Dragon Sim-13 (33 page)

Moore still had his key turned. "I'm secure. What's up?"

"I suggest you try to get ahold of Colonel Hossey as soon as you can."

Moore frowned. "Why? What's going on?"

"I'm not exactly sure, sir. I need to do some checking on this end. But there's something strange going on reference Dragon Sim-13. I'll get back to you as soon as I know more, but I think you need to talk to Hossey. That might really have been him on the phone."

Moore rolled his eyes. What the hell were they trying to pull up there at Meade? "All right. I'll try and get through. Let me know what's going on as soon as you can."

Moore slammed down the phone. He looked under his clear blotter at the organizational chart for US-SOCOM units, and decided to try the DET-K headquarters first on the off chance that someone might be there. He punched in the overseas access, then the DET-K commander's number.

A busy signal. The frown lines on his face deepened. He sat there and began punching in the number every thirty seconds.

Sea of Japan

Saturday, 10 June, 1606 Zulu

Sunday, 11 June, 1:06 a.m. Local

Jean Long looked at the fuel gauges. The Blackhawk's thirsty turbines had sucked dry the third internal fuel bladder ten minutes ago. They were presently working off the fourth, and last, 285-gallon bladder. When that one was empty, they'd be left with the 362 gallons in the aircraft's regular fuel tank. What all that meant was that they had less than 430 kilometers of fuel left. They were presently located 50 meters above the Sea of Japan, 120 kilometers due south of Vladivostok. They had just enough fuel to make it safely back to Korea. They did not have enough fuel to make it the almost 300 kilometers to the exfiltration pickup zone and back. It was decision time.

Jean glanced at the digital clock on the instrument panel. She checked the Doppler. They were in the right vicinity. She looked at Colin Lassiter, who was presently at the controls. "It's time to go up."

"Roger that, ma'am." Colin pulled in collective, and 579, six thousand pounds lighter with the three empty bladders, shot up into the dark night sky. In another minute they'd know if the plan Trapp had come up with was going to work. As Lassiter brought them level at fifteen hundred feet, Jean reset the FM radio to a setting of 40.50. She turned the radio to its lowest power setting.

Jean placed her left foot over the floor mike button. She hesitated for a second, glancing over her left shoulder at Trapp and Hooker huddled among the fuel bladders in the back. Hooker grinned wildly and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Trapp keyed the intercom on the headset he was wearing. "Time to do it. We're already in enough trouble. Doing this will only add another twenty years in Leavenworth to the five hundred they're going to sentence us to."

Jean laughed. "Hell, we're already way past the point of no return. Here goes." She clicked down the transmit button with her foot. "Attention any listening station. This is U.S. Army helicopter 375. I have an electrical fire on board and am declaring an inflight emergency. Any station picking up this broadcast please acknowledge. I say again. This is U.S. Army helicopter 375. . . ." She released the mike key.

The message went out, bouncing over the wave tops and dying out in a twenty-five-kilometer radius from the helicopter.

Yongsan Army Base, Seoul, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1608 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 1:08 a.m. Local

Hossey had been searching deeper into his phone book, looking for someone who would believe him. All he had gotten so far were a few promises from people that they would check on things Monday morning. In reality, it didn't even matter at this point. The course of action was already committed.

He hung up after his latest futile attempt and leaned back in his chair. Almost immediately the phone rang.

"Hossey here."

"This is Colonel Moore from US-SOCOM. Go secure."

Hossey turned his key. Maybe finally he would get some action. "I'm secure."

"What the hell is going on, Colonel?"

Hossey wasn't sure where to begin, but he tried.

Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1610 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 12:10 a.m. Local

Riley shivered. It was more than the cold. In twenty minutes the killing would begin. He and Chong were positioned almost eighteen hundred meters away from the Chinese picket line. They weren't in the best position, but it would do. They were about two hundred meters higher than the picket line trace, crouched among jumbled rocks and stunted pines along the first crest of the ridge that marked the northern side of the draw. More than three thousand meters to the southeast of their position, the other members of Team 3 would be waiting along the streambed.

