Battle Born

CHAPTER SEVEN

Reports coming in from Chagang Do province, sir,” General An Ki-sok, chief of staff of the United Republic of Korea armed forces, reported as he hung up the telephone. He was in the office of the minister of defense, retired general Kim Kun-mo. “Our infantry and artillery battalion at Pyorbai is under attack. At least two, possibly three battalions of light infantry and armor coming across the border. Kanggye is already surrounded and Chinese troops are in the city. We lost contact fifteen minutes ago — the Pyorbai barracks could already be overrun.”

“A Chinese invasion?” General Kim exclaimed. “So fast?”

“Yes, sir,” General An said. “Here is an update from reconnaissance planes, sir: at least two armored battalions and one infantry battalion against Kanggye itself; three, perhaps four more armored battalions and two infantry battalions moving south from J’an and Waichagoumen. Mostly light armor and infantry, moving very quickly, but they have substantial air defense, attack helicopters, and heavy armor backing them up.”

“Do you suppose the Chinese are assisting rebel Communists inside Korea?” Kim asked. “Perhaps this attack was timed to correspond with those two rebel missile launches that aborted themselves over Hwanghae province last night.”

“Very possible, sir,” An replied. “Kim Jong-il’s rhetoric coming from Beijing is more bombastic than ever. He congratulates whoever launched those missiles, and he has promised help from the Chinese to anyone who takes up arms against us. If he was going to mount a counteroffensive with China’s help, Chagang Do province would be the best place to start.”

“They’re going after the weapons labs,” Kim said as he picked up the telephone that connected directly with the Blue House, the presidential palace in Seoul. “If they capture the facilities intact, they’ll capture a large number of special weapons warheads and prevent us from developing any more of our own.”

“We cannot let that happen, sir!” An retorted. “We fought too hard to lose it so quickly and so suddenly like this! We must act!”

“President Kwon here,” the president of United Korea answered a few moments later.

Kim raised a hand to silence his chief of staff. “Mr. President, General Kim here. I’m at the Ministry of Defense. Chinese troops were reported invading Chagang Do province. It appears they’ve taken Kanggye.”

“What? Chinese troops? How many? Where?”

“Apparently, two brigades entered Kanggye and took over the Army barracks at Pyorbai,” Kim replied. “We’ve had no contact from the province within the last half hour.” Kim read a report handed to him, swallowed hard, then said into the telephone, “Sir, photo and electronic reconnaissance planes report massive Chinese ground movement across the border. In addition to the estimated two brigades that took Kanggye, there are reports of two more full brigades crossing the frontier at Linjiang and Dandong, including aviation units. No reports from Seventh Battalion stationed at Pyorbai — obviously our units were overwhelmed by Chinese forces.” The Seventh was called a battalion, but in fact it was a hodgepodge of several partial infantry and light-armored North Korean companies, augmented with former South Korean men and equipment. Up until very recently, the men in this unit were mostly concerned with foraging for food — they were no match for any regular combat force even half their size, let alone two battalions of seasoned Chinese border troops.

“Where are they concentrated?” President Kwon asked. “What could their objective be?” He paused for a moment, then added softly, “The nuclear research facilities? The weapons laboratories?”

“That would be my guess, sir,” Kim responded. “Sir, we need a way to stop those troops from taking Kanggye and the weapons labs. If Korean Communist rebels seize any special weapons and are able to use them against us, the loss of life could be staggering. But we cannot sacrifice those weapons labs. If we try an aerial or artillery bombardment, we could damage or destroy them — or the Chinese will do it for us.” There was silence on the line for several long moments; then in a low, stern voice Kim said, “This is the time that we must use a weapon that can kill the enemy but not harm the buildings or equipment.”

“What are you talking about, Kim?”

“A subatomic or chemical weapons attack against Chinese troops, sir,” he said ominously. “Precisely what these weapons were designed for, exactly why North Korea had them in their inventory — to wipe us out without destroying our cities, our factories, our military or civil infrastructure. We have no choice, sir. If we lose Chagang Do province and all of its military facilities to the Chinese and to the Communist rebels, we will eventually lose our cities to attack.”

“I am not convinced an attack like this is necessary, General.”

“I believe it is necessary now more than ever, sir,” Kim said emphatically. “We were not sure if the Chinese had launched an attack against Seoul and Pusan — this time we’re sure the Chinese have invaded. They’ve attacked our aircraft and overrun our army outposts, and they are apparently trying to capture our weapons research facilities. We cannot allow that! We need to keep those facilities intact. The only way to do it is to use special weapons.

“The effects of both a chemical weapons and a neutron weapons attack will be confined to a very small area,” Kim went on. “Vx nerve gas is potent but nonpersistent, meaning our forces can safely move in within days of the attack; the chemical disperses when exposed to wind or moisture, so danger to surrounding areas is minimal. The subatomic weapons create great destruction within a few hundred meters of ground zero, but virtually no destruction outside that radius. They kill within two miles of the blast and injure within four miles, while leaving our facilities intact. We can—”

“I do not believe we are even discussing this!” President Kwon shouted. “This is insanity! This is foolishness!”

“Sir, the Chinese knew the risks when they staged this invasion,” Kim said. “If we do not respond immediately with overwhelming force, we stand the risk of losing our weapons facilities, Chagang Do province entirely, and perhaps our entire nation to the Chinese. What will you do, sir?”

President Kim hesitated. “Is there any word from our forces in Kanggye?” he asked. “Have they been captured? Killed? What is the extent of the Chinese incursion?”

“There is still no word from Kanggye, sir,” Kim said, “only reports of massive numbers of Chinese armored forces heading south from all across the frontier. The longer we wait, sir, the harder it will be to uproot those troops.”

Kim heard Kwon loudly swear to himself and pound on his desk as he tried to sort out the jumble of fears and emotions swirling inside. The attack on Pusan had forced him to agree to a massive bombardment of Chinese forces near Changbai — but this was different, completely different.

“I… I must consider this,” Kwon said uneasily. “I must have more information. Call me as soon as you know more about the status of our forces near Kanggye and more precise numbers of Chinese troops in Chagang Do province.” He hung up before Kim could say anything else.

“Damned coward!” Kim swore as he slammed the receiver down. “We took such enormous risks in reuniting the peninsula, we have the power to hold it or punish any who try to take it from us — but now Kwon grows weary and afraid. What a time to grow chicken feathers.” He got up from his desk and started to pace. “If Kwon allows the Chinese People’s Liberation Army to gain a toehold in Chagang Do province,” he said to General An, “with American military forces all but gone, it would only be a matter of time before they would control the entire peninsula.”

“Doesn’t he realize how precarious a position we are in right now?” An asked rhetorically. “Those two aborted missile launches we saw last night, the unconfirmed report of a bomber over central Korea, and now fighters and armor south of the border — the Chinese are undoubtedly beginning an invasion campaign.” He looked at Kim and said, “Sir, I think it would be worthwhile to pay a visit to the prime minister and the minister of foreign affairs. Perhaps we can convince them how necessary it is to act right away.”

Kim stopped pacing and looked searchingly at General An. “Interesting,” he said after a moment’s careful pause. “And what if they agree with us, General? What if they feel as we do that a massive response is necessary?”

“Then… then we should act, sir,” An replied. His words were straightforward but noncommittal — but his eyes spoke much more strongly, more forcefully. “We should do whatever is necessary to protect the republic.”

“And what of President Kwon?”

“The president is a true patriot, a true visionary, the embodiment of the spirit of the Korean people,” An said. “I bear no malice toward the man who has engineered the revolution and led the long-awaited reunification. But if he does not have the stomach for battle, he should be willing to step aside and let the warriors decide the fate of United Korea for him.”

“I can see you are speaking from the heart, General,” Kim said. “I share your thoughts completely. But what if he will not step aside?”

“Then,” An said plainly, as if stating an obvious fact, “it is our sworn responsibility to take command.”

This invasion was completely unprovoked, unwarranted, and could touch off an all-out nuclear exchange!” the President of the United States thundered. In the Oval Office with him were Philip Freeman, Secretary of Defense Chastain, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Balboa, and Vice President Whiting. He was speaking with the Chinese ambassador to the United States, Zhou Chang-li. “We’re very fortunate that President Kwon of Korea didn’t retaliate.”

“Indeed,” Ambassador Zhou said. The diplomat, young for a senior member of the Chinese foreign ministry at age sixty-one, seemed bored and distracted. “It would have meant the end of United Korea once and for all, I think.”

“Is that supposed to be humorous, Mr. Ambassador?”

“No, sir. I am just stating a fact,” Zhou said evenly. “The illegal government of the Republic of Korea agreed to terms of withdrawal of foreign forces. One part of the agreement was that our personnel not be detained or searched. Korea broke their part of the bargain. Second, we agreed that neither side would initiate hostilities against the other. Korea broke that bargain…”

“Korea thought that China launched that attack against them,” Philip Freeman said. “It was a tragic error, but only an error, not a deliberate act of aggression.”

“We respectfully disagree, General Freeman,” Zhou said. “Kwon lashed out at our troops merely as a show of force. He knew full well that those military units he attacked had no ballistic missiles — our ballistic missile forces are located far from the border, even the mobile ones. He shows little regard for human life. It was a despicable act, and he deserves to be punished for it.”

Martindale shook his head. “The old saying goes, ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right,’ Mr. Ambassador,” he said. “I’m talking about Kanggye, about Chagang Do province. Chinese troops have swarmed across the Korean border in several places by the thousands. They have occupied several parts of three provinces and have cut off highways and communications from three major Korean cities. It appears as if China is breaking the reunification agreement and is intent on invading Korea — or destroying it. What’s the justification for this?”

“We are of course concerned about retaliation from South Korea,” Zhou said plainly, as if the answer was obvious to everyone. “President Kwon and his advisers are plainly insane. He has launched an attack against peaceful Chinese ground troops, obviously using the unfortunate attack against his cities by some rebel soldiers as an excuse to lash out against our forces on his border. The entire world knows that his rocket attack was completely unwarranted. The rockets that hit his cities did not come from China. Yet he launched a rocket attack against my country that killed thousands of troops, most of whom were asleep in their beds. It was an incredible act of barbarism that Kwon must answer for! We are understandably concerned that he will next launch a missile attack against our civilian population.”

“So in retaliation, you’ve decided to occupy three entire Korean provinces?” Secretary of Defense Chastain said. “You have over thirty-five thousand troops in Chagang Do province alone, and more crossing the Yalu River by the hour. This looks like an invasion force, Mr. Ambassador. It’s 1950 all over again. After what you’ve done in the Philippines and to Taiwan, sir, the world naturally is afraid China wants to take the entire peninsula. Is this true?”

“It is a security force, nothing more,” Ambassador Zhou said. “Quite frankly, sir, we fear the Koreans. We fear President Kwon. We think it is very possible that he could precipitate a thermonuclear war in northeast Asia.”

“That’s nonsense,” Chastain said. “Kwon says he wants peace. He wants Korea to be left alone, without outside intervention.”

“And he is willing to risk the lives of millions of innocent persons?” Zhou asked. “Mr. President, what would you do in our situation? Would you stand idly by and watch an unpredictable nuclear power spring to life overnight in your backyard? Or would you fight for peace at any cost? We chose to fight for peace.”

“By invading a sovereign country?”

“It is well known that Chagang Do province was the seat of North Korea’s chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons testing programs, and also where they conducted many of their rocket tests,” Ambassador Zhou said. “The province has nine weapons facilities, several rocket testing facilities, four intercontinental-class launch facilities, and three nuclear reactors, all of which are capable of producing weapons-grade nuclear material. It has an extensive underground military laboratory, storage, staging, and security complex. This was too important a target to risk being left to a foreign power and obviously insane adversary such as Kwon Ki-chae.

