Tempered Steel

Chapter 19

The KH-13 reconnaissance satellite lifted off on time and entered Earth orbit just as planned. The large machine made its way over the pole and eventually moved toward Korea. The onboard systems maneuvered the Hubble sized satellite into its fixed orbit and seemingly locked it in place. Solar collectors opened and antennas extended. A small dish antenna pointed itself towards an island in the Aleutians chain.

Luckily the Aleutians had been spared during the EMP attack. The old military base had a large dish antenna and the receivers to pick up the satellite’s signals and relay the information via fiber optic line to Langley. Within ten minutes the satellite reported itself on station and began running the diagnostics to bring itself online.

The KH-13 was far more capable than the venerable KH-11 or KH-12 satellites. In particular, the infrared optics had the capability to make out the very subtle differences in temperature that might indicate an underground bunker or storage facility. Tunnels were a piece of cake. The first orders to the satellite were to aim its infrared sensors and its cameras toward the DMZ. One hour later, the military had answers to where the tunnels and exits were. Two hours later, several underground facilities were identified, not the least of which was a huge warm facility under the Kim Il-Sung Stadium in downtown Pyongyang.

Hammond couldn’t believe his eyes when a new funnel with all its gear was trucked onto the pier. It had already been primed and painted with the exception of the places that would be welded. It looked as if this was a piece to some giant toy model that was just waiting to be cemented into place from a kit. He looked over at the old stack, taken off the ship earlier. It was sitting on the pier beside the new one; mangled and torn. The blast had ripped the steel in several directions and it looked like some kind of cancerous growth. But Hammond had almost hated to see it leave the ship. It had been a part of her since she had been launched and to see it like that hurt inside.

Within minutes the crane was attached to the lifting points on the new funnel. It was lifted gently, moved over the ship, and positioned exactly over where the old one had been. After cutting the old stack away, the grinders had come in and ground the remaining steel down to bare metal so that the new welds would be solid. Positioning spacers had been welded on so that the new funnel would be directed into place easily. The old foreman was using hand signals as the funnel was positioned only fractions of inches from the stump of the old stack to make sure it was exactly where it should be. The funnel lowered until it met its counterpart on the ship. Only very small spacers remained. The welders immediately began to lay beads of welding around the stack to hold it in place. More welders were inside the structure doing the same to the baffles inside. In a few places where the baffles did not meet, the sledge hammers were pulled out and they were forced into position. Then the crane was disconnected and moved away.

The welders attacked the funnel with a purpose now, welding the two pieces together both inside and out, ensuring the welds were perfect. Once done with one section, the grinders came back in and ground the welds down to make them smooth on the outside. Then another crew began slapping red lead paint over the bare metal. A second layer would be added, then a coat of haze grey. The crews were in a hurry. By the next morning, the transmitter/receiver for the RPV would be installed under a fiberglass dome on the forward part of the funnel. When that was complete, the ship would be going back to war.

Every man on the job felt the urgency. Missiles had come twice. The word was the enemy was coming southeast. All of them were determined to get this ship out a quickly as possible before they might be shut down again.

Ricks and his team were watching thousands of people begin to gather across the DMZ from their station. They had called in the information and were told to sit tight and observe until they started coming across, then high tail it. The line of vehicles they had stopped just a few nights before were now an aid to the enemy because they would provide cover for some coming across. Already several strafing and napalm attacks had been made against the people on the other side, but it hadn’t slowed them down. Ricks and the demolition team spent all night setting charges and getting ready for the inevitable.

Hufham dashed across the old road and stopped beside Ricks. “The guys down the way have started seeing them pile up three hundred yards away. This is going to be a big one,” he said looking over the top of some logs they set up for cover.

“You know, I hate giving up this ground again. It’s getting too expensive,” Ricks said.

“See anything new?” Hufham asked.

“Just more people. That napalm attack roasted a bunch of them, but more just filled in after the fires stopped. I don’t hear any tanks or anything, but they sure don’t try and hide themselves. I told the guys not to fire and give away our positions.”

“Good move. No use getting a bunch of guys killed. The trucks and Jeep are waiting. When we go, we set the fuses and take off. I’ll also call it in so the guys down the line can get ready. We got a new General named Richardson who’s calling the shots now. I don’t know the plan, but it sounds to me like they are just going to let these guys in a while,” Hufham said.

“I sure as hell hope they know what they’re doing.”

Across the DMZ someone began yelling at the assembled men. Everything got quiet except for his excited words.

“What’s he saying?” Ricks asked.

“He’s telling them to fight for their country and for their leader Kim Sung Nua. He is telling them about the glory that is theirs and their duty to the state that cares for them.” Hufham paused a minute. “He’s getting ready to sound the charge. Get the men back to the trucks,” he ordered.

Ricks crossed the road at a run and began calling for the men to fall back. Within a minute the thirty guys with them were piling into the trucks. Hufham heard the trucks start farther down at the original compound and knew those soldiers were on their way.