Riley looked through the scope on the SVD. The rifle and scope were rated effective out to only twelve hundred-meters, but Riley felt confident that at this range he could hit some of the soldiers along the picket line. He counted fifteen of them silhouetted against the fires. There was no wind to correct for. The two-hundred-meter drop required some adjustment, but Riley had done enough long-range firing to be able to account for that.

Thirty meters to Riley's left, Chong was hidden, with the SAW propped between two rocks. He would hold his fire until the Chinese started moving forward and got within a thousand meters. Both men could use their night-vision goggles to aim their weapons. It was awkward, but would allow them to fire more accurately, particularly once the fires were put out and the Chinese started advancing.

Riley glanced at his watch again. Another fifteen minutes. He put down the rifle and tried to relax.

Sea of Japan

Saturday, 10 June, 1610 Zulu

Sunday, 11 June, 1:10 a.m. Local

"Army helicopter 375, this is the USS Rathburne. We have you on radar at approximately ten miles, on a heading of two one zero degrees. We are prepared to render assistance. Over."

"Roger, USS Rathburne. We are turning on a heading of three zero degrees and heading your location. We have the fire under control. Do you have a helipad? Over."

"Roger, army helicopter 375. We have a landing pad. It will be cleared for your arrival. We are turning our landing lights on now and will track you in on radar. Over."

Lieutenant Peppers was the officer of the watch aboard the Rathburne when the distress call came in. What an army helicopter was doing in the middle of the Sea of Japan, he had no idea. With a female on board, yet. They hadn't even had the helicopter on radar until it suddenly rose onto the screen ten miles off their starboard bow. The Rathburne was an hour and ten minutes into its route south to rejoin the rest of the battle group off the coast of Korea. They hadn't been warned of any helicopters in the area.

Peppers, a 1984 Naval Academy graduate, had acted promptly. He'd grabbed the microphone for the ship's FM radio and offered the use of the helipad. Once that was acknowledged, he sent a crewman to wake up the captain. He ordered the helipad prepared for an emergency landing. On the radar screen, he watched the glowing dot rapidly drawing near. It took the captain of the ship, Commander Lemester, two minutes to make it to the bridge. By then the helicopter was only thirty seconds out.

Peppers quickly briefed Lemester as they watched the searchlight of the army helicopter appear in the night sky. On the fantail helipad an emergency crew waited with fire extinguishers. The helicopter slowly settled down and landed. The crewmen ran forward.

Not only was there no sign of fire but, as the first crewman reached the opening doors to the cargo compartment, he was greeted by the muzzle of an AK-47 automatic rifle, wielded by an extremely short man. On the opposite side, another man carrying an AK-47 disembarked. The petty officer in charge of the emergency crew didn't know what to make of the situation. The two groups stared at each other as the whine of the helicopter died down and the blades slowed to a halt.

Commander Lemester emerged from the hatch leading to the fantail and came upon this extraordinary scene—two men holding rifles on his crewmen. He stared in amazement for a few seconds, then bulled his way forward. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The larger of the two men walked over to him. Lemester's eyes grew wider as he recognized Trapp. Not again.

Fort Meade, Maryland Saturday, 10 June, 1614 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 11:14 a.m. Local

Wilson had spent the last fifteen minutes digging through the master computer. Every time he felt he was coming close to an answer, he'd run into a locked file that only Meng could open. Wilson decided it was time to stop fooling around. He left his terminal and went to Meng's office. The old Chinese man was still working on the Medusa program. "Who was on the phone? What took you so long?"

Wilson didn't say a word and waited until Meng glanced up. He looked his boss in the eye. "I was just talking to Colonel Moore down at US-SOCOM. He wanted to know what was going on with Dragon Sim-13. 

Apparently it didn't end the way the simulation showed. I just went through the master computer files. What's in the file locked under your personal code?"

