Dragon Sim-13 (27 page)

Yang looked at his map. The fool Haotian had limited his search to the immediate area of the explosion. With the larger assets of the entire Shenyang Military Region at his command, Yang had the men and vehicles to correct that.

Yang swiveled his chair around to face his staff and subordinate commanders, who had been waiting quietly while he thought. "I want all aviation assets to be used in the search. Ground forces of a regiment from each division will also be used to patrol all roads. You will look in this area." He outlined an area on the map on his desk. His finger ran from Qiqihar to the Russian border in the north, down that border to North Korea in the east, and then along the North Korean border back to their present location in Shenyang.

"Somewhere in there you will find the terrorists if they are still in the country. I want the majority of forces concentrated to the east along the border with Russia."

Yang looked over his staff. "I also want the political officers of every unit to question each helicopter pilot and account for every one of our helicopters during the time of the attack. I want to know whether one of our own did this. Check with the neighboring military districts also. I will be immediately notified of any information or new development." Yang indicated they were dismissed.

Checkpoint 2, USS Rathburne Friday, 9 June, 0304 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 12:04 p.m. Local

Commander Lemester had been very happy to see the helicopter disappear off to the west. He was glad to be done with the whole operation. Hopefully things would get back to normal now. The only thing he didn't like was that his orders specified staying until 1500 Zulu on the tenth. He had to sit here another thirty-four hours. Lemester decided not to waste his crew's time. They could get in a lot of training before heading off to the southwest to rejoin the battle group.

Changbai Mountains, China Friday, 9 June, 0400 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 12:00 p.m. Local

The going was easier downhill, but not much. Olinski's 175 pounds were beginning to wear down the four healthy team members. Mitchell was in obvious pain. Comsky had tied the captain's right arm to his side to keep the sutures from tearing. The pilot, C.J., wasn't complaining, but the jarring downhill scramble was sending jolts of pain up his smashed right hand and arm.

Despite this, Riley pushed them unmercifully. They had to get out of the less thickly vegetated high ground as soon as possible. Having crossed the top of the mountain range at almost nine thousand feet, they slowly but steadily were dropping in altitude on their way to the North Korean border.

Riley's mind was working as they walked, trying to develop a plan. If they could find a power source for the transmitter Hoffman had rigged, Riley had to figure out what message to send. They had never considered this occurrence in their escape and evasion plan. The eastern escape route would have taken the team to the north of this part of the mountain range, up near the Russian border; that meant Riley couldn't use any of the pickup zones along the E & E eastern route.

On the ten-minute rest halts he allowed every hour, Riley pored over the map and searched the terrain ahead. He used a small monocular, which Olinski always carried in the butt pack of his combat vest, to check out the lay of the land below. While not as good as binoculars, the instrument allowed him to gain a perspective on what lay ahead.

From the map, Riley chose a tentative pickup zone twenty kilometers east of the crest they had crossed. He had to pick a terrain feature that would be relatively easy for pilots to find at night. His choice was a clearing about five hundred meters northwest of the intersection of an unnamed river, which would cut across their path, and what looked on the map to be an unimproved dirt road. With luck, a scarce commodity on this mission so far, Riley estimated they could make it there by the next night.

Riley shook his head as he considered the bigger picture. Getting to the new PZ would help them only if they could find a power source to send out the information. If the transmitter worked. And if they could come up with a frequency to send on. And if someone happened to be listening. And if that someone could get the information to the proper people in time. And if the proper people decided to mount a rescue attempt. And if the rescue attempt made it to the pickup zone. Riley tried to keep down a rising tide of despair. He'd been in bad situations before, but none had seemed as hopeless as this one.

He didn't think they could make it across the border into North Korea and then to the coast. Not in the shape they were in. Not with the wounded. They had no food, no shelter, and no warm clothes—only what was on their backs and in their vests. Riley was furious with himself for having destroyed the rucksacks. That had been a stupid mistake and was going to prove costly. Most particularly galling was having destroyed the PRC70 high-frequency radio. If there was one thing they should have taken, it was the radio. If the other helicopter had made it out—and there was no reason to think it didn't—then Trapp would have told Hossey they had destroyed the 70 on the pickup zone. Which meant the colonel would most likely not go with the backup plan to monitor the HF net.