Suddenly the air was filled with the yells of men as they tore down the fence on the northern side and began running across the DMZ. The mines that had not been detonated began exploding under the feet of the soldiers as they ran. Hufham set the detonators and made a mad run to the Jeep as the trucks pulled off. As Ricks drove them away he grabbed the radio.

“Outpost 24 to base, the horde has run. I repeat, the horde has run, over.”

“This is base, message received, get the hell out, over!”

“This is Outpost 24, we are way ahead of you, out,” he shouted into the microphone. A thunderous explosion went off behind them as the charges the men had set went off. Ricks and the demolitions team had filled the North Korean tunnels with as many explosives as they could pack in. It went off just as the first of the North Korean troops arrived at the fenceline. The explosion lifted dirt and debris high into the air and shook the ground so hard Ricks had to fight to control the Jeep. The resulting trenches stopped the advance for a few minutes until they could climb out the other side. More than 100 men had been buried alive just from the debris that was blown over them.

Ricks passed the trucks as they went down the road. They motioned for the drivers to speed up. The fallback line was a full 20 klicks away. As they drove, they met up with other units coming in from the Z. MPs on the ground were directing the traffic and urging the trucks forward. The whole line of trucks was being directed southeast away from the Z following the valleys between the hills. As they went, Hufham glanced at the speedometer and saw Ricks was going nearly 60 miles per hour. Fighter jets screamed overhead moving to where they had just left. Then came the Warthogs. It looked like 200 or more had sailed over the hill they were passing. The sound of explosions was heard behind them.

Ricks kept his eyes on the rearview mirror to make sure he kept his people in view. The trucks were keeping up. None of them wanted to be caught by that wave of angry soldiers. Just before they came to their lines, Ricks and Hufham saw the aircraft returning without the bombs they had been carrying. They were passed by more heading in the opposite direction.

As Ricks came around the far side of a hill both men looked in astonishment at what was in front of them. It was like a military brick wall. Tanks, guns, emplacements, missile launchers, artillery, and more were assembled. It was thick with people and munitions. The line slowed as they were let through the gauntlet. Ricks pulled over and waited for his trucks to come through. They were the last ones on the road.

“Are you guys the last?” the sentry at the line asked.

“As far as I know,” Ricks said. “The next thing you see will probably be the whole North Korean Army,” he said as he pulled the Jeep away.

RADM Shranski and his team were going over their findings. The Iowa got underway late that afternoon and was steaming north at flank speed to join the others off the Korean coast. The orders were to patrol just south of Wonsan to Yangyang, a distance of only 100 miles. With four battleships on station, that left only a twenty-five mile patrol area for each ship and it would take only a couple of hours for the others to join up if needed. Shranski and his team had decided to stay aboard and finish the job. If they had to remain onboard for a few extra days it was no problem. Their report could be sent by message. Shranski sat at the head of the table in his cabin.

“I went over all the logs and interviewed the Strike watch,” said Captain Scott Bass, the Chief of Staff. “Everything was done in accordance with policy and regulations with the exception that the Captain ordered the ship into danger. He took all the precautions and all of his orders were valid,” he said. “I worked up this chronology from the team members. We know what was done and when.”

“So nothing out of order from your side,” Shranski stated.

“That’s right, Admiral. The crew, from what I see, did a magnificent job and the Captain put it on the line.”

“What about the bridge crew?”

“All interviewed,” said LCDR Reynolds. “The XO took the deck and conn just as the Captain gave the order. He knows how to handle the ship. Placed her in the right place to take on those missiles. I also looked into Weapons. The Weapons Officer had the 5-inch guns engage even though the onboard computers couldn’t generate solutions for aircraft going that fast. He had trained the gun captains to fire locally. The Mk-37 system locked on and tracked while the gun captains just led the missiles visually. They used VT-FRAG rounds and actually shot down one missile. The CIWS got one, but didn’t designate to the second. After looking at the data, the missiles were practically lined up together, so they didn’t break out. The crew did its job properly. All PQS and PMS are on the money,” he said. The Personal Qualifications System and the Planned Maintenance System set the standard for training and maintenance on the ship.

Shranski nodded. “Damage Control?”

“PQS is perfect. PMS on the gear is the same,” said Commander Sharpe. “They are constantly running drills and the repair parties know their stuff top to bottom. They responded within thirty seconds of the hits with the proper gear and got the job done very quickly. I took a look at where the missiles hit. The wooden deck both forward and aft is filled with shrapnel from the missiles. We all saw the funnel. There is a little deep scoring on turret one from the missile hit and there was paint scraping. The same was found on the barbette on three. Hot damn these things can take a beating. Knowing what this ship can take, I think Captain Hammond could take the missiles on without much fear of losing either the ship or crew. It’s one of the best trained crews I have ever seen.”

“I’ll second that,” said Commander Parsons, an engineering duty officer. “Every crewman I talked to is knowledgeable and highly motivated. They think Hammond is the best thing since sliced bread. He shares information with them and is fair all round. Even the old guys like this captain. I found out he makes rounds every day and stops by to talk to nearly every crewman he sees. Even the guys he’s nailed at Captain’s Mast like the guy. The engineers usually just get their job done and sleep, but he comes down and talks to the snipes. The Chiefs like him coming down and just asking one of the younger guys to tell him how his equipment works. Hammond already knows, but it gives him a good idea of what training needs to be done and makes the snipes feel better about themselves. If you let me, Admiral, I’ll stay and do top watches again,” he said.