Wilson watched in surprise as Meng slumped into his chair and put his head in his hands. "Look for yourself," he muttered. "The code word is 'Goddess.' "

Sea of Japan

Saturday, 10 June, 1615 Zulu

Sunday, 11 June, 1:15 a.m. Local

It wasn't even a standoff. With millions of dollars of sophisticated weaponry on board, the Rathburne was not prepared to deal with two men holding automatic rifles on the ship's captain. There was a ten-man contingent of marines on board and, within five minutes of the helicopter landing, they had ringed the helipad. By then it was too late.

Trapp pressed the muzzle of the AK-47, taken from Hooker's personal gun collection, against Lemester's throat. He repeated the demands. "I'm going to tell you this only one more time. We want this helicopter fueled now. If you don't, or if those jarheads try anything stupid, two things are going to happen. First off, I'm going to blow your head clean off. Then my friend—who, by the way, isn't all together upstairs—is going to release the dead-man's switch he's holding. That box, if he releases pressure on the switch, can radio-detonate a twenty-pound satchel of C-4 inside the helicopter. The C-4, combined with the fuel the helicopter does have on board, will really mess up the rear end of your ship. All we want is a little fuel. It isn't worth a lot of people dying over."

Lemester stared at the small man sitting in the back of the helicopter. The man waved crazily and smiled at the naval officer. He held a small box in his right hand. Lemester didn't know what the box was but he had to assume it was a detonating device. Lemester had no idea what was going on. There was no way he'd jeopardize the safety of his ship. The man could have his fuel. There would be other ways to deal with this.

Lemester yelled to Peppers. "Send two men out here to refuel this helicopter."

Peppers briefly considered disobeying. He didn't like the idea of giving in to the demands of these terrorists. They'd obviously taken the crew of the helicopter hostage. Still, he had been trained to do as ordered. Also, he couldn't come up with a better plan. He detailed two men to bring the fuel hose forward.

Five minutes later they were done. 579 was ready to go. Long gave Trapp the thumbs-up. Trapp let out a sigh. The first part was done. Now came phase two. As Long started up the helicopter, Hooker climbed out of the back cradling a satchel in his arms. With his AK-47 slung over his back, he walked over to the coiled fuel hoses and placed the satchel down. Then he walked over to join Trapp on the edge of the helipad. The helicopter lifted off and flew into the night sky.

Trapp could tell that the ship's captain was totally bewildered. The navy people had undoubtedly assumed that he and Hooker were two terrorists holding the aircrew hostage, but now it was apparent that they were all working together. Trapp knew that the ship's captain was trying to figure out why the two of them were staying on board.

Trapp smiled at the captain. "That satchel my friend placed over your JP4 fuel tanks has the C-4 in it. He still has the detonator in his hand. We'll stay that way for a while, until the helicopter is definitely out of range of your surface-to-air missiles and beyond reach of any air force help you might call. So why don't we all sit down and get comfortable."

Lemester's shoulders slumped in defeat as Trapp motioned for him to sit down on the edge of the helipad.

US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida Saturday, 10 June, 1621 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 11:21 a.m. Local

Moore didn't waste any time on preambles. "What have you people done?"

On the other end, Wilson tried to explain as best he could. "Doctor Meng continued running the operation when he cut off your communications with the FOB after the briefback. Meng simulated being the SFOB and gave the authorization code words for the mission to go."

"For God's sake, why?" Moore yelled into the phone. He looked at the clock and cut into Wilson's sputterings. "I don't have time for this. I've got a helicopter inbound for China that I have to do something about." Moore hung up and started leafing through his phone book.

He didn't know Meng's motives or how he had manipulated all of them, but the conclusion was inescapable. The mission had really been accomplished, and now Hossey had talked somebody into flying back into the operational area. Things were getting out of hand. It was time for damage control.

"When he concentrates, prepare against him;

where he is strong, avoid him."

