Tempered Steel

Chapter 12

Sunday was a holiday routine aboard ship. Men could sleep in as long as they weren’t on watch and no ship’s activities would be accomplished until after lunch. Hammond slept until 0630 and had a quiet breakfast of cereal and coffee in his cabin. He allowed this last “holiday routine” Sunday because it would probably be just that — the last one. The ship was nearing Oahu now and, according to the plan, they were going to be joining up with additional forces. After that, they would be steaming into dangerous waters. After breakfast he took a tour of the ship.

Every morning Hammond took some time to explore his ship, talk to the crew and in general learn as much about the ship as he could. He didn’t like that he had been forced to assume command without some time to get to know the ship and crew better, but these were extraordinary times and he had to make do. This morning, he went to the Bos’n’s locker all the way forward in the bow of the ship. Along the way he saw the orderliness in the berthing spaces, even though many were still in their beds, or racks as they were called. The decks were clean and uncluttered. Personal gear was stowed away out of sight. He checked some of the racks to make sure there was an EEBD or emergency escape breathing device in each “coffin locker,” the four by four by seven cubicle that each man was given to sleep in. The EEBDs were used as breathing hoods for the crewman to use in an emergency. Several crewmen were up either reading or talking quietly.

As Hammond came into a compartment, the men stood out of respect and greeted him. Mayor Crowell had been right. There was eagerness in their eyes. They seemed very glad to see their captain and anxious to please. This was a little different from his first command. On that ship he had been greeted with respect but aloofness. They acted as if somehow they really didn’t care if he came or went. Hammond found himself wondering what was really making this difference. Strangely enough he had felt the difference himself since he came aboard. This ship’s personality was different from all the others. Many people scoffed at the idea, but each ship Hammond had been on was a little different — not in function, but in attitude. He wondered if this personality changed with each successive generation that served aboard. It would be something to watch.

Passing through First Division berthing he heard some angry shouts from the other side of a watertight door on the forward bulkhead. It sounded as if Boats Patnaude was in his element.

“I don’t give a fuck if it is Sunday. You peckerheads wanted tradition, well goddamnit I’m giving you some. Just bring that shit up out of there before I shove my foot up your ass!” Hammond heard Boats yell. He hesitated opening the door for a moment but went in anyway.

“And that sand has to come up too!” Patnaude yelled down a hatch. There was already a large pile of what looked like cement bricks piled up on the deck with a large stack of poles.

“What’s up Boats?” Hammond asked.

Patnaude turned and smiled at the Captain. “Just getting ready for a little evolution this afternoon, Captain. These dipshits have been asking for months what we do with all this shit, so I thought this would be the day to show ‘em,” he said. Several of the others were working in their T-shirts passing up bags of sand. Others were bringing in more of the bricks.

“When are you going to start?”

“At 1400, Captain. Gives us time to get all these guys through chow and into the heat of the day. Since we have to wet the decks, it’ll be a nice break. I got all of Deck Department and Weapons going to take part. Should be real interesting,” Boats said with a sly grin.

“I believe it will. I may even come join you.”

“The more the merrier.”

Hammond laughed. “In the mean time, can someone show me the windlass gear? I want to see what we have.”

“Right this way, Captain,” Boats said leading the way farther forward. The rest of the tour took only about 20 minutes as Patnaude led him through the finer points of the anchor windless gear and all the other equipment in the locker.

Shortly afterward, Hammond was firmly ensconced in his chair on the bridge going over the message traffic. His thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the 1MC:

“Good morning, everyone, this is Father Danner. Roman Catholic Mass will be held on the 0–1 level port side beside turret two at 1100. So bring your sunscreen, sunglasses, and shower shoes to the 0–1 level port side and join us for services.”

Hammond almost laughed as a very old gentleman in a captain’s uniform placed the microphone back in its holder. He had a twinkle in his eyes as he said good morning to the Captain and then headed down for Mass. Father Danner had been aboard back in the 80s and had been a very popular member of the crew. He had come out of retirement to be a spiritual leader for those who desired it onboard the ship. In the few days Hammond had known him, Danner had been not only an able priest, but an able officer; reliable and dedicated to the ship and crew. His advice, on the few occasions needed, was insightful and conservative. Hammond could only imagine what the Mass would be like. After a few moments he walked over to the bridge windows on the port side and looked down on the assembled men. They were standing loosely in front of a small table Danner had set up. He was leading them in prayer along with two assistants. An altar kit was there to serve communion. After the short prayer, Danner was speaking to the gathered crewmen. He glanced up, saw the Captain watching, and flashed a smile and a quick wink. Hammond chuckled to himself. That was Danner.

Lunch was really a brunch for most. They served until 1300 and then everything was quiet for about an hour. At that time “all hands” was piped and Deck and Weapons departments were mustered on the fo’c’sle. Hammond left the bridge to watch. He walked up the starboard side main deck and listened to the Bos’n as he gave the instructions.

“Damn it, I told everybody not to wear shoes or socks up here this afternoon. I have a good reason when I say something. It’s not like I like flappin’ my gums! After we get through with this I want the rest of you shitheads to get them shoes off so we can get to work!” He grabbed one of the cement looking bricks. There was a partial hole in one side of it. “OK, you guys want to be real battleship sailors? Well, here’s your chance. Any of you fuckheads know what this is? It’s a holystone,” he said holding it up high. “You will notice there is a place on one side that looks like something some of you guys might want to stick your dick in. Well, don’t be getting’ any ideas. It’s to stick the end of a swab handle into. Today we are going to take part in a 400 year old, time honored tradition of holystoning a deck. What this shit was used for was keeping the wooden decks clean and bright. So listen up and we will go over how you do it,” he said starting his lecture.

Patnaude carefully demonstrated how to wet the deck, throw sand on it, and then, standing in a line shoulder to shoulder move the holystone back and forth along a single plank for several sweeps and then move to the next. Within 30 minutes the hoses were dousing the main decks and sand was everywhere. Lines of men took hold of their broom handles and inserting them into the hole in the holystone, began moving together as teams sanding down the decks. As the lines of men moved the stones from plank to plank, water was splashed on the deck where they had finished, sometimes drenching the crewmen and making the task much more pleasant. At first the job went slow, but as the men got the hang of it, they began working as well oiled teams. As they moved across the decks, you could see the difference in the before and after portions.

After three hours the main deck was completed. The wooden decks sparkled and Bos’n had all the gear struck below. He had given the men something to talk about and tell the folks. Hammond watched the procedure and as the men were putting the gear away he walked over to Patnaude. “Boats, I’d seen this stuff in movies but never thought I’d see this in person. Nice job.”

“Not a problem, Captain. Been wanting to pull that shit out anyway, just to say we did it. Now we can forget about it.”

“What do you mean forget about it? Don’t you have to do this every so often?”

Patnaude eased up and spoke in a more hushed tone. “Actually Captain, there’s a citric acid bath we use to do the same thing. You fill a shit can with one container of the powder and water. It gets the deck just as clean looking by just swabbing the deck,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Hammond started to laugh. “Oh, they’re going to hate you.”