Shranski sat back in his seat. “So you guys are telling me Hammond is a saint.”

“By act of Congress,” Bass said. “Admiral, I don’t see a thing that this guy or this crew did wrong. Sure, there are a few minor problems, like a partial gundeck of a PMS card, but he has procedures to catch and correct things like that, and he acts on them. The ship is as solid as I have ever seen. We laid out our recommendations for medals as we see them. There are 22 major and 34 minor in all. We can look deeper, but I almost guarantee you won’t find anything.”

Shranski smiled at the men. “No, I don’t think you will either. I haven’t told you this, but I met the guy the day old Granger got canned. We were the ones who got these old battleships recommissioned. Making Hammond the CO of this ship was probably the best thing the Navy ever did,” he said. “OK, write it up. Let’s get a message out tomorrow via the satellite. Make it short and sweet. We can take the entire report with us when we go back. Until then, be as helpful as we can and stay out of the way. It may be a few days before we can leave, but that’s okay. You gentlemen helped me out a lot. I appreciate it. Is there anything else?”

“I don’t think so, Admiral,” said Bass.

“Then good night everyone,” Shranski said. The men stood and gathered the reams of paper they had been using. Shranski walked over to the small opening into the galley and knocked on the door.

The door opened and his mess specialist looked in. “Can I help you, Admiral?”

“We’re done, Harris. Could you come get this stuff and bring me some kind of snack? I feel hungry,” Shranski said.

“Harris broke into a wide grin. “No problem, Admiral. I’ll be right in,” he said.

Shranski walked out of his office and looked at the captain’s cabin door. The sentry was not there. He glanced at his watch. It was after 9 pm. Hammond would be on the bridge. He stuck his head in the pantry. “Harris, hold that snack for me a few minutes, I’m going up to see the Captain. If you could, please bring it in when I get back,” he said.

Hammond was sitting in his chair on the bridge reading message traffic when Shranski came up.

“Any news from home?” Shranski asked.

Hammond got up out of his seat. “The usual, sir. Is everything going okay from your end?” he asked.

“Just wanted to let you know our investigation is over. You and your guys did an amazing job. I hated to be the one to come over and do this, but it had to be done.”

“I know, sir. I wasn’t really worried and it gave us some time to talk again. Do you need for me to arrange some kind of helo to come pick you guys up?”

“Give us a couple of days so we can see what happens in the schedule. If push comes to shove, I can get the helo from the carrier to come in and get us. With all that’s going on ashore, I’m not too sure I want to go that way,” Shranski said. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

Hammond followed Shranski to the open bridge wing. The cool wind felt good after being cooped up inside for a few days. A half moon lit up the night sky. “Just so you know, I am recommending over fifty medals for the crew. My whole staff was impressed.”

“That’s great, sir. They deserve a lot. I appreciate it.”

“We’re alone, Roger. Relax a little. I hadn’t really planned on finding much anyway. I knew you had done good.”

“Thanks, Mike, but don’t worry about me. Give it all to the guys. They had this ship pretty well trained up before I even got here.”

“Yeah, I take it the older guys had things together.”

“Three bags full. It’s almost as if they never left the ship. I really like all these guys. When I go on my tours, they are more open and focused than the younger guys. They don’t mind telling me if something is messed up. Makes my job a lot easier.”

“Yeah, I’ve taken a few tours around. Even the snipes talk to me about their jobs. They’re not afraid of these admiral’s stars.”

“Take some time and explore while you’re on here. Go up to Spot One sometime and talk to Skelly. That man can talk your ears off. Plus it’s the best panoramic view of the ship!”

“I may do that. Any problems with the repairs?”

“Only that the stack looks newer than anything else on the ship. The engineers aren’t complaining and the stack gasses aren’t being drawn back down into engineering like they had been. We appreciate you getting the plans out here so the shipyard could fix us.”

“Well, there’s more to it. I got a call from the Hyundai people when the word came out about your damage. That shipyard performed the repairs at no charge,” Shranski said.

Hammond looked in disbelief. “I would have sworn something like that might cost a couple million dollars. They did it for nothing?” he asked.

“Yep. And when your band was playing as you came in, the guys got really excited. If I asked them to build a whole new ship, they would have. See? Some of the small things you do pay off,” Shranski said. He looked up toward Spot One. “You think Skelly is up there?”

Hammond grunted. “Probably. Either way it’s a great view.”

Shranski thought a moment. “Maybe I’ll wait till tomorrow while the sun is out. I think I’ll turn in instead,” he said.

‘Thanks for the update, Mike. Have a good evening,” Hammond said.

Shranski left the bridge wing and went back to his cabin. Harris brought in some hot peach pie and coffee. Shranski sat back on the couch and ate his snack while propping up his feet. When he was done, he passed the empty plate and cup through the pantry door and turned in. Tomorrow he would take himself a good tour of the ship.