“The safest alternative was to retake the military facilities, remove the scientific and manufacturing data, destroy the facilities, and then depart. This is our intention.” Zhou fixed the President with a sincere gaze. “It is the truth, Mr. President. China only desires peace. It is true we assisted North Korea in its development of weapons of mass destruction. North Korea needed our economic assistance, and we wanted to ensure that our influence exceeded that of the Russians. Setting up weapons laboratories was a simple and effective way of making sure North Korea stayed in our sphere of influence.”

“And what about the other invasions along the border?” the President asked. “Four brigades on the march in the first hour alone?”

“I am a bureaucrat, not a soldier,” Ambassador Zhou said. “I do not understand military tactics. But I assure you, our only intention is to disable or destroy the nuclear, chemical, and biological labs in Chagang Do province. Perhaps the other moves are feints to divide and confuse the Koreans. If they launched nuclear weapons against our forces in Chagang Do province, perhaps the other units could accomplish the mission. We know what secrets those weapons facilities hold, sir. If United Korea was allowed to use those laboratories to develop new weapons or to repair its existing arsenal, the threat against our country would be absolutely intolerable.”

“You mean, the risk of Korea’s revolution spreading to China would be intolerable?” the President asked knowingly. Zhou seemed to squirm uncomfortably and he averted his eyes as if he had just been discovered in a lie. “You know as well as we do that Korea is not a threat to China or anyone else, that even a nuclear arsenal doesn’t make Korea’s threat any greater. But China can’t allow a successful revolution on its borders because it might spark a similar revolution in China.”

“That is hardly the issue, sir…”

“Oh, but I think it is,” President Martindale said. “A few provinces in China think they have a shot at autonomy. If Beijing doesn’t do anything against a nuclear-armed Korea, maybe they won’t do anything against Inner Mongolia, or Xinjiang, or Tibet. Maybe you thought you needed to show Vietnam or the Philippines or Taiwan that you are still the big kid on the block. Maybe with democracy breaking out in Asia, Beijing is finding it more difficult to deal with protests and insurgency without using military force!”

“This speculation is pointless!” Zhou interjected. “Mr. President, I have stated my government’s position as openly and honestly as possible. China is concerned about United Korea’s development of more weapons of mass destruction using captured Chinese technology, so we have taken steps to prevent the technology from falling into their hands.

“I assure you, this is a peaceful undertaking,” Zhou went on. “We desire nothing but peace. Our intention is to transport sensitive weapons technology and information out of Chagang Do province, then make sure that the Koreans cannot use the laboratories, and test and manufacturing facilities. We will destroy only military facilities. My government is even willing to reimburse United Korea for damage to civilian and nonmilitary properties we may cause. But we will do this. Kwon says he will go to war to remove us. We say we will go to war to prevent any more weapons of mass destruction from falling into Kwon’s evil hands. I think we all know who would win such a confrontation.”

“Mr. Ambassador, listen to me very carefully,” President Martindale said. “The United States was more than willing to give peace a chance when the bloodless revolution took place and the peninsula was reunited. We did everything asked of us: we vacated the country, abandoned our bases, and pulled out. We did this because we wanted to show China and the world that we could trust and be trusted. As long as the conflict in Korea was between Koreans, we were willing to stand aside.

“But with Chinese troops on Korean soil, it’s not an internal matter anymore. I feel betrayed. The American people trusted me to keep Korea free. My duty was to the thousands of Americans who died trying to defend freedom and democracy in Korea in the 1950s. I trusted you, and now China has broken that trust. My people, and the shades of the men and women who died in the Korean War, are ready to turn their backs on me.”

“Mr. President, I…”

“Be quiet and listen, Mr. Ambassador,” Martindale went on angrily. “As long as Chinese troops are on Korean soil, my promise to stay out of Korea’s affairs is ended. I now promise the complete opposite: I now promise that I will strike with all the power at my command any foreign military forces in Korea. The life of every soldier your country has sent into Korea is in my hands right now, do you understand?”

“You dare threaten the lives of Liberation Army soldiers so casually, sir?” Zhou asked, trying to inject as much indignation as he could into his voice. “My country has fought wars that have lasted longer than your nation’s entire existence!”

“Mr. Ambassador, we have spent the last two years since the Taiwan crisis examining your nation’s military,” Secretary of Defense Chastain said. “We know your strengths and weaknesses, probably better than you know them yourself. China is a formidable adversary. But we stopped you from taking Taiwan, and we’ll stop you from taking Korea — any way we can.”

Ambassador Zhou gathered his briefcase and headed for the door but stopped and turned. “Mr. President, Madam Vice President, gentlemen. I implore you one last time: do not interfere in this. We have no intention of precipitating or fighting a war with United Korea. But if China is faced with the prospect of a nuclear-armed Korea on its front doorstep, inciting revolution and insurrection and supporting Chinese dissidents with its nuclear weapons, we will act. And we will consider any nation that aids the Koreans to be our sworn enemy as well.”

“We do not appreciate your threats, Mr. Ambassador,” the President said. “Tell President Jiang and the Politburo that China first made the mistake by arming North Korea and building those weapons facilities. You do not have the right to interfere now that those facilities are not under your rightful control, no matter what your rationale is. Peace begets peace, Mr. Ambassador, and conflict begets conflict. Chinese troops are on Korean soil and have killed or captured thousands of Koreans. If it’s peace you’re working for, you’re not going about it the right way.

“My demand is simple: Remove your forces from Korea immediately. If we see China’s forces moving north at great speed within the hour, we will speak with President Kwon and compel him to stop any offensives against your retreating forces. If you do not begin withdrawing your forces within the hour, they will be destroyed. Plain and simple.”

Zhou said nothing. He hid a deep scowl by bowing deeply, then departed.

The President returned to his desk and took a moment to collect his thoughts and try to unwind. “Well, that went swimmingly. China has come right out and admitted they’re taking a Korean province for an indefinite period of time.”

“What is Kwon going to do?” the Vice President asked. “He’s shown us he’s capable of anything. He’s likely to level everything inside Chagang Do province with whatever weapon he can.”

The President stared out the window, lost in thought. “And I can’t blame him,” he said finally. “If it’s proved that Kwon launched those rockets against China even though he knew China didn’t attack, his actions are unconscionable. But he’s also demonstrated his resolve to defend United Korea using every tool at his disposal. I believe Zhou when he says China is afraid of Kwon. I’m afraid of Kwon, and I don’t think he has any missiles pointed at us. China might very well do as Zhou says they will: destroy the nuclear weapons labs, burn everything down, and get out.”

“And that wouldn’t make me unhappy either,” Philip Freeman admitted. “The question is, who’s going to step over the line next? Will Kwon back off? And if he doesn’t, how much force is he going to use?”

“And what the hell do we do in the meantime?” the President asked. “Do we risk an escalation by sending in more aircraft carriers? What do we do if China and Korea start an all-out missile exchange? Do we dare even put our forces at risk?”

“Our best shot right now is McLanahan and his Coronet Tiger antimissile technology,” National Security Adviser Freeman said. “If he can keep everybody’s head down and prevent any more mushroom clouds from going up over Korea or China, we may have enough time to defuse this matter.”

“What’s the status of McLanahan’s deployment?” Chastain asked.

“The support teams were dispatched right after you gave the order, while the Nevada Air National Guard crews were recalled and the bombers got ready to deploy,” Freeman replied. “The bombers launched late last night.” He glanced at Admiral Balboa. “Unfortunately, because of what the Guard troops did during their evaluation, Admiral Balboa ordered the Coronet Tiger program halted and all the funding pulled. McLanahan has a substantially degraded force.”

“But I notice McLanahan and Samson disregarded my orders and went ahead anyway,” Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman Balboa said. “I ordered the program halted and the planes to be returned to the Guard until I could conduct a full investigation — instead, they convinced the state of Nevada to turn the planes over to them for a dollar each per year! A fucking dollar!”

“Those planes do belong to Nevada, Admiral…”

“And Samson dumped a quarter of a billion dollars of unauthorized funds into modifying them, against my orders,” Balboa went on angrily. “When are we going to stop rewarding these HAWC guys for disobeying orders? This Lancelot thing has only undergone limited testing and only one live launch — illegally, against Navy ships, I might add. And what about those Air National Guard crews? I briefed Arthur and Philip on what they did during their predeployment exercise. They’re dangerous as hell.”

Balboa glanced at Freeman. He knew that Philip Freeman had the President’s ear much more often than he did; he knew the President liked to use secret programs to avoid a lot of public or congressional scrutiny. But just because he knew what the President preferred didn’t mean he had to recommend it to him, as Freeman was apt to do: “Sir, I have great respect for Generals Samson and McLanahan, and I know you do too. They’re true patriots. But they operate well outside an established chain of command. Even I do not have full authority to interfere with a HAWC project because of all the security involved. If they don’t answer to me, whom do they answer to? Will the President of the United States have to issue orders directly to a couple of Air National Guard pilots thousands of miles away? That’s not how it’s supposed to work, sir.”

Balboa paused, considering his next words — he knew full well how the President respected Samson’s predecessor — then said, “I truly believe, sir, with no disrespect, that Brad Elliott’s don’t-give-a-shit attitude has carried through to Samson and McLanahan. Their unauthorized and potentially disastrous plasma-yield warhead test near our Navy support ships, and their tacit approval of that Nevada Air Guard’s actions in the bombing ranges, bear this out. I believe that once those two get into it, they’ll disregard any plan of action or lawful order if it doesn’t fit in with their own agenda. And if they start lobbing plasma-yield missiles into China without proper authorization, they could single-handedly plunge the world into nuclear war. I believe we can’t take the chance.”

“I think that’s unfair, Admiral,” Freeman said.

Balboa ignored him. “Mr. President, I know how much respect you had for General Elliott and his men. But they haven’t proved themselves in combat conditions yet. All they know is what Brad Elliott taught them years ago, which was, ‘it’s better to ask forgiveness than ask for permission.’”

The President had a serious, somber expression when Balboa began speaking, but as he went on, the President let a hint of a smile spread across his face. When Balboa finished, he shook his head, the smile on his face now broad.

“Admiral, I am convinced now that you are mostly full of shit,” the President said. Balboa’s own expression went from surprise to shock to red-faced anger. “But you weren’t around for the early years, when Brad Elliott and HAWC were just getting started. Yes, they were unconventional, shot from the hip, even insubordinate at times — no, most of the time. But to say these guys don’t have combat experience shows how little you’ve learned and how little you know.”

“That’s not a fair assessment, sir, but I’ll accept your criticism,” Balboa said, his face pinched and uneasy. “But if I may ask, sir: what’s the chain of command? Who gives those crews their orders? And who takes responsibility for them when those nutcase Nevada Air Guard crews crash themselves into Korea or China?”

“As always, Admiral, I take full responsibility,” the President said. “That should come as an immense relief to you — unless you already found a way to distance yourself from them. Now, get out of my office before I remember that my senior uniformed military officer just wished the worst on one of his own flying units.”

Contact!” the observer/weapons officer of the Han-Guk Kong Goon (United Republic of Korea Air Force) A-37B Dragonfly close-air-support and observation aircraft shouted on his intercom. There was certainly no reason to shout; his pilot was less than ten centimeters to his left in the tiny side-by-side cockpit. The observer put his left hand on the glareshield and pointed at the target. “Two o’clock. A Chinese ML935 locomotive pulling six cars.”

“Can you see the engine crew arrangement?” the pilot asked, making a slight turn to the right.

The observer strained to look through his field glasses. “I need a closer look,” he said finally.

“C’mon, we don’t want to get too close to those guys,” the pilot said. “They have antiaircraft guns.”

“But we gotta try to identify them before we call in a patrol,” the observer said. “Let’s get down in the weeds. Keep the smash up.” Like most Korean fliers, they liked using American military aviation slang.

“Okay,” the pilot said. “Here we go.” He shoved the throttles to full military power, rolled the little Cessna twin turbojet on its right wing, and made a diving right turn toward the locomotive.