Boats huffed. “Like I give a shit. They better be glad I don’t have ‘em doing this shit every week,” he said with a grin. Several of the Deck Department Chiefs were standing around him with huge smiles on their faces. Obviously they were in on it.

“I defer to your wisdom,” Hammond said. “See you later, guys,” he said as he turned and made his way aft.

“Congratulations, Comrade Chairman,” beamed Minister Lu Chen. “I have just received news the enemy stronghold of Seoul has fallen.”

Kim Sung Nua sprang from his seat with the news. His face wore a broad smile. Lu Chen had not seen a smile on the Chairman’s face since a few weeks after the campaign started. “This is good, Comrade Minister. It seems our forces will be able to achieve a victory,” Kim said with an only slightly biting tone.

Lu Chen bowed slightly. It was not good to spoil such information. “The word just reached us that our forces broke through and forced the remaining enemy back to the sea. It appears that once we had the upper hand, they fell like a house of cards,” he said reassuringly. The last of the American forces have been rounded up and are being sent to our prisoner of war camps. Our political officers are already beginning the process of unification with the population.”

The Chairman looked at the man with a gleeful eye. The capture of larger numbers of Americans would be a major bargaining chip at the conclusion of the war. It could bring in money, equipment and other things necessary for his government. It could also be used if the tides of war changed. “What about the air base south of the city?”

“It too is in our hands. Our nuclear strike disabled their planes so they could not be used, as you know. Unfortunately, the Americans destroyed the remaining planes, equipment, and ammunition before they fell back. The good news is that the base remains intact. We should be able to land our planes on it today,” Lu Chen emphasized. He knew the Chairman wanted a few of the planes serviceable for additional trading chips in dealing with China. “I have already given orders to concentrate our forces on the southern air bases in a move which should allow us to obtain some of their aircraft.”

Kim smiled again. At least the man was making the effort, he thought. He held up a finger to emphasize the point. “Just remember it is politically imperative we obtain copies of the American designs so that we may share our discoveries with our communist allies,” he said forcefully but while smiling. Then the smile vanished. “Now when will we achieve a final victory?”

Lu Chen knew this was coming and he was prepared, but he still began to sweat. “Very soon now, Comrade Chairman. Our forces are within thirty miles of Pusan as we speak. Each day we gain more and more ground. Our forces are now markedly superior in numbers and each day our enemies are becoming weaker. I shifted efforts more toward the western half of the country so we may subdue their airfields quickly, but that will mean we have the chance to sweep around them from the west instead of from the north. We hold them in one place, while we stab them in the side. The only thing left to do is allow them to bleed,” he said confidently.

Of course he didn’t allow any part of his report to dwell on the horrendous casualties the North had suffered along the way. They had lost nearly 200,000 men in the campaign so far and the progress was being paid through the deaths of thousands more. He also didn’t mention that none of his submarines had returned after beginning operations and some of his airplanes were not returning to base.

The worst part was the loss of their armor. At the beginning of the campaign it was decided to use the older equipment first, saving the newer machines for future operations. They deployed over 400 of the old Soviet T-34s they had in inventory. While the trusty tank had been the mainstay of the Soviet Union during the Great Patriotic War, they did little more than protect the soldiers inside from the bullets of ordinary guns. More modern artillery and hand held rockets went through the old machines as if they were made of paper. Out of the 400 deployed, less than one quarter of them were still serviceable.

Lu Chen needed to leave on a higher note. “One thing I have been able to do, Comrade Chairman, is to have our scientists and engineers go through the air base we overran and start bringing out parts, materials, and intelligence that was not destroyed. Even the remains of the aircraft are valuable for intelligence purposes. Once everything has been gathered, I will provide a report of what we have and its importance. You may do with the information as you wish for the glory of our nation,” he said bowing slightly.

The Chairman thought about it a moment. Yes, that would be a good thing. Anything he could provide that the Chinese had not been able to obtain would be leveraged in the future. He smiled again. “Very good, Comrade Minister. And to share our joy over the fall of Seoul, we shall have a celebration in the Capital. There shall be military parades, fireworks, and feasting. You shall join me in the reviewing stand,” he said. Now send in my secretary so the Party may begin its celebration plans.”

“Yes, Comrade Chairman,” Lu Chen said as he saluted and quickly left the office. The fall of Seoul had been a blessing in that it put the Chairman in a good mood and he was able to forget the endless delays in completing the campaign. This celebration could be a nice diversion. It might mean pulling some troops back for the parades and the expenditure of several weeks’ worth of food rations, but his people needed a slight break anyway. He would hold on the southern advance and shift units west to sweep around the lower half of the peninsula. The planned capture of the Kunsan Air Base would bring the Chairman more happiness culminating in the final downfall of enemy opposition. The objective was now in sight and he was reaching for it.

The giant ships arrived on station late in the evening. Their arrival was not marked with any fanfare, signals, or even a wave from some passing sailor. Instead it was met with total silence, which was what these ships had been built for. Originally, they were supposed to lie deep and await a signal that would spell Armageddon for any nation that opposed them, but over the years their mission changed. Like the battleships of old, their names represented states of the Union; in this case, Ohio and Michigan. In the early part of the century they had been overhauled and remodeled to serve in a new function. Instead of carrying submarine-launched ballistic missiles, these updated ships carried 157 conventional or nuclear tipped cruise missiles each. The two ships had been at sea when the EMP took down the rest of their sisters. Now they were on station and ready to show that, although hurt, the United States could still bloody a nose.

In each control room, the exercises were run again and again so there would be no flaws in the launches. Timing was crucial. The plan was everything would happen at once. Launches were backed down to fit the schedule. Although the Global Positioning Systems in the Tomahawk cruise missiles were no longer functioning since the satellites were silent, the terrain mapping functions for the missiles was working perfectly. The targets had already been fed into the missiles with only a few untargeted to be used for new opportunities.

Now it was time for the Ohio’s to do what they did best — look like a hole in the ocean. Each ship settled within a sector they were assigned and waited. One was on the east coast, the other on the west. When the time came, they would pull almost a reverse of what the North Koreans had done just four months earlier.

A little over 200 miles away Lieutenant Ross Turner was completing a little task of his own. The leader of a small contingent of SEAL Team Six, he had been assigned the task of clearing the mines out of Wonson harbor. It had taken days to completely map out his targets. The problem wasn’t the sharks, murky water, or reduced visibility. Quite the contrary, the water was surprisingly clear — so clear that there was danger of being seen either from a plane or from shore. That meant they had to dive in the evenings or at night. That wasn’t so much of a problem except that it was difficult to find the targets in the dark. They didn’t dare risk using lights.

