Point of Contact

4

Commander Holly Symonds stood on the bridge, a pair of high-powered Fujinon binoculars wedged against her eyes. Her executive officer was below deck in the Combat Information Center, monitoring this morning’s missile launch on the vast array of radar and tracking displays. She was on comms with him and kept fully apprised. Symonds preferred the early-morning sunlight and the sting of the stiff breeze gusting over the slate-gray water to the darkly lit, air-conditioned CIC and the electrical hum of its glowing LED displays.

In a real combat situation she would be down there directing tactical operations, but this was a routine test flight by the North Koreans. Not that anything the North Koreans ever did was routine. Clearly they had gone out of their way to not hide today’s launch, which definitely wasn’t par for the course. Choi Ha-guk’s sociopathic predecessor had tested twenty-five rockets in the previous four years — more than the Hermit Kingdom had launched in the previous eighteen. That was a worrisome trend to the Navy brass, and anyone else within targeting distance. Today’s test did nothing to allay those concerns.

The USS Benfold was one of the Navy’s most advanced multiplatform surface combat ships. By deploying the Aegis Combat System — integrating AN/SPY-1 phased array radar, AN/UYK-1 high-speed computers, and a wide variety of missile launch platforms — the Arleigh Burke—class destroyer could track and defeat up to one hundred airborne, surface, and subsurface threats simultaneously.

But the Aegis Combat System was also the world’s most advanced antimissile defense platform. South Korea remained vulnerable to potential long-range missile attacks from the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Until the THAAD — Terminal High Altitude Area Defense — system was fully deployed in South Korea, the United States shielded its ally with the Aegis antimissile defenses as needed.

Given today’s SLBM — submarine-launched ballistic missile — test by the DPRK, the USS Benfold was deployed as a symbol of that continued commitment despite the fact that Choi Ha-guk was unlikely to start a nuclear war today. Nevertheless, the South Koreans were nervous, and rightly so, as the North Korean ballistic missile and nuclear weapons programs continued their aggressive expansion.

“Submarine doors opening, Commander,” her executive said in her headphone. “Preparing to launch.”

“Roger that.” Symonds twisted the furled focus ring on her binoculars. By the naked eye the missile would have to rise some five hundred feet above the surface before she could see it at this distance, but the high-powered binoculars would shave some of that off. A night launch would have been spectacular and easier to track with her eyes. No matter. The Benfold’s automated video tracking cameras would record the launch and feed the data back to the DIA for analysis.

The sonar operator on duty this morning had ears like a vampire bat, but Commander Symonds had another tactical advantage today. The Los Angeles—class fast-attack submarine, USS Asheville, had successfully deployed an autonomous, torpedo-shaped underwater surveillance drone fitted with an array of sensors, including video cameras. The stealth drone had successfully tracked the Gorae from its dock at Sinpo to its current location. The Gorae was believed to be the first and only ballistic missile — capable submarine in the DPRK fleet. Incredibly, the Asheville’s drone was providing a live video feed of the diesel-powered sub and the images were piped directly into the Benfold’s CIC. This was a first for the Navy — eyes-on surveillance of a North Korean SLBM launch in action. Naval intelligence would feed on this data for years.

Little was known about the indigenously built Gorae, but it bore a striking resemblance to Soviet-era boats of a similar type and size. It was believed to have the capacity to launch only one SLBM at a time — the KN-11, aka Pukkuksong-1. It had successfully done so just a few months earlier after a number of failed attempts on sea-based barges. Today it was stationed only a mile offshore from the naval base at Sinpo, submerged in just fifty feet of water — an easy target for the drone’s cameras.

The Pukkuksong-1 had an estimated range of just over 333 miles, posing no threat to the United States. In comparison, America’s Trident II SLBM had a range of more than 4,000 miles. The DPRK land-based systems were more potent. The Taepodong-3 had an estimated range of 8,000 miles.