It appeared that a section of track ahead was partially broken, and the train was stranded. The crew of men working around the break scattered and ran when they heard the loud high-pitched whine of the Dragonfly’s tiny General Electric turbojets. “That looks suspicious already,” the observer said. Automatically, he checked weapons status. The A-37B, a Vietnam War — era veteran close-air-support plane, was armed with a 7.62-millimeter Minigun with three hundred rounds of ammo in the nose, two “Mighty Mouse” folding-fin attack rocket pods, two target-marking rocket pods, plus four huge fuel tanks, making the little Cessna look ungainly and slow — which it definitely was.

“Fingers off the arming switches,” the pilot warned him. “The last thing we need to do is fire a rocket at a noncombatant.”

“Nose is cold,” the observer acknowledged.

But not for long. As they careened closer, they could see that the men working on the track had retreated back to one of the cars — and soon the roof of the car opened, revealing a single-barreled antiaircraft gun. “Look out!” the observer shouted. “It’s a Type-93! Break left!” The Type-93 was a Chinese-made 37-millimeter antiaircraft gun, murderous to any slow, low-flying aircraft. The pilot yanked his Dragonfly into a tight left turn and pulled until right at the verge of a stall, then relaxed the back pressure until he rolled out heading the other way. He immediately started a climb to get out of the 93’s lethal range.

“Call it in, dammit!” the pilot cursed.

“How do we know they were Communists?”

“We don’t for sure — but they were ready to blow us out of the sky,” the pilot said. “We need backup on this one. Call it in.” The observer got on the UHF radio and called in the position and description of the train.

“Orders are to mark the target for inbound paratroopers, disable the locomotive by any means possible to keep it from moving, and eliminate any heavy weapons that might endanger inbound troops,” the observer reported a few minutes later. “A security paratroop squad from Sunch’on will parachute into the area by cargo plane, ETA thirty minutes.”

“We’ve got an hour before we bingo, so it looks about right,” the pilot said, checking his fuel gauges. “I don’t think we need to worry about disabling the locomotive — that train’s not going anywhere with a torn-up track. Let’s see what we can do about that Type-93.” The pilot started a left turn back toward the train and leveled off at twelve thousand feet. “Give me some markers first and let’s see what they do.”

“Roger,” the observer said, flipping his arming switches. “Target markers armed, your trigger is hot.”

Seven miles from the train, the pilot started a dive at seven thousand feet per minute, accelerating to 420 knots. Winds were mostly calm and the visibility was good, so it was simple to put the aiming pipper right on the car with the antiaircraft gun, and he squeezed the trigger. One target-marking rocket shot out of pods on each wing.

“Guns! Guns!” the observer shouted. “He’s firing!”

The pilot squeezed off two more rockets, then rolled hard left away from the train. “I’m off! Safe ’em up!” he said through his antiblackout straining. The observer clicked the target-marker pods’ safety switches to SAFE.

“Nose is cold!” The observer strained to look behind them as they rolled out of the escape turn. “No damage, no flak,” he said. “They missed us that time.” He checked the target area. Mixed in with the bright yellow target-marking smoke were streams of black smoke, pouring out horizontally as well as vertically. “I see black smoke. Looks like we might’ve hit something.”

“You get a look at that gun mount?” the pilot asked. “It looked to me like the gun was mounted close to the top of the car — almost down inside it.”

“That means they might not be able to lower the barrel too much,” the observer said. “You want to try a low pass?”

“Affirm,” the pilot said. “Give me rockets.”

“Roger… Mighty Mouse is armed, your trigger is hot.”

The pilot started a steeper descent and leveled off barely one hundred feet aboveground. Even so low to the ground, it was easy to locate the train. The terrain was rolling hills, but visibility was good from several miles out. Guesstimating the range, the pilot put the smoky car on the bottom range marker on his calibrated gun sight and fired. The spin-stabilized folding-fin attack rockets flew straight and true, hitting the car square on. “Two good hits!” the observer crowed. Now the car was burning fiercely, with black smoke billowing out. “Nice shooting! You want the Minigun?”

“A-firm. Arm up the Minigun,” the pilot ordered.

“Mighty Mouse safe… triggers clear… Minigun armed, your trigger is hot.”

“Roger,” the pilot said. The Minigun was his favorite weapon — close-range, powerful, exciting. The cannon itself was mounted right below him, with the chamber practically in his crotch — it felt like a massive orgasm every time he fired it. The gun didn’t bang — it hummed. It was the world’s best hum-job.

Same pipper, same range marks… he had to get a little closer, but it was no problem. Even if the Type-93 could fire that low, the gunner couldn’t see anything because of all the smoke. But the Dragonfly pilot could see his target very clearly. A little closer… closer…

Suddenly, the A-37 shuddered and decelerated, as if they had just landed wheels-up. Warning lights snapped on everywhere, including the red FIRE lights on both fire extinguisher handles.

“Double compressor stall!” the observer shouted, quickly scanning the engine instruments. “TOT red-line… fuel flow max… two fire lights! We’ve been hit by something! We’ve been hit!” He didn’t think to look out the cockpit canopy, but if he had he would’ve seen both engines on fire.

There was only one line, one word, to the emergency checklist for two FIRE lights on. The pilot favored his observer with a “Prepare to eject!” command before slapping himself back into his seat, giving the control stick one last pull to try to gain a little more altitude, reaching between his legs, shouting “Eject! Eject! Eject!” and pulling the thick oblong handle. The canopy unlatched itself and lifted up an inch, enough for the slipstream to blow it up and away. Two seconds later the ejection seat rockets fired, blasting the pilot clear of the burning aircraft. A second and a half later the observer jetted out.

They were just high enough to get a fully open parachute and one swing before hitting the ground, with nothing that even remotely resembled a parachute-landing fall. But somehow both United Korea pilots picked themselves up off the ground without any broken bones or other serious injuries. They had landed about two miles from the burning train cars, just behind a tiny hillock.

Both men sprang into action without a word between them. They released their parachutes, wadded them up as fast as they could, then stuffed them under rocks and in dirt crevasses. They then retrieved their seat kits, which were tethered to their ejection seat harnesses. The seat kit was also a small backpack. Each took only three items from the backpacks — the survival rifle, spare ammunition clips, and a can of water — before throwing the kits over their shoulders, stuffing the ammo and water into their flight suits, and running for the nearest cover they could find.

Once they reached cover, they took a quick heading with their wrist compasses, then took a few moments to rest. “What happened?” the observer asked. “What hit us?”

“I don’t know,” the pilot responded. “Must’ve been rebels, maybe a detached security unit with a shoulder-fired antiaircraft weapon.” He nodded resolutely toward the south. “We need to get as far away from here as possible,” he said. “The transport carrying our commandos will be arriving soon.”

“We’ve got to warn them off!” the observer said. “Whatever shot us down will take them next!” He pulled out his survival radio and clicked it on. His pilot looked at him wordlessly, and the observer nodded. They both knew that the minute they activated the radio, the enemy could triangulate their position. But if they didn’t make the call, the deaths of thirty commandos and a C-130 Hercules flight crew would haunt them forever.

“Samtek Seven, Samtek Seven, this is Patrol Three-Four on the ground, over.”

“Patrol Three-Four, this is Samtek, we read you loud and clear, authenticate one-Zulu.”

“Charlie,” the observer responded, referring to a tiny authenticator card. He accomplished another authentication routine with the transport pilot; then: “Samtek, we have been shot down by unknown hostile forces, possibly hostile AI or SAMs. The LZ is hot, repeat, LZ hot. Remain clear of the area and go get help. Do you copy?”

“We copy, Three-Four,” the transport pilot replied. “Air cover and strike forces are on the way, ETA four. If you can make it to extraction point Lotus, repeat Lotus, help will be waiting.”

“Roger,” the observer said. There was nothing that made a downed aircrew feel better than to know there were friendlies in the area who were willing to risk their own lives to rescue them. “Our ETA to Lotus is three.” They used a simple code for time — multiplied the number by the day of the month — to avoid giving the enemy an idea of when and where to find them.

“We copy, Three-Four,” the transport pilot said. “Good luck. Samtek is clear.”

“Now let’s get out of here,” the pilot shouted, and they took off running to the next bit of cover they could see, about two hundred yards off.

They were halfway to their next hiding place when they heard it — a deep, loud, screeching roar, coming toward them. They looked up — and realized immediately that they were dead men. It was two Chinese Q-5 light jet fighter-bombers, careening down on them in a shallow dive.

“It’s Chinese,” the observer said. “We’re well inside our own borders! China is flying attack jets over our territory!” No doubt that’s who had shot them down — and now they were coming in to finish the job.

The pilot frantically got on his handheld radio again. “Samtek, Samtek, this is Three-Four. We spotted a Chinese Q-5 fighter-bomber, repeat, a Chinese fighter-bomber, at our location. Recommend you get as far away from here as possible and send help! How do you read?”

“Loud and clear, Three-Four,” the transport pilot acknowledged. “Thanks for the warning. Get off the air and take cover!”

But it was far too late. The United Republic of Korea crew members’ last thought was that the stupid Chinese bastards sure were wasting a lot of bombs on them — both Q-5 fighters dropped cluster bombs on their attack pass. All that ordnance just to kill two arrogant Dragonfly crew members who were too stupid to check their six for signs of threats. It was an impressive attack, very accurate — but one bomb would’ve done the job just as easily.

With the cluster bombs gone, the Chinese Q-5 fighter, a copy of the old Soviet MiG-19 fighter-bomber, now flew like a jet fighter instead of like a wallowing pig. Both Q-5s climbed up from their attack pass to four thousand meters. The leader checked his wingman over and noticed he had dropped his bombs too. Well, now they were both fighters again.

“Han-301, this is Control,” their ground controller radioed. “We have detected an airborne target, slow-moving, altitude unknown, twenty-three kilometers south of your position. You are directed to intercept and destroy. Acknowledge.”

The Q-5 flight lead checked his radio range from the controller’s position beacon, cross-checked his position with some prominent landmarks, then checked his chart board. He was about thirty kilometers inside United Korea, what was once free-flying airspace of North Korea. Technically, this was a violation of UROK’s airspace, an act of war. But since China had not yet recognized the United Republic of Korea, it still considered this airspace as belonging to its ally the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, whose president and government just now happened to reside in Beijing to escape political persecution. Besides, when UROK fired those missiles against Chinese troops in Yanggang Do province, they technically started a war. So flying another twenty-three kilometers or so inside Korea was no big deal.

“H-301 acknowledges instructions,” the flight lead responded. He turned south and activated his ranging radar. The tactical controller, based in a mobile radar trailer just north of the Korean border, kept feeding him a constant stream of position updates until it became apparent that the target had descended low enough to escape his radar.

But soon the Chinese fighter pilots didn’t need the controller’s help. Just a few minutes later the Q-5 fighter lead spotted the big transport. It was an American-made C-130 transport in black and brown camouflage, hugging the rolling, rugged terrain, flying barely a hundred meters aboveground. “Control, H-301 has visual contact on aircraft, proceeding with intercept.” There was no response — he was flying too low and too far from the radar controller now to maintain good radio coverage.

No matter. He had the target visually, and it would be an easy kill. He deactivated his range-only radar, selected his 20-millimeter cannon, armed his trigger, dialed in the proper settings on his mechanical heads-up display — no fancy electronic HUD on this thirty-year-old bird, nor was one required — double-checked his switches, and began to slide into firing range. When the C-130’s wingtips began to touch the edge of the aiming reticle, he slid his finger down to the trigger and…

“Lead!” It was the wingman frantically shouting on the interplane radio. “Incoming missile! Break left! Now!’’