Chief Pullam came up with an idea shortly after they arrived. Using a thin line strung between two divers, they made their way through the deep water until the divers felt something snag the line. Then both men cautiously came together until they were confronted with their target — a contact mine. The North Koreans had dropped more than 100 of the things in the waters off Inchon at the sea entrance to Seoul. If anyone was to get in or out, the mines would have to be cleared. Turner and five other men were assigned the task to do just that. He waited as Petty Officer Byron placed the plastic charge against the bottom of the mine and attached a detonator. The detonator was hooked to a small black box. Once everything was secure, Turner used his fingers to make sure everything was set, then the men swam off, spread the line and began the process all over again. The next mine was about 100 yards away on a bearing of 275 degrees according to the chart they made earlier in the week.

Every half hour the men surfaced and recharged their rebreathers. The men didn’t use scuba gear. The bubbles would give their positions away. Instead they were using a device that allowed them to rebreathe their own air. This eliminated the bubbles and the need to refill empty air tanks from a compressor. Periodically they had to surface, and change out a canister, replenishing their air and dive again. They didn’t have to dive deep. Inchon was a shallow area and contact mines had to be near the surface for a ship to hit them.

One after another the mines were located and the charges placed. As the early dawn began to lighten the sky, the six men emerged unseen onto a small island in the bay. They crawled into the thick scrub to a small hollowed area under a canopy of trees and underbrush where they ate and set a watch. Then the men slept.

Turner lay back and listened to the birds sing in the trees. It was so peaceful here. Rarely was there a sound of machinery or war. If they hadn’t been afraid of being shot, it would have been nice to go back down to the beach and get a tan. He glanced over at the men with him. Petty Officer Dunn was seated so that his head was just above the bushes, giving him a good view around the island. He seemed alert. His eyes darted back and forth and his head turned to cover all 360 degrees of his surroundings. Chief Pullam was already sawing wood. It never ceased to amaze Turner that the Chief could fall deeply asleep whenever the opportunity arose, yet be fully awake at the slightest touch. The rest were cuddled up as best they could in the early morning coolness.

They had been lucky. The C-130 dropped them and their gear off within a mile of the island in the dead of night. Since the fall of Seoul just a few days before, no activity was anywhere near them. The airports were closed and even the fishing boats rarely ventured out. A larger island was a couple of miles away, but this one was made up of a rocky hill full of vegetation. It was not more than 600 yards in any particular direction, and there was not a soul on it except for the SEALs. The rocky outcroppings along the shore had been a perfect place to hide their inflatable boats and the rest of their gear. Each boat had a small electric motor to help get the men around. The batteries were hooked to high efficiency, portable solar panels that recharged them during the day.

One other piece of luck had been the discovery of an empty, rusting grain barge anchored near the center of the bay. It was partially submerged through neglect. No top covered the open hold and over time water had washed in and was freely moving inside. The barge itself was still relatively solid. After watching the barge during the first day and seeing no one disturbing it, Turner and the others crawled aboard the first night and made sure it was secure. Finding a small compartment in one end that was dry, they placed half of their explosives and diving gear inside and re-secured the hatch so that it looked like it hadn’t been touched. Chief Pullam had set a charge on the equipment so that if the North found it, the charge would go off killing the finder and sinking the barge, eliminating the evidence. So far, no one had even glanced at the thing. The team used the materials on the barge first, then resupplied from the island.

Now the team was almost finished. Turner figured one last night of work would do it. Their orders were to complete the mission and be extracted by some kind of ship the Navy would be sending. They would set up a small receiver on the barge and a sonar transducer underneath to signal the detonations. By then, Turner and his team planned to be long gone.

Hawaii had been a rendezvous with several ships. Now the entire surface task force was together and on its way. The rendezvous had been over a week ago. Vice Admiral Thacke surveyed the ships around them in his command center. It wasn’t something he thought he would ever see. Battleships and gun cruisers formed the central core of the formation, with old missile cruisers and a sprinkling of newer ships forming the outer screen. The newer ships had been drawn from those deployed or out to sea during the EMP attack. There were enough missiles and parts to keep them operational. A few had been brought back on line in time to join in. Thacke liked the fact that if needed, his missile ships could provide adequate protection. The older Belknap Class missile cruisers had been scraped together from mothballed fleets in San Francisco and along the east coast. Built mostly in the 1960s, the technology was old but the missiles themselves were of a newer design. Raytheon, General Dynamics, and a few others pulled out the stops to bring out the old missiles and get them back online. In some cases they dug out the templates and stamps manufacturing new missiles to meet the old designs. The Navy was warned to use the things sparingly since it took time to build them, but they were working on a small stockpile. The old Adams class DDGs had been the easiest. They could fire the SM-1s still in inventory.

“I’m going up to the bridge and walk around some,” Thacke said. He then left the flag bridge and went up one level to the pilot house. Captain Hammond was sitting in his seat talking on the telephone.

“Look, I don’t care what it takes. Get that system back online ASAP,” he said. After a pause, he continued. “That’s okay with me; I doubt the Admiral will squeal either. Just let me know when it gets done,” he said hanging up the phone.

Hammond stood for the Admiral but was motioned to sit back down. “Problem?” Thacke asked.

“Spot One is down. Weaps says it’s some sort of brush in the servo that sends the signal down to the computer. As usual, no spares, but he says Skelly has a fix. So they’ll get back to me,” Hammond said.

“So I won’t squeal?”

Hammond shrugged. “I figure you won’t care as long as the system works.”

Thacke nodded. “Quite correct, Captain. I was told you plan on running some kind of drill?”

“Yes, sir, a fire drill. We're going to take it all the way so I let your watch officer know. That shouldn’t interfere with anything you have, should it?”

Thacke shook his head. “No, go ahead. By the way, I liked your ideas for our mini-refresher training out here. It’s getting everybody on their toes in a short period of time. My Chief of Staff coming from one of the training units didn’t hurt. He’s acting like a chess master maneuvering things around a board. He wants to pull the heavies off and have a short gun shoot tomorrow. It’s a good idea and will let the guys get a look at what we have here,” Thacke said.

He looked around at the orderliness of the bridge and its smooth operation. Hammond had taken over and done a great job of getting his ship ready. “You and Bill came up with a good plan for the distribution of forces. I went over it again this morning. Bill’s going to get it typed up as a battle plan and we will go over it at the commander’s meeting day after tomorrow. It fits well with Richardson’s overall plan for the invasion and appears to give the support needed to pull it off well. I’ll get it transmitted from Guam via the broadcast after the meeting.”

“Sounds good,” Hammond replied. “Which group do you want us in?”

“Pusan. That’s where we need the concentration. From what I hear, everywhere else will be pretty much controlled by the North by then. I got a message this morning saying we can use Sasebo for our refueling and replenishment. That should make a quick turnaround.”

“I’m still worried about that. I could empty this thing in a day of hard shooting. By the time we get to Sasebo and onload, then come back again and shoot then onload again, my guys are going to be dead. I can’t keep them going forever,” Hammond said.

Thacke nodded. “I know, it may take a little bit, but once the landings are completed and the Army gets its act together we should have time for some rotation and crew relief. I figure the first thirty days will be a bear, but then slacken off considerably. I’m also counting on a few things I know are coming that will give us a break. Sorry I can’t share, but it will help a lot.”