Riley thought about that. Maybe the colonel would monitor the radio. Or if he didn't, maybe Trapp or someone else from the team would. 

A tenet he and Mitchell had hammered into everyone on Team 3 was to always stick with a plan, even though the situation might appear hopeless. It was a slim chance at best.

3:00 p.m. Local

By three in the afternoon they had progressed five kilometers from the crest and dropped almost two thousand feet in altitude. Riley called a halt and gratefully put down Olinski's makeshift stretcher. Riley knew that if he was this tired, everyone must be. He walked over to Mitchell, who was slumped against a rock. "How's it going, Mitch?"

Mitchell grinned weakly at Riley. "I could lie to you and say great, but I won't. Is good OK?"

Riley hated to see his team leader and the other members hurting so bad. He felt responsible.

Mitchell stirred. "Hey, I've been thinking. If we can get that transmitter working, you got any idea what to send?"

"Based on a map recon, I've tentatively picked an exfiltration pickup zone. It's about fifteen klicks ahead of us. As far as the radio goes, I'm not sure yet what frequency to send on."

Mitchell considered that. "If the other bird made it, Hossey'll know we burned the 70. There's no reason for him to get someone to monitor the guard net."

"I know," Riley responded. "I guess there's some sort of international distress band the pilot may know. Of course, the Chinese, North Koreans, and Russians will probably monitor that, too."

Mitchell looked his team sergeant in the eye. "Things aren't too positive, are they, Dave? I mean, I know you don't want to say it, but the rest of us aren't stupid. The transmitter is a hell of a long shot. Without any gear, we're going to be getting kind of hungry soon, to put it mildly, and cold. I definitely screwed up when I let us destroy all that equipment on the pickup zone. We should have taken some of it, particularly the 70, with us. That was a bad mistake. I let the team down."

Obviously, Mitchell had been thinking along the same lines as Riley. The team leader gingerly picked himself up and forced a grin. "Crying about it isn't going to do us any good, I guess." Mitchell looked at the other men sprawled around the halt area. "Hey, Comsky. I got first rights on cuddling up with you tonight when it gets chillish. I've always had a thing for short, ugly guys with real hairy bodies. Let's go, folks, time's a wasting."

Mitchell led the way as the rest of the team picked themselves off the ground and moved out. Mitchell's example shook Riley out of his apathy. He'd been getting too down. As long as they were alive, they had a chance.

5:00 p.m. Local

Senior Lieutenant Wei was having fun. Any time he was allowed to fly, he had fun. At the moment, he was flying at sixty knots airspeed above the terrain. He kept his Z-9 at two hundred feet above ground level as he climbed into the mountains.

The air was thinner up here, and Wei had to apply extra power to keep his helicopter airborne. The Z-9 was the only rotary-wing aircraft the Chinese Air Force possessed other than the S-70s that could fly up here like he was doing. The French certainly knew how to build, he marveled. This helicopter was as good as anything the Russians had. Wei's ship was one of the thirty-five Z-9s the Chinese government had bought from Aerospatiale. The six in Wei's squadron had been modified into gunships with the addition of 7.62mm miniguns on either side.

Chinese Air Force pilots normally didn't get to fly often. Fuel and repair parts cost money. Wei knew that the recent American embargo on military equipment would eventually cause all the S-70s to be grounded for lack of repair parts. The French hadn't announced an embargo yet. Wei swooped down into a draw. He'd worry about that when it happened.

He wasn't sure what had caused the alert today, putting all the fly-able helicopters in the air. They'd just been told to look for an armed band of dissidents. The whole thing was very unusual. Especially the questioning by the political officer prior to takeoff. Wei and his fellow pilots had been forced to account for their whereabouts the previous evening. Wei didn't care what this was all about, as long as he got to put in more flying hours.

