Battle Born

CHAPTER SIX

It was the most astounding sight imaginable: long lines of Chinese troops and vehicles marching to the Nampo docks, and hundreds of Korean citizens — residents of both the old North and South Korea — jeering and shouting at them. There were occasional former North Korean soldiers, mostly officers, in the march, and they had to dodge an occasional piece of fruit aimed in their direction. United Republic of Korea soldiers — again, from both North and South, genuinely united — stationed themselves between the demonstrators and the departing troops, keeping the citizens out of the road itself, but the crowds were orderly and the soldiers made no effort to stop their shouts and jeers.

And yes, there was even fruit to throw. When the former North Korean warehouses were opened up, citizens found tens of thousands of tons of food, fuel, clothing, and other supplies cached away all over the country, kept for party members, bureaucrats, and Chinese troops, or rifled by smugglers and black marketers. The black marketing was under control now — UROK troops dealt severely with the crooks — and for the first time in ages, fresh produce was reaching ordinary citizens.

The naval base at Nampo was one of the largest ports on Korea’s east coast, and North Korea’s largest naval facility. It was also the home of the People’s Republic of China’s Korean flotilla, a small fleet of surface and subsurface vessels based in North Korea to help train their client state’s large-and medium-ship fleet. China had had over twenty thousand personnel and forty ships permanently based at Nampo, plus several dozen other vessels that visited the port monthly while on maneuvers in the Bo Hai and Yellow Seas.

Today, however, the base represented the beginning of the end of Chinese occupation of the Korean peninsula. The last of the Chinese troops and their heavy equipment, that which could not be sent by rail or along the highways north to China, were preparing to leave the country. Twenty heavy roll-on, roll-off container ships were waiting at the docks to take the last of China’s war machine out of Nampo.

Korean troops lined the way, watching the procession. The departure was going smoothly until two American-made Humvees veered into the street and set up a blockade in front of a large green tractor-trailer rig. The Chinese officer in charge of the heavy equipment motorcade, who was riding in a general-purpose transport ahead of the rig, called an instant halt to the march and ordered his security troops to prepare to repel attackers.

At the sight of the Humvees, and the large, strange antennas atop them, the officer knew that what he had feared most had just happened. He got out of his vehicle and stormed toward the Humvees blocking the path of his trucks, his face looking appropriately outraged, annoyed, and murderous. He was encouraged to note that his own security forces clearly outnumbered the Korean troops lining the street. If there was going to be a fight, he would win it easily.

“What is the meaning of this?” the officer shouted. He had been assigned to Pyongyang for many years, and his Korean was fluent. “I demand to know why my trucks are being detained. Move your vehicles immediately or I will order my men to remove them for you!”

A Korean officer stepped out of one of the Humvees, approached the Chinese officer, bowed politely, and saluted. The Chinese officer noted the new United Republic of Korea flag hastily sewn onto the jacket, and sneered.

“Please forgive me, sir,” the Korean officer said, bowing again. The Chinese officer knew that Koreans seldom literally mean what they say — they might apologize a thousand times over, yet never mean it. Such was certainly the case now. “But we must search this vehicle for contraband weapons,” the Korean said. “I promise it will not take very long.”

“You will do no such thing!” the Chinese officer retorted. He withdrew a folded legal document with the seal of the new United Republic of Korea and the seal of the People’s Republic of China on its cover. “Under the terms of the agreement between our nations, we are permitted to pass without hindrance during this withdrawal period. Step aside!”

“You are permitted undisturbed movement of personnel and equipment as long as you do not possess contraband items,” said the Korean officer. “We have reason to believe that you are carrying illegal special weapons.” He motioned to the large antennas on his trucks. “Those are radiation detectors, sir. It is our opinion that you are carrying at least two and possibly more nuclear warheads in those trucks. You must allow us to inspect your trucks before you may pass.”

“We will not!” the Chinese officer shouted. “You are not entitled to inspect our cargo. We are carrying only official records, personal items, and office equipment. All of it is the property of the People’s Republic of China. These trucks contain the remains of Chinese soldiers and family members who wish to be reinterred in their homeland. Disturbing their caskets would be sacrilege, punishable by the shame and humiliation of your ancestors. Now step aside, sir. This is your last warning.” He shouted an order to his troops, who promptly knelt and raised their weapons to port arms, ready to open fire. “Your men are far outnumbered, sir. Now stand back and let us pass, or there will be bloodshed.”

“We will not stand aside, sir,” the Korean replied. “We do not want a fight, but we will respond with force if necessary. If you have contraband weapons in that vehicle, they will be confiscated, and the rest of your men and equipment may board the ships. Do not force us to fight.”

“Then move your vehicles. Let us pass without any more delay, and there will be no fighting,” the Chinese said. He turned again to his men. “You men, move those vehicles! Do it peaceably, but use force if—”

Suddenly, there was a swooosh and just a hint of a streak of smoke through the sky, and seconds later the Chinese officer’s vehicle was hit. A cylindrical missile, perhaps three feet long and six inches in diameter, spun through the air like a stick tossed into the air, then bounced and skittered across the ground, with smoke belching from the blunt aft end. It did not explode, but it knocked the vehicle sideways so hard it almost sent it off the road. The Chinese troops scattered; some took cover, but remarkably, no one opened fire. The demonstrators also scattered, moving a safe distance away, but not so frightened as to leave the scene.

The missile was silver-colored, with short, straight fins protruding from its midbody and aft end. The nose was blunt. A thick tangle of thin wire, like monofilament fishing line, trailed behind it. The Korean officer went over to the missile and kicked it with the toe of his boot, then lifted up the wire so the Chinese officer could see. “This, sir, is a TOW missile round,” he said. “Wire-guided, range of approximately four kilometers, with a four-kilogram high-explosive impact warhead. This is only a dummy round, of course. But I promise you, sir, all of the rest of the rounds we fire will be live ones. We have over a dozen gunners scattered nearby, and two helicopter gunships with more TOWs and Hellfire missiles ready to respond. Many of us will die if fighting starts, but many more of you will die too. We will then proceed to sink your transport ships and kill every last one of your soldiers onboard.”

“We were promised that there would be no interference or coercion during our withdrawal!” the Chinese officer shouted, his voice quivering in fear. “We were promised no demonstration of force, no military presence, no intimidation…”

“And we were promised that all nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons would remain in place for proper disposal,” the Korean officer retorted. “My men have detected nuclear weapons in that vehicle. We will now search it and confiscate any contraband weapons, or we will kill every last one of your men and destroy all of your ships and vehicles. You may choose, sir. Choose wisely.”

“You would dare to disturb the eternal sleep of the honorable dead?” the Chinese officer asked. “Have you no conscience? Have you no shame?”

“If I am wrong, sir, then I will publicly and personally apologize to the families of those whom I have disturbed,” the Korean officer replied. “I will accept the shame of my nation. But I will search these vehicles. Now. Will you please step aside, sir?” The Chinese officer shook his head, then ordered his men to back away from the trucks.

Sure enough, the semi was filled with six large wooden boxes, sealed with steel straps. The boxes bore the inscription of death, plus information on the deceased’s family and town of origin. Some were draped with regimental flags, the symbol of a dead soldier; one was draped with a Chinese flag, signifying the remains of a high government official. The inscription said the remains were that of the senior military attaché assigned to Nampo, the third-highest-ranking member of the Chinese bureau in Nampo.

“This one,” the Korean officer said to his men. “Open it.”

“How dare you!” the Chinese officer shouted. “Do you realize that that contains the blessed remains of Vice-Marshal Cho Jong-sang himself? He was a former commander in the People’s Army, next in line for chief of the general staff, and one of the highest-ranking Chinese diplomats in North Korea.”

“I said, open it!”

“Why don’t you open another one, if you charge there is more than one contraband weapon in the truck?” the Chinese officer asked. “Do not desecrate the vice-marshal’s name by disturbing his coffin!” But the Korean officer refused to yield. Four of his soldiers removed the steel bands and opened the wooden crate, revealing a magnificent mahogany coffin inside. The locks had to be drilled out, which took some time, but the casket was finally opened…

… and indeed, there lay the withered body of the vice-marshal, in full military uniform.

“You bastard!” the Chinese officer spat, unleashing a tirade of invective as the coffin was sealed shut again. The Korean officer stood unmoving at its head, bowed deeply at the waist, and suffered the onslaught in silence.Then, before the crate was lifted back into the truck, he apologized, saying, “I am most deeply sorry for my mistake,” turned to his soldiers, and pointed. “That one next.”

“What?” the Chinese officer shouted in disbelief. “You are going to open another one? How dare you? You will be imprisoned for this, I promise you! You will not see the light of day for fifty years!” He positioned himself directly in front of the Korean officer, going face-to-face with him. “This will cause an international incident of the worst kind if you do not stop immediately! You—”

“Step aside, please, sir.”

“I will not! You have delayed us long enough! I will order my men to keep your men away from these trucks until I can contact my embassy. Stop immediately, or I will…”

But he stopped as the four soldiers tried to lift the wooden crate — and it would not budge. With their flashlight, they could see that this crate and a couple of others, most of them located in the front area of the truck, were fitted with special hardware so they could be moved by forklift. They also found roller pallets that could help move the heavy crates.

“How interesting,” said the Korean officer. “The vice-marshal’s remains can be easily lifted by four men, while this one cannot be moved even a centimeter. This is rather unusual, don’t you think, sir?”

The Chinese officer swore under his breath. “You have no idea of the havoc it will cause if these crates are not delivered to China. My country is willing to go to war over these devices! Do you understand? What you are doing is tempting war between our countries. Do you want that for your brand-new little nation? Do you want to celebrate your first few weeks of existence with a Chinese invasion? Do you?” The Korean officer was unmoved. The Chinese officer wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “They will execute me if I do not return with them,” he whispered. “I will be killed the minute I set foot on Chinese soil.”

“Then do not return,” said the Korean. “Remain here in United Korea. You will be welcome.”

“That would save my life, I suppose,” the Chinese said, “but it would not preserve my honor or the honor of my family, would it?” He looked at the Korean officer’s field jacket and recognized the outlines of some of the patches and insignia that had been stripped from it. They fitted a North Korean People’s Army unit. This man had been a North Korean officer! “Tell me, sir,” he asked, “what preserves your honor? You not only turn your back on your oath and your country, but you do not even procure another jacket to wear. You dishonor your country of birth by sewing this abomination on the jacket that kept you warm and protected.”

“The flag I served under, the bureaucrats and government officials that I pledged to support and defend, starved my family and me for months,” the Korean officer answered bitterly. “Last year it cost the life of my youngest son. Every family I know, military or not, was hurt by what the Communist government was doing. When the opportunity came to bring the government down, I took it. I invoked the name of my dead son for strength. His strength supports me still. Now my family is being cared for — and now I would give my life for the new nation that saved them from certain death.

“Now step aside. Order your men to leave the contraband weapons right where they are and board your ships, and you may depart in peace. Otherwise, I will order all these vehicles and your ships destroyed. I will be happy to join my son in eternity. I am ready to die. Are you?”

About an hour later the march toward the transport ships resumed. It took several more hours to load the ships; then the last of the Chinese Army members boarded and the vessels unleashed thick clouds of smoke as their engines pushed them away from the Korean shore. Korean helicopters flitted overhead to escort them clear of their territorial waters.

Left behind on the wharf, to the stunned amazement of the onlookers, were thirty-seven gray steel coffins, off-loaded from the trucks. Each coffin was about six feet long, three feet square, and weighed well over eight hundred pounds… and each contained a thermonuclear warhead for a short-range Scud missile. Some were smaller North Korean — made ABD warheads, with approximately a ten-kiloton nuclear yield; a few were Chinese-made OKD warheads with anywhere from a forty-to a three-hundred-fifty-kiloton yield.

Once word spread about what was inside those coffins, the demonstrators who had thronged the roadsides quickly left the military port at Nampo. They never wanted to set foot there again.

Thank you for taking my call, Mr. President,” said Kevin Martindale, speaking on the secure videophone hookup. Out of view of the videophone camera, chief of staff and senior adviser Jerrod Hale scowled at the President’s courteous words. No President of the United States of America, he said in silent admonishment, should ever have to suck up to a foreign leader, however grave the situation. Vice President Whiting and National Security Adviser Freeman were also in the Oval Office, and out of camera view.

“I am pleased to take your call and I place myself at your complete disposal, sir,” responded United Republic of Korea President Kwon Ki-chae. The man looked more cheerful than Martindale ever remembered seeing him. Well, why shouldn’t he? His grand, daring scheme to reunite the Korean peninsula had worked unbelievably well.

“Mr. President, I have just received a briefing from my staff,” Martindale began. “We heard the news of the stockpile of nuclear warheads confiscated at Nampo. Congratulations, sir, for taking control of those devices without bloodshed. Any one of us here would have guessed that the Chinese would have fought to the death before relinquishing them.”

“I thank you for your kind words, Mr. President,” Kwon said. “We thank the gods of chance and of reason that bloodshed was avoided. But when you have nothing to lose except your freedom, acts of desperation are your only alternative. Unfortunately, my military analysts tell me that it is possible we only succeeded in confiscating a fraction of the warheads stored in Nampo and the First Army region. We fear many more were already smuggled out in the opening days of the transition.”

“I agree, Mr. President,” Martindale said. He paused for a moment, then went on: “Mr. President, the confiscated warheads are the reason for my call. My analysts tell me you have uncovered over sixty such weapons caches throughout North Korea in the past few days — and these are only weapons stores that you did not know about before the transition.”

“That is true, Mr. President,” Kwon acknowledged. “Your intelligence information is quite accurate. We have unearthed”—he paused, checking his notes—”sixty-three weapons caches. It is also true that we did not know about these hidden weapons before the transition. Most appear to be weapons in maintenance status that Communist loyalists tried to hide. Thankfully, those who believe in peaceful reunification reported their existence and led our teams to them.”

“We do not have an accurate guess as to how many warheads or devices that represents,” President Martin-dale went on, “but if each cache was only half the size of yesterday’s Nampo discovery, that is over six hundred weapons of mass destruction discovered.”

“It is indeed shocking,” Kwon said, choosing not to confirm or deny Martindale’s estimate. “To think that all these years the Communists denied they stockpiled such weapons. We are indeed fortunate that the Communists never had a chance to employ them against us. It would have decimated our country ten times over.”

“The entire world is grateful for your courage, wisdom, and strength through this incredible ordeal, Mr. President,” Martindale said. He looked at Hale’s scowl and nodded, this time acknowledging that his civility might be a touch excessive. “Those weapons represented a substantial threat not just to Korea directly, but to the entire world. We believe, and I’m sure you’ll verify, that the Communists were selling those warheads, along with the delivery vehicles, around the world for hard currency. Their balance of payments certainly bears this out.” Kwon said nothing.

“Mr. President, I’ve spoken with representatives of the Chinese government,” Martindale went on. “They’re worried about what you intend to do with those warheads. The stockpiles must be enormous — while North Korea’s chemical and biological warfare capability was well documented, we now realize that their nuclear capability was equal to or even greater than what we ever anticipated.”

Still, Kwon said nothing. He stared directly at the camera, hands folded, a slight benign smile on his face, as if waiting for the punch line to a joke.

“President Kwon? Can you hear me, sir?

“Of course, Mr. President,” Kwon responded.

“I ask you, sir — what do you intend to do with the special weapons you have?”

At the Blue House in Seoul, United Republic of Korea, President Kwon sat with his national security advisers, all out of videoconference camera range: Defense Minister Kim Kun-mo, a retired Army general; Prime Minister Lee Kyong-sik; Foreign Affairs Minister Kang No-myong; Director for National Security Planning Lee Ung-pae; and Chief of the General Staff General An Ki-sok. Kwon looked at each of them, searching for some indication of what he should say to the President of the United States. Finally, he said, “Please forgive me, Mr. President. I must confer with my aides,” and put the videoconference call to Washington on hold without waiting for a response.

“So,” he said to his advisers. “The question has been asked, as we feared it would be. Your thoughts, please?”

“Do the Americans deserve an answer?” General Kim asked angrily. “They sound to me as though they are accusing us of some duplicity. How dare they?”

“In case you have forgotten, General, the United States protected South Korea for two generations,” President Kwon retorted. “They spilled the blood of their children on our soil less than ten years after fighting a terrible world war that eventually defeated our Japanese oppressors. They risked nuclear devastation to keep South Korea free and democratic. I think they deserve to know.”