The bitch box crackled to life in front of the men. “Bridge, main control, we have a Class Bravo fire in number two fireroom. I say again, we have a Class Bravo fire in number two fireroom.”

The OOD pressed the button. “Is this a drill?”

“Negative, this is not a drill goddamnit!”

The OOD turned to the Bos’n’s Mate. “Boats, Class Bravo fire in number two fire room, sound general quarters!”

The Bos’n flipped the switches and blew his call. “This is not a drill, this is not a drill, fire, fire, fire. Class Bravo fire in number two fireroom. Away the damage control parties Repair Four provide. General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations. Set Condition Zebra throughout the ship.” He turned the switch on a red painted box next to the console. The general quarters alarm sounded throughout the ship and from everywhere, men dropped what they were doing and sprinted to their general quarters stations.

Thacke stood back out of the way as Hammond was on his feet calling down to main control via the phone. The Cheng immediately answered.

“Cheng, what have you got?

“A fuel line to the number three burner head ruptured and started spreading oil everywhere, Captain. As the Chief was calling it in, the stuff ignited. They got the fuel shut down to the boiler, but the remainder is burning in the bilges and along the boiler facing. I got burn casualties,” the Cheng said quickly.

“The DC parties should be there pretty quick. I’ll get the docs to take care of your guys. Go ahead and have your guys isolate number two and cross connect until we have the fires out and a boiler back online. Do what you need to do, Cheng,” Hammond said.

“Hang on, the fires are out, Captain. The twin agent system worked. Let me get some things taken care of and I’ll get back to you,” he said. The telephone line went dead.

“OOD, call sick bay and have them ready for some burn casualties. If they need the wardroom, it’s theirs,” Hammond barked. He turned to Thacke. “Fuel line burst. Fire’s out, but there’s some oil in the bilge and some burn casualties. We’ll be okay.”

“Quick action, Captain. You’re going to need help with those burn casualties,” Thacke said.

“Yeah, but I need to find out how bad it is.”

“DC Central reports the fire is out, four casualties, all on the way to sick bay. Reflash watch is set. The DCA recommends we shut down number two fireroom until they can clean it up and inspect the other fuel lines. Blackie says there’s not much oil in the bilge and has put a layer of foam on it just in case. He said he is getting the wicks from the spill kit to get the oil out. He also said the boiler itself is probably not damaged,” the OOD reported.

“Very well,” said the Captain. He glanced at the Admiral and gave a little sigh.

The XO entered the pilot house. He was blackened with soot and sweating like a horse, but his eyes were blazing from the adrenaline. “Fire’s out, Captain. The Chief and three other guys got second and third degree burns. The rest were singed but okay. Petty Officer Owens got it the worst. He was trying to staunch the oil flow with a rag when it went off. The top watch hit the cutoff valve to stop the fuel flow, but not before it really ate up Owens’ hands and face. Fireman Maxwell grabbed the twin agent hose and let her rip. That snuffed the fire. Repair 4 is on scene and overhauling it,” he said. “We were lucky. The guys caught it very quick. I was down in Main Control when it happened. They did good,” he said with a grin.

The bitch box crackled again. “Bridge, Main Control. Is the Captain there?” It was the voice of Commander Kimberlain, the Chief Engineer.

Hammond pressed the button. “Go ahead, Cheng.”

“Okay, everything is under control down here. We’re bringing 1 Bravo boiler online to compensate and have cross connected the forward group to maintain propulsion and electricity. We’ve got most of the smoke out now and the DCA is checking it all out. It appears there’s not much damage. I’ll have a crew on it right after Blackie says go. The Chief and two of the guys have second degree burns, but Owens is pretty bad. Doc is working on him now. We may need to get him ashore captain,” CHENG said.

Hammond looked at Thacke. “Tomorrow evening I can have the helo fly him in early,” Thacke said.

“Taken care of, Cheng. The XO is here and giving me a brief. Let me know whatever else you need.”

“Will do, sir.”

“I’m going down to Sick Bay. Go ahead and secure from general quarters,” he said to the OOD as he left the bridge. The XO was right behind him. Thacke watched them go and asked the OOD to let his staff know if they needed anything.

Sick Bay was deep inside the ship between turrets one and two. As the men climbed through the scuttles and hatches, the air felt thicker and a thin layer of smoke still hung in the air. As they entered sick bay the captain saw Chief Houck sitting at a dressing station. He had some bubbled skin on his hands and arms. A corpsman named Grotke was putting a light bandage on the wounds. Houck smiled at the Captain as he entered. Hammond walked over to him and noticed he had no eyebrows and some of his hair was gone.

Hammond pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. “You going to be okay?”

The Chief let out a coarse laugh. “Shit. It’ll take more’n that to kill me. The damn fuel line just let go Captain. There weren’t any leaks or anything, just one second dry and the next there was oil spraying everywhere. I’m not sure where the spark came from, but we were replacing the burner tips when it happened. There might have been a little blowback. Anyway, Owen grabbed his rag and was wrapping it around the line when it all went off,” he said. He then pointed behind him. “Doc’s looking at him now. Fireman Maxwell saved our bacon. He grabbed the twin agent hoses and let go with a couple good bursts of PKP while he shot some foam along the boiler face. It didn’t take long. The other guys are okay, just some minor stuff. I tried to help Owens and caught a couple of flashes before the fire went out,” he said with a grin on his face.

Hammond looked over at the corpsman. The man was finishing up with the loose bandage. “He’s going to be okay, Captain, but it got his arms and hands. Normal times I would send him ashore,” the corpsman said.

The Chief looked over at the corpsman. “Bullshit. I ain’t leaving this ship. I got to go back and get that fireroom in shape. This will heal up okay,” he said lifting his arms and waving them around.

The corpsman raised his hand. “Hang on, Chief. I’m not saying you have to go. But if you want those arms to stay on, you need to keep them still.” The corpsman placed a sling around his head and eased an arm into it. “You need to let these arms rest. Don’t pop the blisters and don’t put anything on them. They’re going to hurt like hell for a few days. I’ll get you a few pills to take for that. The main thing is you stay inside and in the Chief’s Quarters. Come back every morning and afternoon for us to re-bandage and look you over. For now, I need you to lie down in one of our racks and just rest,” he said.

The Chief started to protest, but Hammond stopped him. “Chief, he’s right. If you follow your instructions to the letter, I’ll see about letting you stay aboard for the show. But if you give any problems the deal’s off. Now lie down and let us get some work done.”

The Chief deflated and said, “Aye, sir.” He was led to a bed to rest. Hammond watched him leave and asked the corpsman, “Can he stay?”

The corpsman grinned. “Probably. The burns aren’t that bad. We can handle it unless he gets an infection. He’s going to hurt for a while, though. Probably won’t help his disposition,” the young man said smiling.