Today’s launch, no doubt, was to confirm the Gorae’s capability, but equally important, it was meant to send a signal to the United States and its regional allies that the DPRK was now in the submarine-launched ballistic missile club. It would take several more years for the North Koreans to build enough SLBMs to alter the regional balance of power. But when the North Koreans mounted a nuclear warhead on the Pukkuksong-1, the strategic situation in Asia would shift forever. According to the most recent DIA and ONI estimates, that was still several years away.

“She’s launched!” the executive shouted in Symonds’s headset.

The commander knew the first stage of the missile’s flight out of the launch tube and into the water was a cold launch. Instead of firing the missile’s engine — and risking a catastrophic explosion that could destroy the submarine — the missile was expelled from its tube by a separate noncombustible gas generator, like a spitball through a straw. A few seconds after the missile safely cleared the surface, its first-stage engine would ignite.

“I’ve got it.” Symonds watched the missile’s growing smoke trail climb into the dull gray sky. Several seconds passed. She handed her binoculars to a nearby sailor. The missile was moving too fast to track through the glasses. It was easier to trace the smoke trail with her naked eye.

“Mach One achieved,” her executive said. “Vehicle attitude and flight path are as expected.”

Symonds’s head bent upward as the missile climbed higher.

“Captain, something’s wrong,” the executive said.

“What is it?”

“The flight path — it’s not right.”

“I’m on my way.”

Symonds bolted for the CIC.

What the hell was going on?

The steely-eyed People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force (PLARF) major stared at the satellite-tracking display, his face illuminated by the monitor’s amber glow. “First-stage separation completed. Two hundred and sixty-four kilometers and climbing.”

A PLARF captain seated at the adjoining console confirmed, adding, “Terminal velocity achieved, four thousand four hundred meters per second, and holding.”

A PLARF colonel stood above them, beaming. “Excellent!”

“Second-stage burn time, sixty seconds and counting,” the major said.

The small contingent of PLARF officers were clustered in a secured section of the civilian facility. They tried to contain their excitement. In less than a minute, the Americans were going to be very surprised.

The North Korean missile, misnamed by the Americans as the Pukkuksong-1, was performing exactly as designed. They should know.

They designed it.

In an adjacent room, a civilian engineer was also tracking the missile, avoiding the watchful gaze of the senior supervisor, a hard-line party official. The engineer lifted the receiver of his secured landline. He dialed a number, trying to hide his fear. The call he was making could land him in a secret PLA slave labor camp for the next twenty years — or worse. He let the phone ring exactly three times, then hung up.

He hoped the message got through. That call might have just cost him his life.

The SBIRS GEO-3 infrared missile-warning satellite stood high in geosynchronous orbit over the Asian continent, monitoring the flight of the same North Korean rocket.

The SLBM’s trajectory and flight data displayed graphically in real time on the wide wall monitor in the SWS tracking facility, but in accordance with standard procedure, relevant data points were read aloud by the noncommissioned Air Force officers stationed in their specialized departments.

“Second-stage fuel burn complete.”

“Altitude four hundred miles.”

“We have warhead separation.”

The sergeant standing next to the commanding officer, a major, whispered aloud, “Hope it’s a dummy.”

The major ignored the comment. The sergeant was a real motormouth, especially when he was nervous. Of course it was a dummy warhead. This was a test launch, not a first strike.

She studied the warhead’s seven computer-generated probability tracks, each color-coded. The farthest reach was twelve hundred nautical miles from the Sinpo launch point, approximately six hundred miles due east of the northern Japanese coast.

The major frowned. She knew the performance specs for the Pukkuksong-1. That outer track was far and away beyond what she was expecting today from the compact SLBM.

“Major?” the sergeant said, alarm cracking his voice. But he didn’t need to say anything. Everyone in the room was watching the wall monitor, including her.

“Missile warhead appears to be breaking up.”

The major stepped closer to the monitor, shaking her head. “Holy crap.”

“Sir?”

The major was too busy to reply. The seven color-coded tracks suddenly split into twenty-one. She knew the flight was being monitored by U.S. air and ground stations around the world, but the SOP required her to pick up the phone and dial the wing commander now.

That warhead wasn’t breaking up.