your relationship with Trev." In the faint glow from the monitors inside the van, he saw her blink, and start to protest. He added, "Do you forget that I saw the two of you together? I possess an uncanny ability for reading people and relationships, Ms. Kurita."

Her expression became unreadable. "Many have said it to me, General. Now I will say it to you. No comment." She gazed past him, into the interior of the comm van. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

He grunted. "I can tell you that I wish you'd gotten here sooner. Maybe you could have talked him out of what he's trying to do," and he told her about Galt going in solo, and of the chopper, which flew him into North Korean airspace, being shot down. And he told her about the hostile presence of the Chinese troops. "That's what Galt flew into, miss, and the chances are that it could be a one-way flight. Guess I could have used some backup in trying to reason with him to stand down."

"I wouldn't have been any help to you, General," said Meiko. "If you know Trev as well as you say, then you know that."

Tuttle sighed and his eyes drifted again to the sky. "I suppose you're right. But damn him for being such an insubordinate son of a bitch who can't take orders."

"General, you're a warrior. Gripe if you wish, but you'd rather be over there in North Korea with Trev instead of here, having to wait on the sidelines."

"Guess I'm not the only one who's good at reading people," Tuttle acknowledged.

 

North Korea

 

General Li knelt in the middle of the clearing that seemed to shimmer in amber from the flames of the wreckage of the his carriers, having been struck by missiles fired from the helicopter gunships within seconds after his men had obeyed his command to board the trucks. The attackers had swooped with such speed and ferocity that there had been no time for Li or Major Kwan or any of their men to scramble for cover. The flaming piles of misshapen metal that had been his convoy of troop carriers were unrecognizable as vehicles. Most of his men had been vaporized instantly when the missiles hit the trucks and exploded, but some were in flames, writhing and screaming helplessly as they died upon the ground. The stench of their burning flesh permeated the hellish atmosphere.

Kwan's head was pillowed in the palms of Li's hands, in his lap as he knelt. Kwan weakly held his middle, but had given up attempting to stem the rivulets of blood and red guts that burbled from between his fingers. Kwan shuddered as a man with palsy, coughing blood.

Tears ran down Li's face. The dying man he cradled was conscious of nothing save his own pain and dying, but Li, who somehow miraculously seemed to be the only survivor here, could not keep his mind from skipping from one photographic memory to another; holding this man, the warrior who reminded him of himself so many years ago, who had wanted to attack, who had vehemently questioned Li's smug command to pause as the tanks had taken their time drawing into position for the assault on the bandits. Kwan had been right. Now, there would never be an assault. The Americans were attacking Chai Bin, and General Li's force had been annihilated; the young men, serving their country under his command, would never return home to their loved ones. He had brought dishonor and disgrace upon himself, and upon the Politburo in Beijing, those who had entrusted to him this mission of the highest importance. He should have known it was time to attack, that Kwan was right, when the first American helicopter, which had spearheaded the American military operation, had been shot down. Instead, hoping to ensure success, Li had hesitated as his last tank had reported difficulty in positioning itself to strike a particularly vital point of the bandits' defense. And then it was too late. The American attack turned on them when one of Li's tank commanders had, without his authorization, opened fire on an American gunship, identified by Li from its sound as one of their American Apaches. And that was the end of it. The American gunships had pummeled the bandit stronghold and Li's force. Only one of his tank commanders was reporting in, the lone survivor of his crew. And young Major Kwan lay dying in his lap. He had the strangest flash of caring for his dying father, skeletal and wracked with pain, his skin like graying parchment. He saw himself caring for his son, who had died as a child of typhoid. And then Major Kwan gave one final series of spasms and puked a river of blood. He stiffened and died.

Li set Kwan aside carefully. He rose to his feet.

The dead and the dying were littered about him in what he had so smugly thought was such a fine shelter from the elements. He had clustered his troops, making them an easy American target. Some of those dying recognized him, and their cries of agony were like their arms, outstretched, pleading, in his direction.

He closed his eyes to it. He unholstered his pistol. He would think of something beautiful as he died. His ears blocked out the aftermath of destruction, the cries of the dying. He thought of how beautiful his wife had looked on that day they met under the cherry blossoms, when the world was young and there was a future of hope.

He placed the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

 

The dull booming of the bombardment had given way to the stuttering and hammering of gunfire and much frantic shouting from very close. The ferocious close-quarters combat was magnified with a strangely cavernous echo, telling Kate that the assault on Chai Bin's fortress had breached his inner defenses and spilled into this tunnel complex.

She jumped to her feet when Chai Bin stormed into their cell. He held a pistol. With his free hand, he caught her wrist as if with a steel claw and tugged her to him.

Paxton sprang in his corner of the cave. "What's going on?" He gawked at the sight of Kate being manhandled.

Kate didn't struggle. She saw several of Chai's subordinates gathered in the tunnel outside this cave-cell. She strained to keep her voice steady. "Careful, Bob," she told Paxton, and she said to Chai Bin, "The question's a valid one. What's going on?"

"Everything has gone wrong for me," said Chai, his tone clipped and dispassionate. "The Americans have attacked."

Paxton said quietly, "God bless America."

Chai ignored this. "I have lost contact with my men at the shuttle. I can only assume the worst. We will withdraw now from here. I have an armed helicopter that is well concealed nearby, awaiting us. It is a helicopter shot down by my men a year ago." His chuckle was a gloating sneer. "It has been repaired. Fortunes of war."