Wei's sector of search was this part of the mountain range southwest of Yanji. His unit of six helicopters from the 3d Aviation Regiment was working out of a forward base in Yanji. He had flown up the river out of Yanji and around the highest part of the mountains; now he would fly over the crest of the Changbai Mountains on his way back.

It was one of the more difficult sectors. Many of his fellow pilots didn't like flying the mountains. The winds were sometimes perilous. Wei enjoyed the challenge.

Another three or four kilometers and he would be over the crest, heading for home. It would be dark soon anyway. At this rate he'd make it back to base just as it got completely black. He was looking forward to a nice hot meal tonight.

Then he saw the burned area.

5:10 p.m. Local

They were switching off carrying Olinski every twenty minutes now. Chong was scouting about fifty meters ahead, picking the easiest path for the team. The vegetation was growing thicker as they descended, but they still had to cross occasional open spots.

The men had just started across one of these spots when they heard the sound they'd been dreading—the beat of helicopter blades in the air. Riley tried to figure out what direction the sound was coming from, as he gestured for everyone to move faster.

They were halfway across. Hoffman and Comsky were walking as fast as they could with Olinski. Another seventy-five meters and they'd be under the cover of a stand of trees.

Riley had been peering downhill looking for the helicopter when it occurred to him to check behind. As he turned, he saw the Z-9 coming swiftly down the mountainside about three kilometers back.

An aircraft had gone down back there. Whatever it was had crashed and exploded, scorching the earth for more than a hundred meters in every direction. Wei had spent about five minutes flying over the site. There had been no place close by to land and investigate, so he turned and headed for the crest. Once he was over the top, he'd be able to radio in his report without the mountains in the way.

The engines were straining as the Z-9 crested the ridge. Wei slid over the top and, as he rapidly descended, keyed his radio. 

"Let's go!" Riley yelled. Hoffman and Comsky started running awkwardly with the stretcher. Riley reached over and grabbed the pole nearest Comsky while Mitchell grabbed the other side. Together the four of them sprinted toward the tree line, followed closely by the pilot.

Chong had already reached the tree line. Resting the muzzle of his SAW on a tree branch, he started to take aim at the point where the helicopter should appear over the far tree line. It was getting closer.

They were ten meters from the tree line when C.J. lost his balance and fell. With his right arm in a sling, he'd had trouble running, and now he couldn't break his fall. He landed heavily on his broken arm.

The Z-9 came over the far tree line, flying only fifty feet above the ground. Chong sighted in on the cockpit and began applying pressure to the trigger.

Wei thought he saw something as he flew over the small open area. He keyed the intercom and asked his copilot and the crew chief in the back if they had seen anything. They replied negatively. Wei considered going back for a look, but the impending darkness and low fuel supply prompted him to continue on home.

The pain in his shattered arm was so intense that it caused C.J. to vomit. Riley and Comsky ran out and dragged him back into the tree line. Chong waited a second, then joined the rest of the team.

If the helicopter had made the slightest hostile move, Chong had been prepared to fire. He had spotted the miniguns hung on either side of the bird. Chong hadn't fired because he thought there was a chance that C.J. might not have been seen, and firing definitely would have given away their location. That decision appeared to be vindicated as the sound of the Chinese helicopter faded into the distance.

Riley had to look away as Comsky tore the splint off C.J.'s arm. The fall had turned the simple fracture into a compound one. Pieces of white bone stuck out of the skin in two places.

Comsky took off his jacket and wrapped it around the pilot. Then he tenderly started re wrapping the man's arm, using the last of his sterile bandages. C.J. screamed from the pain.

What the hell else is going to happen? Riley wondered.

Camp Page, ChunChon, Korea Friday, 9 June, 0930 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 6:30 p.m. Local

Jean Long was eating her dinner in the dining room of the Page II Club when the news of the lost helicopter in the Sea of Japan was announced by the Armed Forces Korean Network (AFKN) news show. She watched the brief story on the large-screen TV in the corner of the dining room. The report didn't indicate what unit the aircraft was from, only that eight soldiers were known to be on board.