The Chinese pilot ignored the warning — he was exactly at firing range. But in the blink of an eye his instruments began rolling, warning lights flashed, and his tiny cockpit immediately filled with dense black smoke. He was momentarily distracted by another flash of light — the fireball of his wingman exploding in mid-air — before he reluctantly released the grip on his throttle and control stick and pulled his ejection.

The Q-5 slammed into the ground in an inverted dive traveling almost the speed of sound. He had made the decision to eject just three seconds too late.

“Splash two,” Brigadier General Patrick McLanahan radioed. “Good shooting, Rebecca.”

What a weird feeling, Rebecca Furness thought. She had of course launched missiles and killed the enemy before — her RF-111G Vampire bomber carried Sidewinder air-to-air missiles for self-defense, and she had to use them during the Russia-Ukraine skirmish. But that was self-defense, a means to help blow past area defenses or put a fighter screen on the defensive long enough for her to get to the target. This was different. They were the hunters this time.

Rebecca and three other crews loaded EB-1C Megafortress battleships at Dreamland and flew them to Adak, Alaska. After crew rest, the crews were briefed, and three Megafortresses launched together to take up combat air patrols over Korea, with the fourth and fifth planes launching later to begin an eight-hour rotation schedule to try to keep as many planes up over Korea at once as possible.

“You okay, Colonel?” Patrick McLanahan asked Furness. Patrick was back on the ground at Adak Naval Air Station, commanding the virtual cockpit. He and Nancy Cheshire would spend four hours in it, then man Fortress Four and relieve Rebecca on patrol in northern Korea. Four hours later another crew would launch in Fortress Five, and the rotation would continue until they were ordered to stop.

“I… I think so.”

“It doesn’t get any easier after the first or the second or the fourth kill,” Patrick said, expertly reading her mind. “In fact, it only gets more nightmarish. Probably because the technology gets so swift, so efficient. Those Chinese Q-5s were seventeen miles away. We could’ve been another ten miles farther away.”

“I guess we’re not into fair fights anymore, are we?”

“Fair fights? That was a fair fight, Colonel. That’s about as close as you want to get to a fighter, even a thirty-year-old clunker like a Q-5. If you missed and he turned around and got close enough to get a visual on you, you’d have maybe a fifty-fifty chance of making it out over the Sea of Japan and over to friendly air cover before he blew your shit away. If both of them came at you, I’d lower our odds to twenty-eighty. Fifty-fifty is generous — I’d like at least ninety-ten on our side.”

“Hey, lighten up, everybody,” Nancy Cheshire, the senior pilot back in the virtual cockpit, interjected. “Rebecca, I say, You go, girl! First air-to-air shots in anger for the Megafortress, and she scores two hits! Oh, sure, Scottie might have had something to do with it.”

“Thanks a bunch, Chessie,” said Major Paul Scott, Rebecca Furness’s mission commander in the Megafor-tress’s right seat. Like Cheshire, he was a longtime veteran of the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center and had flown many sorties in the old EB-52, the B-52 version of the Megafortress. He double-checked that his weapons were safed and added, “Maybe a little — but I’ll still give all the credit to the Megafortress.”

“You’re allowed to show a little pleasure now and then, Scottie,” Cheshire said. “Just a little ‘hot-diggety-damn’? We just saved that Korean cargo plane and probably a few dozen of their commandos.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Nancy,” Paul said. “Scope’s clear. Give me forty left and let’s get back in our patrol orbit, Rebecca.” Their assigned orbit was over Kanggye itself, monitoring the movement of Chinese forces across the border into Chagang Do province.

“Fortress, Fortress, this is Iroquois,” a call came in moments later. “Bogeys at one-one-zero at one-one-zero bull’s-eye, angels thirty, heading northwest toward Fortress One at four-eight-zero knots.” “Iroquois” was the call sign of the EB-1’s “back door,” the USS Grand Island, a 9,500-ton Ticonderoga-class guided missile cruiser, escorted by the USS Boone, a Perry-class guided missile frigate, in a patrol position about fifty miles off the Korean coast. “We count eight, repeat eight, bogeys. They are going to cross south of SAM range.”

The Grand Island, named after the large island just south of Niagara Falls that was the scene of Revolutionary War and War of 1812 battles with the British Army, guarded the Sea of Japan and the Megafortress’s exit path. It used its long-range three-dimensional SPY-1B radar to scan the skies from the surface into near space for two hundred miles in all directions. Its surface-to-air weapons included SM-2MR Standard antiaircraft missiles and Standard Block 4A antiballistic missile interceptors; it was the first Navy warship to carry these weapons. The cruiser also carried Tomahawk land-attack missiles and Harpoon antiship missiles. The Boone carried Standard and Harpoon missiles, but it was along as an antisubmarine warfare vessel, carrying two ASW helicopters and a total of twenty-four air-launched and six ship-fired torpedoes.

“Looks like the Japanese are coming back to play,” Patrick commented.

“Hey, guys, I got something,” Patrick reported. “Aircraft lifting off from Pyongyang North airfield, heading for Kanggye. Low altitude. Probably attack jets. I’m picking up a formation of fast-movers lifting off from Seoul as well. Looks like the two formations are going to join up.”

“And here’s their target, I’ll bet,” Paul Scott on Fortress One reported. He had just updated his own laser radar scan with recent data from a NIRTSat reconnaissance scan. The scan detected a long line of heavy vehicles on the principal highway between Kanggye and Anju. “The Chinese tanks are moving fast. They’re twenty miles south of Holch’on, almost at the southern edge of the province. They’re… wow, the computer says they’re main battle tanks. A line of tanks probably three miles long on the principal highway. I’ve also got main battle tanks going cross-country along a ten-mile-wide front on either side of the highway. At least two hundred vehicles spread out over twenty miles.”

“Can the system identify them?”

The LADAR ran the laser-derived dimensions through the computer’s large database of vehicles, but the results were inconclusive. “We got everything in the book out there: Chinese Type-59s and-69s, ex-Soviet T-53s and BMPs, self-propelled artillery, the works. I’d want to get a little closer. Ten miles the other way should do it.”

“I’ll pass the contact along to HAWC and to NRO anyway,” Patrick said. “It looks like you picked up something else on that last LADAR image.” Patrick had expanded his virtual cockpit display to show the entire fifty-mile LADAR image. Sure enough, it had detected several Chinese fighters heading south. “Computer identifies them as a large flight of J-6s, heading across the border too,” Patrick said. The J-6, a copy of the old Soviet MiG-19 “Farmer” tactical fighter, was the most numerous attack jet in China’s large aircraft arsenal. “Looks like four flights of four. China is definitely looking for trouble.”

“If those units on the ground aren’t firing up antiaircraft systems,” Nancy observed, “we can assume that either those vehicles don’t know they’re there — in which case they could’ve been bombed pretty easy — or the vehicles on the ground are Chinese as well.”

“Good point,” David said. “Looks like we got a Chinese ground invasion under way, supported by some air cover. We might get some action tonight, after all.”

“Great,” Rebecca said, tightening her straps even more. “I felt pretty good up here — until now. I feel totally naked now.”

“Your fuel looks good — about an hour before you bingo,” Patrick said. “Electrical, hydraulics, pneumatics, CG in the green. Looks like the fighters are going to stay at midaltitudes. Want to go up high?”

“Sounds good to me,” Rebecca said.

“Let’s do it,” Patrick said. In less than five minutes they had climbed up to thirty-four thousand feet, at least ten thousand feet higher than the Chinese fighters. The Japanese MiG-29s had descended below the Megafortress bombers as well. “HAWC has acknowledged our data transmissions and passed along a tactical alert to Space Command and Pacific Command,” Patrick went on. “We saw it first — good work, guys. The Grand Island and the Boone are listening in with us on real-time and have gone to general quarters.” Patrick and Nancy looked at each other at the exact same moment. They could both feel the excitement and tension running hot.

“Okay, we’re picking up a full-scale air defense alert being broadcast in the clear to all Korean military units,” Patrick reported. “Air defense radars are lighting up… we should be able to tap into them any minute. We’ll have peninsula-wide radar coverage pretty soon.”

As the battle developed, it was obvious the Korean defenders were on the defensive all the way. Even combining the old North Korean air assets — a mixture of a few modern MiG-23 attack jets and MiG-29 fighters and many more older, obsolete ex-Chinese aircraft — with South Korea’s Western-designed aircraft, the Korean forces were at least numerically outgunned.

The Korean F-16CJ aircraft led the main attack group. They stayed at fifteen thousand feet, flying high enough to stay away from antiaircraft artillery, presenting themselves as inviting targets. The idea was that they should have drawn fire from Chinese surface-to-air missile batteries, at least a squeak on radar, enough so that they could open fire on any enemy search or tracking radars with their AGM-88 HARMs (high-speed antiradar missiles).

But the Chinese armor and infantry units were smart enough not to take the bait. They knew that if they didn’t activate any radars, the Korean F-16CJs did not have anything to shoot at. The Korean F-16s flew right up to the Chinese tanks — and never even received a rifle shot in their direction. They could do nothing but orbit over the area and wait for targets to pop up. A few tried to go low to drop cluster bombs on tanks and self-propelled artillery, and those planes were hit by optically and low-light TV-guided antiaircraft artillery and heat-seeking surface-to-air missiles. The Koreans lost four aircraft to enemy fire before being forced to retreat.

The F-16 Block 52 attack jets went in next, armed with infrared-imaging AGM-65D Maverick antitank missiles, followed by MiG-23 fighter-bombers carrying gravity bombs and target-marking rockets. But the Chinese J-6 fighters had arrived over the battlefield by now, outnumbering the Korean fighters by six to one. Even with those odds, the Korean jets were racking up impressive kills, but soon they began to run out of missiles and the numbers of Chinese jets just didn’t seem to be diminishing. Before long the Korean jets were on the defensive and forced to run south. Several formations of Korean F-4E Phantom II bombers tried circumnavigating the entire Chagang Do battlefield and tried to cut in from the west, but they were intercepted by Chinese fighters out of Dandong and chased off as well. Both sides lost a handful of planes, but it wasn’t a stalemate or tie — every plane Korea lost composed a major percentage of the fleet, while four fighters could replace even the most obsolete Chinese fighter.

Even though both the Koreans and the Chinese lost a fairly equal number of planes, the first Korean counter-offensive was a complete failure. The massive numbers of Chinese armor and mobile infantry units in the three Korean northern border provinces were barely scratched.

Five F-16s and six F-4s lost or damaged, sir,” the command operations officer summarized. “We have reports of confirmed hits on just thirteen Chinese main battle tanks and nine artillery pieces. Our weapons list was in excess of two hundred Maverick missiles, forty antiradar missiles, and over one hundred sticks of gravity weapons. Our surviving forces are rearming and refueling.”

“Those losses are completely unacceptable!” Minister of National Defense Kim Kun-mo shouted. “Five percent! Five percent of our strike fleet was destroyed or damaged in just the first wave! How can we expect to drive out the enemy with losses such as this?”

“Sir, we are gathering more tactical reconnaissance and rebuilding the target list,” General An Ki-sok, chief of the general staff, replied. “But the Chinese Air Force has simple numerical superiority over Chagang Do province right now. The Chinese fighters do not engage our F-16 fighters — they merely shoot and run, shoot and run. They do this because they know there are four or five more fighters entering the battle for every one that retreats. Why risk being shot down in an engagement with a superior force?”

“What are you planning on doing about it, General?” Kim asked.

“We can do little at night without better photo intelligence,” General An replied somberly. “Only one-third of our F-16s can carry Maverick missiles, and they cannot do their job very well if we do not control the skies. In daytime, we can use the F-5 Chegong-ho fighters for air defense and the Hawks and Mohawk planes for attack.” He paused, then looked at his commander with a painful expression. “But it will do little good, sir,” he admitted. “China’s Air Force is qualitatively far inferior to ours, but they will have the numbers on their side no matter how good our pilots are. We may never get control of the skies over Chagang Do province.”