Sun Tzu: The Art of War

Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1630 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 12:30 a.m. Local

Riley smoothly pulled back on the trigger and the bark of the rifle echoed across the draw. A Chinese soldier, warming himself at a fire, was slammed back as the 7.62mm round tore a fatal path through his chest. Without conscious thought, Riley did as he'd been trained. He arced the muzzle of the weapon to his second target, standing at the next fire. The man had heard the first shot but didn't know what it meant. He never would, as Riley's round hit him in the center of the chest and he tumbled in a heap.

Riley fired all ten rounds in the magazine. Seven hits for ten shots. Four of them appeared fatal. He reloaded a fresh magazine and decided to wait a few minutes to allow the Chinese to react. He didn't think his muzzle flash had been spotted because there had been no return fire. He'd let the flash be seen during the next magazine. The whole purpose of the diversion was to draw out the Chinese. Hiding his location wouldn't do that.

In the Chinese lines, confusion reigned. The immediate reaction of the soldiers on guard was to put the fires out and get under cover. Those who had been sleeping were awakened and hastily joined their comrades. No one shot back because no one knew what, or where, to shoot.

The local regimental commander received fragmented reports from his battalion commanders. The 3d Battalion had two men shot, both fatally. The 2d Battalion had five shot, two fatally. The shots were apparently coming from the high ground to the north and west. The regimental commander was at a loss. He had never been trained to act on his own initiative. He relayed his report to division, with a request for orders on how to respond. Meanwhile, he belatedly ordered the battalion commanders to awaken all their men and get them under cover.

The battalion commanders shook their heads in amazement at the regimental commander's uninspired orders. Still they were content to stay where they were. No one was anxious to move out against an unseen threat.

Just in front of the Chinese lines, Mitchell heard the shots and watched as the fires went out. The members of Team 3 could hear shouting from the Chinese positions. Mitchell peered through his night-vision goggles, trying to determine what was going on. It looked as though everyone was getting under cover, with no sign of the forces moving forward. He decided he'd give them some more time to get organized and react. He waited ten minutes, and then the shooting started again.

USS Rathburne, Sea of Japan Saturday, 10 June, 1634 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 1:34 a.m. Local

Helicopter 579 had left almost twenty minutes ago. Trapp checked his watch one last time. It was out of their hands now. He was seated next to the captain of the Rathburne on the edge of the helipad. Hooker was on the other side of the captain, still holding the detonator in his hand.

Trapp lowered his AK-47 and bowed slightly at Lemester. "I guess they're far enough away. You can go back to running your ship now."

Lemester glared at the man with barely restrained anger. "What about the bomb over there? I want the detonator."

Hooker laughed. "You mean this? Here." He threw it at Lemester, who anxiously fumbled it before making the catch. "That's the remote control to my TV set back in Korea. I don't think I'll be needing it anymore. The satchel is my dirty laundry from the past week. I'd appreciate it if your ship's laundry could take care of it." 

Lemester failed to see the humor in the situation. He yelled for his marines to come forward. "Throw these two in the brig."

Lemester turned to Peppers. "Did you radio in this situation to headquarters?"

Peppers shook his head. "No, sir. You ordered me to do nothing that would jeopardize the ship."

Lemester swore. Sometimes these Annapolis graduates took things too literally. "Lieutenant, how the hell do you think these idiots would have known if you had made a radio call? The air force could have scrambled some jets from Korea or Japan and intercepted the helicopter. It's probably too late now."

Lemester shook his head. "Of course I told you to do nothing. They could hear everything I said. I expected you to use some initiative. You idiot! Get out of my way." The captain climbed up to the radio room.

Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1640 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 12:40 a.m. Local

Riley peered through the night-vision goggles, which were pressed up against the four-power scope. He could barely make out some men gathered around a truck, looking as though they were arguing about something. Probably officers, Riley guessed. He aimed at them and fired five rounds in rapid succession. This time his muzzle flash was spotted. Another truck, farther to the south, opened fire with its heavy machine gun, and the green arc of tracers drew a line from the truck to a point just south of Riley's position. Five other trucks quickly joined in. Riley slid back under cover as random rounds flew overhead.

