Into the Fire

CHAPTER FOUR

Lieutenant Commander Choe Dae-jung was on the starboard bridge wing of the Won Do as the vessel stood out from Haeju Naval Base. The two-hundred-foot, six-hundred-ton Soviet-designed corvette had just left a base course of 155 and came right to 185. They were heading almost directly into the gentle swells of the Yellow Sea that were just now shouldering their way into the Haeju estuary. They may not be so gentle when we get farther out to sea, Choe thought, and we are subject to the frequent shifts in wind and weather. The Yellow Sea could be treacherous in November, much like the Gulf of Mexico in November, only much colder. Of course, it would not be so rough as operating in the Sea of Japan that were home waters of Won Do, but it would be uncomfortable enough. His ship had taken on an unusual amount of provisions in Haeju, and that suggested they might be at sea for a while.

Won Do was one of five Sariwon-class corvettes built in the 1960s and 70s in North Korea, which were designed as multipurpose littoral combat vessels. This meant Won Do could do a lot of things, but none of them very well. The craft was armed with two twin 57 mm mounts and two twin 37 mm mounts, which gave the ship a heavily armed look, but the fire-control radar, when it worked, was only marginally more effective than the optical pointing systems. It’s only air-defense systems were four quad 14.5 mm machine guns that, again, appeared more menacing than they were. Their only effective anti-air weapons were the shoulder-fired Strela SA-7 missiles. Offensively, the craft had little to offer but its ability to sow its thirty-some Chinese-made EM-53 acoustic mines, a mine that could be highly effective in shallow water.

Won Do’s only virtues were its relatively good sea-keeping ability and the rugged diesel engines that could move the ship at fifteen knots with a range of 2,600 nautical miles. It was a small ship whose designers had the same mission in mind as the builders of the U.S. Navy’s littoral combat ship. But the similarities ended there. The Freedom-class LCS was light, fast, and new; the Won Do was heavy, slow, and old. And, like her skipper, the Won Do was tired; only the close attention of her faithful crew kept her seaworthy, if not battle-worthy.

Choe Dae-jung was forty-three years old and had been in the Korean People’s Army naval force for over half of that time. He had left his family farm to enlist in the navy at sixteen. He had not really intended on a career at sea, but remaining home was not an option. With one younger sister and two brothers, there was simply not enough food. Choe had been hungry all his life and had never known freedom from want until he was posted aboard his first ship. The pay was negligible, but the military kept their people fed, if not well fed, and afforded them a place to sleep. He worked hard and made his way up the enlisted ranks and gained promotion to the rank of ensign at the age of twenty-eight. Like most of his crew, Choe was single and the Won Do was home. In this respect, the officers and the seamen of the lower decks were much alike. Except for those infrequent times when the ship was taken into dry dock for hull repairs, Choe was seldom ashore. He was good at his job, and he kept Won Do shipshape and ready for sea. He still remembered what it was like to live with hunger every waking moment, and he never wanted to return to that life. He had no idea what he would do or how he would live if or when he ever left the navy, or after he left Won Do for that matter. Won Do was neither a new ship nor a particularly prestigious command. He had been its captain for five years now; perhaps they would leave him be for another five.

Normally, Won Do called the Wonsan Naval Base its home port, as did the other five of the Sariwon-class corvettes. But over the last several weeks, Won Do and two of her sister ships had been ordered to make the transit from the Wonsan Naval Base on the east coast of North Korea on the Sea of Japan, around the Korean Peninsula, and to Haeju on the west coast. This in itself was strange and unprecedented. Given the shortages of fuel oil and stores, the corvettes seldom left port, and when they did, they operated in local waters. His sealed orders had been delivered the night before with instructions to open them only after he had entered the Yellow Sea. Choe was torn between repairing to his small cabin just behind the pilothouse or remaining on the bridge until they were farther out to sea. If there was a single compensation to what he considered his maritime indentured servitude, it was being on the bridge of his ship when standing out of port. Choe’s brief moment of contentment was cut short.

“Good morning, Captain,” a voice called to him from the pilothouse. It was a good deal more blustery on the bridge wing than in the pilothouse.

Choe turned and forced a smile. “Ah, Comrade Ha. Please feel free to join me. The brisk salt air is free to all.”

“Perhaps a little later in the day. It would seem, Captain, it is about time to open your orders.”

Ha Min-ki was short, pale, and in his late twenties. He had arrived aboard Won Do the day before, along with the sealed orders. And he was certainly no seaman. His worn cotton slacks and Western-style cardigan were in contrast to the dungarees and rough wool foul-weather gear worn by the Won Do’s officers and ratings alike. He carried orders from their commodore appointing him as the ship’s political officer. It became obvious when they got under way this was his first time at sea and that he was clearly uneasy with the motion of the ship.