“This is unacceptable! Completely unacceptable!” Kim shouted. “We have struggled too hard and have come too far to be turned back. If we cannot defend our own land from attack, what good are we as a nation?” The hot line phone began to ring. Kim ignored it for several long moments, and a stern glare warned General An not to touch it either. Finally, Kim answered it:”

“What is it?”

“This is the president,” Kwon Ki-chae said angrily. “What is going on? My staff tells me we are attacking the Chinese troops!”

“I had no choice, Mr. President,” Kim said. “I assembled a strike package and executed a conventional weapons attack against the spearhead of the Chinese armored units. I also conducted a probe to try to determine what kind of air defenses they had set up in Chagang Do province.”

“This was completely without authorization!” Kwon shouted. “You will launch no more attacks tonight! Is that understood?”

“Sir, we lost eleven aircraft to the Chinese,” Kim said bitterly. “They continue to move south and are threatening to break out of Chagang Do province. By this time tomorrow they can have four brigades of tanks on the outskirts of Pyongyang. If we do not stop them, they will be knocking on your door at the Blue House in three days.”

“General, don’t you realize we cannot hope to defeat the Chinese People’s Liberation Army by military means?” President Kwon asked incredulously. “Don’t you realize what happened here? We achieved a major victory over the Communists not by the use of force, but by the use of reason and truth. North Korea fell because the people threw off the dictatorship that was slowly killing them, not because we used our military might to subdue them.”

“I am well aware of how we defeated the Communists, sir,” Kim said, his voice a low monotone.

“Then under what delusions of grandeur are you suffering, General Kim?” Kwon asked. “Did you think that just because we captured some jets and artillery pieces and nuclear weapons we can scare China? The smallest military district in China has twice as many men, planes, and tanks as our entire country!

“We are a nation of peace, Kim, not because we are small and defenseless, but because we are Koreans, bred for peace,” Kwon went on. “We do not have an offensive striking force because we never wanted one! We should have given those special weapons away. We never should have kept them!”

“And let China overrun us again?” Kim asked. “Did we fight to win reunification, only to roll over and die just a few short weeks later?”

“This is a different world than that of 1895 or 1945,” Kwon said. “Don’t you realize this? The conquest of land is less important than technological and economic competition. China never wanted our land. But you — we — acted as if the Ming dynasty ruled China, or the Imperial Japanese warlords wanted to annex us again. The Chinese would have been perfectly happy to wait and watch to see if stability and peace would take over the Korean peninsula — as long as they were not threatened by nuclear weapons. When we kept those weapons, we became a threat to them.”

“Sir, we kept those weapons because they were to secure our borders and guarantee our security against the Chinese People’s Liberation Army,” Kim retorted. “We knew we could not defend ourselves against China’s overwhelming numerical advantage. China is stupid enough to risk the lives of millions of its citizens and soldiers just to take Chagang Do province — well, that was their mistake. We have no choice now, sir.

“We have to back up our threat to use weapons of mass destruction to stop the Chinese. I am requesting your launch codes for our nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons force.”

“You… you are insane, Kim…”

“I am realistic, sir!” Kim exploded. “I am trying to save Korea, not watch it destroyed! I am in the command center directing our troops to try to drive the invaders out, not sitting in my cozy office or in some underground secret bunker wringing my hands and hoping for peace. I have ordered twelve Scud-B and six Nodong-1 ballistic missiles targeted against the Chinese brigades in Chagang Do province and inside Jilin province in China. I have also targeted air bases in Dandong, Fushun, and Shenyang, the tank base at Linjiang, and the naval bases at Luda and Qingdao. In addition, I have targeted two Nodong-2 missiles at the People’s Liberation Army command center…”

“Beijing?” Kwon said in horror. “You… you have targeted Beijing with nuclear weapons?”

“I know this seems a drastic and inconceivable act, sir,” Kim said with amazing calmness, “but if we have any hope of stopping the Chinese war machine from sweeping across Korea, we must do this. I need your execution codes, sir, and I need them now. You must read them off to me over the phone — I can send someone over there immediately to help you compute the codes if you wish. The senior controller here will copy them down and authenticate them. Combined with my codes, we can proceed with the attack.”

“I will never agree to give you those codes, Kim!” Kwon shouted. “Do you honestly believe I would authorize an attack that could kill hundreds of millions of persons? You are insane! I order you to leave that command center immediately, or I will have you placed under arrest! I am dismissing you from your post.”

“You cannot do that!”

“It is done already,” Kwon said. “You are no longer minister of defense. I will issue the order immediately.” And the line went dead.

Kim Kun-mo’s head was spinning as he hung up the telephone. The bastard, he thought angrily, he actually fired me? We are in the middle of a war with Communist China, and he fired me? “He can’t do that!” he shouted. “I can’t let that happen.” He picked up the telephone to the senior controller.

“Sir?”

“Seal up the command center, General,” Kim said. “Go to full nuclear-chemical-biological protection mode. Full EMP protective measures. Hard-wired analog communications only.”

“Yes, sir,” the senior controller responded. “Switching to internal power, canceling digital and high-gain communications inlets.”

Moments after an announcement was made, the lights flickered, then died except for a handful of battery-powered safety lights. The air also smelled different — mustier, dry like the inside of a coffin. They were on the air recirculators now, completely cut off from outside air; they were also on internal batteries that would be recharged as long as outside power was still available, but would instantly switch over to internal-only power if a nuclear blast erupted outside.

Kim got up from his desk and looked down below to the floor of the command center — it was almost completely dark, with only a few consoles illuminated. But the activity did not cease. Technicians started carrying out sound-powered communications systems, simple Korean War-era field telephones, and old-style greaseboards to replace the now-dark digital information screens. Using hard-wired analog communications systems instead of digital or broad-bandwidth systems reduced the likelihood of total destruction in case of a nearby nuclear blast…

… but it also isolated them from President Kwon Ki-chae, at least for a short time. The question is, would it be long enough?

Vice President Pak Chung-chu trotted into the president’s office then. “I was just notified!” he shouted excitedly. “General Kim and General An attempted a counterattack and were swept aside, and now Chinese troops are swarming across the border!”

“General Kim seems to have gone insane,” Kwon shouted. “He requested — no, he demanded—I give him the execution codes so he can launch a special weapons attack against China. He has already targeted several Chinese cities, including Beijing! Can you believe this? He wants to drop two three-hundred-and-fifty-kiloton nuclear warheads on Beijing! He must be crazy!”

“What did you order him to do instead, sir?” Pak asked.

“I ordered him to get out of the command center because I have removed him from his office!” Kwon shouted. “I don’t want that madman in my military command center! I will find a replacement for him right away.”

“But what about the Chinese, sir?” Pak asked, the panic rising in his throat. “The report said that three brigades of tanks are on the highway from Kanggye heading south toward Anju — they say Anju could be captured in three days! They have total air superiority above the fortieth parallel. What are we going to do?”

“We negotiate with President Jiang,” Kwon said. “Trying to fight the Chinese People’s Liberation Army will only result in more casualties on our side. Besides, reports from the Americans say that China only wants to destroy the nuclear weapons labs in Chagang Do province, and they will withdraw once that mission is accomplished. To tell the truth, I am not unhappy about that plan.”

“Mr. President, you cannot allow this to happen — you cannot simply let the Chinese march into Korea unopposed,” Pak said. “It is an act of war already for China to step across the border, no matter what we’ve done to them. But for us to do nothing and simply let them destroy our military facilities and labs and take whatever they please is not right! They must be stopped!”

“And how can we do that, Mr. Pak?” Kwon asked. “I have already appealed to the United Nations. The United States has asked for a special emergency meeting of the Security Council to discuss the invasion. The United States has again asked us to remove all of our weapons of mass destruction, and has agreed to set up a border monitoring system — without using American troops on Korean soil. I am going to ask the legislature to approve this measure…”

“That is all well and good for the future — if the Chinese Army will allow us to have a future!” Pak interjected. “Sir, you must retaliate. You promised the Korean people—my people, we from North Korea, the people that you promised would be safe from tyranny and dictatorship — that you would protect them. You have no choice but to act. Even if you fail, as General Kim has tonight, you must act.”

“But what if Korean soldiers and airmen are killed trying to stop the Chinese horde?” Kwon asked. “Their deaths would be needless and tragic. They—”

“You are wrong, Mr. President,” Pak told him sincerely. “Those soldiers and airmen are there because they want to be there, fighting for their country. They trust that we will direct them in defense of their homeland. We cannot, we must not, abdicate that responsibility, not to the United Nations, not to the United States, to no one. You have to give the order, sir.”

“What order? I have been in contact with the service chiefs and the director of National Security Planning. They offer no solutions other than appealing for aid.”

“You know the order that must be given,” Pak said in a low voice. “You know. You must attack with special weapons.” Kwon’s eyes bugged out as if he had just seen a ghost rise out of a grave. “You have to target China’s war machine, both on Korean soil and on Chinese soil. General Kim is not crazy. He knows we must act. You are the only one…”

“I will not!” Kwon shouted. “I will never give those codes! I would rather die than let myself be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of souls.”

Pak stared at Kwon for a moment, then slowly shook his head. He stepped over to the telephone on Kwon’s desk. “Send in the attaché, please.” A moment later, an Army officer entered the president’s office, carrying an average-looking black briefcase. He set the briefcase on Kwon’s desk before the president, turned it to face him, withdrew a key on a band around his left wrist, then stepped back a pace. “Mr. President, open the briefcase,” Pak ordered.

“I will not,” Kwon replied. The Army officer looked puzzled, looking at both leaders in growing confusion.

Pak Chung-chu reached into his jacket and withdrew a North Korean Type 64 automatic handgun with a six-inch sound suppressor attached. The Army officer gasped and tried to reach for his own sidearm, but Pak turned and fired a single round into his heart from ten feet away, killing him instantly.

“You… you killed him!” Kwon exclaimed. “You bastard! He was innocent! He was a courier…”

“Many will die tonight — he was just one more,” Pak said coldly. He went over to the body, picked up the key, and inserted it into a lock on the briefcase. “Now you, Mr. President. Unlock the briefcase.”

“Or you will kill me too, Mr. Pak?” Kwon asked. “You seem to be in the mood for killing tonight.”

“I suppose I am,” Pak said — and he shot Kwon Ki-chae in the heart. After the initial pain of the 7.65-millimeter slug, Kwon’s face actually looked peaceful, relieved, as he collapsed to the floor and died.

Pak retrieved the second key to the briefcase from Kwon’s wrist and unlocked it. There were a series of twenty-five cards inside. Pak searched Kwon’s body until he found a small card with a series of instructions on it. Whoever was responsible for the briefcase was given a code number at the beginning of the day; his task was to apply the day’s code number and the current date-time group and come up with a code corresponding to one of the twenty-five cards in the briefcase.

Kwon had never taken this exercise too seriously — after all, the minister of defense had to do exactly the same procedure, and then it had to be entered into the computers in the command center; enough checks and balances were involved. So when he was assigned the day’s code number, he usually wrote it right on the day’s decoding instruction card — a serious violation of security procedures, since anyone with the code number could issue the execution code. But that was Kwon Ki-chae, unconcerned about such details. Sure enough, the code number was right on the card. Kwon, Pak decided, just didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to play this game.

After selecting the current date-time group, applying the numbers to the instruction card, and coming up with the correct execution code card, Pak had to contact the command center and give them the execution code and the date-time group he used to choose the card. The minister of defense then had to use the same date-time group to come up with his execution code. Then both codes had to be relayed to the command center senior controller, who entered them into the prearming computer. If the codes matched and were within six minutes of the original date-time group, the computer would allow launch commands to be issued on the special communications network to all missile units.

Pak dialed the direct line to Kim Kun-mo’s office in the command center. “It is done, General,” he said solemnly. “The execution code follows…” and he read off the execution code and the date-time group.