Hammond smiled at the man. “Good job. Where’s the Doc?”

“In surgery. They are using it for Owens. The place needs to be sterile. Come on, sir.” The corpsman took the Captain over, helped him into a sterile gown, and placed a mask on his face. The Captain entered the surgery space. Two doctors and two corpsmen were standing over Owens cleaning where they could and applying sterile dressings over the exposed flesh. He was bathed in light revealing all the terrible details. Owens’ uniform had been cut away and he lay naked on the table. The dungarees protected his legs and torso. Even his chest was red but relatively unhurt. The rest was a different matter. Owens’ face was blackened and peeling. His arms and hands were much the same. The flames had burned him deeply in several places and his skin seemed to be dripping off him. In some cases, the doctor removed the skin completely. They were covering everything with coated gauze to protect the flesh underneath.

Doc Dickerson had seen a lot in his 40 years of medical service. He had come out of retirement to return to this ship, but he never imagined he would see someone with injuries like this again. Luckily, he knew exactly what to do. He noticed the Captain come in and motioned him over. Owens had patches over both eyes and his breathing was rough. “He’s under, Captain,” Dickerson said quietly as he worked. “I’m going to keep him alive, but he needs to get to a burn center as soon as possible.”

He looked over at the Captain. The eyes said it all — the shock, the concern, the helplessness, and the desire to help one of his own. Dickerson had been through many commands. The good ones always had that look, he thought to himself. “I’m not sure how much he will ever be able to use his arms and hands again. The fingers are pretty much gone on one hand,” he said.

Hammond looked at the man’s fingers. They had been burned down to the bone in four cases. The other doctor was working on his left hand, wrapping each digit with the gauze. Hammond started to feel a little queasy and looked back at the boy’s face instead.

Dickerson followed his eyes. “He will require a lot of cosmetic surgery after this. Skin grafts and a lot of therapy. Luckily the rest of his body is okay. They can get the grafts from there. My big concern is infection. About one fourth of his body is without its protective layer. This gauze helps a lot. It’s coated with antibiotics. But the sooner we can get real skin back on, the better he’ll be. I’m also concerned how much he breathed in. His lungs have some fluid in them. I’m hoping it’s mostly from smoke and not fire. If they’re burned, he won’t last the night. I plan on keeping him asleep. He doesn’t need to feel the pain yet and he’ll be easier to transport.”

“The Admiral says we can send him to the beach by helo day after tomorrow. Is that OK or should I speed up?

“How much sooner would we get there?

“Maybe a few hours.”

“Then day after is fine. But if we can, let’s not shake things up much. I would recommend we get there as soon as we can and fly him out. I’ll go with him and meet you there,” the Doc said.

Hammond nodded. “I’ll talk to the Admiral about speeding things up a little and maybe postponing a gunshoot. That will all help. How about the others?” he asked.

“Ask Grotke about the Chief, but the others are ok. This guy is my main concern. Now let me keep working here. I’ll come see you when I’m done,” Dickerson said.

Hammond nodded. “Thanks, Doc,” he said.

Dickerson reached over and squeezed his arm. “We’ll make it,” Dickerson said.

Hammond turned and left the compartment. The other doctor looked up as Dickerson re-gloved. “I like him,” he said.

“He’ll do. Now let’s make this guy well,” Dickerson said as he placed another layer of gauze.

The Admiral increased speed to the maximum for the slowest ships do on just one boiler per shaft. That meant the formation would arrive in helo range eight hours earlier than planned. Owens had a bad night, but he was stable enough to travel. Doc Dickerson kept him heavily sedated and he was wrapped securely for the trip. The SH-60 refueled before landing on the Iowa’s pad early in the morning. Both Owens and Dickerson were loaded aboard and the big doors shut. The hospital was at the far range of the helo’s endurance, but with the severity of the injuries everyone knew it was the best thing to do.

Hammond had seen the men to the helo and stood there until the helicopter was out of sight. Then he made his way back to the pilot house. He never liked losing a crewman. In this case it was an unfortunate accident. The line that ruptured looked substantial, but the one section was thinner than the ends. A sudden jump in pressure or even the vibration associated with the operating boiler probably opened it up. The engineers immediately pounced on the damage. The XO assigned an officer to make a formal investigation and all the people were being interviewed and the parts retrieved. At the same time the damaged line was replaced and the boiler room cleaned. The bilges were totally dried and cleaned and any lagging replaced on the pipes. The Chief Engineer went over the boiler with a fine tooth comb and determined it was ready for operation. Late the next afternoon fires were lit once more and the boiler brought up to operating specifications. Fireman Maxwell was allowed the chance to light the boiler while Chief Houck and the rest of the team watched. Houck and the other two had to leave after lightoff since the heat from the boiler would not help their healing. Hammond swore he almost saw a tear in the Chief’s eye.

Breakfast was a quick affair before a prefire briefing in the wardroom at 0730. Hammond arrived to find the wardroom full of weapons and fire control crewmen as well as representatives from other departments. The Weapons Officer began the briefing.

“Good morning, everyone. As you all know there is a planned GUNNEX this morning at 1000. The ship will be firing along with the battleships North Carolina, Alabama, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Missouri, and Wisconsin. We will be firing BL&P rounds at a killer tomato that will be launched by USS Semmes at a range between 8 and 10 nautical miles. The operation will be accomplished in two phases. First, each ship will be allowed to shoot three ranging rounds. The rounds will be fired in sequence by ship, beginning with the North Carolina and ending with the Wisconsin. Upon completion of this phase the formation will fire three broadsides at the target, one broadside at a time, at the direction of the Division Commander. All ships will fire the broadsides together. A helo will be in the air to take photographs. Our journalists and photographers will be allowed to ride the helo for the photo op. Prefire checks will be conducted immediately following this briefing. We will be using the standard six bag configuration….

The briefing droned on listing the types of ammunition, special precautions, and any possible changes as may be directed such as changes in course or speed. After thirty minutes, the briefing was finishing up when it came the Captain’s turn to speak.

“Gentlemen, this is Iowa’s chance to shine. Let’s get rounds on target. But most of all, let’s make sure we’re safe. Remember, no metal in the turrets or magazines. If anyone sees anything suspicious, sing out and stop the exercise. Keep in mind the forty-seven crewmen still with us in turret two. Keep this safe.” He looked out at the men there. “We’re getting close. I will share with you that in just a few days this ship will be in action. What we do each day brings us closer to being ready.” Hammond looked around. “This ship of ours has seen almost a quarter of the history of the United States. And every time she takes part, she has proven her worth. It’s a great reputation to live up to.” He smiled at them. “Fear God and Dreadnought,” he said.

The men got up and began filing out of the room. Hammond turned to Weaps. “What happened to Spot One?”

Weaps called over a Master Chief. “It’s still on the CASREP list but we’re 100 percent,” he said. “The Master Chief had the fix. Tell him about it,” he said to the old smiling face that appeared beside him.