“Comrade Chairman, I am happy to announce we have met the goals you set out for us,” the new Defense Minister said to the assembled group of leaders. “We have crossed the border as directed and our troops are already at their assigned progress points. Despite the Americans’ best efforts, they have not been able to deal with our forces or your leadership,” he said.

There was polite applause in the hall as Kim thanked his Ministers. The Defense Minister raised his hand. There is also news that our missiles struck an American battleship. Their news media has announced that one of the ships was struck three times while trying to protect one of their aircraft carriers. Their media reports that the ship is well; however, we have been told repeatedly by our allies that no ship could successfully survive more than two such hits. We feel it is a propaganda ploy to deceive the masses. So we also congratulate you on the sinking of one of the Americans’ capital ships.”

Once again, there was applause in the hall. Kim quieted the men. “Comrades, no one expects any war will be what the Americans call a cake walk. We must always expect there will be times when our forces will have troubles. However, we have one of the top armies in the world. We have rocket forces second to none and we are a nuclear power. No one can dare oppose us on our own soil. As you can see, when properly led, our forces can be victorious.” He pointed to his Defense Minister. “Thank you, Comrade.”

Again polite applause echoed around the stark walls of the hall and the Defense Minister bowed humbly. “Now comrade, please tell us of where we stand,” the Chairman said.

The Defense Minister began pointing to a chart and laid out the lines of advance as he spoke. “Our forces crossed in these two places. The second one was to regain access to some units in this general sector. The first was a direct thrust to the southeast to eventually take Yecheon. From there, we will consolidate and push almost straight south to Pusan. Once we are there, we will have divided their forces and can spread to both sides, driving them to the sea.”

“I have ordered that our submarine forces be sent out to attack the American ships patrolling our coasts and sink them. Without support from the sea, the Americans cannot hope to keep their troops supplied and they will be forced to either surrender or withdraw. Our missile forces are making daily attacks against their population and military assets. This will demoralize their citizens and because of their political weakness, should force their leadership to sue for peace. I have also ordered the camouflaging of our remaining nuclear missile ship so that it is not disturbed by air or surface attacks. We are even now looking at ways we can use these assets if it is deemed politically necessary. Our Chairman has ordered that our forces complete the task of taking Pusan in three weeks. Our forces are well on their way to attaining that goal,” recited the Defense Minister from a one way briefing he had received only one hour before by Kim himself. He was determined he would not go the way of previous ministers and would meet the goals set for him. The troops would have to show progress every single day or heads would roll. He nodded to the Chairman. “Thank you, Comrade Chairman.”

Kim stood again. “Comrades, every asset of the People’s Government must be tuned to achieving our military goals. The people demand victory and we shall give it to them,” he demanded. “I want daily reports from each of your offices on what you have done to achieve this goal,” he said.

The men broke out into applause again and began leaving the room. Kim stopped the Defense Minister. “You briefed them well, Comrade. Now tell me. Do you think we can do what you promised?”

The Defense Minister swallowed hard. The Chairman had trapped him into giving the brief and therefore taking the responsibility. He was not about to fall into another trap. “Comrade Chairman, it makes no difference what I think. These are things we must do. Our goals will be met, even if I have to use every soldier in the army to do it.”

Kim nodded. That was the attitude he was hoping to attain. “Good, Comrade. Now go see to this war and achieve our victory.”

Kim left the room almost strutting. The Defense Minister remembered the statistics he had been handed just before the meeting. The army had achieved its goals, but with the loss of over 75,000 men in the last twenty-four hours. The allied air power had decimated his men and materials. Even the border crossings had been terrible to watch. The last of the troops who could be pulled away from other duties had been sent to the front and would cross the border within the next twelve hours. What were left were only the troops on the border with China and the ones always on parade in the capital. He had even sent sailors and airmen who had been left with nothing to do when the airplanes and ships were gone. If these men could not get the job done, there was no hope left.

“The underground bunkers supplying their troops are here, here, and here,” said the briefer at the Pentagon war plans office. Seated in the small auditorium were each of the Joint Chiefs or their designees, their deputies and several operations directorate personnel along with the President and Chief of Staff. The briefer was pointing to a large-scale map of Korea on the wall. “With the help of the latest satellite, we were able to find these positions by watching the trucks move in and out.” He motioned for the lights and a slide to come up beside the map. “As you can see, all of these trucks are appearing from what looks like a garage beside this mountain. It is actually an access to this large underground facility.” An infrared image came up. “These enhanced photos of the general area show a different coloration covering a four mile area. We believe this is an underground food distribution warehouse.”

He pointed to the map again. “We found ammunition storage facilities here, here, and here. These are also underground. The missile launching sites were located last night when the second wave was launched. They center on this mountain area here,” he said pointing deep in the mountainous area of North Korea. “There are a number of underground centers that we have been able to find including a refinery, fuel storage, ammunition manufacturing, and arms manufacturing. There is also an aircraft factory in operation forty miles north of Pyongyang in this valley. Unfortunately, these are relatively deep underground. They are considered bomb proof and can be sealed off on a moment’s notice. We feel these targets must be neutralized as soon as possible,” the briefer concluded. With no questions, he sat down at the side of the room.