“You have done the right thing… Mr. President,” Kim said excitedly, and he hung up the phone to get to work on his own decoding task before time ran out.

The right thing… Mr. President. The right thing… Mr. President. Pak Chung-chu smiled at the words. They sounded good. They sounded very good. He had a lot of work to do, a lot of pieces to pick up, a lot of promises to fulfill, a lot of fears to dispel.

His first official act was to kneel beside the body of the brave visionary Kwon Ki-chae, first president of the United Republic of Korea, put the muzzle of his Type 64 pistol into his own mouth, and blow his brains out.

Hey, boss, why don’t we go down there and do something?” Rinc Seaver asked. The Americans had been watching the air battle unfold below them on their supercockpit displays, amazed at the waste of men and equipment in such an incredibly short period of time. “Let’s lob a few Wolverines in there — that’ll stop that Chinese armor cold.”

“I agree, Major,” Patrick said. “Genesis, this is Fortress Zero, how do you read?”

“Loud and clear, Fortress,” Lieutenant General Terrill Samson responded. Samson was listening and watching the patrol on his own office-sized version of the virtual cockpit system from back at Dreamland. “Just about to call you guys. You got the green light, repeat, green light. Stand by.” As they watched, one by one small triangle target symbols appeared on their supercockpit displays and on the virtual cockpit displays at Adak. Each target symbol represented a column of vehicles within the kill pattern of a Wolverine cruise missile. The computer quickly calculated the proper attack axis of each target so the warheads in each Wolverine had maximum effect, and then the target list was divided by aircraft. All of this flight planning was done in a matter of moments, then presented to the crews.

“Looks like we’re putting rocket-killing on hold for a while,” Rebecca said.

“Just remember, you need to high-tail it out to air cover as soon as you release,” Patrick told them over the virtual cockpit communications net. “You guys are fairly undetectable, even with your bomb doors open, but Wolverines are not, and it’ll take over half a minute to pump out your missiles. The bad guys will be on you like stink on shit.”

The Wolverine runs were all done from high altitude. Seaver and Long had to fly north to catch up with the others, and Furness and Scott had to fly eastbound, then back around to the west, to coordinate their release as well; but all three EB-1 Megafortress bombers reached their release points within ten seconds of each other. They unreeled their towed emitter arrays from each Megafortress’s tail just before reaching the lethal range of the mobile surface-to-air missiles below them.At the optimal range for the attack profile, the bomb doors opened, and they started raining Wolverine cruise missiles down on the Chinese armored columns rolling across southern Chagang Do province. Each Megafor-tress released six Wolverine missiles every nine seconds from a rotary launcher in the aft bomb bay, leaving two Wolverines each for reattacks or for rocket-hunting.

Each AGM-177 Wolverine cruise missile steered itself slightly away from the target as it descended and started its small turbofan engine. As it got closer to its first target, it leveled off less than a hundred feet above the terrain, guided by a satellite navigation computer, a terrain-comparison computer, and a millimeter-wave radar. Thirty seconds before impact, the missile’s radar took a snapshot of the target area, refined its steering, then began transmitting pictures of the target back by satellite to McLanahan and two other Megafortress bombardiers in the virtual cockpit at Adak Naval Air Station. This way, the flight crews would not have to divert attention between helping to fly the aircraft and finding targets. If the missiles needed a slight aiming tweak, the techs could do it right from their control consoles at Adak.

The Wolverine missiles each had three bomb bays. Each bomb bay was loaded with the same weapon — ten BLU-108/B “Shredder” sensor-fused weapon submunitions. Each Shredder had four projectiles that, once released, would search out their own target and shoot a slug of molten copper into it with enough force to pierce even heavy armor.

As the Wolverine approached each column of ground vehicles, it made a slight climb, then ejected the sub-munitions one by one from about three hundred feet above the column before descending back to treetop altitude. The ten submunitions would spin as they were ejected, extending four skeets with tiny heat-seeking sensors, which would lock onto a vehicle below. At the right moment, the skeets would detonate, sending the molten copper slug at the target at twice the speed of sound.

The effect was devastating. Each slug had a range of one-half mile, so the submunitions did not have to be directly over a target to hit it. Any vehicle smaller than a tank within a half mile of the projectiles was destroyed. The molten copper slug easily penetrated metal up to an inch thick, but after it cut through the metal, it had cooled enough so that, once inside the vehicle, it couldn’t act as a penetrator again. When the still-molten copper slug hit the next piece of metal — usually the floorboards — the molten copper spattered into a thousand tiny hot copper bullets traveling at the speed of sound. Anything inside the vehicle would be cut apart in the blink of an eye. Tanks fared a little better. Unless a slug hit the very top of the tank, which is usually made of thinner metal and is more vulnerable, the copper slug simply bored through the outer armor plating and stopped — usually causing fuel tanks to explode, setting off ammunition magazines, or turning transmissions into twisted blobs.

The death dance was repeated over and over again as the Wolverine missiles flew down the long columns of tanks and infantry support vehicles. Little escaped their detection: Jeep-sized four-wheel vehicles were hit, along with mobile antiaircraft weapons, supply trucks, and troop transports. A Shredder skeet hitting a diesel-powered vehicle’s engine compartment instantly turned the engine and its fuel supply into a gigantic white-hot fireball, engulfing it and its occupants within seconds.

When the last bomb bay was empty, each Wolverine missile located one last large target using its millimeter-wave radar. The techs back in the virtual cockpit got a last look through the imaging infrared camera, made minor course adjustments if necessary, then flew the missile into the last target. Even empty and without an exploding warhead except for a small amount of unexpended jet fuel, a nine-hundred-pound Wolverine missile traveling at over three hundred miles an hour packs a devastating punch.

The Megafortress bombers all performed a semi-”scram” maneuver after launching the last Wolverine missile — power back to idle, a hard turn away from the concentration of Chinese ground vehicles, decelerate to cornering velocity, then gradually push the power back in to maintain cornering velocity until the turn was completed.

The flight crews couldn’t see the Shredder sensor-fused weapon effects on the supercockpit display — all they could see was the Wolverine’s final impact. “Looks like those things work pretty well,” John Long commented. “How come we don’t have them in the inventory now?”

“Because we can buy four conventional air-launched cruise missiles or seven SLAMs for what it costs to buy one Wolverine,” Paul Scott replied. “I’ve got a pop-up threat, combined Golf-India-Hotel-band tracking radar, four o’clock, twenty miles, looks like an SA-6… Shit, Hotel-band height finder up… trackbreakers active, let’s get the power back in and start a descent, Rebecca, and get the hell—”

At that moment, they heard a high-pitched DEEDLEDEEDLEDEEDLE warning tone. “Missile launch! Chaff out! Engage TERFLW, break right!” Rebecca immediately engaged the terrain-following system, and the Megafortress started a thirty-thousand-foot-per-minute dive for the ground. At the same time, Rebecca started a hard right turn and pushed the throttles to military power. She stepped the clearance plane right down to two hundred feet to get below the SA-6’ minimum altitude capability. The towed emitter immediately started sending out both jamming signals and tiny fins that enlarged its radar cross section to ten times the size of the Megafortress itself.

They felt a shudder run the length of the Megafortress, then quiet. “Shit, that was close,” Paul said. “They got the towed emitter. I’m reeling out number two.”

Suddenly, just as the cockpit got quiet again when the SA-6’s radars went down, it seemed as if the ground all around them illuminated in pinpricks of light. “Triple-A!” Paul shouted. “Climb! Any way out to the left?”

“More triple-A out this way!” Rebecca shouted. There was no way to turn to get around them — everywhere they looked, another stream of lights arced up to meet them. The only way to go was straight up. Rebecca paddled off the terrain-following system, shoved the throttles to max afterburner, swept the wings forward to thirty-six degrees, and pulled the nose skyward. “Fortress One is defensive, climbing to get away from triple-A around us!”

Just then it felt as if they hit a stretch of gravel road racing down the freeway at eighty miles an hour. For a brief instant, the vibration was so bad that Rebecca couldn’t see the instrument panel. She leveled off at fifteen thousand feet. The rumbling subsided but didn’t stop. “I’m hit! I’m hit!” Rebecca radioed. “I’m not accelerating… Shit, I just lost my number one engine! Fire lights on! Shutting number one down!”

“Fly the airplane, Rebecca, just fly the airplane,” she heard Nancy Cheshire’s voice say. “I’m on your gauges. Get your nose up… there you go. Let me check your systems. Scottie, back me up.” After a few moments, Nancy said, “Okay, it looks like you got hit in the left wing. You’ve still got a hot exhaust, so you still might have a fire back there. You’re losing fuel from your left wing, and I think that flutter might be from some damaged flaps, so it looks like you’re stuck with thirty-four-degree wing sweep for now. I’ve initiated fuel transfer out of the left wing to the forward intermediate and forward fuselage tanks; you’re going to have to use manual CG management, but we’ll help you watch the center of gravity. We will…” There was another radar warning, another SA-6 at their three o’clock position. “Left turn to one-six-zero, Rebecca, let’s get away from that SA-6 that just popped up! Use afterburners if you need to.”

“C’mon, Long Dong, fire up one of those things and let ’em have it!” Rinc shouted. John Long activated the laser radar, and the positions of the mobile 27-millimeter and 57-millimeter guns around Fortress One appeared. Rinc turned toward the nest of antiaircraft artillery while John selected three of the road-mobile artillery units, with the mobile SA-6 launcher as the final impact target, and launched one Wolverine missile. Less than a minute later two antiaircraft artillery units were destroyed, pierced through and through with deadly molten copper, and a mobile SA-6 surface-to-air missile launcher was burning fiercely.

“You’re out of there, Rebecca,” Patrick ordered. “Fly heading zero-eight-five, climb to one-niner thousand, vectors to the Grand Island. We’ll have you orbit inside his SAM coverage until we get a tanker out here to pump you up and assess the damage.”

“I’m rejoining on her,” Rinc said.

“Negative. We need you back on patrol, Rinc…”

“I said, I’m rejoining on her!” he shouted. “We don’t leave our wingmen. I don’t care if the whole fucking Korean peninsula goes up in flames — I’m not leaving her.”

A few minutes later Rinc eased his Megafortress bomber in tight to Rebecca’s left wing. “How does it look?” she radioed. “I still feel a vibration. Feels like it’s coming from that side. Roll control is sluggish too.”

“It looks like shit, Go-Fast,” John Long said, studying the bomber through a set of night-vision goggles. “A spoiler looks like it’s partially up or bent up, and you have a section of flap sticking through the wing gap seal. You might want to consider landing at a longer runway than Adak — you’ll be doing a thirty-four-degree wing sweep no-flap no-slat approach with three engines.”

“We’re already getting Kadena cleared for recovery,” Patrick radioed. “Twelve thousand feet usable. It’s supposed to be closed to attack aircraft, but I don’t give a shit — we’re landing there anyway. If we have to, we’ll—”

“Hey — do you guys see what I see?” Nancy Cheshire radioed. “What are those tanks doing down there?”

“Holy shit — it looks like they’re turning around!” Dave Luger aboard Fortress Two said gleefully. “Those Chinese tanks are heading north again! Genesis, you see this? Are you seeing this?”

“That’s a big roger, Fortress Two,” Terrill Samson said happily. “I’m on the phone to Washington right now. I see them pulling back all across northern Korea.”

“The mobile search radars are down too,” John Long verified. “Looks like they pulled in their claws. Man, this is incredible. They… wait. I’ve got a fighter radar up… India-band ‘Flash Dance’ radar… Shit! They’re MiG-31 Foxhounds! Two of ’em!” The Russian-designed MiG-31 Foxhound was one of the fastest and most deadly interceptors in the world, designed from the outset to destroy low-flying supersonic bombers and cruise missiles. “The war seems to be over — but it looks like someone forgot to tell the fighters!”