“Sir, it is as you have said in the past: they did this in their own self-interest. The Americans, like the Chinese and Russians in the North, used Korea as a way to intimidate their superpower enemies, not to protect us,” Kim replied. “You know as well as I that Washington would have never agreed to your plan to reunite the peninsula. We were forced to do it on our own because of American intransigence. And now they want to take our hard-won weapons away? I say no!”

President Kwon was accustomed to his defense minister’s strident tone, although it troubled him. He looked around the conference table. “Your opinions, gentlemen?”

“I disagree with Minister Kim, sir,” Foreign Minister Kang said rather nervously. “Retaining those weapons will only harm our relations overseas. We will be seen as a nuclear wild card, like Israel or Iran. That will not be good for our cause.”

“I agree with Minister Kim,” General An said. No surprise there, Kwon thought. Although in this room he was considered an equal in rank and status, An needed Kim’s endorsement to move up the ladder and become the next minister of defense when the general retired, so he usually sided with Kim on policy questions. “We should deal with China and the rest of the world from a position of strength, not weakness. Although I agree that the United States has been a trusted friend and ally to us, they do not have the right to dictate terms to us.”

“I am sorry to put the monkey on your back, sir,” Prime Minister Lee said with a wry smile, “but I disagree with Kim. We should not keep any weapons of mass destruction. I do not think we have anything to fear from China unless we keep those weapons.”

General Kim could sense that the tide was turning away from him, so he said, “I certainly see their point, sir. Maintaining a nuclear weapons deterrent will undoubtedly cast our new nation in a different and disturbing light. But I truly feel it is our best and perhaps our only deterrent to Chinese aggression.

“Consider this, sir: We use those weapons not as devices for mass destruction, but as bargaining chips. We force China to agree to stop harboring Kim Jong-il or supporting his government-in-exile in exchange for removing those weapons. Or we remove the weapons in exchange for a disarming of our border with China — an equal number of troops within three hundred kilometers of the border on both sides. Or both. But we should not even hint that we are willing simply to hand over the weapons to anyone, not even the United States.”

“I think that is a very good tactic to pursue,” Prime Minister Lee said quickly, thankful that an option presented itself that would avoid directly opposing the powerful retired general.

President Kwon thought for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your thoughts. You are all indeed true patriots.” He pushed the HOLD button on his phone and resumed his videoconference call with the President of the United States.

“What is it that concerns you, President Martindale?” Kwon asked when his image reappeared on the videophone screen. “What is it that concerns President Jiang?”

“What concerns us?” The President stared at Kwon in surprise. “President Kwon, it is well known that the People’s Republic of China views the existence of weapons of mass destruction at or even near its borders as a threat to its national security and sovereignty. The United States and the former Republic of Korea have honored China’s concern and have not stationed any nuclear, chemical, or biological weapons on the Korean peninsula for over twenty years. If you keep these confiscated weapons, China will certainly view it as a threat.”

“President Martindale,” Kwon said, “it is incongruous in the extreme to let such a notion concern you.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“In the light of our recent discoveries, sir, it is apparent that weapons of mass destruction have been placed on Korean soil for many years,” Kwon said. “The world knew about North Korea’s chemical and biological weapons, and now we see that a great many thermonuclear weapons were based here too. Why then should we be concerned if China is upset that we now possess the very weapons that they in all likelihood placed on Korean soil in the first place?”

“The difference is, sir, that North Korea and most certainly China jointly controlled those weapons, and now they don’t,” Martindale said. “I understand what you are saying, Mr. President. But the cold hard fact is that China is upset that you are capturing these weapons and have not declared your intention as to their disposition. China has thankfully stayed out of this incident because they recognized, as did the world, that this was an internal struggle. When the pro-democracy forces won and it was apparent that the former North Korean citizens were being welcomed and integrated into the new United Korea, China was careful not to interfere and cooperated in a timely manner with a complete military troop withdrawal.”

“We have done all that we promised,” Kwon said. “We are one people. Nothing can deny that.”

“President Kwon, I am not sure you understand. If China thinks it a possibility that you might point those nuclear, chemical, or biological weapons at them, they may not be so cooperative,” Martindale warned the Korean president. “In fact, they might get downright upset. They have almost a quarter of a million troops sitting on your northern border right now, and another quarter million within seven days’ march.

“You must declare your intentions, sir. My recommendation to you is to agree to turn over all those confiscated special weapons to the United Nations Nuclear Disarmament Agency. The United States will pay all costs of transporting, dismantling, incineration, disposal, or secure storage of the weapons. We can announce the action at a joint news conference, and this time I’ll be sure that President Jiang of China himself is there to endorse and support it. You can declare the Korean peninsula a certified weapons-of-mass-destruction-free zone and challenge China to turn Asia into a WMD-free continent.”

Kwon Ki-chae sat back in his chair, a move that startled Martindale and Hale. It was an extraordinarily casual gesture in a man who was normally extremely conscious of appearances. “I very much appreciate your concern and thoughts on this subject, Mr. President,” he said. “I am of course in full agreement with your sentiments. A WMD-free Asia would be in the best interests of everyone in the world.”

Martindale smiled, although a knot was forming in his stomach. He was afraid Kwon was about to let the other shoe drop.

“However, I think it would be best if we kept these weapons for the time being,” he said, sitting up straight again, his tone and mannerisms now grave. “We believe it would be a more persuasive show of sincerity and unanimity if President Jiang joined me in turning over all of his weapons of mass destruction to the United Nations.”

“Are you… serious?” Martindale blurted out. “Are you saying you will not turn over any warheads unless China agrees to turn over its warheads at the same time? Mr. President, do you seriously believe that’s ever going to happen?”

“Apparently you do not believe it,” Kwon replied. “But why is this so hard to believe, sir? Where is the threat? Certainly not from the United States, correct? Russia has not the capacity for war, and certainly not against a powerful neighbor. Let us all agree to lay down our weapons together in a total show of a lasting commitment for peace. What a glorious way to begin the new millennium.”

“Mr. President…” Kevin Martindale forced himself to control his rising anger and frustration. “Mr. President, please reconsider. The threat potentially facing Korea is very, very serious. If China perceives you as a threat, they may launch a preemptive attack against Seoul and against all of your military installations, North and South. The death and destruction could be enormous. China has certainly shown in recent years that it will react harshly and quickly to any threat to its security and regional hegemony. I believe you have an opportunity to be a world leader in the pursuit of peace and global nuclear disarmament. Please reconsider your position.”

“I will attempt to state United Republic of Korea’s position as plainly as I can,” Kwon said sternly, leaning toward the camera. “Our republic faced imminent destruction for almost fifty years. We endured two generations of schizophrenia and paranoia, brothers torn apart by a world that saw Korea as nothing more than spoils of war to be divided up like bits of clothing and equipment taken from the bodies of the dead on the battlefield.

“For decades, both North and South were forced to accept foreign powers on our soil. We were led to believe these powers were there to protect us from ourselves. We now know that they were really there to provide a forward presence for themselves, to act as a deterrent in their own selfish interests. Neither China, the United States, nor Russia cared about the Korean people. All you cared about was the military and geopolitical advantages that stationing troops on our soil, near your potential adversaries, could provide. You were protecting no one else but yourselves. No more.

“I will introduce an emergency bill in our new legislature, authorizing the Korean military to keep and control all military weapons and devices, including weapons of mass destruction,” Kwon said. “It will authorize the establishment of a positive control system, supervised by the president and the minister of defense. It will authorize training, maintenance, and deployment of all types of weapons now on Korean soil. And it will authorize that these weapons be deployed against whatever power threatens the peace, security, and sovereignty of United Korea.”

Kwon waited to let his words sink in, then went on: “With all due respect, Mr. Martindale, I was not able to believe you when you showed concern for Korea and expressed your hope that we would help contribute to world peace by turning over our weapons of mass destruction. You hoped we would do so because you asked us to. You hope that we will do so now because then you can save face before the Chinese government. Although we no longer look to the United States for our protection, the Chinese still believe we look to you for guidance and support — they believe we are still American puppets. You were hoping this was true. It is not.

“The weapons we have confiscated will stay in Korea until such time as we feel they are not necessary to secure our citizens, our borders, our government, and our way of life. I sincerely hope all such weapons can be destroyed around the world. But we must do it together.Until then, we will look to ourselves for our security.”

“President Kwon, I think you’re making a big mistake,” President Martindale said. “China… no, the world will react negatively to the news that Korea has decided to keep perhaps several hundred WMDs. You will undo all the great things you have accomplished in the past several weeks.”

“Was France ostracized and in danger of attack from Russia or the United States because it broke away from NATO and decided to control the fate of its own nuclear weapons?” Kwon asked. “Did the United States dismantle its nuclear arsenal because the Soviet Union was upset about you aiming ten thousand nuclear warheads at its cities? We will not willingly surrender any weapon in the hope that belligerent nations will follow suit and lay down their weapons too. That is a typical American folly that Korea will not repeat.

“I hope you are wrong, Mr. Martindale,” Kwon went on. “I hope China sees us as a stabilizing influence in Asia and not a destabilizing one. But it does not matter what they think. Korea will use all the resources available to it to defend its borders, its government, and its people. If it means war with China — well, many have said such a war was inevitable, that two such ideologically opposed nations can never coexist or even peacefully share a border. China has dominated Korea in the past, and if history shows us anything, it is that it may happen again. But this time we are united. Any who wish to attack or invade will find a stronger, more determined Korea standing in their way.”

“President Kwon, please, let me meet with you as soon as possible,” President Martindale said. “In Tokyo, in Singapore, in Manila, in Paris — anywhere you wish. We must sit down face-to-face and talk more.”

“I am very sorry, Mr. Martindale,” Kwon said, “but I have a fledgling country to run — and a military to organize. If China is indeed a threat to us, as you say, we must prepare. Good day to you, sir.” And the video-conference connection went dead.

Martindale was exhausted, physically and emotionally, when he dropped the receiver back on its cradle. He shook his head and massaged his aching temples. “You were right, Ellen,” he told the others in the Oval Office. “They aren’t going to give up the weapons. He sees them as his best opportunity to hold off another invasion by China. Kwon must be crazy to think he can stop China.”

“Kwon is not crazy, not by a long shot,” Vice President Whiting said seriously. “He is like a grand chess master, which in reality I believe he is: he can see six moves ahead, and he is dogged in his determination. He has infinite patience and a simple, clear, concise set of objectives — the creation of a united Korean nation. If keeping hundreds of WMDs will help him achieve that, he’ll do it.”

“I can certainly see his point,” General Freeman said. “He knows that China can march right in and take Korea at any time if they choose to do so. Having a WMD arsenal, with missiles powerful enough to hold Beijing itself at risk, is the only way they can hope to deter China.”

“But if China was going to invade, they could have done it a long time ago.”

“Not with American troops stationed there,” Freeman pointed out. “We were only a trip-wire force there, true, but it was an effective trip wire. Our little forty-thousand-troop force successfully held hundreds of thousands of Chinese soldiers at bay for forty years — backed up by our nuclear deterrent, of course. The only time we ever felt threatened by the Chinese is when we started to draw down our strategic forces to the point where China believed it could withstand an American retaliation. They took a shot at subduing Taiwan, and only by stepping in with substantial firepower did they back off.”

“And now, with Korea?”

“It’s déjà vu all over again — except China might have the public opinion advantage in this one,” Freeman replied. “You are absolutely correct, sir — if Korea keeps those weapons, they’ll be perceived as the antagonizers, perhaps even as the aggressors. It is as if Cuba suddenly acquired a tremendous nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons arsenal and then dared us to ignore the fact — the world would condemn Cuba. China can claim it is a destabilizing event. The world will not only be horrified to learn that North Korea had a nuclear arsenal greater than most any other non-superpower nation on earth, but that now United Korea has those weapons. China must respond to this development.”

“How?”

“They might increase the number of troops on the border and in the region, increase the throw weight of missiles and artillery aimed at Korea — all peaceful, all on their side of the line, and all fully justifiable,” Freeman went on. “This could continue for months, even years. The world could be on the razor’s edge for an indefinite period of time, even with continuous and strenuous negotiations going on. But worse: if something happens — an accident, an error, a skirmish — all hell could break loose in the blink of an eye. We destroyed China’s intercontinental ballistic missile fleet in 1997 during the Taiwan conflict, but we didn’t put much of a dent in their medium-or short-range ballistic missile arsenal. Most of it is intact, and it’s potent.”

“And Korea no longer has all of the Patriot antiaircraft and antimissile systems it had just one month ago,” Ellen Whiting pointed out. “We took most of those systems home with us when our troops left, didn’t we?”

“Yes. Less than a third of the thirty Patriot batteries are still there,” Freeman said. “Each battery has three launchers, one radar, and six reload canisters. That’s about forty shots against aircraft — Patriots always fire in two-round salvos — and less than twenty shots against tactical ballistic missiles. This means one attack could deplete their antiaircraft and antimissile capabilities. Plus, Kwon has to face the idea of dispersing those ten batteries throughout the entire peninsula, not just the South. Thirty batteries located in South Korea protected the nation very well against just about any airborne threat — but ten batteries spread out over the entire peninsula will be stretching it pretty thin.”

“And what do we do if Kwon wants to buy more Patriots?” Vice President Whiting asked. “What do we tell him? Or what if he goes to Russia, or Israel, or Great Britain, looking for air defense equipment?”

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here,” the President said, holding up a hand. “One crisis at a time, please.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Okay. What do we have in the region right now? Anything at all we can add to increase the deterrent factor?”

“All of our assets are afloat,” Philip Freeman replied. “The America and the Eisenhower carrier battle groups are in the area. The America is in the Yellow Sea, helping move our remaining troops out of Korea; it was to have been decommissioned two years ago, but with the destruction of Indy, it’s still in service. The Eisenhower is in the Sea of Japan, standing by to help, trying to monitor the situation, and providing some cover for Japan. Not that Japan needs it — they’ve been flying regular MiG-29 patrols right up to the Korea-China-Russia frontier, with Korea’s blessing. We have two other carriers, Roosevelt and Vinson, en route to the area.”

“That’s it? No other forces near Korea?”

“Sir, that’s one-third of our carrier fleet,” Freeman acknowledged somberly. “And they all must operate with minimal forward-basing capability. Seventh Fleet was forced to move from Yokosuka to Pearl Harbor because of the Independence disaster, and all attack-capable military units were removed from Japan following the nuclear attack on the Independence. We have a few assets at Yokota and Misawa, all air defense and transport units. It took two years of hard negotiating to keep our bases on Okinawa. The units on Okinawa are there to maintain air base operations and provide fleet support only — we are prohibited from basing or staging any attack forces from there. Anderson Air Base on Guam is still uninhabitable; Agana Naval Base on Guam is just coming back up after being heavily damaged in the Chinese attack. The nearest American military base is Elmendorf Air Force Base.” When the President looked up at Freeman with a quizzical expression, he added, “In Anchorage, Alaska.”

“Anchorage!” the President exclaimed. “The closest military base we have to Korea is in Alaska?”

“The former Adak Naval Air Station in the Aleutian Island chain is thirteen hundred miles closer, but it is completely uninhabited except by caretakers — the Navy left in 1998,” Freeman said. “First-class airfield, first-class dock facilities, first-class communications facilities, enough housing and infrastructure for almost ten thousand folks — just uninhabited for two years. It’s a three-hour plane ride from Anchorage, if the weather is good.” He gave the President a wry smile. “The Navy got along well with the neighbors — the nearest civilian community of any size is over one hundred miles away.”

“My God,” the President muttered. “No nearby military facilities. What’re the next closest bases?”

“About equidistant between Anchorage and Honolulu,” Freeman said. “Over four thousand miles away — eight hours by jet.”

“God,” the President muttered again. “Philip, I need a contingency plan to deal with this, right away. If China attacks United Korea, what are we going to do about it? What will our response be? We also need to have sufficient forces in place to protect Japan, even if they don’t want us based on their soil. My thoughts are this: we place enough deterrent forces in the region to show China that we are ready to respond. At least three carrier battle groups, plus a bomber force on alert in Alaska, loaded with enough firepower to blunt a Chinese ground invasion. Philip, I need you to draw up something like that as soon as possible.”

Philip Freeman walked over to his briefcase and withdrew three copies of a thick manuscript. “Fast enough for you, sir?” he quipped, handing a copy to Vice President Whiting as well. The manuscript was entitled “United Republic of Korea Show of Force Ops Plan.”

“You’ve been busy these past few days, Philip,” the President said approvingly. “Very good. Give it to me in a nutshell.”