“OK, I agree we need to take these out. My question is, how do we do it?” the President asked. “We will not use nuclear devices again.”

General Foote stood. “Mister President, we won’t need to now. I have been working with Admiral Johnson and we may have a solution. It requires two C-130s to go to each of the sites and drop one guided weapon each. We are modifying the weapon to incorporate a FLIR-mounted guidance head and additional control surfaces. This bomb weighs in at about 21,000 pounds with an 18,000 pound payload. We hope that the appearance of just a couple of airplanes will not cause the enemy to close the doors to the underground facilities and we can get this weapon to fly into the tunnel leading into the facility. If so, I can guarantee the facility will be permanently shut down.”

“With an 18,000 pound payload, I guess so,” said the President. “Why something that big?”

“Our problem is they are deep, and conventional weapons and probably even nukes couldn’t get to them. The pattern we have seen over the past two nights is that they open the doors to deliver the goods every night once it’s dark. The trucks go in and out via two separate entrances. We have also noticed that there are about twenty ventilators that are used to provide air for the spaces. We have pinpointed those. So there are only two ways they are vulnerable. First when the doors are open and via those ventilators. We propose sending the C-130s in to drop its weapon at high level and then help guide it in. We are programming those weapons to fly into the tunnels and hopefully go deep enough to explode inside the facilities. Either these weapons will explode inside the main facility or they will detonate in the tunnel causing the tunnel to collapse. Either way we cut off the supplies from that facility. Then we send in B-2s with one Big BLU each. This weapon can penetrate 100 feet into the ground before exploding. This second weapon is to back up the first and cause more damage, if possible. Then we will send in carrier aircraft to hit those ventilators. If we can hit these, we should prevent the North from using the facility indefinitely. This will give us the time to finish the job.”

“How long will it take to set this up?”

“Within a week, Mister President. We are starting to see a reduction in the numbers of men going across the border. Generals Richardson and Monahan have moved their troops into position to cut them off and surround them. We are sending in one additional unit to complete the circle. If we can hit these at about the same time, the North will be in very dire straights,” said Foote.

“What are your guys going to be doing?” the President asked Johnson.

“We’re the ones who will close down the ventilators with the aircraft, and the battleships will make sure the corridors stay open. There’s also one underground facility within range of the guns. I want them to take out as much as they can,” he said. “Then it’s harassing the enemy until he folds, sir.”

“I take it everyone is all set and waiting for me to say go?” the President asked. “Then by all means do it. Take what time you need, but eat them up. We’ll sort out the rest later,” the President said.

General Black stood along with the others. “Ladies and gentlemen, this operation is approved. I want final plans and start date on my desk by close of business tomorrow. Meeting adjourned,” he said. The President got up and shook Black’s hand. Admiral Johnson caught Butler’s eye and pulled him into the corner. “Did you see the message?”

Butler nodded. “This morning. I got the report redacted to me and personally took it to the members on the Hill. I’m not sure how long it will take, but there is widespread approval. I have a feeling it will be pretty quick.”

“This may help it along some,” Johnson said. He handed an envelope to Butler, who opened it and read the content. His face broke into a wide grin. “Let me get the boss to sign this,” he said. Two minutes later he returned with the document signed. “I will take this up and get it approved first thing in the morning. Is it legal?”

“Of course. Special board took a look at five guys for meritorious work. The Joint Chiefs made the recommendation and two will get it. The other three will be up next regular rotation,” he said. “During a war we can have special reviews.”

“Will he keep his command?”

“For the time being. I have an additional job for him. We can keep the man busy,” Johnson said.

“You know you just made the President’s day.”

“I love brownie points and I like this job. I may just keep it a while.”

Butler shook the CNO’s hand and rejoined the President. The evening drive across Washington was a little more pleasant. The leaves were starting to turn a little and the air was crisper. Butler wished he could roll the windows down in the limo and let the air in, but the glass was just too thick.

Rear Admiral Shranski and his staff were about to leave the Iowa and head to the carrier. A helo was on the way to pick them up. Shranski was packing the last of his gear when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said.

An excited radioman entered the cabin grinning from ear to ear. “Admiral, this message just came in to the ship and is info to you, sir. My Chief thought you might want to see it first.” He handed it over to Shranski and waited.

Shranski took the piece of paper and began to read. As he did, his own face broke into a wide grin. “You are quite right. I appreciate you letting me see it first. Maybe I need to go see your Captain,” he said slapping the sailor on the shoulder. Shranski quickly walked up to the bridge where Hammond was talking with the XO. Both men stood as the Admiral walked up.

“Captain, we’re about ready and I was wondering if I could say a little something to your crew before I leave?”

“Sure, Admiral, you’re welcome to,” Hammond said. He called over the Bo’sn who blew “attention.” Hammond handed Shranski the microphone.