The regimental commander heard the machine gun fire in response. Still no word from division. He didn't know what to do. His 3d Battalion commander called back in with a report of two more men wounded and a tentative location of the firer—along the ridgeline on the north side of the draw, about two kilometers to the west. The regimental commander was amazed. That was a long way for such accuracy.

Finally division responded. "Move out and subdue firer. Attempt to capture, if at all possible. Reinforcements on the way." 

The regimental commander relayed the orders and ordered his 3d Battalion, the northernmost one, forward; his 2d and 1st Battalions were to stretch out to keep the picket line intact. He contacted the commander of the regiment to his right flank and informed him of the plan.

12:46 a.m. Local

The 3d Battalion commander was less than enthused when he received his orders to move out. The machine-gun firing had died out and there was no return fire. Maybe they'd hit whoever was shooting. The 3d Battalion commander doubted that. He relayed his orders to his company leaders, and slowly they got their units on line. The other two battalions blundered about in the dark, trying to stretch their lines to cover the breach that would be caused by the departure of 3d Battalion.

After the heavy machine-gun fire died out, Riley crawled back up to the crest of the ridge and peered over it toward the Chinese lines. He could make out some movement. He slid a round into the chamber from a fresh magazine and waited.

Eighth Army Headquarters, Yongsan, Seoul, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1649 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 1:49 a.m. Local

Major Thomas did not look forward to the upcoming briefing. General Parker, commander of the Eighth Army, Korea, had ordered the duty officer to keep him informed if any word came in on the missing helicopter from the 17th Aviation Regiment. Two minutes ago the general had walked over from his quarters across the street, ready for the latest update. A downed aircraft was a command-one priority in Korea.

Parker ran his hands through his mussed-up gray hair and unzipped the sweatshirt he had thrown on. "All right, Thomas. What's the latest?"

"Yes, sir. First off, you need to know that we just got word that the helicopter was sighted." 

"Great. Is the crew all right? Where did it go down?"

"We don't know where it's at right now. It landed on the USS Rathburne more than two hours ago in the Sea of Japan." Thomas could see the confusion on the face of his boss.

"Whoa! What was it doing out there?"

"Sir, I just called Colonel Hossey down at DET-K and asked him to drive on up here. He's called a couple of times and he says he has some information on the helicopter."

Parker shook his head. That was even further out in left field. "What does DET-K have to do with this?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

Parker frowned. "All right. I assume the bird is still on the ship."

"No, sir. We don't know where it's at."

"What do you mean you don't know where it's at? They took it into custody, didn't they?"

Thomas shook his head. "The helicopter landed with some men with weapons who said they had a bomb on board. Took the captain of the ship hostage and demanded that he refuel the aircraft. He did so and the helicopter took off again. They left two people on board the ship with the bomb and they threatened to detonate it if the navy tried to call or shoot down the aircraft. The ship has the two in custody now. One of the two gunmen is the DET-K sergeant major."

Parker rolled his eyes. "Where is the helicopter going now?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Is there any more?"

"Yes, sir. We've got the identity of the crew of the helicopter. There is a Captain Jean Long as one of the pilots. The other pilot is a warrant officer named Colin Lassiter.

"We also got some more information on the configuration of the bird. It had four internal fuel tanks mounted, which give it the range, with the refuel from the Rathburne, to fly a hell of a long way. Also, it had two live Stinger missiles mounted on it."

Parker looked at the map on the wall of the operations office. Where could that helicopter be flying? He grabbed the secure phone and punched in the number for the 6th Air Force in Japan.

"This is General Parker, Commander Eighth Army. I need some jets in the air and an AWACS. Vicinity . . . ," he put his hand over the receiver and looked at Thomas. "What's the grid for the RathburneV

Thomas gave it to him and Parker relayed it. "I want the commander on the AWACS to contact me as soon as he's airborne. We've got a helicopter on the loose up there and we need to lasso it."

Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1649 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 12:49 a.m. Local

Mitchell could see and hear movement in the Chinese lines, but even with the night-vision goggles he couldn't tell what was happening. For all he knew, the Chinese might be moving the whole skirmish line forward. He knew they had spotted Riley's position when the machine guns mounted on top of the trucks began returning fire. It was already 12:50. He'd give it another twenty-five minutes, then they'd start moving forward.

Eighth Army Headquarters, Yongsan, Seoul, Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1655 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 1:55 a.m. Local

Parker glared as Colonel Hossey walked in. "What is going on, Colonel? I've got your sergeant major in the brig on a navy ship and a helicopter flying somewhere around the Sea of Japan with a lot of fuel on board. Where is that bird going and why?"

Hossey sighed. He'd been trying to tell his story all day and now finally someone wanted to know. "Sir, I've got men who were on a classified mission in China trapped there. I had to get them out tonight and using that helicopter was the only way."

Parker's eyes grew wide. "That helicopter is on the way to ChinaT The general looked at the map. "Jesus Christ, man. It's going to have to go over either North Korea or Russia to go in from the Sea of Japan. What did . . ." Parker paused as the duty officer indicated the phone.

"Sir, it's General Gunston, 6th Air Force commander on the STU III."

Parker grabbed the phone. "Parker here."

"This is Jim Gunston, Stu. What is going on? My duty officer has scrambled some jets and he also has an AWACS going up in response to your request. I just finished contacting my chain of command at the Pentagon, but no one on duty there knows anything about this." 

Parker glanced briefly at Hossey. "I'm not too sure either. All I know is that I've got a helicopter inbound toward China from the Sea of Japan on an unsanctioned mission. We need to stop it."

There was a pause and then Gunston came back on. "I've got four F-16s from Misawa flying toward the position you gave, to try and intercept. I've also got an AWACS going up—it should be on line in about fifteen minutes. I don't think they'll be able to intercept the helicopter, though. It's got too much of a lead. Also, I'm kind of leery of putting all this into action so near Soviet and North Korean airspace. It's going to spook them."

Parker insisted. "We need to give our best shot at interception. I'm trying to find out right now what's going on. Let me know as soon as you learn anything." He hung up and faced Hossey again. "Start from the beginning."

Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1710 Zulu Sunday, 11 June, 1:10 a.m. Local

It took the commander fifteen minutes to get his 3d Battalion on line, ready to move. The 1st and 2d Battalions were still not organized. The regimental commander decided not to wait. He gave the order for 3d Battalion to move out; stretched in a line, the four hundred men covered a nine-hundred meter front as they marched forward. They left a gap of almost a kilometer and a half behind them. Men from 1st and 2d Battalions scrambled to fill the gap, in turn opening holes in their own fronts.

At the army headquarters in Yanji, Colonel Tugur was finally awakened with the news. He quickly reviewed the reports and cursed as he read that the regimental commander had ordered his men forward. It was too late to stop them. Quickly he ordered more reinforcements into the area. He wasn't sure what was happening, but it could be a diversion—a fact that the regimental commander had apparently overlooked. Tugur also ordered all the helicopters to be prepared to take off. He relayed the information to General Yang up in Shenyang. Tugur knew that the responsibility for what happened tonight would be on his shoulders. 

Riley could pick out the beginnings of a line moving toward his position. He decided to let the soldiers get close enough for Chong to join in the fun. Chong was still positioned about thirty meters to Riley's left, hidden securely behind some boulders. Riley gave a brief whistle and Chong whistled in response. He was ready. Riley put his weapon down and stretched his shoulders and arms. He took several deep breaths and leaned back against a rock. He had several minutes before he had to start killing again.

Mitchell pulled on Hoffman's arm, indicating that they were going to move out. The captain wanted to get closer to the Chinese lines. Hoffman reached over Olinski and grabbed Comsky, who in turn alerted C.J. They hefted up the stretcher, and the centipede of humans moved slowly out of the bushes where they had been hiding.