“You’ve given it to me already, sir,” Freeman responded. “Priority number one: increase our presence in northeast Asia without the use of foreign forward-operating bases. Priority number two: deter aggression by China or Russia against the UROK or Japan. Priority number three: be able to stop or blunt a land invasion by either China or Russia into the UROK with rapid, sustained, massive firepower.

“This document was written by Brigadier General Patrick McLanahan of the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center. It’s biased, of course — McLanahan and his team develop air weapons, mostly Air Force — but he has a workable plan that I’d like to present to you for consideration. He relies on some naval assets and some assets of other services, but mostly he relies on experimental assets being developed by him and his team at Elliott Air Force Base.”

“Why am I not surprised?” the President asked sarcastically. He inwardly winced when he heard the name “Elliott,” as in “Brad Elliott”—as he feared, that three-star bastard was still haunting him, tormenting the White House from beyond the grave.

“Response number one: increase surface combat tasking in the region,” Freeman went on. “The first choice would be carriers, and we’ll have to start with the ones we have in the region, but McLanahan outlines a different proposal in his plan. Response number two: increase commitment of long-range air combat forces to the Asia theater. Response number three…” He hesitated, then said, “Commitment to use special weapons in the NEA theater.”

“Special weapons? You mean, nuclear weapons?” Ellen Whiting exclaimed.

“It’s the only viable alternative, ma’am,” Freeman said. “We have less than one hundred active long-range bombers and less than three hundred medium bombers in the Air Force, and with three carrier battle groups we add only another eighty Navy medium bombers and perhaps a thousand cruise missiles. Even if we could surge these aircraft to two sorties a day and limit attrition to one percent, we won’t have nearly enough assets to even put a dent in a massive Chinese ground and armored invasion. And we have to consider the real possibility that China will switch to weapons of mass destruction itself when American forces respond. Therefore, I believe we need to make the commitment right up front to deploy and use tactical nuclear, subatomic-yield, or plasma-yield weapons.”

The President and the Vice President were too stunned to react, so Freeman went on: “There are other concerns as well. This will put a tremendous strain on our other world commitments, since every few months at least one additional carrier needs to be rotated in — that’s more than one-third of our carrier fleet committed to northeast Asia. This will leave important parts of the world, such as the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea, without a carrier battle group for long periods of time. If a crisis erupts in the Balkans, the Aegean, the Baltic, or the eastern Med, we couldn’t respond rapidly. We would have to commit large portions of our air forces to the Pacific theater — bombers, tankers, and support aircraft — and since we’re talking about the northern Pacific, that means deploying those forces north, to Alaska…”

“Aha — the mention of Adak and Elmendorf wasn’t a fluke, eh, Philip?” the Vice President said as she flipped through the report.

“No, ma’am,” Freeman replied. “As soon as we lost the use of our bases in Japan, the Pentagon started looking for other alternatives — and that meant Alaska. Now, with the loss of Korean bases as well, Adak’s importance has skyrocketed. We have proposals awaiting authorization to dump a billion dollars into Adak in the next five years and base as many as thirty support aircraft there year-round.”

“Looks to me like you’d better get that proposal into the congressional paper mill right away,” the President said. “I’ll bet you have an emergency spending plan drafted up as well?”

“One hundred million dollars over the next two years,” Freeman answered. “We can have the Pentagon tack it onto some other spending authorization bill and have it back on your desk for signature in a few days. It won’t exactly be a plum base of assignment, but we operated aircraft out of there for decades before.”

“Do it,” the President said. “Good work. But I’m still bothered about those carriers, Philip. China will start howling at us if we put three carriers around the Korean peninsula. Besides, the carriers are too attack-heavy. How about just a few ships — a little less intrusive, a little more defense-oriented?”

“Section Three,” Freeman said. The President and Vice President smiled and flipped the pages in their documents. “I had another little talk with General McLanahan just a few days ago, and he sent me a draft of a proposal that has been circulating around for years which we appended to his plan. He says we can effectively increase our forward presence around Korea by a factor of between two and five, using assets we already have. He says with a budget, he can set up a missile defense screen over the entire Korean peninsula without one ground-based system at all.”

“What?” the President exclaimed. “How in the hell is that possible?”

“I can get him in here in a matter of minutes and he can explain it all to you,” General Freeman said. “He just happens to be on his way to Washington.”

“Just happens to be?” the President said. “Good. Let’s get him in here and do it.” He skimmed through the document, shaking his head in amazement. “Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. How come we didn’t implement this plan before?”

“General McLanahan won’t say so, but we both suspect it was because of General Elliott. You remember how fond he was of the Navy.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

The President shook his head, reminded that inter-service rivalry and mistrust had set fine military plans like these back so many years. “Christ, if he was still alive, with George Balboa still at the Pentagon, we’d be lucky to stop the fighting in our own hallways, let alone in Asia.”

“You mentioned a couple of things I’m not too familiar with, General — subatomic-yield and plasma-yield weapons,” Vice President Whiting said. “What are those?”

“Section Five, ma’am,” Freeman said. “That was drawn up by General Elliott’s successor, General Terrill Samson, the commander of the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, along with General McLanahan. He recently made this presentation before a Senate subcommittee. They have devised a way of using the next generation of powerful weapons for use in both attack and air defense applications.

“Subatomic-yield weapons are weapons such as neutron bombs that kill with high doses of radiation but cause little blast effect. They are unpopular, politically and otherwise, for obvious reasons; they can kill humans — sometimes with excruciating pain over many months — but leave buildings and weapons largely undamaged.”

“Never heard of a weapon that was popular,” the President said. “What about that other thing, the plasma-yield weapons?”

“Plasma-yield weapons are just making it out of the testing facilities and into field testing,” Freeman went on. “They kill and destroy with much greater effectiveness than any other kind of weapon ever devised. They use a small nuclear explosion to generate tremendous amounts of plasma energy — heat so intense that it instantly vaporizes anything it touches. The effect is devastating — targets don’t just blow up, they vanish.”

“What do you mean, vanish? Like a space ray or something? Like a Star Trek phaser beam?”

“Exactly,” Freeman said. “Matter is turned into plasma energy, which cannot be sensed by humans — the target vanishes.”

“Talk about politically unpopular!”

“The weapon has many advantages and many disadvantages,” Freeman went on. “It works poorly in the atmosphere. It is horrendously expensive. But a plasma-yield detonation causes no blast effects — no overpressure, no heat, not even much noise, and the size of the blast can be electronically limited and controlled to a great extent. Both weapons are in short supply, but they represent a way to respond to greater threats without resorting to full-yield nuclear weapons.”

The Vice President shook her head. “I’m not sure I like where this discussion is going, Mr. President,” she said. “We’re planning on deploying nuclear weapons again? And these Buck Rogers weapons sound like political suicide — the spies and saboteurs will be fighting with the protesters for access to the labs and bases where we keep these things. Isn’t there any other alternative?”

“Yes, there is. It’s called peace,” the President said. “As long as everyone involved agrees to stay calm and not overreact to a situation, we might be able to get through this without having to resort to special weapons. I hope — we all hope — for this best resolution. But we need to plan for the worst.” He looked at Freeman and nodded. “Let’s get Defense and the boys from Dreamland in here, Philip. We need to get something set up right away, before somebody goes and does something stupid.”

The very first indication of danger was a tiny yellow flashing light that could have been missed in the huge array of other lights and indicators on the panel. But the controllers on duty — all Korean now, with no Americans at all — were attentive, and one of them noticed the indicator immediately, as if expecting it.

One press of a button, and the computer display at the controller’s station changed to a pictorial depiction of the detection, plus radar data on the new track. It took only seconds for the controller to study the data and determine what it was. He hit a yellow ATTENTION button, which flashed a warning at all controllers’ stations and connected his mike to them. “All stations, all stations, sector seven reports many inbound radar tracks, southbound courses, altitude and speed increasing. Verification protocols in progress, all stations stand by.”

The next step took only seconds as well; a second radar array was tasked to cross-check the first radar’s information. Once the two systems verified each other’s information, identification was positive. The controller hit a red WARNING button, which illuminated red flashing lights throughout the entire complex and put the controller’s microphone on Hot Call, which overrode all other communications in the MCRC. “All stations, all stations, missile warning, missile warning in sector seven. Multiple inbound tracks verified and confirmed. All stations, go to threat condition red.” At the same moment, his track data was displayed up on one of the electronic screens in the front of the command center so the other controllers and on-duty commanders could study it.

“Projected targets?” asked the commander, UROK Air Force Chief of Staff Lieutenant General Park Yom. He had been on duty at the Osan MCRC ever since the visit by the American Vice President, when the attacks on North Korea and the transition to reunification began. He had not seen the light of day since that fateful morning. But he didn’t care. The citizens were celebrating above, but Korea was still in danger.

“One… no, two tracks on Seoul,” the controller said. “Possibly one of those targeting Inchon. One track on Kunsan, one on Pusan. One track… sir, one track heading out over the Sea of Japan, target Japan.”

“Payback for Japan’s assistance in the revolution, no doubt,” General Park said. “Do we have an origin yet? Do we know where these missiles came from?”

“Very confusing tracks, sir,” the controller responded. “The track aimed at Seoul is a very low-altitude ballistic profile. Same for the one aimed at Inchon.”

“Are you saying that they came from somewhere on the Korean peninsula?”

“Affirmative, sir. We are processing a possible launch point now.”

“It should have been computed by now. Get on it.” The secure phone rang at Park’s station. “General Park.”

“This is the president, General,” Kwon Ki-chae said. “What is happening? The air raid sirens have gone off.” Air raid and poison gas sirens were as much a part of life in Korea as kimchee and hanbok.

“Have you taken cover, sir?”

“Yes. I’m crowded into the subway terminal at Seoul National University, along with about five thousand others,” Kwon replied. “I may die of asphyxiation or be trampled before I die of an attack. What is happening?”

“We show two inbound on the capital,” Park said. “Kunsan and Pusan are also targeted. In addition, one missile is headed for Japan.”

“Oh, no,” Kwon said. He was silent for a moment, then said, “It appears they are still aiming for military targets, does it not?”

“Yes, sir. Except for Pusan.”

“Where did the missiles come from? I want the origins bombarded immediately.”

“The origin of at least some of the missiles appear to be inside the peninsula,” Park said. “We suspect Communist mobile missiles. Stand by… Sir, we have indications of successful intercepts over Seoul… Sir, we have reports of one Vx toxin warhead impact on the outskirts of Kunsan.”

“Any casualty reports?”

“No, sir,” Park replied. “Not yet. But the industrial facilities would most likely be on the graveyard shift. Perhaps a few thousand casualties, maybe less if the population made it to shelters in time. And as you know, most of our population — North and South — is well trained in the use of gas masks and chemical exposure suits. However, there were a great many refugees being housed at the military facilities there, and we do not know whether they were similarly equipped.”

“Where are those missiles coming from, dammit?”

“We have points of origin on the missile aimed at Japan, sir,” Park said, reading from one of his computer monitors. “The launch point is in southern Yang-gang Do province, near Toandonggu. Since it is probably a rail-mobile missile, we will concentrate our search along the rail lines.”

“No chance that missile came from China?”

“Unlikely, sir. Same for the others. Their trajectory is too low for such short range… One moment, sir… Sir, we are receiving reports of a chemical weapons detonation three kilometers northeast of Tonghae. Estimate a Vx nerve gas attack.”

“Poison gas?” Kwon gasped. “It cannot be! Against Pusan? Where are the winds blowing?”

“From the north, sir… Sir, the release may have hit well east of the Kyejwan Mountains,” Park went on, trying not to distract himself with the enormity of the death and destruction in one of his country’s most beautiful cities. “The mountains may have protected Pusan from serious damage.” Most of Pusan was located inside a mountainous bowl — the name “Pusan” means “cauldron”—and it was possible that the mountains, some rising as high as three thousand feet, might have diverted the deadly nerve toxins. But if they blew in and settled past the mountains, they would be trapped inside the bowl and their effects would linger.

“Casualty estimates there?” But the president already knew the answer. Pusan had a population of about four million; the Tonghae district, about a quarter of a million.

Kwon Ki-chae felt the fury rise in his throat. It was very probably a miss, but targeting Pusan was an attack not against Korea’s military or government, but against its economic center. Pusan was an international port city, like San Francisco or Rio de Janeiro, situated on a natural and beautiful harbor. Preferred as an international port of call rather than a military port complex, it never had much of a military presence — it was never occupied by the Communists during the war, like Seoul. It was Korea’s largest port and second largest city, with a vibrant international trade, over twenty foreign consulates, mild weather, and friendly, hardworking citizens. Its population was packed in between the sea and the mountains, a relatively small area, which made a nerve agent attack that much more deadly. As much as attacking the capital itself, targeting Pusan was a bloodthirsty blow against the people and an attempt to chop off Korea’s economic lifelines to the rest of the world.

“This is General Kim,” Defense Minister Kim Kun-mo said, cutting into the conversation. “I am sorry, sir, but I asked to be patched in by the communications center. Are you safe, sir? Have you taken shelter?”

“I’m fine for now, General,” Kwon said. They heard his voice and the background noise change, as if he was maneuvering through a crowded room to a more private place — no doubt his secret service agents were clearing a path for him. “General, do you realize we have almost used up all of our Patriot missiles? We still have Hawks to protect against aircraft, but we are defenseless against any more ballistic missiles. We need to find those rebels. We need to locate all the missing ballistic missiles before the capital is in ashes!”

“Sir, we cannot say for certain whether the missiles were launched from inside our country or whether they were launched by Communist rebels,” Kim said. “To me, it appears more likely this is the work of the Chinese. They could have brought mobile ballistic missiles into our country to launch from our own soil, just to confuse us. The threat is from China, sir, not from some ghostly rebels. We should retaliate at once against the Chinese forces arrayed against us.”

“Excuse me, General; I was told the evidence suggests that the missiles did not come from China.”

“Are we positive of this, sir?” Kim asked excitedly. “Are you sure those were not Chinese rockets? How can you explain a launch against Japan? Had you ever heard about the Communists targeting Japan?”

“No,” Kwon admitted. The North did once launch one of its early Nodong-1 rockets over Japan, but there had never been any evidence that the Communists ever seriously considered Japan a threat.

“Sir, I suggest we launch an attack that will deter the Chinese from attempting any more missile attacks on Korea: draw a line back along those missiles’ flight path into China. Pick a military base or airfield, preferably one where we know missiles or attack aircraft are based. Then attack it with several of the captured Communist missiles with conventional warheads.”

“General, this sounds extraordinarily dangerous,” Kwon said. “If China should retaliate, the capital could be destroyed within minutes. Chinese troops could easily swarm across the border and occupy the northern half of the peninsula before we could respond.”

“Sir, elements of the Eleventh Corps have been deployed to Changbai, just north of the border near Hyesan,” Kim said, referring to a map placed before him by his aides. “Approximately thirty thousand troops along a forty-mile front, tank-heavy. Reinforced with air assets from their parent corps at Linjiang, but generally fairly isolated. If they moved south, however, they would be expected to cut off half of Yanggang Do province and all of Hamgyong Pukdo province with ease. The Chinese built a nuclear reactor southwest of Hyesan, and it has long been suspected of being a possible weapons-grade material breeder. This unit lies roughly along the reverse flight path of the rocket aimed at Japan.”

“So? What would be the deterrent factor in such an attack, General?” Kwon asked. “Will killing several thousand Chinese troops make our borders any safer? Do you think that China will not be sending in more reinforcements, every one of them howling mad at us for killing their brothers?”

“Sir, the concept of deterrence says you must demonstrate the willingness to use war to achieve your objectives,” General Kim said. “Having weapons of mass destruction is not enough — we must demonstrate our willingness to use them. This is our opportunity.”

“But against China? If they invaded our territory, perhaps…”

“We are not certain they did not do this!” Kim argued. “It is more likely than not they did launch this attack, as a probe to test our resolve if nothing else. But even aside from that, China is indeed massing troops on our northern border. That is a certainty. These events may be tied together, or they may not. But one thing is certain: we must act. We have a legitimate target. We should act, Mr. President!”

There was a long pause; then: “How do you suggest we respond, Kun-mo?”

“A chemical weapons barrage, sir,” Kim replied immediately. “It should be large enough to do great damage, but not enough to trigger a drastic retaliation or risk spreading to Korean territory. No nuclear weapons, unless the Chinese retaliate — we should not show our entire hand right away.”

“General Kim,” Kwon gasped, “did I hear you say you are recommending a chemical weapons attack… against China?”