“Good morning, Iowa, this is Rear Admiral Shranski speaking. As you know, my staff and I will be leaving you this morning and I wanted to personally thank each of you for your help and support while we were aboard. You made what could have been a difficult task very easy for us. I appreciate all your efforts to help us get our study done and out of the way. I also want to thank many of you who helped show me around this fine ship and to share a little bit of what some of you call the Iowa spirit. But there’s one other thing that I want to do. I received a message this morning that I want to share with you before I leave,” he said.

Shranski unfolded the paper he was carrying and began to read. “From Commander, Naval Military Personnel Command to Captain Roger T. Hammond, USN. In accordance with the recommendations of the flag officer selection board and approval by the Congress, you have been selected for the rank of rear admiral lower half effective immediately. You will submit to the requirements of BUPERS Manual, so forth and so on. Congratulations Rear Admiral Hammond,” he said handing over the paper and hanging up the microphone.

“Hot damn! The XO exclaimed.

Applause broke out on the bridge and cheers could be heard along the deck and in some of the corridors. Hammond stood staring at the paper with an awestruck look much like a deer in headlights. His mouth was open, but no words escaped him.

Shranski almost laughed. “Damn, Roger, cat got your tongue?”

That broke the spell. Hammond grabbed his hand and began to pump it. “Jeez, Mike, you sure do know how to surprise a guy.”

“I was, too. One of your radiomen brought it to me just a couple of minutes ago. I was just glad to be the one to make it official. Hope you don’t mind that I let the cat out of the bag.”

“Not at all, Mike,” he said still surprised. “Shit, this is unbelievable!”

“Just shows in a war they’ll promote anybody, SIR,” the XO said with a smile.

Hammond and Shranski gave him a mock scowl. “Can you take this guy with you?” Hammond asked.

“I don’t want him. Maybe you can just loose him overboard or something,” Shranski said nonchalantly. Then all three of the men started to laugh.

“Sir, the helo has launched from the carrier. ETA is only about 10 minutes,” said the phone talker.

“Sounds like I need to leave,” said Shranski.

“XO, go ahead and bring the ship into the wind and go to flight quarters. I’ll walk the Admiral down to see him off,” said Hammond.

The ship went to its flight quarters stations and the flight deck crew manned up along with a repair party. In a few minutes an SH-60 approached the fantail of the ship and was guided into position by one of the crewmen using hand signals. The helicopter touched down and kept running as Shranski and his team crawled aboard. A flight crewman handed a package to one of the Iowa crew and stepped back aboard the aircraft. After a few minutes, when all was ready, the engines increased their power and the helicopter lifted off the deck and began making its way back to the carrier.

Hammond waved as they departed and the Chief handed him the package from the carrier. It was marked for RADM Hammond. Hammond opened the taped box. Inside was a blue flag with one star, a new hat with an admiral’s ‘scrambled eggs’ some new shoulder boards and stars for his collar. The note read, “Thought you might use these. Congratulations! RADM Griffin.”

The Chief looked at his CO with admiration. He watched as Hammond ran his hand over the blue flag, then recovered the box and tucked it under his arm as he walked away. The man is good as shit, thought the Chief as he watched Hammond leave. He had seen a few great COs in his time, especially one of the last ones aboard this ship. In his opinion, Hammond even beat that one. For once, the Navy made a good decision and he was happy as hell about it.

The bomb was the size of a small truck. It had a small set of wings and some fins on the tail, but it still didn’t look like any kind of bomb or missile the loaders had ever seen. Then again, the C-130 was not like any bomber they had seen either. The bomb was placed in the cargo hold of the aircraft facing forward. A parachute pack on the back end of the weapon would be used to pull the bomb out of the aircraft. One of the men removed a cover and polished down the clear nose cone on the front of the weapon. It contained the FLIR seeker and data link that would tie the bomb to a controller sitting at the front of the cargo bay. When finished, the cover was carefully replaced.

The C-130’s crew completed their preflight list and was going over it again to make sure nothing would go wrong. No one liked the thought that this thing might have to go down with them in an engagement. Most wished the weather would sock them in.

For several days C-130s had been flown over the areas without incident. It was to gather information and to get the North used to seeing the unarmed planes around. A final check was made and the weapons handlers walked out of the rear of the aircraft. The rear ramp and doors were closed and a tractor was hooked up to move the aircraft out of the hangar and onto the ramp. The crew was already in position and switching on several systems.

Kadena Air Force base was totally dark. When the engines started, the lights came on illuminating nearly thirty C-130s on the ramp ready to take off. They began moving in a line down the taxiway to the end of the runway. On signal they increased the revolutions on their engines and began their take off roll, lifting off far down the runway. When the last plane had left, the lights around the field blinked out, returning Kadena to total darkness.

On Anderson Air Force Base, a flight of eighteen B-2s had just completed their own lift off. Each aircraft carried only one bomb apiece. They were scheduled to arrive only fifteen minutes after the C-130s had dropped their weapons. The crews shared the same thoughts — that these weapons not go off anywhere near their aircraft.