Choe liked none of this. That he and his ship were now operating in the Yellow Sea was troubling enough. And they had not been the only vessel to sortie from Haeju. There had been a steady trickle of sailings over the last few days, and there was evidence of other vessels making preparations for sea. The North Korean navy was more accustomed to sitting in port than being at sea, even when operating in the littorals. Now he was saddled with this political hack the day before they sailed. He was a man who, under their system, could exercise a great deal of control over Choe and his ship. All this activity meant something was afoot, something big and perhaps something unprecedented. Choe could only wonder what those idiots in Pyongyang were up to, or just why this young ideologue had been posted to Won Do. Whatever it was, Choe suspected it would probably be an ill-conceived and dangerous adventure with little regard for the welfare of his ship or his crew.

“Well, Captain?”

Choe gave him a long stare and then turned to the bridge messenger. “Seaman Hong, why don’t you lay down to the messdeck and get Comrade Ha and me a nice bowl of cold kimchee soup and a glass of curdled milk. Something to eat might go well on this fine morning, eh, Comrade Ha?”

Ha paused and took a few deep breaths through his mouth, then disappeared quickly into the pilothouse and down the ladder that led to his small quarters and private toilet. Choe grinned and turned back to the rail of the bridge wing. He glanced at the gyro repeater and saw they were a few degrees off course.

“Steersman, mind your helm.”

“Aye, Captain.”

As the North Korean mainland slipped astern, Choe Dae-jung made his way to his sea cabin, which aboard Won Do was the only personal space, and shucked his bridge coat. The cabin was no more than a closet with a bunk and a little fold-down desk. He opened the small safe bolted to the deck and took out a thin packet that bore the wax seal of the Western Fleet of the People’s Army naval force. Choe broke the seal and read his orders. After he read them a second time, he pushed the intercom to the bridge.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Please have our guest, Comrade Ha, and the executive officer meet me in the wardroom.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Choe replaced the orders and locked the safe, then lowered his head. “God help us,” he whispered. “God help us all.”

Due west of where Captain Choe had opened his secret orders, ships were not sheltered from the winter storm that battered the Yellow Sea the way Won Do was protected by the North Korean landmass. The howling storm was intensifying, and the waves were reaching alarming heights. Aboard the Chinese hydrographic vessel Fen Dou, the first mate approached the ship’s master.

“Captain, this storm is intensifying. It is far worse than was predicted when we left Qingdao two days ago.”

“And what forecast have you pulled off the network just now?”

“It’s alarming, sir. The winds are predicted to remain at least forty-five knots, maybe more, and the sea state is expected to intensify from seven to perhaps eight in the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

The master considered this. The winds and the sea state were marginal already, and sea state 8 would bring waves of ten to twelve meters. Still, he was a professional seaman who had been on ships since he was a teenager. Skillful handling of Fen Dou could overcome unfriendly waters.

“As you say, but as you know, predictions are not always accurate.”

“Yes, I know that. But we have a vast area to survey. Perhaps we can move to a calmer area on our survey plan — somewhere in the lee of land — and then come back here into open water once the storm abates.”

The master had been with this first mate for almost two years and considered him to be one of the best he’d had in his over three decades of plying these waters. But the man was young, had a family, and worried too much. Still, he did not want to dismiss his concerns out of hand.

“Let’s see what the weather does in the next six hours. We can decide then, all right? For now, put two extra men on that crane so we can lower the gear into the water.”

“Captain, it’s getting increasingly dangerous on deck…”

“I know that!” the master said, his voice hard. “You know what safety precautions to take. See that you take them. We have work to do, and we don’t have enough time to do it.”

The master didn’t like scolding his first mate like this. The man was hardworking and loyal to a fault. And his concerns were valid. Truth be told, the ship’s captain knew a ship like Fen Dou shouldn’t be conducting hydrographic surveys in waters as open as the Yellow Sea. But that decision was made in Beijing and was not something that was to be debated in the pilothouse of his ship.

Fen Dou’s master had a well-cultivated network, and before he took the assignment to command one of the ships conducting this extensive survey, he did his homework. It was well known China’s booming economy was straining its oil and gas supplies, so much so that it threatened to slow down the nation’s double-digit economic growth. Ongoing turmoil in the Middle East made depending on that source for its fossil-fuel supply chancy at best.

What was less well known was that North Korea had claimed to have found massive gas supplies on the seabed of Korea Bay and all the way down into the northern reaches of the Yellow Sea. China’s leaders were in the process of brokering a deal with North Korea to buy all of this natural gas, but there was a problem. The claims of trillions of cubic meters of gas on the seabed that North Korea said it was going to mine were based solely on North Korean surveys — surveys that were, as yet, unverified.

So China had commissioned a fleet of every Chinese-owned hydrographic survey vessel it could muster to do a rapid survey of these waters to validate the North Korean claims. Time was of the essence since China wanted to seal this energy deal with North Korea before the unpredictable leadership in Pyongyang figured out it could sell this natural gas for more money on the open market and changed its mind. Ships’ masters were given areas to search and a deadline for producing their surveys, and they were promised a significant bonus for completing the surveys early.

Fen Dou’s master had not only young mouths to feed but also aging parents to care for. He was determined to get his bonus.