“Sir, they have launched a chemical attack on us — we must respond with equal force,” Kim argued. “Besides, they have almost fifty thousand troops poised to attack us right now. There are no other weapons we can use short of nuclear weapons to stop them.”

“Kim, listen to yourself!” Kwon shouted. “You are recommending mass murder! I will never agree to this unless our country is faced with imminent annihilation! Never! Now, give me another recommendation, and do it quickly!”

Kim Kun-mo shook his head in exasperation. “The chances of success are far worse, sir, unless we—”

“General, give me another recommendation now, or turn in your resignation!”

Kim swore under his breath, thought for a moment, then said, “Some of our short-and medium-range missiles are armed with fuel-air explosives, designed to clear minefields with overpressure — it creates a devastating punch in a relatively small area. I suggest we use weapons such as these, augmented with high-explosive or cluster munitions.”

There was silence at the other end of the phone.

“Sir, we can call an emergency meeting of the cabinet,” Kim suggested. “We can do it over the phone, or we can have you transported to the capital. We can wait—”

“We are talking about killing thousands of Chinese troops, General!” Kwon snapped. “Don’t you think this requires a little consideration?”

“Sir, killing a few thousand Chinese troops is nowhere near an adequate punishment for the potential deaths of four million citizens of Pusan,” Kim said.

There was more silence. In the background, Kim could feel the terror permeating the subway station and wondered what it would be like to die by chemical or biological weapons poisoning. Dead was dead, true, but would it not truly be more humane to die quickly, by a nuclear or fuel-air explosive burst, than die slowly, painfully, from the very air you breathe?

“Yes, I want the attack to proceed, on my direct orders,” President Kwon Ki-chae said resolutely. “I take full responsibility for the consequences. The attack will commence against the Chinese forces you outlined immediately.”

The attack was swift, concentrated, and deadly. A salvo of thirty Scud-A short-range rockets was fired from Kangwon Do province south of the burned-out area of Wonsan, and Hwanghae Pukdo province near Songnim, south of Pyongyang. Each Scud-A rocket carried a small nonnuclear warhead weighing a little over one thousand pounds — but the warhead was one of the most devastating nonnuclear devices in the world.

Called a fuel-air explosive, the weapon was simply three bomblets filled with high-energy rocket fuel with an explosive detonator. As the warheads descended toward their targets, the bomblets were ejected one by one and descended via a small stabilizing parachute. An electronic fuse cracked them open, allowing the fuel to mix with air and disperse into a fine mist, and then the cloud was ignited by a small explosive charge. The resulting explosion was hundreds of times more powerful than its equivalent size in TNT, creating a fireball, a shock wave, and a mushroom cloud similar to a small nuclear detonation.

Anything aboveground within one hundred feet of the explosion was instantly incinerated; any unprotected human within one hundred and fifty feet was killed or suffered massive burns. The explosions devastated the Chinese forces garrisoned or bivouacked in the Changbai area, and fires broke out in the town itself, sending thousands of civilians fleeing their homes.

Of the more than thirty thousand troops in the area, nearly five thousand lost their lives instantly; another eight thousand suffered massive burns and other injuries. Death would come mercifully only to some of them; for many others, the agony would continue on for weeks, even months. Doctors would soon become mercy killers.

As had been the procedure since the end of the Korean War, either the president, the new vice president, or the prime minister had to man an underground command center during military alerts or times of crisis. Korean Vice President Pak Chung-chu, the former first vice president of North Korea, was in the Osan military command center with Minister of Defense Kim. Pak was watching in fascination and shock as the attack against the Chinese infantry commenced.

“When… when will we know how many casualties there are?” Pak asked.

“In Pusan? In Tonghae?”

“Linjiang, the Chinese troops along the border. The ones you are firebombing.”

“You care more about the Chinese invaders than you do our own people, Mr. Vice President?” Kim asked derisively. “What is this infection of cowardice spreading through Government House these days? What is going on with you politicians? You all want to roll over and play dead.”

“Don’t be an ignorant pig-fucker, General,” Pak retorted. “I want to see Korea protected from invasion as much as you!”

“Then why don’t some of you damned politicians ever show it?”

“If this politician recalls correctly, you are a damned politician,” Pak pointed out.

“In name only, Mr. Vice President — in name only.” Kim looked at Pak for a moment, then nodded as if recognizing something in the vice president’s face. “You were a military man yourself, if I remember correctly — Navy, right?”

“Correct,” Pak said. “Moved from commanding a bilge in a little coastal patrol vessel to commanding the Yellow Sea fleet.”

“Sent a few Communist commandos into the South, I’ll bet.”

“Seventeen sorties in two years. Lost only one minisub and nine men. The Korean People’s Army was much better then — and your forces were much worse. What is this all about, General?”

“Then you know what I’m talking about, sir,” Kim said. “You know better than all of us that we cannot appear weak to the Communists, or they’ll crush us. We have to say what we mean and act on it. Do you agree?”

“I have always said we should negotiate from a position of strength, yes,” Pak said. “You have something on your mind, General? Spit it out.”

“Do you think we should be tougher on China? Do you think we should be content with firing a few gasoline bombs into their encampments…”

“Fuel-air explosives are not exactly gasoline bombs, and you know it,” Pak pointed out.

“… or should we be targeting their air bases, their rear-echelon maintenance and logistics bases, and especially their command and control facilities, with special weapons? That’s exactly what they tried to strike in Korea — and then added Pusan for good measure!”

“We still have not proved it was the Chinese who launched those attacks,” Pak pointed out. “I agree that targeting the infantry at Linjiang is a good idea and a good preemptive strike, but don’t try to paint this as a retaliatory strike. The Chinese probably didn’t attack Pusan, and you know it.”

“But China is the adversary! They need to fear us as they fear Russia and the United States. And the only way to force that is to strike at them with weapons of mass destruction. Don’t you agree?”

“I agree that if we promise to use weapons of mass destruction if we are invaded, then yes, we should use them,” Vice President Pak said. “The deterrence factor doesn’t work if you don’t deliver what you promise or threaten. And if China indeed attacked Pusan and the other cities, then yes, we should retaliate similarly. But President Kwon was correct not to use special weapons now! Why on earth did you push to launch a chemical weapons attack before we have all the facts?”

“Because acting timidly never works,” Kim said. “If we are attacked, we retaliate, swiftly and powerfully. We need to be able to do that. But with Kwon, we may never be able to do it. The one problem we military leaders face is that all too often, war is left to the politicians, to men like Kwon Ki-chae.”

“President Kwon is a great man, a great leader!”

“But he tempers his military decisions with political calculations that have nothing to do with the strategic or tactical realities,” Kim said quickly. “A perfect example is the employment of our special weapons. With one-half of the necessary execution codes in Kwon’s hands, we are all but assured that we will never get to use them. That is a monumental tragedy for our country, is it not?”

“I get it. I understand now,” Pak said. “You want the codes. If the president balks at giving you authority to launch the next time, you want to be able to do it anyway. Correct?”

“If I did truly believe that Kwon would launch a nuclear attack against China if the time came, I would never suggest such a thing,” Kim said. “But I cannot say that. I truly believe Kwon would hesitate — in fact, I think he has absolutely no intention of ever firing or even testing a special weapon. He would call an emergency cabinet or National Security Council meeting, perhaps even put it before the leadership in the legislature — but in the end, he would never do it.”

“But you think I would.”

“I know you would,” Kim said resolutely. “Look what you have sacrificed to be standing here now. You would not want to see the Chinese march through Pyongyang or Seoul again, as I’m sure you have seen once before. I don’t think the Chinese would deal with you very gently.”

“How perceptive of you,” Pak said with an exasperated grumble. But he knew it was so. Pak Chung-chu had been a trusted member of the Communist Party in both North Korea and China. He had burned a major bridge behind him when he burned that party identification booklet. It was a formidable act not just of defiance, but of treason to the state — the Chinese would never let him live to forget it. “So. What is it you want to do? Assassinate him?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Kim said — but Pak could see his eyes burning with excitement, and he thought, Yes, that’s exactly what you want me to do. “But you can get the codes from him. You have joint custody of the codes.”

“I only have them if the president is incapacitated, out of the country, out of communication with the command center, or voluntarily chooses to turn responsibility over to me for whatever reason,” Pak said. “I do not ‘jointly’ control them.

“Nonetheless, you want me to march into Kwon’s office someday — perhaps someday soon—and get the codes from him using whatever means or justification I care to invent or use. Correct?”

“You act so damn self-righteous about this,” Kim said irritably. “I am not talking about treason — I’m talking about defending our country, our homeland. You certainly understand that.”

“And because I betrayed President Kim Jong-il, I am somehow predisposed or more willing to do it again to President Kwon Ki-chae, is that it?”

“Dammit, you are impossible!” Kim exploded. “You know what I’m saying!”

“I want you to say it, General Kim,” Pak snapped. “Make no mistake — we are talking treason. We are talking about a violent, illegal overthrow of the legally elected government. We deserve to die at the hands of the people for what we are talking about doing.

“But it so happens, General, that I agree with you. Kwon will never use the weapons we possess. We would then all be overrun and crushed by China, and persons like myself, former citizens of North Korea and especially former Communist Party members, would surely die.

“What I want from you, General, is your word. If it is done, if we betray Kwon, take the codes, retaliate against whatever enemy we face, and somehow survive, I want your word that you will do everything in your power to support me as president of United Korea. I will in turn support you as vice president.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Kim said. He pulled out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and wrote and signed a message on it. “It’s in writing now, Mr. Vice President. Will you do the same for me?”

“Don’t you trust me — comrade?” Pak asked sardonically. Kim blanched, then turned angry again. Pak retrieved a piece of paper, wrote a similar message, then signed it with a flourish. “Now we’re both condemned to hell, General,” he said. “Care to join me in a drink to celebrate?”

Kevin Martindale was talking with Ellen Whiting when the telephone on his desk rang. Chief of Staff Jerrod Hale went over, looked at the flashing button, then froze. “You better take it, sir,” Hale said. “It’s Cheyenne Mountain.”

“Oh, shit,” the President muttered as he dashed over to his desk. “Jerrod, make an announcement, let’s get a nose count going, alert the Secret Service that choppers may be inbound — you know the drill.” Staff members of the White House and Old Executive Office Building had become well practiced lately in the art of rapid emergency evacuations.

The President picked up the phone, motioning for Philip Freeman to listen in on an extension in his study. He did not need to push a button — it was the most important button on the phone and would select itself. “This is the President. Go ahead.”

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Colonel Gordon, senior controller, Space Command Missile Tracking Center. DSP 9 missile-warning satellite has detected several ballistic missile launches originating inside North Kor… er, sorry, inside the northern part of United Korea. I am secure.”

“Damn it to hell,” the President swore. “Korea is attacking China?”

“Negative, sir,” the controller said. “The tracks are headed south. It appears the launches originated inside Korea and are targeted against the southern half of the peninsula. Fourth Space Surveillance Squadron radars indicate nine tracks total targeted within Korea and three tracks targeted against southern and central Japan.” The Air Force Space Command’s Fourth Space Surveillance Squadron’s radars and tracking sites in Korea were now all manned by Korean technicians. Very few American servicemen still remained in Korea.

“Who the hell is launching those missiles?” the President demanded.

“Unknown, sir,” the controller responded.

“Any reaction from China or Russia?”

“None, sir.”

“Very well. Please alert me if any more launches occur.” He hung up the phone. “Philip?” he called. “Explanation?”

“It’s got to be some rogue ex-North Korean missile units,” Freeman suggested, coming back into the Oval Office. “Most of North Korea’s operational ballistic missiles were mobile. The big ones, the Nodong series, were rail-mobile; the smaller Scud series were all-terrain road-mobile. Apparently, some were able to escape the revolution and transition, find a presurveyed launch point, and fire in a coordinated attack. Mobile missiles are the hardest to find and relatively easy to disguise.”

“Get President Kwon back on the phone right away and tell him I want to speak with him at once,” Kevin Martindale said. “I don’t want him retaliating against the Chinese.”

About to call the White House Communications Center, Hale took another incoming call.

“What was that, Jerrod?”

“It’s too late,” Jerrod Hale said, his anger palpable. “Space Command says the Koreans fired back.”

“Damn them all to hell!” Martindale shouted. “Where? How many? What kind?”

“Unknown at this time, sir,” Hale replied. “I’ll get details right away.”

“Shit. And we’re as helpless as we can be,” the President said. “Jerrod, make sure Space Command notifies the Japanese government. I want to talk with the Russians, Chinese, Koreans, and Japanese ASAP. Everyone has got to back off, or Asia is going to blow up in one big red fireball.”

Another call came in: “Reports coming in, sir: Chemical weapons attacks against Kunsan and Pusan. Vx nerve agents. Very high casualties. And State’s also issued an emergency report, saying that a thermonuclear warhead exploded at high altitude a hundred miles north of Osaka, Japan,” he said. “Japanese Self-Defense Force authorities claim the warhead was large, over three hundred kilotons. An evacuation of the entire area is under way.”

“My God,” the President said. “What about the Korean retaliation? What about the Chinese?”

“Stand by, sir, we’re checking…” It took several minutes for further reports to come in. “Looks like Korea launched a small retaliatory strike against some Chinese armored and rocket divisions stationed along the China-Korea border,” Freeman finally reported. “Short-range ballistic missiles only, a salvo of about twenty rockets, probably Scud-or FROG-7-series rockets — high-explosive, very high-powered, perhaps incendiary devices. No reports of… stand by… Now receiving reports of mushroom clouds…”

“Mushroom clouds! You mean the Koreans attacked China with nuclear weapons?”

“I’ll get clarification of this, sir. Usually, we get more reliable reports than this of nuclear detonations. We also sometimes experience blackouts of nonhardened communications facilities. We got none of that this time.”

“What could that mean?” the Vice President asked. “Did they try to hit the Chinese with nuclear weapons, and they didn’t go off?”

“Or they weren’t supposed to go off,” Freeman suggested. “It could be a dangerous game of brinkmanship — threaten China with a nuclear retaliation without producing a nuclear yield.”

“But why China?” the President asked. “Did China launch those missiles against Korea? The guy at Space Command I just talked to said the missiles came from inside Korea.”

“The Korean military could have made a mistake… or Kwon did it deliberately,” Freeman offered. “We know China had massed several thousand troops along the border, and there were intelligence reports saying that Chinese air forces were conducting more cross-border flights, perhaps probing Korea’s air defenses.”

“So you think it’s possible that Kwon was sending China a message — stay away or else?” the Vice President asked, astonished. “How suicidal can you get?”

“Suicidal, yes — but he succeeded in getting my attention, all right,” the President said. “I don’t see Kwon’s hand in this — this smells like Defense Minister Kim’s handiwork. If we had to set up an antiballistic missile system over the Korean peninsula, it looks as though we’d not only have to try to protect Korea from China, but protect China from Korea. There will be no winners in this game.”

He turned to Freeman and motioned to the thick document they had been discussing earlier. “Green-light this project, Philip. What is he calling it?”

“General McLanahan calls it Operation Battle Born, sir,” Freeman replied. “That’s the Nevada state motto, I believe.”

“I saw something in the daily report from Chastain’s office about a Nevada bomber unit, Air National Guard, I believe, being decertified following some crazy-ass stunts they pulled during an evaluation,” the President remarked. “This plan wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with them, would it?”

“I think General McLanahan was conducting an evaluation at that very same unit to determine the suitability of their bomber unit to accomplish his operation,” Freeman said. “Given the nature of it, I think the general was looking for a very aggressive, rather unconventional fighting force to implement this plan.”

“In other words, he was looking for a bunch of military barnstormers — and he found them,” the President said with a smile. “Shades of Brad Elliott, all right. I just hope there’s an Asia left to implement the plan.”

“Unfortunately, that aspect of General McLanahan’s project may not be implemented,” Freeman said. “The Air National Guard unit has been decertified and disbanded.”

“Can he do the job with a single bomber?”

“I think so, sir,” Freeman responded uneasily. “We still have a constellation of those small reconnaissance satellites — the ones we know as NIRTSats. At the very least, we can still evaluate the plan with one bomber, add a second when it comes on-line, and then perhaps add a frontline unit or another Guard bomber unit later, if things heat up. Admiral Balboa hasn’t signed onto the plan, but he has suggested some alternate strike units from the Navy’s weapons and aircraft research labs at Patuxent River and China Lake that can assist if it gets too much for HAWC. But HAWC is ready to go now, so I think it’s a good idea to get the plan under way and the forces set up as soon as possible.”