RADM Hammond’s first assignment was to take command of Task Force 75.2.1, made up of Iowa, Missouri, North Carolina, and Alabama along with the Little Rock and eight other cruisers and destroyers. The force steamed up the eastern coast of Korea in total darkness and arrived off Wonsan by 9:45 pm. Two RPVs were launched earlier and gathered infrared information on their designated target — the concrete naval pens holding both the submarines and the remaining patrol boats.

The pens had been built to look like ordinary buildings, but the ceilings to them were estimated to be at least twenty-five feet thick. Further on, the piers had been purposefully built higher off the ground so that the boats could move underneath. Large ships were permanently moored beside them so it would look like a normal pier from above. Because of the earlier bombings and the loss of the majority of their fleet, the North Koreans had pressed their remaining assets into these underground enclosures for safekeeping.

The RPVs were flown over the facilities and from an angle, could see the openings that were actually cooler than the rest of the facility, still warm from the sun. In two cases, lights could be seen inside the darkened entrances. People came and went from six separate openings beside the facilities, and trucks were unloading beside three of those.

The task force steamed ten miles off the headland in a column formation. Upon satellite signal, all the big guns turned and pointed toward Wonsan Naval Base. Inside the turrets, a different kind of shell was being loaded. Before this, the ships had been firing regular high capacity shells. But two weeks earlier each battleship took on 300 armor piercing shells. Where the regular shells weighed 1,900 pounds each, these weighed 2,700 pounds. They were designed to penetrate heavy armored plate up to twenty-two inches thick, but this time the rounds would have to go up against reinforced concrete. In tests, at the optimum range, these shells could penetrate over thirty feet of the stuff.

Hammond moved his ships between fifteen and twenty miles from the target. This was done for a reason. The high angle of the shot would mean the big shells would fall almost straight down on the top of the concrete pens. Hopefully they would go all the way through and go off inside. If nothing else, the pens would never be the same again.

Sitting in Strike, Hammond and the XO sat waiting for the prescribed time to open fire. This was to be a coordinated attack of all the underground facilities. Nearly everything would hit at about the same time. The effect was to strike swiftly and suddenly from almost everywhere, confusing the enemy and putting a little of the “fear of god” into them. By traveling without running lights and with the moon not yet up, the battleships remained unseen on the horizon and relatively immune from attack. They watched the television screen with the images from the RPV, seeing people scurry around, oblivious to what was coming.

“This is almost like shooting chickens in a coop,” the XO said. “I almost feel sorry for the average sailors.”

“Yeah, but we can’t think that way. It has to be done and we’re the ones who were told to do it,” Hammond said. “Is everyone set?”

“Yes, sir. All ships report ready,” the XO replied. He glanced at the clock on the bulkhead. “One minute.”

Hammond picked up the encrypted radio handset and held it for the last few seconds. As the second hand swept upward, he pressed the button to activate the circuit. “All stations in Sierra Whiskey, this is Sierra Whiskey. Commence fire, I repeat, commence fire. Out.” Then he turned to the Strike Officer. “Batteries released.”

From shore it appeared as if a volcano had exploded far out to sea. The flame of the guns clearly illuminated the ships and signaled their charges were on their way. Once again, the well trained crewmen went through the loading cycles to load the guns as rapidly as possible, sending more of the armor piercing rounds on their way.

The sounds of tearing linen came through the air as the shells climbed high into the air before angling down on their targets. From that distance, the shells wouldn’t penetrate as far, but not by much. The first rounds landed on top of the warehouse-like structures and burrowed almost straight down. They went in twenty feet before the explosives in the warhead detonated. Unfortunately, the thickness of the concrete was more than what was anticipated by ten feet. The men inside the facility heard the explosions but felt secure when the ceiling only rained down dust.

Thirty of the initial rounds hit the target, disrupting nearly the entire top layer of concrete on the pens. The second set of rounds dug a little deeper into the facility, burrowing through the rubble and into the unharmed concrete. This time, the rubble sitting on top was lifted almost entirely off the building. Inside, the men looked up in horror as cracks began to appear in the ceiling.

The third set of rounds struck the top of the facility. Because most of the concrete was gone or severely crushed, these rounds struck the remaining concrete and burrowed into the chambers beneath, passed through the submarines or other craft moored inside, and detonated on the bottom of the concrete facility. The blast cracked the thin floor and blew down interior walls. It also sent energy upward into the bottoms of the ships above, crushing the keels and splitting them open to the sea. In almost every case, the fuel tanks were ruptured and fuel began to fill the interior spaces.

The fourth salvos struck the facility again, setting fire to the fuel and continuing the destruction in other compartments within the pen. The sixth salvo made it into an underground weapons storage. Suddenly an explosion greater than many had ever seen erupted on the waterfront, flinging boats, missiles, and people high into the air along with the rest of the roof of the pen.

Aboard the Iowa, Hammond saw the roof lift off the facility through the camera of the RPV flying half a mile from the explosion. “Oh my god,” he muttered as he saw the carnage unfurling before him. He watched the fireball climb over the facility and he grabbed the handset. “All stations Sierra Whiskey, this is Sierra Whiskey. Cease fire. I say again cease fire. Shift to secondary target, over,” he said. The other ships began calling in their receipt of the message.