Master Chief Skelly had requested Iowa from the beginning, but had taken the time to get all the ships back up through Newport News. Now he was even sleeping in the rack he had when he had been aboard from '88 on. If there was any fire control system that he knew backwards and forwards, it was the Mk-38 gunfire control system. He beamed at the Captain.

“We had the same problem before, sir. It’s a little lead brush about an inch long and a quarter inch wide that sits against the rotors in the servo. It’s only about as thick as a fingernail. There’s a spring on one end to keep it pressing against the contact. It’s like one of the old generator brushes they had in old cars; just rubs up against the rotor and relays information. That little piece of lead is so soft it is constantly getting worn down and wearing out. The last time I tried to price getting one made it was going to cost thousands. Then one of my first class came up with an idea. That brush is just soft metal. It has to be softer than the steel rotors and still conduct the electricity. So whenever it goes out, we buy a can of Coke and get one of the government ball point pens. We cut out a small strip of the aluminum to match the size of the piece of lead and then take it down to the HTs. They buff the paint and varnish off and then tack weld the spring from the pen to the aluminum. You insert the piece into the old housing and we’re back in business. The thing works good for about six months, then we buy another Coke and destroy another ink pen,” he said.

Hammond looked at the man with admiration. “And it really works?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve even checked to make sure we weren’t damaging the rotors, but everything looks fine. The North Carolina didn’t have any of those old lead brushes. Their system is working, too.”

Hammond nodded. “Not bad. Not bad at all,” he said making his way back to his cabin.

Three hours later the signal flags broke from the main yard. It signaled a “formation one” with ships in order by hull number. After all the heavies acknowledged, the signal was executed. Slowly and almost majestically the old battleships began to maneuver into position forming what was once called a line of battle, one ship ahead of the other until there was but one line of strength. The ships were spaced only 1,000 yards apart. On the Iowa’s fantail, a small remote controlled aircraft that had been supplied by the Israelis was started and warmed up. When all was ready, a small rocket launched the frail looking aircraft into the sky and it turned toward USS Semmes in the distance.

When ready, USS Semmes, a DDG on a parallel course slightly ahead of the ships, let go the “killer tomato” — a red target balloon 10 feet in diameter that floated on top of the water. A small helium-filled balloon on a tether was attached to the tomato. It had radar reflectors to help the fire control systems lock on. For the first time since getting underway, the powerful fire control radars were switched on. Inside the directors the men were already tracking the tomato using their optical sights. They determined the range to be 9.16 miles. The radar range matched the optics. Using signal flags, Admiral Thacke’s staff began the exercise. Far ahead, the guns of the North Carolina swung from their centerline position and rose toward their target. A gout of flame erupted and a loud bang was heard in the distance as one of the North Carolina’s guns fired. Almost thirty seconds later a tall column of water rose within 200 yards of the balloon. A minute later, after corrections were dialed into the computer, a second round was fired. This one landed within 100 yards. The third round was closer still.

Ship by ship the battleships tested their systems. When Iowa’s turn came, everyone not on watch was topside to see the spectacle. The Iowa’s guns turned on their roller paths and elevated. A buzzer was heard sounding. On the third one the center gun from turret one belched forth its projectile. Deep in the ship the crew of the remotely piloted vehicle watched the television screen to see where the round went. It splashed very close to the balloon. One of the crewmen placed the tip of a light pin on the splash point and the offset information was fed into the computers. The buzzer began sounding again. This time, the center gun of turret two fired. With everyone watching, the projectile sailed through the atmosphere making a sound like linen being torn in a long sheet. To everyone’s amazement, the projectile passed through the center of the killer tomato, causing the balloon to tear into pieces and float near the surface for a while.

“Damn!” came the voice of Admiral Thacke as he stood on the bridge next to Hammond. This was his first gunshoot and this kind of gunnery was rare indeed. “I sure hope the Semmes has that other balloon ready,” he said.

It took nearly thirty minutes for the next balloon to be put in the water and for the Semmes to get out of the way. Iowa’s third round was so close the balloon was lifted out of the water for a second, coming back down but still afloat. The firing continued down the line with no one else able to be anywhere near as close.

Phase one ended. A “turn port 180” signal was executed and all the ships turned together 180 degrees so they could pass the target again. The staff raised the signal to engage and put it at the dip. All the ship’s guns now turned in the opposite direction and pointed toward the small red dot in the distance. The signal was executed. The entire line of battleships erupt in flame as the great guns unleashed their might. The sound was ear splitting — a deep and heavy bang that threw a concussion through the air that flattened the waves around the ships where they were pointed. Great columns of water rose from all around the target balloon as the 1,900 pound projectiles slammed into the water. Yet, when the sheets of liquid finally settled, the tomato was still there.

The staff ordered a new course change, taking the great ships even farther from the tomato. At a range of 18 miles the barrels of the guns were angled up nearly 40 degrees. Again, following the orders of the Division Commander, the line of guns erupted. This time, the Admiral followed the Captain to Strike where they could see the screen of the RPV. The rounds all fell within 200 yards of the target. Once again, one round pierced the balloon slinging the remnants across the water and calling an end to the exercise.

Later that evening, the images taken by the photographers were downloaded from the electronic cameras. They clearly showed in vivid detail the devastating power that was about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting enemy.

The attack was coming in earnest now. South Korean units had discovered a marshalling area just behind the lines where units were resting up and getting ready for another assault. For some reason, the North decided to take a breather and the constant level of attack had been reduced to just sporadic engagements as the lines firmed up and positions were adjusted. During the brief rest, some South Korean scouts found a hole in the line and a decision was made to take advantage of it. Peterson, now promoted to a Lieutenant Colonel, was chosen to lead the raid because of his ability to inflict the maximum damage to the enemy without a corresponding loss of life. He selected the people he would take with care. Hufham and Ricks had been a foregone conclusion. Between them, they gathered thirty men and women. These included some mortar artillery, demolitions experts, and infantry who were good in both weapons and hand-to-hand action.

The equipment was hard to dig up. The Americans and South Koreans were expending ordnance at an alarming rate. Resupply kept them going, but the supply did not kept pace with the demand. In most cases, soldiers improvised with whatever materials they had to slow the enemy’s progress. Ricks commandeered a supply of explosives from an engineering company and made up a number of pipe bombs, hand-placed explosives, and all the Molotov Cocktails that they could carry with them. The cocktails were set up after he had gone to Su Lynn and asked the people in her facility to help him round up all the glass bottles and jars they could find. Within a day, they responded with over 200 containers of all kinds. Many couldn’t be used, but most were perfect for what Ricks had planned. The bottles and jars were fashioned with cloth wicks and placed in some ammo boxes that were lying around. They would be filled with gasoline or other fuel later.