“Then let’s do it,” the President said. “Let’s make it happen, and hope to hell it’s not too little, too late.”

The photographs were the most terrible thing Chi Haotian, minister of defense of the People’s Republic of China, had ever seen in his life. Even though they were taken from a helicopter more than a hundred meters above ground, the human carnage was clearly visible and dreadful.

“What was the casualty count again?” Chi asked his aide. The aide looked at the final report and murmured a number. “Speak up, damn you.”

“Four thousand eight hundred thirty-one dead, sir,” the aide replied. “Eight thousand forty-four wounded, two hundred missing.”

“And every death should be avenged threefold, sir!” Chief of Staff of the People’s Liberation Army General Chin Zi-hong said angrily. “It was a dastardly sneak attack, the most heinous I have ever witnessed in my life!”

“Our president has stated to the world that he will never use weapons of mass destruction again unless we ourselves are attacked with such weapons,” Minister Chi said. “We will no doubt be world outcasts for an entire generation for what we did to Taiwan and the United States, and we have no wish to extend that one day longer.”

“So we become the world’s whipping boy now?” Chin shouted. “Do we now roll over and play dead and watch as country after country around us arms itself with weapons of mass destruction and uses them against us without provocation?”

“Calm yourself, comrade Chin,” Chi said. “All I am saying is that the president has warned us not to present a plan to him or the Politburo involving first use of special weapons — nuclear, chemical, or biological — unless we are attacked first. I expect you to have contingency plans available in case we are so attacked by the United States, Taiwan, Japan, or Korea. But in response to this unholy atrocity, the president will not accept a plan that uses nuclear weapons. Now speak: tell me what our response to this tragedy should be.”

General Chin took a deep breath and thought for a moment; then: “Our major concern, sir, is the Koreans’ nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons,” he said. Chi nodded, urging him to continue. “We know where the major bases are located in North Korea, and we can predict with great certainty where most are located in the South — only a few bases, mostly ex-American bases, have the apparatus to handle them.”

“Full invasion of the South will not meet with approval, comrade General,” Chi said. “Although the president and the Politburo support President Kim Jong-il, they will not authorize an invasion of the South below the thirty-eighth parallel. Such an action will certainly create additional world condemnation and action by the United States.”

General Chin shook his head in exasperation. Chi glowered at him. “You need to understand, comrade, that the world is enchanted by a united Korea. That is a very, very powerful force. Our country is trying to regain its rightful place as a world power. As much as we may believe that the fall of Communist North Korea is a disaster to the people and our way of life, we must accept it because the world embraces it. Half the world even believes that the rocket attack against our troops on the border was justifiable; the other half believes it was wrong but nonetheless understandable and excusable. Simple retaliation will not be effective.

“No. We need a plan to strike at the heart of what is wrong about United Korea. Tell me: what is wrong with United Korea?”

“Its nuclear weapons, of course.”

“Of course,” Minister Chi said. “The world loves United Korea because they won their reunification, but they hate them for not giving up the captured nuclear weapons. We can therefore take away Korea’s nuclear weapons and not suffer world condemnation, yes?” A nod of heads around the conference table. “We have already determined that we cannot hope to take all of the weapons, but what is it we can easily take?”

“Kanggye,” General Chin said.

“Not just Kanggye,” Chi said with a pleased smile. “Ten years ago, perhaps, before we put the North Korean missile development program into full worldwide production. But today? You are now permitted to think bigger.”

“The entire province?” Chin asked excitedly. “Do you think the president will approve an operation to take Chagang Do province in its entirety?”

Chi Haotian smiled. Kanggye Research Center was one of the former North Korea’s most sensitive weapons research centers. Only twenty miles south of the Chinese border, it was originally the site of a Russian-built nuclear reactor, similar to the doomed Chernobyl reactor in Ukraine, constructed shortly after the end of the Korean War. The plant produced some power for North Korea and Manchuria, but its primary purpose was as a uranium-processing plant. The plant had been built in North Korea so Manchuria could take advantage of Soviet nuclear knowledge while the dangerous reactor itself was in North Korea. When the China-USSR split occurred, the facility was taken over by Chinese engineers, with cooperation from Iranian and Pakistani weapons scientists.

Soon, most of Chagang Do province was converted to weapons research, development, testing, and construction. Chagang Do was the second largest province in the old North Korea and the most sparsely populated. Like the state of Nevada in the United States or Xinjiang province in China, the land was large and inhospitable enough and the population small enough so as to escape attention or scrutiny. Over twenty research centers, test sites, manufacturing plants, and dump sites made Chagang Do province almost totally uninhabitable and unusable except by the military — and a prime target for any power wishing to capture valuable nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons data.

Kanggye became one of Asia’s top weapons-grade plutonium-producing facilities. The plant was expanded to eventually include building nuclear weapons, from the massive three-megaton WX120 to the artillery-shell-sized ten-kiloton W18. Dozens of weapons had been built at Kanggye and exported all over the world. Brazil, South Africa, Indonesia, and Pakistan all had weapons or components bought from Kanggye’s laboratories.

“Of course,” Minister Chi said. “Not just the research facility, but we take the production facilities, all the laboratories, the processing centers, the test facilities, and the launch pads, and we capture and hold whatever bases the capitalists still occupy. We will have to secure these areas, of course, so the capitalists do not use them again to build more weapons of mass destruction — that means troops, at least three brigades, I’d imagine, for a province that size and with that terrain. We will need to strengthen the air support, set up air defense and surveillance sites, to supply all of our peacekeepers.

“Then, if Chagang Do province naturally becomes the center for anticapitalist groups forming in Korea — well, I would think that is part of the trials of any government,” Chi said, smiling. “After all, the proliferation of opposition groups, some armed, was bound to happen in a societal, governmental, and ideological transition that occurred so quickly and so underhandedly. Who knows? Perhaps a group strong enough and well armed enough will emerge from the wastelands of Chagang Do. Perhaps it will be President Kim Jong-il, perhaps someone with a little more backbone.”

The minister of defense looked around the conference table, his eyes deadly cold. “That is the plan I want, comrades. I want it on my desk before the midday meal, ready to present to the president and the Politburo. And I want you all to remember that thousands of our comrades have died at the hands of the capitalists, and we will do everything in our power to stop this cancerous growth on our frontier before any more of our comrades-in-arms perish.”

The lone soldier advanced quickly but carefully down the railroad tracks. The weather was the worst in days, with a freezing, driving rain and fifty-mile-per-hour winds. The weather made movement almost impossible, but it also provided excellent cover — because he knew the South Koreans were still looking for him.

It was actually only a matter of time before he was discovered, since there was only so much track in all of North Korea. The question was: could they launch their missile and then make it into northern Chagang Do province, at least another eighty kilometers, before being discovered by the capitalists? It was a race he could not afford to lose.

Kong Hwan-li, who still proudly considered himself a captain of artillery forces of the People’s Army of North Korea, stopped to hide and rest. He then scanned the railway ahead of him with his infrared nightscope, a combination of a high-intensity infrared searchlight and a monocular night-vision scope. It was difficult to do in this weather — he could see reliably only a few dozen meters ahead in the rain — so he scanned as best he could, moved a short way forward to a new hiding place, and scanned again.

The pride of accomplishment he felt had long since washed away in this cold, driving rain. Two nights earlier he had accomplished an important objective: he and several other Scud and Nodong units had launched an attack on South Korea. Kong had to launch from an unsurveyed site, which meant the accuracy was probably poor, but the launch itself went well and he had managed to escape before being detected by capitalist patrols.

Now, after two hellish nights on the move, he was ready to strike again.

He could see the situation didn’t look promising long before he reached his objective, but he had to check it out anyway. It was a rail siding about fifteen kilometers southeast of the town of Holch’on. The siding, disguised with maintenance inspection towers and even an old-style coal and water tower for aged steam engines, was a presurveyed missile launch point for the rail-mobile North Korean missiles. The presurveyed points made launching a ballistic missile fast and easy. Instead of having to mensurate geographical coordinates, elevation, and determine where true north was, all the launch officer had to do was pull onto the siding and punch in the launch point number — the computers would do the rest. The launch point coordinates and elevation had been measured down to the nearest meter, ensuring the best missile accuracy. The siding had thick concrete walls surrounding it to provide some security and protection.

The South Koreans obviously knew this too, because the siding had been destroyed. Demolition charges had been set under the tracks leading into it, and more charges had been set on one of the concrete walls, toppling it onto the tracks. The main rails were still open — after all, Kong thought, the capitalists still needed them to carry out their invasion — but the presurveyed launch point was useless. He had found this to be so throughout his dangerous trek north toward the safety of China — this was why his first launch had been from an unsurveyed point, guaranteeing a much-degraded launch circular error — but finding this one was doubly disappointing.

But the second missile was on the erector-launcher, fully functional and ready to go. This one had a 350-kiloton nuclear warhead, targeted for Osan. Fused for a groundburst, it would easily dig out the still-functioning Osan Master Control and Reporting Center, the heart of South Korea’s military. He had a third missile as well, fully functional and ready to load and fire. His plan was to try and deliver his third missile intact to Kanggye, hopefully under a Chinese military umbrella, and use it as the basis for reconstituting the Army of Free Korea in Chagang Do province and fighting the invaders from the South.

Kong still refused to call the abomination created by the capitalists the United Republic of Korea. As far as he was concerned, it was still South Korea. And it was not a popular people’s revolution that had brought down the Communist government in Pyongyang. The capitalists had perpetrated some kind of elaborate mind control process that made most of the people, including the military, go crazy and turn against their leaders. How else could anyone explain the pockets of resistance still in the North? How else could anyone explain the government-in-exile in Beijing? Thank the stars the Glorious Leader, Kim Jong-il, and most of the Politburo had managed to get out and organize the resistance.

Kong made his way back through the driving rain to the Nodong missile unit and joined his partner, Lieutenant Kim Yong-ku. Kim had commanded another missile unit, but all of his men had deserted shortly after firing their last missile, so Kim joined up with Kong — which was fortunate, because Kong’s crew had also deserted soon after firing the first missile. Being on the run for so long was more than they could take, and it grew harder and harder to forage for food or find sympathetic civilians who might help them. The brainwashing of North Korea, Kong thought, was almost complete. Put a little food in their bellies and blast them with propaganda and some people will believe almost anything.

Most of the Nodong-1 missile unit was under a maintenance enclosure, but they had still taken the time to put together some simple camouflage. The loaded erector-launcher was covered by corrugated tin and timber as if part of the shelter had collapsed on it, and they piled debris around the engine to make it appear immobilized. Kong met up with Kim in the command car. With the engine shut down to conserve fuel and avoid detection, the command car, with its own self-contained jet power unit, was the most comfortable place on the whole unit. If faced with capture, Kim could also quickly and easily disable the missile from there.

“Any luck, sir?” Kim asked after double-checking Kong’s identity with their own invented tap-code and letting his commander into the cab.

“Yes — but all of it bad,” Kong admitted with a wry smile. “The launch point has been destroyed. Completely unusable.” He wiped rain from his poncho. “Any contact from our other units?”

“Unit Twenty reports ready — that was the only contact, sir. There were propaganda broadcasts on the strategic message net, urging us to surrender. They addressed us by name.”

“By name?”

“By name, rank, and unit number,” Kim said. “They even knew that you had promoted me to lieutenant.”

“Bastards!” Kong shouted. “Cowardly spineless traitors!” It was obvious that some of those who had deserted them had reported extensively to the capitalist intelligence officers. This was the worst form of human refuse — not just a coward and a traitor, but an informant too. “Did they say anything indicating they know where we are or where we’re heading?”

“No, sir,” Kim replied. “It appears your plan not to reveal any other unit’s firing positions has paid off well.” He looked proud of Kong, but very worried. “What do you want to do now, sir?” he asked.

“We are going to launch as scheduled, Lieutenant,” Kong said resolutely. “My first impulse is to remain here, mensurate coordinates using the GPS, and launch. We have a good hiding place here, and the missile is ready. But this may be our last opportunity to strike hard at the capitalists. Our assigned target is an underground command complex, and we need a direct hit to disable it — missing by even a kilometer may be unacceptable.” Kong started doing ballistic calculations in his head: “Our missile flight distance is over seven hundred kilometers. This means if our gyro heading is off just one degree, every meter our launch coordinates are off means our missile will miss by seventy meters, even if the missile gyros run perfectly. That’s too many variables. It is unacceptable inaccuracy.

“Our most accurate shot will be if we march to the spot right beside the launch point. We can hand-measure the distance to update the launch coordinates, and we can use the same heading for gyro alignment and it will be almost perfect.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We are three hours to the scheduled coordinated launch time. I think we can start up the engine, march to the siding, elevate, align, and launch our missile right on time.

“If we stay here, it is doubtful we can cross-check the GPS geographical coordinates with any landmarks in time. That means we launch on handheld GPS coordinates alone, and those could be off by five hundred meters. We’d be safer here and we could do a successful launch, but its accuracy would be very poor. I think we should take the risk and march to the track adjacent to the presurveyed launch point. What do you think, Lieutenant?”

“I agree completely, sir,” Kim said. He motioned to a map on the console. “Unfortunately, this maintenance shed did not have surveyed coordinates listed. I have a few possible bearing swings we could take on terrain features to refine our GPS coordinates, but in this weather it would be impossible to see them. We should march to the launch point as you suggest, sir.”

“Very good,” Kong said. “Help me remove our camouflage, and we’ll be off.”

It took only thirty minutes to remove the debris from around the train, start up the diesel engine, and get under way. It took less than an hour to reach the section of track near the launch point. Kong, acting as train engineer, slowed down so he could double-check that the switch signal was in the proper position, indicating that he would stay on the main track and not switch to the damaged siding, and so he could stop as soon as he was aligned with the siding.

But something happened. As he reached the switch, the train veered right onto the siding. Kong throttled back and hit the brakes, but he could not stop in time — even traveling less than ten kilometers per hour, such a large train needed a lot of time to stop. The engine plowed into a pile of concrete and debris lying on the tracks, and he heard a loud crunching sound from under the wheels that ran along the entire length of the engine until the train finally came to a halt. He shifted into reverse and tried to move — nothing. He went as high as 80 percent power, loud enough to be heard all the way to Holch’on — still nothing. They were stuck fast.

Damn, damn, damn! He cursed at himself as he leaped from the engine to inspect the damage. He knew he should have visually inspected the switch. It had obviously been damaged, or else deliberately sabotaged to turn any unsuspecting train into the defective siding. Now he was trapped.

“I will curse my own incompetence from now and for eternity!” he shouted as he joined Kim beside the engine. “How does it look? Do you think we can move?”

“I think we can move if we clear some of the concrete from around the axles,” Kim said. “It might take full throttle, but I think it can be done.”

Kim got up to retrieve some tools from the engineer’s locker in the engine, but Kong stopped him. “We don’t have time,” he said. “We’re less than two hundred meters from the presurveyed launch point. All we need is a single transit shot to update the launch point coordinates, and then we need to start the heading alignment. We can use the gyro platform heading calibrator at the presurveyed point to cross-check the heading alignment. If we hurry, we can make the launch time.”

Feet dry,” Patrick McLanahan announced. “We actually made it.”

“Amen,” Nancy Cheshire, the aircraft commander aboard the EB-1C Megafortress, said, echoing Patrick’s relief. They had just completed a nonstop eleven-hour flight from Dreamland to Korea, without seeing any land whatsoever since leaving the United States coastline near Big Sur.

“I hear ya, guys,” Dave Luger added. “Good job. Now the fun starts.”

Dave Luger was not onboard the modified B-1 bomber — he was more than a thousand miles away in the Megafortress’s “virtual cockpit” on Naval Air Station Adak in the Aleutian Islands. The HAWC teams had quickly deployed the ground support equipment to Adak while the EB-1 was made ready for its first mission.

The virtual cockpit, or VC, provided Patrick and Nancy with an extra set of eyes on their instruments and on the tactical situation around them. It was like a miniature mock-up of the EB-1 Megafortress cockpit, using computer monitors in place of aircraft gauges and instruments. Several other screens on the side of the module allowed extra technicians to monitor aircraft systems, and to monitor other sensors and displays and pass along their observations to the crew in real-time. The largest screen in the VC, atop the remote cockpit displays, was the “God’s-eye” view, or what the crews called the “big picture,” which combined all of the external and mission-specific sensors available into one big chartlike display. The God’s-eye view combined civilian and military radar information, satellite imagery, shipborne and aircraft radar data, and even information broadcast from ground forces all on one map.