Sir, what do you mean, no one can get hold of the Korean leadership?” Lieutenant General Terrill Samson thundered. “You mean we can’t talk to anyone in the Korean military chain of command?”

“Terrill, we can’t talk to anyone in a leadership position in Korea at all,” Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Balboa said. “All communications have been cut off to their command center — they sealed it up tight, full EMP, nuclear and bio-chem protection. And when we contact the Blue House or someone in the capital, everyone’s mum. No one will talk to us.”

“Sir, it’s confirmed — the Chinese are pulling out of Korea,” Samson said. “We need confirmation from President Kwon that he has his finger off the red button and that he’s not going to try any more retaliatory strikes against Chinese forces as they’re retreating.”

“We’re trying our best, General,” Balboa said. “I suggest you get your people out of there fast. If the Chinese see you up there, they’re likely to think you’re part of a Korean counterstrike. You’d better… Stand by one.” The line went quiet for several long moments; then: “More shit hitting the fan, General. President Kwon and Vice President Pak were found dead in the president’s office.”

“What?”

“Looks like some kind of murder-suicide thing,” Balboa said. “And it looks like the execution codes for Korea’s nuclear missiles may have been compromised. Aides found the code briefcase open, the president’s decoding card filled out, and the right execution card retrieved from the briefcase. They checked the phone log and found that Pak called the Osan command center shortly before the MCRC went off the air.”

“That means that whoever’s in charge at the Osan command center has one-half of the execution codes,” Samson said. “If the minister of defense is at Osan too, then he has the other half — and they can launch fully prearmed nuclear weapons anytime they want.”

“Looks like the balloon’s going up any minute, General,” Balboa said grimly. “Are your people in place over the peninsula?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, let’s hope to God your plan works and they can stop any missiles Kim wants to cook off,” Balboa said. “I better notify the President. Balboa out.”

Terrill Samson hung up the phone, deep in thought. What in hell was going on out there? Would Minister of National Defense Kim actually launch a nuclear attack against China?

Well, Samson thought, I wonder if anyone tried the direct approach. If only hard-wired communications were going through, why not try a simple phone call? The Osan Master Control and Reporting Center used to be a joint American and Korean facility, so I must have the phone number for it somewhere. He started a computer phone directory search, and sure enough found the number. The Defense Satellite Network number did not work — that was pure digital, vulnerable to EMP, or electromagnetic pulse, the damaging surge of energy during a nuclear blast — but when he tried the commercial number, a man answered in Korean.

“I want to speak with the senior controller,” Samson said.

The same man switched from Korean to English without hesitation: “Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“This is Lieutenant General Terrill Samson, United States Air Force, calling from Elliott Air Force Base in Nevada. I want to talk with the senior controller on duty right away.”

“Communications are restricted. The facility is under full combat conditions.”

“I know. I have spoken with Washington and with Seoul. You have sealed off the Master Control and Reporting Center even though the Chinese forces are pulling back. I want to know why.”

“Pulling back?” the man said with obvious surprise. “The Chinese are pulling back?”

“All of them, as we speak. You didn’t know?” There was no response. “Who is the senior controller?” Samson racked his brain for a name. “Colonel Sung Hye-gu was on duty just after reunification — I would like to talk with him. Or General An, or General Kim, if they’re on duty. It’s urgent.”

“This is Colonel Sung,” the man said. “I remember you now, sir. You are the black general they call Earthmover. I did not recognize the name of your base.”

“Colonel, what is going on out there?”

“General Kim cannot speak,” the man said. A few moments later he added, “The Chinese are withdrawing? Full withdrawal?”

“As far as my reconnaissance assets tell me, yes — full withdrawal,” Samson said. “Do you require authentication? Do you need me to send you proof? Tell me what I need to do to convince you, Colonel.”

“Sir… General, Minister of National Defense Kim has ordered a full missile attack on China,” Colonel Sung said.

“A what?”

“A full nuclear and chemical attack,” Sung repeated. “Targets in China — including Beijing. He received full authorization from President Kwon — rather, from Vice President Pak…”

“President Kwon and Vice President Pak are dead, Colonel,” Samson said. “They think Pak forced Kwon to give him the execution code, then killed Kwon and himself. Kim’s attack is unnecessary, and it’s probably not legal — Kim may have engineered this just to lash out at China or grab the presidency for himself. He has got to stop this attack.”

“I… I do not know what to do,” Sung said.

“Listen to me, Colonel,” Samson said. “You must stop Minister Kim or General An from launching any more missiles against China. I have special aircraft in the vicinity, heavy stealth bombers that are armed with highly effective weapons that can destroy the MCRC. Their mission is to destroy any ballistic missiles launched by either Korea or China, but they can attack heavily defended ground targets as well. They successfully attacked the Chinese armored brigades and caused them to turn back.

“I have authorization to attack the Master Control and Reporting Center with any weapon in my control to try to stop any more missile launches. If I don’t get a response, Colonel, I will have no choice but to attack. You must try to stop Minister Kim any way you can. Do you understand?”

But the line had gone dead — Samson didn’t know how long he had been talking to no one.

What could he do? He had some of the world’s most potent weapons at his fingertips, but he was powerless. He could not do…

He couldn’t do anything… but the Megafor-tresses could.

Terrill Samson called up a digital map of Osan Air Base in Korea and studied it. It had been well over four years since he’d visited Osan, but he didn’t think it had changed that much.

It was in a remote corner of the base, far from the runway, far from Seventh Air Force headquarters. There were no other structures nearby except for a plain two-story military-drab building, surrounded by a tall barbed-wire fence. Zooming in, he could see a lone tree about fifty yards in front of the building.

That was it. He had heard of the famous lone cherry tree, the rumors that it was the most heavily targeted tree in the world. They said the North Koreans had targeted ten thousand bombs, rockets, and missiles on that cherry tree — because a hundred feet below it, under layers of soil, rock, steel, and Kevlar armor and suspended on shock absorbers, was the Osan Master Control and Reporting Center, the military heart of Korea. Terrill Samson rolled a set of electronic cross hairs on that cherry tree and ordered the computer to mensurate its exact geographical coordinates and elevation.

Now there was going to be one more weapon targeted against that little tree.

Fortresses One and Three, you’ve got bandits at five o’clock, fifty miles, angels… shit, angels forty-five, speed seven hundred knots and closing fast. ‘Flash Dance’ radar… damn, it’s a pair of MiG-31s,” Dave Luger shouted. “Notch left, Fortress One. We’ll try to break that Foxhound’s pulse-Doppler radar lock…”

But before the two Megafortress bombers could even begin to make any defensive maneuvers, they got a verbal “Rocket launch detection” warning through their intercom systems. “I’m picking up ballistic missile launches — from Korea!” John Long shouted. “Korea is launching missiles!”

“Rebecca… those fighters… I’m staying with you in case they—”

“Go after those missiles, Rinc! Nail those bitches!” Rebecca shouted. She knew she could not use afterburners for fear of igniting a fire in her engine compartments, and because she could not sweep her wings past thirty-four degrees, she would not have enough speed to make steep pursuit climbs. “I’m heading out to the Grand Island! I’ll be all right!”

The two undamaged Megafortress bombers advanced their throttles to full afterburner and maneuvered to intercept the missiles. With fuel more than half burned off and all but a few Wolverine missiles expended, the Megafortresses climbed skyward like angels from hell.

“Good maneuver, Annie,” Dave Luger said. “Little more right… little higher…”

“You’ve got about fifteen seconds, David!” Annie Dewey shouted. She had the Megafortress climbing at ten thousand feet per minute, aiming the nose at an expanse of stars she guessed the Korean missiles would fly toward. “Airspeed’s down to four hundred… three-fifty…”

“Missile one away… launcher rotating… missile two away… missile three away!” Annie swept the wings forward as she slowed, trying to decrease her stall speed as much as possible until she saw the third Lancelot missile race ahead on a column of fire. She immediately shoved the nose down and swept the wings back to regain speed — just two more seconds and they would have had to fight off a full stall.

Rinc and John were able to punch out four Lancelot missiles — one while a missile was still below them, and three in the tail-chase aspect. But Rinc wasn’t thinking about the success or failure of this attack — all he could think about was leaving Rebecca with two MiG-31 Foxhounds closing in on her…

“We missed two missiles!” Patrick McLanahan shouted over the virtual cockpit circuit. “We missed two! Takedown, Takedown, you copy?”

“We copy loud and clear, Fortress,” the crew of the U.S. Navy NK-135 “Cobra Spear” aircraft radioed back. The NK-135 was an airborne laser flying laboratory run by the U.S. Navy’s Air Weapons Research Center at China Lake, California. “Takedown has the strays in sight, and we’re getting the lassos ready. Stand by.”

“Takedown” was the code name of the original Lancelot antiballistic missile program begun by the U.S. Navy. The first missile-targeting lasers were mounted on a modified Boeing 707 airliner, the NK-135, for testing. In addition, the original Lancelot missiles — not modified Air Force AGM-69A short-range attack missiles, but modified Navy AIM-54 Phoenix air-to-air missiles — were mounted on P-3 Orion patrol aircraft. The program was never completed, but the aircraft and weapons were still in the inventory — and now they were going to be put to good use.

As the Korean ballistic missiles rose through the atmosphere, the NK-135 Cobra Spear aircraft locked onto them with their laser radar. Since the Navy’s LADAR was mounted on an airliner instead of a strategic bomber, it had much more power and much longer range than the LADAR mounted on the EB-1 Megafortresses. As soon as the ballistic missiles were detected, the tracking information was passed to the P-3 Orion, and it released four ABM-54 missiles from wing hard-points.

The first operational launch of the Navy’s ABM-54 antiballistic missile missile was a success — two Nodong-1 missiles targeted for Beijing were intercepted and destroyed.

As soon as the last Lancelot missile blasted clear, Rinc lowered the Megafortress’s nose and turned toward the incoming Chinese MiG-31 Foxhounds.

“Arm up the Scorpions, Long Dong,” he shouted. “We’ve got to get to them before they attack!”

But before the two Megafortress bombers could even begin to make defensive maneuvers, the MiGs had opened fire with long-range R-33 radar-guided missiles. “Missile launch! Amos missiles in the air! They fired from about forty miles away… Two more missiles in the air! They targeted both you guys. Fortress Three, break right!”

“Rebecca!” Rinc shouted on interplane.

“Get the hell out of here, Rodeo!” Rebecca shouted. “I’m maneuvering as best I can! Get going!” Rinc had no choice but to execute a steep turning dive for the ground.

The one not-so-cool thing about the Megafortress’s laser radar system was that it showed everything in stark, cold detail — including their time to die. The LADAR tracked the big R-33 Amos missiles with ease, even projected their flight path and time to intercept — which, at their speed, was in about seventy seconds. No matter how tight they turned, how fast they flew, or how low they went, the R-33 stayed right with them — their projected flight path line always intersected the middle of the screen.

“Kill those sons of bitches, Long Dong!” Rinc shouted. Long quickly armed up the AIM-120 Scorpion AMRAAM missiles, and as soon as the R-33 missiles got within twenty miles, he fired two against each missile, then two at each MiG-31 when they got within range seconds later…

… but even though the R-33 missiles were big targets, they maneuvered quickly and were too fast for the AIMs, which were designed for aircraft less than half their speed. All of the Scorpions fired against the R-33s missed. Their last chance was the Scorpion missiles fired against the Foxhounds themselves — if they hit, or if the MiG-31s were forced to turn away and break radar lock with the bombers, the R-33 missiles would simply fly their last assigned heading and turn on their onboard radars. If they saw a target, they would kill it — if not, they would self-destruct. It was their only…

Suddenly, a tremendous globe of brilliant silvery light appeared in the sky above Rinc and John, then disappeared — it went away so fast that they thought they imagined it. Rinc made another hard jink to the left and pumped out more active decoys to try to lure the R-33 missiles away — and this time it worked. The R-33s continued on their last course and exploded harmlessly several miles away.