Late the next evening the raiding party silently made its way through the line, passing through a drainage culvert part of the way and ending up in a wooded area on the outside of town. Using everything they learned in a six-hour crash course of covert ops, the soldiers moved through the trees and brush without much of a sound. Crossing over several hills, they finally saw their objective — several groups of tanks and other heavy equipment and dozens of tents spread out along a secluded valley. It was a good spot to remain protected from the action. Hills were on three sides with the opening facing the north. A few lights were on as people worked on some of the machines and others stood guard. What looked like a central command area had lots of telephone and power lines running in and out, lights on inside the tents and occasionally someone walking around. Sentries were positioned around the camp and patrols were making their way constantly between posts. Additional sentries were placed on the hilltops surrounding the camp. Peterson and his men nearly stumbled on one of the patrols. Fortunately the soldier was not paying as much attention as he should and Peterson’s people blended into the night as the soldier passed.

Peterson planned his attack based on where the enemy would not be looking — the northern entrance to the valley. It took the men another hour to make their way around to the entrance. Once there, they waited near the one sentry post for the roving patrol to check in and leave. Once done, the sentry was taken out swiftly and silently by one of the men. A South Korean soldier took his place after donning part of the uniform. The remainder of the raiding party passed through the line and into the valley.

Peterson looked around the encampment and pulled Hufham and Ricks in. “Look, I don’t want a single one of these people to get out of this valley alive. I want to put my mortar crews up a little higher on the hill on either side. Hufham, take some of the guys over to the left toward the main camp area and start using those Molotovs. I think I spotted a fuel truck and some cans over that direction. Ricks, you take some to the right and hit those. But before then, I think you need to place some of your explosives on the nearest tanks so that when the time comes they block the escape. Then place a few more on anything of value. Concentrate everything along the entrance so that they tend to keep people in. Then have your people shoot anything that moves in those camps. The big thing is to keep these people and machines out of the war. Once we have this place burning really good, have all your people regroup here and we’ll get out,” he said quickly. Checking their watches, they decided to wait on Ricks’ charges to go off to begin their attack.

The men moved off quickly. Ricks found a small gasoline store near one of the trucks and his men walked off with about fifty gallons of the fuel. They made their way up the hill and began quickly filling the containers and soaking the wicks. They spread out and waited. Ricks and six men took several packs full of explosives and made their way toward the tank farm near the entrance. Several different kinds of tanks were there, from the old T-34s to the newer Type 59s. But what caught Ricks’ eye were the rocket artillery launchers. The North had more than twenty of the things and they could wreak havoc on the Allied lines. Carefully, the men crept up to each launcher and placed a packet of plastic explosive between two of the tubes. Ricks set a manual timer on each and they moved on. They were interrupted three times as a sentry walked through the line of machines. On two occasions the sentry walked no farther as Ricks dispatched each silently and returned to his task. On the tanks, Ricks molded the explosives so they were packed tightly along the turret ring of the tank under the main gun.

It took thirty minutes to complete the task. Ricks and his men eased back to the right side of the hill where his people were waiting. Along the way they found the ammunition trucks holding the extra rockets and gun ammo. Ricks cursed himself for using the last of his explosives and timers on the tanks. All he had left was dynamite with fuses which had to be lit. There was no way to time that and no time to get word to the mortar crews. Ricks and his men were just over 100 yards away when the first charges went off with a deafening roar.

One after another the rocket launchers seemed to disintegrate as the charges not only destroyed the tubes, but also set off all the rockets. The rockets not actually destroyed went off in their tubes, flying forward and striking some of the tent areas in front of them. Ricks watched as arcs of flame seemed to make their way into the tent encampments from a variety of places along the hill. Coming down in the camp, the Molotov Cocktails smashed into tents and along the ground, splashing the fuel everywhere as the wick ignited it. Men awoke from their sleep to find their tents and equipment on fire. They rushed out as a second volley came arcing overhead. This time the soldiers were splashed with the liquid and they began running through the camp setting more things afire.

The mortar crews added their own strength to the attack, sending their charges crashing down on the tops of the tanks in the center of the compound and then spreading out to hit all the area. Just one minute after the attack began the last of Ricks’ charges exploded under the tank turrets. The plastic explosives blew the turrets off seven tanks and damaged the rest. It had been a great show.

But the North Koreans were now fully awake and grabbing what weapons they could. By now the fires illuminated the entire valley and the allied force found itself exposed. The men and women began taking cover and firing at anything that moved in the tent encampments. Ricks saw his opportunity. Grabbing several bundles of dynamite, he raced down into the inferno to the ammunition trucks that were apart from the rest. At a dead run, he charged in, lighting the fuses and tossing them into the back of each truck.

The North Korean soldiers saw him and were concentrating on making sure he never returned home. He dashed behind one tent to find several soldiers standing there with rifles. Ricks opened up with his M-16 taking them down in a spray of bullets. Seconds later, he came upon one officer urging on two men. They too were taken down by what some thought was a wild demon charging through the camp.

The dynamite went off in the first truck, setting off all the other munitions. The blast knocked Ricks to the ground along with twenty other North Koreans trying to get out of the camp. Once again Ricks opened up and mowed down most of them, but not without one round grazing Ricks’ left arm. He rolled behind several crates as bullets struck the ground around him. Glancing around the corner, he saw the other men had taken refuge behind some drums. Ricks pulled out his only grenade and pulled the pin, lobbing the grenade toward the soldiers then bracing against some crates.

The grenade went off in front of the barrels, its shrapnel piercing the sides and igniting the diesel fuel. A gout of flame poured skyward, drenching everyone in the area with burning oil. Ricks dashed towards the area where his men had been stationed, firing into several small groups of North Koreans trying to get out as well. Seeing several of his people firing into the compound, he motioned for them to start making their way out. As they passed by his position, he saw that several were wounded. Giving orders to gather at the kick off point, he dashed back along the hill and found two of his men who had been hurt and were struggling to get back. Ricks slung his weapon and got between the two men, helping them along the trail and out of danger. At one point, they had been pinned down until others in the squad opened up from the side and took out the soldiers firing at them.

Once back, Ricks was still one short. Urging his men back toward the valley entrance, Ricks went back into the inferno. After a few minutes he noticed a movement to his right and saw Private Walker behind a large stone. He had been hit in the leg and could tell it was broken.

“Always getting in trouble, huh?” Ricks said as he crouched beside the young man. He felt around his lower leg and watched the grimace on Walker’s face. “We got to get you out of here. If I help, can you move?”

Walker’s face was illuminated by the fires in the compound, but his eyes shot Ricks a give me a break look. “Give me a hand and I’ll walk on my knees if I have to,” he growled. Ricks jerked Walker up and threw Walker’s arm over his shoulder. The two men hobbled off as fast as they could. It was a slow process. They were now getting fire from several places in the compound. The two men dashed back and forth behind what cover they could find, with Walker’s leg dangling behind them. Another massive explosion shook the ground and Ricks took advantage of the confusion to move farther down the path. When it seemed there was no way out, the brush erupted in gunfire. Ricks threw Walker down and moved his body over him to protect him from the onslaught. Then he felt several sets of hands grab him and pull him back.

“Get moving! I’m not going to carry your ass,” Hufham shouted as several men moved the two of them to the safety of the valley entrance.