The most important system adding its information to the God’s-eye view was a string of satellites in low earth orbit called NIRTSats, or “Need it right this second” satellites. Four small dishwasher-sized satellites had been released just hours earlier aboard a booster rocket launched from a converted DC-10 airliner and placed into a one-hundred-mile circular orbit, positioned so that each satellite was over the Korean peninsula every twenty minutes. The satellites had been launched and positioned specifically for Patrick’s EB-1C Megafortress mission. They used thrusters to precisely position themselves in space but did not have enough fuel or power to keep themselves in orbit very long or allow themselves to be repositioned into another orbit. Within three or four weeks, their battery power would run out and they would burn up in earth’s atmosphere.

During its pass, each satellite would take a stream of radar images of broad areas of Korea and China and transmit the images to earth. Within seconds, the images would be processed and sent to the virtual cockpit at Adak and to the crew on the Megafortress. The radar images could see objects as small as an automobile and were precise enough to measure the dimensions of a target, compare it to a vehicle database, and actually try to guess at what the object or vehicle might be. Over time, the images would show trails of moving vehicles, vehicle concentrations, and even vehicles that had traveled off known highways or were trying to hide to escape detection.

Coverage was not 100 percent — each satellite was only in the sky over the Korean peninsula for about twelve out of every ninety minutes. But since most ground vehicles didn’t move very fast anyway, it was very good information. The data from the satellites combined with the Megafortress’s laser radar system allowed the crews both on the ground and in the air to see all ground activity for most of the northern Korean peninsula and the border region of China, and all air activity within fifty miles. It was truly a God’s-eye view.

Patrick activated the laser radar system and got his first look at the Korean peninsula from the Megafor-tress — a five-second LADAR shot was all that was necessary to get a detailed view of everything around them for fifty miles. The LADAR could detect small vehicles on the ground and aircraft at any altitude, map terrain, scan for weather, and identify ships at sea; it could even detect satellites flying overhead in low earth orbit. Patrick could manipulate the LADAR image to zoom in on the smallest return or out to take a look at the entire tactical situation over a span of 100,000 cubic miles around the aircraft.

The EB-1C Megafortress was loaded primarily for ballistic missile and launcher hunting, but it also carried a big self-defense weapons package. In its forward bomb bay was a rotary launcher with a total of sixteen AIM-120 radar-guided AMRAAMs (advanced medium-range air-to-air missiles). The AMRAAM was a “launch and leave” antiaircraft missile: each missile was programmed right before launch with the target’s position, heading, and speed, which meant that the launch aircraft did not have to stay locked onto the target. But since the Megafortress’s laser radar could stay locked onto a target even while maneuvering, the AMRAAM received updates on the target’s flight path until it got close enough to use its own onboard radar to home in on the target and complete the intercept. The Megafortress’s laser radar system could simultaneously track three dozen air targets in any direction and could attack six of them at one time.

The center bomb bay contained a rotary launcher with eight Lancelot antiballistic missile missiles, two of which were armed with plasma-yield warheads. The aft bomb bay had another rotary launcher with eight Wolverine cruise missiles, all with conventional warheads.

The EB-1’s “supercockpit” display, the large computer screen on the right side of the cockpit, was showing the God’s-eye view of the area within Lancelot missile range of the bomber. The NIRTSat radar data showed positions of ground vehicles, making identification guesstimates when the radar got a clear measurement of the target. The laser radar data displayed data on aircraft and ground and sea targets, and the bomber’s electronic warfare suite displayed early-warning radars throughout Korea. As the bomber flew farther inland, it came closer to Seoul, Ch’unch’on, and Kaesong radar coverage, which was displayed as green circles. The size of the circle was a measurement of the strength of the radar signal and the estimated detection threshold of the bomber itself. If the bomber’s radar cross section was larger because bomb doors were open or communications antennas were extended, the radar circles became larger; if the Megafortress was in full “stealth” configuration, head-on to the radar and running completely “stealthy,” the circle would become smaller, indicating it was safe to fly closer to the radar if necessary.

“Muck, looks like we picked up a newcomer ground target,” Dave Luger radioed. With a flashing pointer, he indicated the new NIRTSat radar return on Patrick’s supercockpit display. “Appeared on the last satellite pass. Slow-moving, big, long. Take a look.”

“Got it,” Patrick said. He zoomed his display in closer, then overlaid topographic and highway charts over the sensor display. “Looks like the newcomer is right on a railroad track. We might have ourselves a missile train.” He zoomed in on the digital display again. As he did, the targeting computer rendered its best guess on what the radar return was. “Computer says it’s a train, all right. Chinese gauge, seven cars. Could be a Nodong missile unit.” Patrick entered commands into his laser radar system and bombing computers, preloading a Wolverine missile with the train’s coordinates. “Looks like it’s parked close to a North Korean missile launch point,” he said.

“I’m relaying the find back home,” Dave said, entering the information into a secure datalink back to Dreamland. “I think Korea’s been looking for this baby.”

“Dave, see if the NIRTSats came up with any other trains on previous passes,” Patrick ordered.

“Already done,” Dave said. “We’ve actually got seven other likelies.” A few moments later several radar returns flashed on Patrick’s supercockpit display. “You’re within LADAR range of two of them.”

Patrick directed a slight turn north toward the two closest radar returns, then activated the laser radar again. Taking LADAR shots from several different directions was the way to get ultradetailed three-dimensional images. These shots were combined with earlier shots and with the NIRTSat radar images to further enhance the target. “No go on target one,” Patrick said. “The computer says it’s a bus or truck — too small for a seven-car Nodong unit. But target number two could be another player. It’s a seven-car train, Chinese gauge, moved into its current position just an hour ago.”

“Two Nodongs at presurveyed launch points?” Nancy Cheshire asked. “Sounds like a lot more than coincidence to me.”

“Same here,” Dave said as he relayed the new information back to Dreamland. “This could be the prelude to another rebel missile launch.”

“Hey, we’ve got an air target behind us!” Patrick said. He had just completed another LADAR sweep all around the Megafortress. It was flying at about thirty thousand feet over the Sea of Japan, heading toward them from the southeast at over five hundred knots. “No ID yet, but it’s gotta be a fighter.”

“But we didn’t pick up any radar indication on him,” Nancy said. She continued a moment later: “A MiG-29. It’s gotta be a Japanese MiG-29, using GPS for navigation and his IRSTS for targeting.” The IRSTS, or infrared search and track system, was a sophisticated Russian-designed heat-seeking sensor that allowed a MiG-29 to scan large sections of sky for enemy aircraft without being detected. Used along with GPS satellite navigation, the MiG would never have to use his radar except for very long-range attacks — most enemies would never know he was there until he fired his missiles. “Are they still patrolling the peninsula with the Koreans?”

“I’m sure the Koreans are happy to have them up here,” Patrick said. “Korea might be providing the ground control information for the MiG. I think that as long as we stay farther than twenty miles from that MiG and we don’t aim our exhausts right at him, he won’t spot us. Dave, why don’t you drop a note to General Samson and ask him to ask the White House to find a way to tell the Japanese we’re up here. I’d hate to be jumped by a Japanese MiG. Maybe we can exchange Mode Two codes or something.”

“You got it,” Luger said. “I should be able to find out what his interplane or command frequency is too, so if the shit really hits the fan you can talk to him. You can… Hey, looks like fighters launching from Korea.” When Patrick expanded his supercockpit display to a full God’s-eye view, he saw the new information: relayed from Korea’s own air traffic control radar system, two high-speed aircraft were climbing rapidly through the night sky, headed northeast. “Two fighters off from Seoul, headed your way.”

“Getting crowded up here,” Nancy said. “Maybe we should go low and hide in some…”

Just then the LADAR system issued a shrill warning tone, and an icon began blinking near one of the suspected Nodong missile units. “Launch detection!” Patrick shouted. “Missile in the air! Left forty and full blowers, Nance!”

Nancy Cheshire shoved all four throttles to max afterburner and yanked the EB-1 Megafortress to the left. They could see the missile launch clearly: a tiny sparkle of light on the horizon, followed by a bright yellow column of fire rising rapidly through the atmosphere. Patrick’s turn pointed the nose in precisely the right direction to lead the missile as it climbed.

“Bomb doors coming open! Wolverine away!” Patrick had immediately launched one of the powered glide bombs at the Nodong launcher. “Bomb doors closed! Okay, Nance, follow that missile!”

Nancy raised the nose only slightly to start her tail-chase climb. At first it seemed as if they might overfly or pass the missile — the Nodong didn’t look as though it was accelerating so fast, while the Megafortress was rapidly picking up speed. But this was an illusion. Seconds later it was obvious how fast that ballistic missile was traveling. In the blink of an eye the Nodong was above them, accelerating rapidly on a tongue of fire. By this time, Nancy had the speed built up to almost Mach 1 and she easily kept the nose aimed at the missile. They never reached the Mach, however, and the higher Cheshire pulled the nose up to point it at the Nodong missile, the quicker the airspeed bled off.

“Punch it out quick, sir,” Nancy urged him. “Airspeed’s falling way off already. You got about six seconds…”

“Stand by… doors coming open… missile away!” Seconds later they heard a loud thundering rocket blast, and one of the Lancelot missiles shot past their windscreen on its own plume of fire. “Clear to unload, Nance! Doors closed!” Nancy released back pressure on the control stick, lowered the nose to the horizon, and pulled the throttles out of afterburner. They were rewarded by a spectacular multicolored globe of sparks and fire in the sky as the Lancelot intercepted its quarry.

“Ya-hoo!” Nancy shouted. Both crew members had to turn away from the brilliant flash of light and shower of sparks. “Man, did you see that! Was that a nuclear detonation?”

“Could have been,” Patrick said. “Maybe a partial yield, five or ten kilotons. Lancelot intercepted it about fifty-one miles downrange, eighty thousand feet altitude.” Then a heavy rumble of turbulence rocked the Megafortress. “Yep, maybe a nuclear burst, all right. All our systems look okay.” Patrick switched to the imaging infrared view from the Wolverine missile, only long enough to clearly see the outline of the Nodong missile train. He had just enough time to roll the aiming cursor onto the car with the erector-launcher still extended in firing position before the missile hit.

Then came another warning message blinking on the supercockpit display. “Another missile launch! Left ninety, max AB, now!” Nancy followed Patrick’s instructions. This time Nancy kept the Megafortress’s nose down until Patrick had launched another Wolverine missile and the Nodong missile crossed the horizon; it was enough to accelerate past Mach 1. The nose lifted quickly, it felt much steadier, and the airspeed drop-off was less drastic — although the fact that they were six thousand pounds lighter on weapons and four thousand pounds lighter on fuel certainly helped too.

“Stand by… doors coming open… missile away!” Patrick shouted. Nancy shielded her eyes from the bright glare of the Lancelot missile’s first-stage rocket motor as the big missile streaked into the night sky. “Doors closed, clear to—”

“Warning!” Dave Luger shouted on the satellite commlink. “Bandit at seven o’clock ten miles! Get out of there!”

He was interrupted by a high-pitched deedledeedledeedle and a large MISSILE LAUNCH warning on the supercockpit display. “Break left!” Patrick shouted. Nancy yanked the Megafortress to the left — it was already in a slight left turn — and pulled hard right to the stall warning stick shaker. At the same instant, Patrick ejected several TALDs from the bomber’s right ejector racks, then quickly reeled out the first towed decoy and activated it. The tactical air-launched decoys immediately deployed their radar fins and activated infrared and radio emitters — to an air-to-air missile they were hundreds of times larger than the escaping EB-1. Both enemy missiles hit the TALDs without a single look at the Megafortress.

They saw another explosion in the sky, not as big as the first one, but spectacular nonetheless. “Looks like we got the second Nodong,” Patrick said, “but I don’t know what happened to the second Wolverine. It might’ve been shot down.”

“By who? Who is shooting at us?” Nancy shouted.

“That motherfucker Japanese MiG-29 sneaked up behind you when you plugged in your ’burners and shot two missiles at you!” Dave replied.

“Why would he do that — other than the fact there are missiles flying everywhere and he might’ve thought we launched all of them,” Patrick declared. “You got his frequency yet, Dave?”

“I’m getting it now,” Dave replied. “He’s talking to Seoul GCI and those two Korean fighters. I think they’re going to try to box you in… I got it. I set the freq in radio two. They’re unsecure.”

“Let me talk to ’em,” Nancy said. She moved her comm switch to radio number two and keyed the mike button: “Hey, boys, we’re on your side. Stop shooting at us!”

“Unidentified aircraft, this is the United Republic of Korea Air Force,” a voice replied in a thick Korean accent. “You have violated Korean airspace. Roll wings level, slow down, and lower your landing gear immediately or you will be shot down! This is your final warning!”

The supercockpit display showed the deployment of the air targets. “Looks like those Korean fighters are F-16Ks, judging by their radar signature — they don’t have us on radar yet,” Patrick said. “We are well inside Seoul radar coverage, but we can be out of it in less than two minutes at mil power. The MiG-29 might still have us on IRSTS. There’s squat we can do to escape him unless we get beyond his sensor’s max range, which is about ten miles. That’s pretty unlikely — he can fly just as fast as we can up here.”

“Unidentified aircraft, this is your final warning!” the Korean voice repeated. “Slow and lower your landing gear now or we open fire!”

“Warm up a Scorpion missile, Patrick,” Nancy Cheshire said. “We’ve got no choice — it’s him or us.”

“I’d rather not shoot the bastard down, Nance — he may have shot at us, but he’s a good guy.” Instead, Patrick activated the laser radar once more, got a fix on the MiG-29, then designated a Wolverine cruise missile against it. “Doors coming open… missile away! Get ready for a mil power TERFLW descent, Nance!”

“You got it, boss,” Nancy said happily, quickly configuring her autopilot switches. Patrick opened the bomb doors and commanded the ground-attack cruise missile against the MiG-29.

The Wolverine-powered cruise missile normally had a fifty-mile range, but this time it was heading up against a MiG-29 fighter, so its range was considerably less. But it was enough. Patrick and Nancy watched on the supercockpit display as the Wolverine missile flew closer and closer to the MiG. About two miles away, the MiG’s infrared search and track system must have detected the missile on a collision course, and it did a spectacular snap-turn to the right, followed by a roll and a steep dive away from the missile. The little cruise missile tried to follow, but it quickly lost track of the MiG and crashed harmlessly into the Sea of Japan.

At the same instant the MiG-29 did its wild evasive maneuver, Nancy rolled the EB-1C inverted and pulled. The bomber plummeted toward the sea in a steep thirty-thousand-foot-per-minute dive. She pulled the power to idle to keep from overstressing the plane. At five thousand feet above the ocean, she rolled upright, engaged the terrain-following system, and pushed it to full military power. They leveled off smoothly two thousand feet above the ocean, accomplished a systems check, then stepped it down until they were two hundred feet above the dark waves.

Nancy made a turn south to parallel the Korean coastline, in case the MiG tried to pursue them along their last known track, while Patrick scanned the skies around them with the laser radar. “The MiG is fifteen miles at our five o’clock, heading southeast,” he reported. “I don’t think he’s got us. Good job, Nance. Let’s work our way back to our patrol orbit and see if we can catch any more Nodongs tonight!”

“It stinks that we had to take a shot at a good guy and waste a perfectly good Wolverine just so we wouldn’t get shot down ourselves,” Nancy said. “But I guess he’s just doing his job. And we actually got two missiles tonight! Awesome!”

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. The Megafortress crew stayed in their patrol orbit over central Korea for another hour, easily skirting all of the search radars and fighter patrols over Korea. By this time there was a general air defense alert over the entire region, but the Megafortress crew was easily able to evade all searchers. There were no more missile launches from either side. They then broke off and hooked up with a KC-135 tanker over the Sea of Japan, 150 miles west-northwest of Kanazawa, Japan. With full tanks, they returned to their patrol orbit until an hour before sunrise, then headed back toward Japan and terminated their first successful night of antiballistic missile patrol.

They refueled again with the tanker, then flew to their “due regard” point, the coordinates in their military flight plan where they would again be back in radar contact. The Japanese military air traffic controllers on the island of Hokkaido, where the Megafortress crew checked in, might have suspected that the unidentified aircraft near Korea was this mysterious B-1 with the “Fortress” call sign, but there was nothing they could do but let the plane go on its way unmolested. Once it crossed the “due regard” point outbound outside Japanese airspace, its business was its own. As long as it crossed the proper point inbound at the proper time and squawked the proper transponder codes, it was a legal return flight and could come back without question with a valid flight plan and full air traffic control service.