“Rebecca! Are you all right?” Rinc shouted.

“We’re okay!” Rebecca replied. “The R-33s missed! They stopped guiding on us! What happened?”

“Hey, you know, these Lancelot missiles make fine air-to-air missiles too,” Dave Luger radioed from Fortress Two. “And that last one just happened to have a plasma-yield warhead on it. Wonder where you go when you get hit by a plasma-yield explosion?”

“To plasma hell, I hope,” Rinc said. “Hey, Fortress Zero, can we escort Fortress One out of here now? We’ll all be running on fumes pretty soon.”

“Not quite yet,” General Terrill Samson’s voice broke in. “This is Genesis. Check your targeting displays. I’ve got one more target for you guys to attack… and may God have mercy on my soul for doing this.”

“None… of… them?” Minister of National Defense Kim gasped. “None of them hit their targets?”

“None of them even began reentry toward their targets,” Colonel Sung, the senior controller in the Master Control and Reporting Center at Osan, said. “They all either reported malfunctions… or the telemetry simply ceased.”

“How is this possible?” Kim shouted. “How can this happen?” He was almost crazed with blinding anger — but he forced himself to be calm. “I want a second salvo readied immediately!” he shouted. “This time I want it doubled! I want every target on the original list targeted with two warheads! No… no, better make it three.”

“Three? Three nuclear warheads on every target?”

“If they are malfunctioning or sabotaged, we need at least three to ensure the targets are destroyed once and for all!” he cried out. “Now get to work! Put three… no, four, four missiles on every target! Do it! Now!”

“Sir!” a technician shouted. “Enemy aircraft inbound! Patriot and Hawk batteries are responding!”

Kim dashed over to a radar screen, one of the old-fashioned twenty-four-inch cathode-ray tube displays — the old vacuum-tube radar displays were less vulnerable to EMP effects, so some were still in use in the MCRC. Several blips appeared on the screen with data blocks beside them indicating speed and altitude. “Fast-moving target inbound from the southwest at very low altitude, range seventy miles. They are not maneuvering… they are coming straight in.”

“Then it will be that much easier to destroy them,” Kim said. “Commit every available unit on—”

“Sir! More targets inbound from the southeast! Very low altitude, six hundred knots, range sixty miles.”

“It’s a massive Chinese attack,” Kim shouted. “Get those ballistic missiles launched now, General! Get them—”

“Sir! More inbound targets, slow-moving, low altitude… I have another target, high altitude, sixty miles to the east, four hundred knots.”

“A command or surveillance aircraft,” General An said. “Possibly directing the attack.”

“No — they are American attack aircraft, Minister!” Colonel Sung shouted.

“What are you talking about, Colonel?”

“I received a phone call from Lieutenant General Terrill Samson,” Sung said. “He is the commander of the United States Air Force’s secret air weapons center. I know of him. He told me that he had stealth bombers in the area armed with special weapons that were capable of destroying both ballistic missiles and the MCRC. He warned me that his aircraft will attack if they do not get a response from us.”

“What in blazes were you doing on a telephone in the middle of a battle?” Kim Kun-mo shouted. “I can have you shot for that!”

“You’ve been fooled, Colonel,” General An said. “That call could have come from anyone. The Chinese certainly can look up an American general’s name and base of assignment and make up a tale like that.”

“I know that, sir,” Sung said. “But he also told me that his bombers attacked the Chinese armored forces and caused them to retreat.”

“What? The Chinese are in retreat?”

“It must be verified,” Sung said, “but I think we should wait on our second missile attack until it can be verified.”

“Nonsense!” Kim shouted. “We are not stopping any attack to verify anything, especially not based on information you received on an unauthorized, unsecure telephone call!”

“Sir, he also told me that his bombers carry weapons that can destroy ballistic missiles in flight, and that his orders were to use them against missiles fired from either Korea or China…”

“Ridiculous! I’ve never heard of anything like that before!”

“He also said that—”

“Colonel, you are relieved of command,” Minister of National Defense Kim said. “Get out of my command center. General An, designate a new senior controller, and proceed with the launch immediately! Security, escort this gullible, incompetent officer out of here!”

“Sir, he said that his bombers have weapons that can destroy the MCRC,” Sung shouted as two security guards stepped over to him and reached for his arms. “If we do not establish contact with his aircraft, we will be destroyed!”

“Get him out of here!”

The two guards grabbed Sung’s arms, but he twisted away, grabbed a rifle that was slung from one of the guards’ shoulders, turned, and aimed it at Kim. “I won’t let you kill us all, you maniac!” he shouted, and pulled the trigger.

General An raced forward to tackle Kim just as a line of bullets stitched across his back and left side. Sung swung the gun around and aimed it at the launch control console, but he was gunned down by another security guard before he could open fire.

“Fortress Two is defensive Patriot!” Annie Dewey shouted. They were penetrating from the southwest of Osan, the most heavily defended sector. She suddenly found herself bracketed by two Patriot missile batteries that had opened fire simultaneously.

“Fortress Two, Fortress Two, be advised, I show a fault on your defensive system,” Patrick McLanahan radioed. “Decoy launchers, towed decoys, all jammers are faulted. Get out of there!”

“We’ve got two Patriots opened up on us!” David Luger shouted. “We’re trying to get away!”

“Annie, break right, let me have a shot at them!” Rinc shouted on interplane frequency.

Rinc Seaver and John Long had released all of their Wolverine cruise missiles from maximum range, but they had not hit their targets yet. Seaver started a fast climb. “What are you doing?” John Long asked.

“Just get a fix on those Patriots, Long Dong!” he shouted.

Long zoomed the supercockpit display out, and sure enough the laser radar was tracking the inbound Patriot missiles. “Bring it all the way around to the north, Annie,” Rinc said. As they watched Annie make her turn, the incoming missiles started a right turn of their own. The missiles flew a ballistic flight path and aimed not for the aircraft itself, but for a “basket” of airspace where they predicted the aircraft to be when they arrived.

“What in hell are you doing, Seaver?” Long repeated.

“I’m going to shoot down those Patriots and get them off Annie’s tail,” Rinc said. “Get a couple Scorpions ready!” The supercockpit display showed Annie’s predicted flight path as well as the Patriot missiles’ predicted path. As the Patriots turned, Rinc pointed his Megafortress’s nose at the intersection of the two flight paths, waited until they were within AIM-120 Scorpion missile range, then shouted, “Shoot! Annie, break left, now!” John Long fired their last four Scorpion missiles at the Patriots.

Annie turned hard left. At that exact moment, the Patriot missiles had activated their own onboard terminal guidance radar and began tracking. All four Patriots made a direct hit — right on the Scorpion missiles.

“Got ’em!” John shouted. “Nice going! Now let’s get this attack under way and get the hell out of here!”

“Fortress One, missiles away,” Rebecca said, and Paul Scott launched their last two remaining Lancelot missiles — not at any ballistic missiles, but at the set of coordinates for the Osan Master Control and Reporting Center that he had received from General Samson at HAWC.

“Fortress Two, missiles away,” Dave Luger radioed.

“Fortress Three, missiles…”

At that moment, they received a MISSILE WARNING advisory on the supercockpit display and a slow-paced deedle deedle deedle warning over the intercom. “Missile tracking and height finder pop-up threat!” John Long shouted. “Looks like an I-Hawk, eleven o’clock, six miles, within lethal range! Hold heading! Hold heading! Missile counting down! Jammers active, towed decoy is alive.”

“Withhold the launch! Withhold!” Rinc shouted. “Let’s get out of here before that I-Hawk tags us!”

“Hold heading, dammit!” Long said. “Twenty seconds and we’re outta here! That’s an order, Seaver! Hold heading!”

The rotary launcher had moved the first Lancelot missile into launch position and was counting down to release just as they received a MISSILE LAUNCH indication and a rapid-fire deedledeedledeedle tone. “Missile launch!” Rinc shouted. He looked out the left cockpit window and could see the first Hawk missile, an American-built air defense system, lift off on a column of fire and speed toward them. It looked so close that he thought they had flown right over it, although it was over five miles away.

The Lancelot missile left the bomb bay, ignited its first-stage motor, and pulled ahead of the Megafortress. “Now! Break right! ’’ Long shouted.

But it was too late. The Hawk guided unsteadily on the tiny radar cross section of the Megafortress until the Lancelot missile left the bomb bay, and then it guided on that larger target. When the Lancelot was only a thousand yards in front of the bomber, the Hawk hit. The plasma-yield warhead did not detonate, but the nine hundred pounds of solid rocket fuel did…

… and the Megafortress flew directly through the fireball.

“Shit! We’ve been hit!” Rinc shouted. The cockpit seemed bathed in fire, and it quickly started filling with smoke.

“Rinc! Can you hear me?” It was Patrick McLanahan. “If you can hear me, break left now! Another Hawk missile launched! I’m activating your counter-measures! Turn left now!”

Rinc started his turn — but then he noticed the supercockpit display. The Korean Patriot missile systems had successfully attacked and destroyed every other Lancelot missile launched against the Osan command center. Rinc had the last one.

Fire lights started illuminating on the instrument panel one by one. “Two… no, three fire lights!” John Long shouted.

“Eject, Long Dong,” Rinc ordered. “Get the hell off my ship.”

Long looked at Seaver through the thickening smoke. His eyes widened, as if to apologize — then he straightened in his seat and pulled his ejection handles.

Rinc twisted the knob on his ejection mode switch from AUTO to MANUAL just before Long ejected. He wasn’t going anywhere until the last Lancelot missile was gone.

At that same moment, the I-Hawk’s tactical control officer saw the target still flying after missile detonation and immediately commanded a second launch.

Rinc watched as the attack computers commanded the bomb doors to open partially — since the Lancelot missiles launched one by one from the rotary launcher, the doors did not need to open fully — and the last Lancelot missile was ejected into the slipstream. It dropped away from the bomber, its fins unlocked and stabilized the missile in the slipstream, the first-stage motor ignited, and the missile shot past the bomber and flew off into space on a ballistic trajectory.

“Rinc!” he heard a voice call out. It was Rebecca. “Get out! Eject!”

“I still show you in there, Rinc!” Patrick radioed. “Get the hell out, now! Eject! Eject!”

The smoke in the cockpit had cleared as soon as Long’s ejection hatch blew off, so now he could see everything clearly. He saw the second I-Hawk lift off — and this one began tracking the last Lancelot missile too.

Nuts to that, Rinc thought. He started a rapid climb, swept the Megafortress’s wings full forward, dropped the gear, and lowered full flaps and slats, instantly destroying all the bomber’s stealthy characteristics and increasing his radar cross section about 10,000 percent.He couldn’t see the I-Hawk missile anymore, but it didn’t matter — he had done all he could.

“Rinc, what are you doing?” Rebecca called out. “Eject! What are you waiting for?”

The mission was over. Time to get the hell out. “I’m with you, sweetheart,” he radioed back. “Pop open a cold one for me.” He reached down to his ejection handles…

The I-Hawk missile hit the Megafortress’s vertical stabilizer, blowing it and most of the tail section off. The bomber nosed over into a gentle descent, then started a slow roll.

Rinc was halfway through his second roll when he saw a shining silvery globe erupt just a few miles in front of the Megafortress. The inside of the silver orb looked like swirls and billows of liquid fire, but the surface of the globe was perfectly smooth, flawless. He pulled the ejection handles and shot out of the stricken bomber, out into the artificial marblelike sun growing before his eyes.

He expected to feel a volcanic heat and hear thunder, something to demonstrate the horrible violence he was witnessing. Instead, it felt more like falling onto an infinitely soft pillow. He felt the silver orb surround him, caress him, welcoming him into the alternate dimension within…