The men moved another hundred yards when a line of flames seemed to spread behind them. Lt. Colonel Peterson and his men had laid out a line of barrels and opened them up. On signal, the line was ignited, covering their escape. The men gathered what was left and moved back around the hills to the culvert three klicks away. All during their escape, the men heard additional explosions and the ground shook from the destruction they had caused. It was a tired group of men and women who came out of the other end of the culvert into the early morning sunlight. Peterson started out with thirty people. Only nineteen came back.

Lt. Colonel Peterson watched the men and women trudge past him toward the small building where they would rest. Already the medics were working on the most seriously wounded. The last one out of the culvert was Ricks. Peterson gazed at a man who looked old beyond his years. The look was one of exhaustion. His eyes were sunken, his stare vacant. He was walking with a slight limp and a slouch, as if he was already asleep but his body continued on instinct. Peterson waved slightly and Ricks looked over and smiled. That was when Peterson noticed the holes. Ricks’ flack vest had four holes in it along his chest; one along his left arm where there was some bleeding. The final hole was in Ricks’ helmet. It had gouged out a line at least five inches long. As Ricks passed, Peterson took step beside him. “You’re bound and determined to get yourself killed, aren’t you?” he said to Ricks.

“Nah. Trouble just seems to follow me,” Ricks said.

“I saw you going after those trucks. I also saw you taking on a few squads of soldiers all by yourself. It looked like you were looking for trouble to me. And what was all that running back into that place?”

“Had to get my guys out. You knew I was a Boy Scout didn’t you, sir?” Ricks joked.

Peterson chuckled. “Just get your ass to a medic and get that arm looked at. Then get some sleep. I have a feeling we really pissed them off last night.”

“No arguments from me,” Ricks said. The men walked into an old gym where the others were being looked over. A medic took Ricks in tow and some others were preparing a hot meal. Peterson walked over to a bird Colonel and sat down with him to report. He was very careful to tell the man what Ricks had done in detail.

Major Dave Adams eased back on the stick and broke away to the right as the KC-135 finished topping off his tanks. In the back, his Electronic Warfare Officer had the gear up and operating. It would take only about thirty minutes before the craft would near the coast of North Korea. He checked his orders again and, at the appointed position, he adjusted the bomber’s heading to move toward the upper east coast of the Korean peninsula. It could have been done by the computer onboard, but Adams just didn’t trust the things anymore. A couple of friends had been in the air on EMP night and they had almost been killed when the computer systems went haywire. Luckily they were both fine pilots and managed to get the ships back on the ground in one piece.

“EWO to pilot, I have begun receiving search radar emissions. Beginning plot.”

“Roger that. Do you think they see us?”

“I doubt it. The systems I’m detecting would have a hard time seeing a B-52.” That brought a chuckle from the rest of the crew. The North Koreans had notoriously old equipment.

“Well, let me know if one of the fire control systems comes up.”

“Roger that.”

Lieutenant Janice Carter had been top in her class at the Electronic Warfare School. But because her vision was far from 20/20, she was relegated to sitting in the back of the plane instead of the front. Her lack of vision was more than made up in her intelligence, however. She built a reputation for being able to pick out the signatures of radars and be able to tell not only where they were, but what they were. In a few cases, she had been able to tell where it had been made. The guys called her a witch behind her back. She loved every minute of it.

Twenty minutes later the bomber turned and began its trip down the Korean coast. By then, Carter identified eighteen air defense radars and plotted their position. As the bomber flew down the coast, she also identified radars on the western coast of the peninsula. By the time they passed into what was South Korea, the radar sites had become less frequent. Only two were operating that night between the old border and Pusan. All of the radars were old Soviet types nearly 40 years old.

Next came the tricky part. Adams banked the bomber toward the coast and reversed his course. Now the plane would be only 100 miles away from shore as it made another run up the coast. Normally this didn’t mean much to the crew since the B-1 was a stealthier aircraft. The next move was something his entire crew thought was absolutely nuts. Adams opened the bomb bay doors for fifteen seconds. Stealth was thrown out the window and five more radars were switched on, including three missile fire control radars looking for the target that suddenly appeared and then disappeared from their screens. Once again, Carter identified the radars and plotted where they were.

“Are we being tracked?” Adams asked.

“No major, they’re looking all over the place for us, but no tracking or lock on. And none of them can track while scanning. I’m reading some 3D stuff and a conical scan, but they don’t see us,” Carter said.

Nervously Adams sat back in his seat and handed off the controls to his co-pilot. He was sweating at the thought of giving his position away. The B-1 was a great plane and had been the first relatively stealthy bomber, but it was not a B-2 and not a plane to flaunt itself. Whoever thought this one up was crazy.

Carter was in her element. The equipment successfully plotted the radars down to one square yard. That would be enough, she thought. Ten minutes later, with the previous units well behind them, she called up the pilot and had the procedure run again. This time eight missile and gun targeting radars came online. They were halfway up the peninsula.

The third time the whole console lit up. Word had come down the line and everyone was waiting for something to appear. The radars searched the sky, sending millions of watts of energy into the air to find whatever was up there. Adams was looking down at the coast when he saw a flash of light and a yellow glow that seemed to be reaching skyward. Punching the engines, he careened the B-1 hard left, toward the coast, but putting his exhaust away from any seeker that might be glued to it. Then he ducked into a cloud and cut the throttles. “Any lock ons?” he shouted.

“Negative. Nothing tracking. Probably heat seeker,” Carter yelled back.

Adams had already figured that. Just before getting into the cloud he saw the missile track away from his plane. The maneuver worked this time. The clouds helped. “Carter have you got all you need?” he asked.

“More than enough Major. Let’s head home.”

Adams checked his systems and turned the airplane to head directly away from North Korea. He accelerated the aircraft past mach 1 and zoomed away. No one else shot at them. Adams finally set the auto-pilot for a return to Guam. The tanker would rendezvous with them over Japan. A few more hours and they would be home. He hoped having the crap scared out of all of them was worth it.

Three hours later, Fleet Broadcast out of Guam sent out a special targeting message that was addressed to three submarines somewhere in the Pacific.

Kee had pulled out of the Chinese terminal eight hours before. His instructions had been explicit. He was to drive through the big tunnel just before 10 pm. Once in the middle, he was to pull a small lever on the dash. He was told it would release a pipe under the truck which would roll out of the way. Under no circumstances was he to stop to retrieve it. As a matter of fact, he was told to get out of the tunnel as fast as possible. Once again, the Chinese had loaded the truck. Once through he would deliver his load as planned and return home. Then something strange had happened. The contact he had been working with leaned in and took his hand. “Please make sure you deliver these packages on time and get as far away as possible. This is the last you will hear from us, I hope we can meet again soon,” he said.

All along the trip Kee had wondered what he was carrying. On one occasion he was tempted to get out and look it over, but the man’s warning made him continue. The tunnel was only ten miles ahead and it was only 9:05. He would make it in time.