With their identity confirmed and their flight plan reactivated, they continued on uneventfully and a little over two hours later set down in Adak, Alaska. Total flight time: twenty-one hours. They had taken off from Dreamland just after sunset and were landing just before arctic sunset — the sun would be up again in a couple of hours.

The ground crews immediately prepared the Megafortress for relaunch, while the flight crew made their way to the hangar where their new headquarters had been set up. David Luger himself picked up Nancy and Patrick from the plane, fed them sandwiches and drinks, escorted them to maintenance and intelligence debrief, and then to the conference room where they could sit and relax and talk about the sortie.

Waiting for them on a secure satellite videoconference hookup was Lieutenant General Terrill Samson, calling from Dreamland. “Helluva job, you two,” Samson said proudly. “Congratulations. How do you feel?”

“We need to get some more-comfortable chairs in that plane,” Nancy said. “And we need to get the microwave oven and hot cup working again too.”

“Why bother, Nance? You never unstrap or even lower your oxygen mask anyway,” Patrick said with a smile. To Samson, he said, “What’s the word from Korea, sir?”

“The word, thank God, is ‘what the hell happened?’” Samson replied. “Both China and Korea observed the exact same thing: two ballistic missile launches originating in southern Chagang Do province, followed by two large explosions, one a nuclear burst, high in the atmosphere. Very little damage and few injuries to anything or anyone on the ground. No response from China this time, no further action by Korea except to declare an air defense emergency. Japan claims it intercepted and attacked a bomber over the Sea of Japan and chased it away. Officially, they did not speculate on its identity. Unofficially — well, my phone’s been ringing off the hook. State Department. Pentagon. Gold Room. Oval Office. They all wanted a briefing.”

“And?”

“And I told them we had a winner on our hands, and we needed to fully implement it.” Samson beamed. “They virtually handed me a blank check. We got tankers, manpower, weapons, whatever we need ready to go. It’s our show too. No argument this time — Pacific Command was never even considered. The operation stays black all the way — we still don’t want to send any more carriers or combat aircraft into the region until things cool down. Except for the two carriers already stationed around Korea, we’ll be the only other combat unit in the entire northern Pacific. So just tell me what you need, Patrick, and it’ll be on its way.”

“The first thing I’ll need, sir,” Patrick said, “is the 111th Bomb Squadron, Nevada Air National Guard, and their planes, modified and flown up here as quickly as possible.”

“What?” Samson asked incredulously. “After what you went through with that bunch, you still want to use them? You can have their planes, Patrick — that’ll be a no-brainer. But the Nevada Air National Guard?”

“Sir, they are still the best Bone drivers in the business,” Patrick insisted. “When I did my evaluation of that unit, I was thinking like a BUFF or B-2 bomber guy — low, slow, and fly the blue line. I realized that once we got over Korea, Operation Battle Born won’t work if we fly that way. This mission calls for crews who can think and react like close-air-support attack planes, not bombers. They have to drive down the enemy’s throat to do this mission. Those guys are the best because they fly like that all the time — they don’t know any other way.”

“Then you got ’em,” Samson said. “What else do you need? Tanker support, AWACS, fighter cover?”

“We need Takedown,” Patrick replied.

“You need who?”

“Takedown — that’s the Navy version of Coronet Tiger,” Patrick said. “Brad Elliott originally got Coronet Tiger from the Navy, and they still have patrol planes modified with the system — on P-3 Orions, I believe. We need that plane, plus its support teams. I also need the Grand Island.”

“You mean the USS Grand Island? The cruiser we almost fried testing Lancelot?”

“Yep,” Patrick said. “We need someone to watch our backsides and to provide some air defense support. Besides, they know a lot of our secrets anyway — might as well make them part of the team.”

“Well, that might be a tough sell, but I’ll do it,” Samson said with a smile. “What’s the plan?”

“I plan on flying missions or manning the VC with other crews flying the EB-1 until someone orders me to stop,” Patrick said. “I’ll send Dave back to base to supervise the retrofit of the four Bones at Dreamland, and I’ll send Nancy and Wendy out to Patuxent River to supervise the Takedown flight crew setup. In less than seventy-two hours, we’ll be fully operational here. I just hope this region doesn’t blow up in our faces before then.”

The news about Korea was so nonstop and so shocking that, even after just a few days, it seemed as if it was already old news. Rebecca Furness was hardly paying attention to the TV tuned to CNN in her office as she took pictures, plaques, and other assorted memorabilia off the walls and stacked them neatly in boxes.

At first, it did appear as if the Korean people’s revolution was going to hold. Led by the United States, foreign troops started moving off the Korean peninsula within hours of the formal request. At several times, Russian, Chinese, and American transport and cargo vessels shared the same waters, packed full with troops, dependents, and equipment. In fact, it appeared as if all three nations had actually increased their naval presence in the region — given the opportunity to sail plenty of vessels into Korean waters, all nations did so with gusto. All of the ships operated near each other without protest or problems. It all led the world to believe that a peaceful transition to democracy was actually possible in Korea.

But then the missile attacks and the destruction of a major Korean city reportedly by a Chinese ballistic missile snapped the world back to reality. Tensions were high again in the blink of an eye. American military forces, already at a high state of alert, were placed on an even more advanced stage of readiness, as far advanced as possible without actually flying aircraft or sending ships to Korea or appearing as if they threatened China or Russia.

There was little talk from China — all of the bellicose language coming from Asia was from the Korean Communist government-in-exile. President Kim Jong-il was on CNN almost hourly, loudly proclaiming that President Kwon of United Korea wanted nothing more than to precipitate a superpower conflict so Japan and Korea could emerge as leaders of a new Asian power bloc.

All the other noise on CNN came from President Kevin Martindale’s critics, who slammed him mercilessly. He was not tough enough with the Chinese or Koreans; he should never have relinquished the lost Korean or Japanese bases; he should send more troops or more aircraft carriers into Asia; and on it went for a dozen other perceived deficiencies. Half his critics wanted war with the Chinese — the other half wanted Martindale out of the White House and then war with China.

When the news came over CNN that China and Korea had exchanged missiles, Rebecca thought the world was going to end in the next thirty minutes — about the time it would take long-range sub-launched ICBMs to fly from Asia or Siberia to North America, or vice versa. She had never in her life felt so powerless. She stopped her packing and watched, mesmerized, as the reporters and anchors tried to keep on reporting developments in northeast Asia, even as they, too, knew that their planet could be on fire at any moment.

When the thirty minutes came and went, Rebecca felt enormous relief. Maybe cooler heads were going to prevail here. Maybe everything would be all right. But then President Kim or some Chinese government official would get on the air and promise death, and her panic would start all over again.

“You know,” she heard a familiar voice say, “this is a really shitty office.” She turned and saw Rinc Seaver standing in her doorway, watching her.

Rebecca looked around, then nodded. Her office was a former storeroom on the top floor of the General James A. May hangar at Reno-Tahoe International Airport. It wasn’t the normal unit commander’s office, but she chose it and fixed it up because it overlooked the flight line and had better access to the maintenance teams downstairs, which were the lifeblood of any flying unit. “I’ve had bigger ones, nicer ones,” she said. “But it’s not the size that matters, it’s what you do with it.”

“Are we still talking about offices, Beck?” Rinc said with a smile.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe not.”

“I would certainly prefer to talk about us.”

She favored him with a smile in return, then motioned to the TV. “Have you been watching this? It’s incredible. One second I feel okay, and the next I think I can hear the nukes flying in.”

“I can’t watch it anymore,” Rinc said. “It’s driving me nuts, especially since I can’t do anything about it. Besides, I’m concerned about other things — other persons.” He stepped over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Hi, stranger,” he said.

“Hi yourself.”

She did not exactly return his kiss, and he could feel the tension in her body. His shoulders slumped as she turned away and began packing boxes again. “Either I’m losing my touch, or I’m losing you,” he said.

“I’m just distracted… pissed off… frustrated… take your pick,” Rebecca said. “I’m a full-time guardsman, Rinc. This was my job. I’ve never been fired from a job before in my life. And this was my first combat-coded command, something I’ve wanted since I started pilot training.”

“I know,” Rinc said. “What’s more, we lost our unit when we were doing our jobs better than anyone else. It sucks.”

Rebecca looked at Rinc. “You seem in a pretty good mood. Oh yeah, that’s right — you still have a job.”

“You can have one too, if you want,” Rinc said. “The company is thinking about putting another plane on the line. I talked to them about splitting hours. They provide decent benefits, we get the use of the planes at cost in case we set up some type of rating instruction, and we get to stay in town and…”

“I tried that once before — I found I didn’t like it,” Rebecca said. “I like military flying better. I like command even more.”

Rinc shrugged. “Why not accept the offer while you look around for another position?” he suggested. “We could use you, and we’d still be together.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so, which? The ‘we could use you’ part or the ‘we’d still be together’ part?”

“Rinc, sometimes you… dammit, sometimes men can be so frustrating,” Rebecca said. “I just lost my job. I’m hurt. You just lost your job. You don’t seem to care. I don’t see you for weeks after your accident. I’m hurt. You don’t see me for weeks after your accident, and it’s no big deal. Does it ever become a big deal for you?”

“Beck, we got tossed out of a job — we didn’t receive a death sentence, we didn’t get a red ‘A’ painted on our foreheads, we are still breathing,” Rinc said. “We can overcome everything else. Life goes on. We press on.”

“Well, I lost some things that were special to me,” Rebecca said. “My command, my career, my future.”

“But you can have that again. I’m offering you all of it. My bosses want you. I want you. The business is expanding, and there’s a future for you there if you want it.”

“Pushing another flying service? Forget it. I did that, back in New York. It wasn’t for me. I’ve worked hard to get my light colonel’s leaves and my own command, Rinc — I can’t just leave it and go to work for someone else.” She reached out and held his hand. “The California Air National Guard tanker wing is looking for a commander down in Riverside. They want to interview me. I think I’ve got a really good shot at it. KC-135Rs, maybe KC-10s in the future. Lots of missions, high visibility, lots of money.”

“And what do I do? Fly Stratobladders? No thanks,” Rinc said. “I’ve put in my time in support squadrons. I’m part owner of a good business here in Reno, and I get a stick and throttles and windows in my planes, even the little piston-powered ones. Why would I give that up?”

“How about for me?” Rebecca asked, a little crossly. “Do it so we can stay together. Start a branch of your flying service down there. Fly for the airlines — you have lots of experience, a commercial license, an Airline Transport Pilot rating. Get a corporate position. Or just come down and be with me. You’re a young guy. You can do anything you want. I don’t have as many opportunities as you, Rinc. When I find a good one, I have to go for it.” She could tell that not only was he not considering the idea, he was decidedly uncomfortable even thinking about it. “Or does the idea of following a woman’s career totally gross you out?”

“It’s not that…”

“Bullshit. What is it, then? My age?”

“Hey, I’ve never thought of you as an ‘older woman,’” Rinc said angrily. “You know that. You’re as sexy and vibrant and hot as any college hard-body.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Rebecca asked. “C’mon, Rinc. Give it a try.”

“I don’t know,” Rinc said. Rebecca sensed that he was wrestling with an even greater dilemma than just their future together. “It’s just… well, I was getting a little tired of the Air Guard scene. I was looking forward to settling down and taking it easy with this little flying service in Reno.”

“Well, don’t fly for the Guard,” she said. “Do other stuff.”

“But I’d be exposed to it all the time, being with you. I’m not sure if I want that.”

“Why, for Christ’s sake? You don’t have to have anything to do with the Guard, except maybe a few social-type functions. You can handle that. Besides, if you’re doing your corporate or airline thing, you’ll probably be on the road most of the time anyway.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be involved because you’ll be involved.”

“So? I still don’t get it.” She looked at him for several long moments; then: “What is it, Rodeo? Tell me.” He remained silent, his eyes darting back and forth as if reliving some horrible event in his life. Now she studied his face intently, reading the thoughts and emotions that seemed to cross it — and not liking what she was sensing. “It’s not that you don’t want to be around me, Rinc,” she said in a quiet, strained voice, “is it? You don’t want to be around the Air Guard. Why?” Still no response. “Rinc, you gotta tell me. It’s about the accident, right?”

“No.”

“Tell me, Rinc. Get it off your chest. It’s all history now, lover.”

“Forget about it. It’s nothing.”

“I can’t forget about it until you do,” Rebecca said. “It’s obvious that whatever is bugging you is standing between us. I need to know. Please.”

Rinc started to pace the office. Every step he took seemed to cause him immense pain, but Rebecca knew the true pain was in his soul. “You lost it that day, didn’t you, Rinc?”

Rinc’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “Yes,” he said in a low, barely audible voice. “It was nuts on that plane, Beck. It wasn’t recovering. We were practically upside down. I thought I could recover it. Mad Dog had his fingers on the PREPARE TO EJECT switch, and I told him no. I kept on saying, ‘I got it, I got it.’ I suddenly realized I was going to fly it all the way into the ground, and I didn’t issue a command — I just went.”

“Rinc, it’s all right,” Rebecca said, going to him and taking his hand. “The important thing is, you got out alive…”

“Like hell it is!” John Long shouted. He was standing in the doorway of Rebecca’s office, his eyes bulging in fury. “So you finally admit it — you did screw up!”

“John, get out,” Rebecca said. “This is between him and me.”

But Long had already sped into the office and he shoved Seaver back against Rebecca’s desk. Rinc made no attempt to resist. Long pinned him against the desk and started pummeling him with his right fist. “You bastard!” he shouted. “You cowardly bastard! You caused that accident! You caused that crash! You killed those men! My friends are dead because of you!”

Furness had no choice — she jabbed her right elbow back into Long’s face, then pushed him away. He flew backward, blood spurting from his nose.

“So that’s why you’ve been protecting him — you two have been screwing each other all this time,” Long said, holding his nose to try to stop the bleeding. “God damn you…”

“That’s enough, Colonel!”

“I’m not your subordinate anymore, bitch!” Long snapped. “And even if I was, I call ’em like I see ’em. You covered up for him even though you suspected something was wrong. How can you do that, Furness? How can you cover up for a piece of shit like that, over the rest of your unit? There’s no dick or piece of ass good enough for anyone to turn on their own!”

“Shut up!” Rebecca shouted. “Just shut the fuck up, Long!” He finally stopped and glared at them both. Seaver picked himself up off the desk, not bothering to cover up a cut lip and bruised cheek. “Both of you, knock it off. This is getting us nowhere. What’s done is done.”

“Not for me it isn’t,” Long shot back. “Not until Seaver admits what he did in front of the squadron and to the adjutant general. Then I want to see him drummed out of the Guard.”

“Go to hell, Long,” Seaver said, his voice defiant but his eyes and expression showing the pain and hurt he was feeling. “Yes, I jumped out without giving a command. Yes, I was too aggressive down low while TF’ing. Yes, I relied on the automatic system to punch everyone out. But my crew didn’t die because of me! Those smoky SAMs hit us, we couldn’t recover…”

“You piece of shit!” Long shouted. “You’re still blaming something else for what you did.” Long took a threatening step toward Seaver.

Rebecca got up to block Long’s path again. “I said, knock it off!” Then she realized that someone else was standing in the doorway to her office. It was none other than Lieutenant Colonel Hal Briggs and another lieutenant colonel whom Rebecca recognized as General McLanahan’s deputy and one of the members of his inspection team. The way Briggs’s field jacket bulged, it was obvious he was still wearing the little submachine gun she remembered seeing at Dreamland.

“We interrupting something here, Colonel?” Briggs asked with his seemingly ever-present smile. He nodded at John Long and added, “Looks like you got blood on you again, Colonel Long, except this time it’s your own blood.”

“As a matter of fact, you are interrupting something,” Rebecca replied testily. “Can you guys wait for us downstairs?”

“No, we can’t,” the other man said. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel David Luger, General McLanahan’s deputy. We’d like you all to come with us right away. We’ve already got Captain Dewey with us downstairs.”

“It’s going to have to wait a few minutes,” Rebecca said. “We have something—”

“You don’t understand, Rebecca,” Dave Luger said. “You’re coming with us right now. General McLanahan’s orders.”

“McLanahan doesn’t have any authority over us,” Long said irritably, his anger from being elbowed in the face by his ex-boss welling up to the surface.

“You’re wrong, Colonel Long,” Luger said. “Those wristbands mean he has total authority over you.”

“What’s he going to do if we tell him to go piss up a rope?” Long asked. “Kidnap us?”

As if he were talking only to the cool alpine air, Dave Luger said, “Lieutenant Colonel Luger for Gunnery Sergeant Wohl…” There was a brief pause; then: “Chris, come give us a hand upstairs, please.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Rebecca asked.

Luger did not reply. Moments later the biggest, meanest-looking man any of them had ever seen came into Furness’s office. He was the archetypical commando — square jaw, piercing eyes, huge hands, tight, muscular frame, some broken bones in his face and nose that made him look even meaner. He looked at the three guardsmen with undisguised hostility, as if he had been personally insulted or inconvenienced by them.

“This is Gunnery Sergeant Chris Wohl, guys,” Luger said. “He’s our noncommissioned officer in charge of ass-kicking at HAWC.” As he said that, Chris Wohl reached inside his field jacket, grasped the pistol grip of his MP5K submachine gun, and gave it a tug. The little weapon snapped free of its harness, and in the blink of an eye the stock had extended and the big ex-marine had it at port arms. In another instant he had withdrawn and attached a sound suppressor.

“What are you going to do, asshole?” Long sneered. “Shoot us?”

“Yes, sir,” Wohl said, smiling. And at that, to the complete astonishment of the three guardsmen, he leveled the MP5K and fired a round right into John Long’s chest from less than twenty feet away.

“Jesus! Are you nuts?” Rebecca screamed. Long fell backward, his eyes staring straight ahead, clutching his chest. He went down so fast that Rinc and Rebecca had to scramble to catch him. There was no blood. They quickly found that he was not dead because there was no hole in his chest — just a patch of light brown dust on his shirt. But Long was out of it. One moment he was awake and wondering why his legs and arms wouldn’t work — the next instant, his eyes rolled up into his head and he was fast asleep. “What in hell did you shoot him with?”

“A very mild nerve agent crystalline needle,” Hal Briggs explained. “The needle is about the size of a human hair and can penetrate several layers of clothing, very much like a bullet but with none of the tissue trauma. It contains a nerve agent that paralyzes all voluntary motor functions. He can breathe, blink, his heart will work okay — he just can’t move. He’ll be out for about an hour or so.” He motioned to Long’s crotch and added with a grin, “He can’t keep from peeing and shitting on himself either.”

“Are you absolutely insane?” Rebecca cried. She checked for a pulse and breathing and found both were normal — but Long was indeed out. Not just asleep, but completely limp, his limbs as mushy as a half-filled water balloon. She got the first whiff of relieved bowels and bladder too, which made her even angrier. “You can’t just drag us out of here like criminals…”

“We can and we will,” Hal Briggs said calmly. “Rather, you two will drag Colonel Long downstairs and into our waiting car, which will take us over to our waiting jet, which will take us to Elliott Air Force Base. If you give Gunnery Sergeant Wohl any more grief, he will shoot both of you, and he and his men will drag you however way they find most convenient to the van.”

“By accepting those bracelets, guys, you agreed to be part of Dreamland and HAWC as long as they exist and as long as you exist,” Dave Luger said. “I’m sure General McLanahan made that clear to you before you landed at our base. We don’t allow visitors, and there’s no such thing as a TDY into or a PCS out of Dreamland.”

“Just like ‘Hotel California’ in reverse, guys,” Hal added with a big smile. “You can leave anytime you like, but you can never check out.”

“This is ridiculous!” Rebecca exploded. “You’re taking us back to Dreamland? Now? No orders, no prior arrangements, no warning? What about our lives, our families, our careers?”

“All three of you have been federalized,” Dave said. “Major Seaver just left a message telling his partners that he’s on extended leave of absence — actually, we took the liberty of leaving the message on his behalf. Colonel Furness, you and Colonel Long both are still full-time Nevada Air Guard, even though your unit has been deactivated. The Nevada adjutant general has agreed to allow you to go on extended active duty. We’ll see to it that someone looks out for your house or apartment and pays the bills and feeds your dog.”

“Which sucks big-time,” Briggs added. “Didn’t you guys know enough not to have pets if you’re single in the military? Who’d you think was going to take care of them if you had to deploy? Shame on you. Colonel Long needs some serious pet care counseling.”

“Later, Hal,” Luger said. “Any other squawks, folks? If not, or even if you do, save it for when we get on the plane. Grab an end and let’s get Long downstairs.” With the big, mean-looking gunnery sergeant standing guard — the guardsmen could see that the spare magazines he carried were all loaded with real bullets, not paralyzing crystals — they carried Long down the flight of stairs to the hangar floor below.

A waiting unmarked blue windowless van was waiting, with Annie Dewey inside. Her eyes got round with worry as she watched Long being carried into the van. “What happened to Long Dong?” she asked.

“He opened his yap one too many times,” Rinc said.

A few moments later the group arrived at the other side of Reno-Tahoe International Airport, where an unmarked Gulfstream IV executive jet was waiting inside a hangar with two plainclothes guards standing watch. Out of sight of any curious onlookers, they loaded up, got towed out to the ramp, and took off minutes later. In less than thirty minutes, they were on the ground back at Dreamland, and they pulled into a different set of hangars than the ones they’d seen when they first arrived at this haunting, desolate place.

“I want to talk with General McLanahan right away,” Rebecca demanded. “Just because he stuck those microchips in our arms doesn’t mean he has the right to yank us out of our homes and drag us here.”

“Go ahead,” Dave Luger said matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“Go ahead and talk to him.”

“How?”

“You’re wired for sound now, remember?” David said. “We can hear everything you say. The microchip is a transceiver too — not just GPS or physiological data, but two-way communications.”

“He can hear everything I ever say?”

“Try it and see. Announce who you are and who you want to talk with.”

Rebecca looked at Rinc and Annie, shrugged, and then said aloud, “Colonel Furness to General McLanahan. Come in, please.” There was no response. At a nod from Dave Luger, she tried again: “General Mc-Lanahan?”

“Patrick here, Rebecca. Welcome back.”

“A computer analyzes your request, pages the other party, and makes the connection — sometimes it takes a moment,” Dave explained.

“How can I hear him without headphones or a speaker?”

“It’s a little complicated, but the microchip reads and translates nerve impulses associated with speech and hearing,” Patrick explained. “When we say your whole body is wired for sound, we mean it. On a very rudimentary but very real level, we can even read your thoughts.”

Rebecca gulped in astonishment — the idea was too wild to even comprehend right now. “Can my crew members join in the conversation?” she asked.

“Sure,” Patrick said. “Conference in Major Seaver and Captain Dewey with General McLanahan, please.” Patrick paused for a moment, then asked, “Can all you guys hear me okay?”

The startled expressions on their faces answered that question. “Hol-ee shit!” Rinc exclaimed. “This is unbelievable!”

“I take that as a yes,” Patrick said. “Listen up, everyone. We don’t have time to waste. We have some academics to start with today and tonight. You deploy day after tomorrow.”

“Deploy? Where?”

“Your Bones are being modified with a few improvements,” Patrick replied. “We’re working round the clock to get them ready.”

“Where are you, sir?” Dewey asked.

“I can’t tell you, not just yet,” Patrick said. “Once you’re under way, you’ll be fully briefed.”

“Listen, General,” Rebecca interjected. “I wanted to talk to you about the tactics you used to bring us here. I don’t like your men barging in on me, and I sure as shit don’t like your commandos shooting my guys up with nerve agents. We want an explanation. You can threaten us all you want, but you can’t force us to fly your planes or perform any missions for you.”

“Fair enough,” Patrick said. “Conference in Colonel Luger and Colonel Briggs, please… Dave, Hal, can you escort the crew to Foxtrot row? Take them through the Corridor.”

“Yes, sir,” Luger acknowledged. “Follow me, everyone.” He escorted the three guardsmen to a waiting van — Long was still out cold, but now being monitored by an emergency medical technician as he started to come around — and a few minutes later they arrived at Foxtrot row, the place where the Nevada Air Guard’s B-1 bombers were being hangared. As when they first arrived, they had to pass through another series of security checkpoints, including a handprint and retinal identification analyzer and an X-ray corridor to check for implanted listening devices, weapons, or recording devices.

“What a goatfuck,” Rebecca said. “All to see our own planes.”

“They’re our planes now,” she heard Patrick say in her head.

“Is that you, General McLanahan?” Rebecca asked, shocked to hear that voice come out of thin air. “Are you still listening to me, General?”

“We’re still connected until you disconnect,” Patrick said. “Your planes are through that corridor ahead of you. We have some techs and engineers waiting to start briefing you on the modifications.”

“What do you mean, they’re yours?”

“Governor Gunnison and General Bretoff have leased the planes to us for an indefinite period of time,” Dave Luger replied. “Actually, ever since you flunked your pre-D, we’ve been modifying them. You need to learn how to fly them right away. You start action in the forward area in two days.”

“You’re still assuming we want to be a part of any of this,” Rebecca said. “Judging by the treatment we got this morning and the support we’ve received from you and your organization, I vote we tell you to go to hell.”

“It would be a shame to lose you, but at the end of our little tour here, if you don’t want in, I’ll cut the bracelets off and send you home,” Patrick’s ethereal voice in their heads said. “We can’t take the chip out without a surgeon, but it’s completely safe and quite inert without the bracelet, I promise. I’ve had one in for years. Deal?”

Rebecca still looked skeptical and did not reply, but something on the wall caught her eye, and she went over to examine it. It was a series of photographs, memorabilia, charts, and other items, including a control wheel from a B-52. Rinc and Annie went over to look at the items as well.

What riveted Rebecca Furness’s attention was the big WAC chart and a remarkable pencil and paper recreation of an old two-page SAC Form 200 flight plan next to it — describing a B-52 bomber flight from Dreamland to Kavaznya in the Soviet Union, with a final stop in Anadyr near the Bering Strait. The chart had the triangle fix position marks on them, along with the old-style cross data blocks with Zulu time, track, groundspeed, and winds or drift angle. The Form 200 was filled out in meticulous detail with precise architect-like printing. It was dated 1988 and even had the headings filled out — it was as if whoever drew this thing up wanted to duplicate a standard Form 200 exactly, from memory.

Rebecca’s mouth opened in surprise as she read the names of the crew members on the flight plan: Brad Elliott, pilot; John Ormack, copilot; Patrick McLanahan, radar navigator; David Luger, navigator; Wendy Tork, electronic warfare officer; and Angelina Pereira, gunner. Most of those names were legends in the Air Force, pilots or engineers or weapons designers known the world over — and here they were, all on one mysterious hand-drawn flight plan.

“Kavaznya — that was that antisatellite laser site in Siberia, wasn’t it?” Rebecca asked. “The one that had the accident? I remember the Russians claimed we bombed it, but everyone said its reactor had a meltdown.” She looked at Luger in complete surprise. “You… you bombed it?”

“With a damned B-52,” Rinc said breathlessly. “Here’s a picture of it… I think it’s a B-52, with the long pointed nose and the stealth fighter tail. This is the control wheel off it. You flew a B-52 bomber all the way inside the Soviet Union at the height of the Cold War and bombed its most important secret military site?”

“I see you’ve noticed our little display,” Patrick said. “Be careful what you ask me, you two — you may find yourself sinking deeper and deeper into the mysteries of Dreamland, and once you’re in, you can never return.

“We can end the tour right here. Colonel Luger won’t show you what’s inside. You’ve seen more than anyone else not part of the program has ever seen before, and you are the first nonactive-duty military types to ever set foot in here. But once you step inside, I can’t take you out again. The bracelet stays on forever. You may get your life in the Air Guard back again, but you will always be tied into the high-level security and scrutiny of this place. From the moment you step through that door, somebody will always be listening.”

“I… I’m not sure if I want to do it,” Annie Dewey said, twisting the vinyl-covered bracelet absently, then rubbing the spot where the microchip was injected. “I don’t know if I want to be part of all this intrusion into my life.”

“She’s being honest with herself and with me,” Patrick said. “All of you better do the same. Like General Samson said, the life you’ll live sucks. You may get to return to Reno and fly for the Nevada Guard, but Big Brother will still be watching. You’ll always be under scrutiny, you’ll always be watched. Not only you but your families, your friends, your coworkers — anyone who comes in contact with you.

“But you’ll be a part of something extraordinary, exciting, almost mystical. We get to fly the hottest jets, test the hottest weapons. We’re not on the cutting edge here — we’re a generation or two beyond it already.”

Patrick meant to say it with great excitement, as he did to so many other newcomers to the base. But he knew what it was like in that corridor back in Dreamland, with the faces and memories of old friends staring back at him from many years and many adventures — and he couldn’t do it. Working here, living here, making the commitment to be part of this place, it wasn’t at all about excitement. It was about doing a terrible job against even more terrible odds — and winning with the fewest number of losses.

Patrick, sitting alone back in the conference room at Adak Naval Air Station, thought about the stuff back on the wall at Dreamland with his somber “thousand-yard stare,” as if his friends and partners, both living and dead, were waving to him from somewhere on the horizon — which they were. They were telling Patrick to let go of his feelings, share his fears with these people. The shadows of the dead had accepted these strangers — now Patrick had to do the same.

He paused, mentally touched the photograph of Brad Elliott, and said in a quiet voice, “Maybe you’ll save some lives; maybe you’ll get to see your friends die horrible, slow, agonizing deaths. Maybe you’ll save the world from going up in flames; maybe you’ll be forced to do some illegal or immoral things, because the consequences of failure are too grave, and you’ll hate the world you live in because you’ve ruined it. Maybe you’ll make a little history; maybe you’ll die alone, fighting a battle your country will deny ever happened. If you’re lucky and your remains are recovered, you’ll be buried in a desert cemetery that no one will ever visit, because officially it doesn’t exist. Most times, you will just cease to exist.”

As they listened to the disembodied voice in their heads, Furness, Seaver, and Dewey looked at each other with a mixture of surprise and sadness. It was like staring into a dark cave and deciding whether or not to go inside. That simple door at the other end of the corridor seemed like the portal to another world. The three guardsmen looked at each other, silently querying themselves and each other. This time Rebecca was not going to make the decision for them.

Finally, Rinc Seaver shrugged. “Well, jeez, General,” he said, “when you put it that way, how can we refuse? I’m in.”

“Oh, hell — I’m in,” Rebecca said. It made her feel good that Rinc Seaver committed first — she was afraid that revealing his weakness to her might have dulled his fighting edge. It was good to see him want to get back into action once again.

“I’m in too,” John Long said. He had quietly entered the Corridor, escorted by Hal Briggs, as they stood and thought about their futures. He glared at Seaver. “As long as I don’t have to fly with that piece of shit.”

“Fine by me,” Rinc shot back.

“Don’t argue in this place!” Patrick snapped, jumping to his feet in the conference room nearly three thousand miles away, eyes blazing and neck muscles taut. “Don’t you dare even raise your fucking voices in that hallway, or I will come back and kick both your asses out into the desert myself! That place is as sacred as a church. The floor you stand on is hallowed ground. You will goddamn learn to respect that! Do you understand? Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Long mumbled.

“Yes, sir,” Rinc said. “Sorry, sir.”

“You fly with whoever we tell you to fly with, both of you,” Patrick said. “I think it’s time you got your heads screwed on straight, both of you. Colonel Long, Seaver didn’t cause the accident. He saved himself. He’s a good stick. Let him do his job.

“Seaver, you’re busy chasing ghosts that don’t deserve chasing. You’ve got to get your mind properly focused on your crew and your mission before we go flying. You think you have something to prove. You don’t. You just need to do your job and back up your teammates. That’s what’s important. Stop worrying about what others think or feel. Your life will be miserable if you don’t — and it won’t just be because of us here at Dreamland. You copy me?”

“Yes, sir,” Long and Seaver replied quietly.

“Captain Dewey? Are you in? You can go outside and think about it, give Tom or your folks a call if you’d like.”

“You know about Tom, do you, sir?” Annie asked the thin air, as if talking to an invisible friend.

“Hey, he’s a nice dude — for an urban cowboy wannabe,” Hal Briggs chimed in.

“Hell, Heels, we knew about him too — and we didn’t need any spies or listening devices to find out,” Rebecca said with a smile. “He looks real fine, but he doesn’t have a brain cell in his poor peanut head. Stay with us. We’ll have a good time as long as we stick together.”

“Then I’m in,” Annie said.

“Good,” Patrick said. “Colonel Luger, escort the new Megafortress crews into hangar one, please.” He visualized the photos, charts, and other memorabilia on the wall, gave the photo of Brad Elliott a light, warm touch with his fingertips, then gave his new air combat team a thumbs-up from three thousand miles away. “Go look at your new ride, Aces.”