“Have Weaps shift to the second set of pens,” he said calmly. The RPV suddenly moved the camera across the waterfront and center on a long flat pier. Deep in the ship, the fire control technicians entered the bearing and range of the new target into the Ford Rangekeeper. Almost immediately, a solution was being generated and fed into the turrets. The big guns moved slightly and waited for the order to fire. That order was given only a few seconds later.

The flat surfaced pier became filled with deep cavities as the thirty-six rounds struck home. On the tenth salvo flames could be seen shooting out around the hulls of the ships that had been moored as a deception. The RPV camera caught several doors opening and people frantically running out into the deadly hail of shells. No major explosions occurred with this bombardment. Instead, flames began shooting up through all the penetrations and craters on the top of the facility. Hammond had the ships continue their bombardment until there was no doubt the facilities were destroyed. Then he ordered his ships to turn away and head back to sea.

The doors to the main storage facility were actually opened early. Truckers lined up along the main road to drive in one end and out the other. They had been told that their consignments must reach the troops in the south intact and as soon as they could get them there.

As the big doors opened in the two entrances, the trucks hurried in and to their position on the warehouse floor. Men with forklifts immediately began filling the trailers with pallet after pallet of food. The drivers had never seen this much food in their lives. It was sitting in a vast underground structure stretching nearly a mile in each direction. A second set of crews was on hand to tie down the pallets or make sure the trailer doors were closed. Within ten minutes the trucks were loaded and ready. The drivers pulled forward to the exit doors and exited rapidly so the next set of trucks could move into place and be loaded. This process had been going on every evening for the past few weeks and the supplies were not yet half depleted.

The political officer for the facility was sitting with the facility managers in the control center watching television monitors to make sure everything flowed smoothly. He was very happy with how the operation was going. The state needed these supplies as soon as they could be delivered and he was urging the managers to move faster. After several weeks of operations, they had refined the process to an efficient operation that would go on as long as it was dark outside. Lately, to meet quota, they were forced to open the doors a little early. But there was little risk of detection. With the exception of a few cargo planes that had flown over the area, no warplanes were anywhere near the operation. The plan was that, if warplanes were detected, the operation would cease and the big blast doors closed, ensuring the facility’s safety. Since the facility was 100 feet underground, nothing had a chance to reach them. More importantly, the facility was under the Kim Il Sung Stadium. No one would ever imagine the largest food storage facility in the world was there.

The Political Officer occasionally berated the managers for being too cautious. Nothing could slow them down. Even when a call was received by the listening posts outside the city reporting propeller driven aircraft flying overhead, he told the managers to ignore it. American bombers were not driven by propellers. He ordered them to maintain their operations. They could not be seen from the air. The entry and exit portals were 100 meters from the stadium and angled down at a ten degree incline straight into the warehouse floor. The lanes were 200 meters long. No light could escape.

The four C-130s made their way over the city following the river to their targets. They were flying at 20,000 feet. Using a FLIR camera in the front of the airplane, they were able to locate their targets and turn toward them. At ten miles, the rear cargo ramp doors opened and the ramp lowered to position. On cue, the parachute was released and the Massive Ordnance Air Burst (MOAB) bomb was dragged from the rear of the plane. As it left, the parachute detached as the bomb’s electro-optic seeker was locked onto the opening it saw directly in front of it. At the same time, the plane banked sharply to be heading in the opposite direction so the operator would be able to control the bomb as long as possible.

The Political Officer walked outside and cupped his ears to hear the four turbo-prop engines of the C-130s flying away. He took a deep breath and stretched. It would be a nice cool evening, he thought. The third wave of trucks just left the facility and in a few minutes the next one would be headed up the ramp. His thoughts were interrupted as a whooshing sound went by his ears.

The weapons operator on the C-130 watched the screen and the infrared image clearly showed the residual heat in the air of the tunnel. He was surprised as the bomb passed through the center of the tunnel opening. He clearly saw the walls shoot past and what looked like a floor full of supplies appear at the end just before the image was lost. He switched back to the aircraft’s system and watched as the ground appeared to lift and shudder all around the stadium. Flames shot not only up the tunnels, but also out the exits of the stadium where the vents were hidden. Then the sides of the stadium began to topple inward as the ceiling of the giant facility began to collapse.

The planners thought there were two underground facilities and had placed bombs down each of four tunnels. The ignition of four 18,000 pound warheads inside the facility had turned the enclosed space into an inferno. The blast had been contained enough so that the pressures created their own ignition and fire. Local seismologists registered an earthquake of 2 on the Richter Scale around Pyongyang, disrupting some electricity and shaking the ground for a mile in any direction. The same seismologists were also surprised to see additional small earthquakes in a number of places across North Korea.

In a small airfield near Tongho-Ri, four Ilyushin-23 bombers were being prepared for duty. The old light bombers, NATO code named “Beagle,” had been pieced together from the remnants of twenty others that had been destroyed earlier in the war. The Beagle had been developed in the late 1940s in the Soviet Union and were being maintained by only a very few countries. The North Koreans had been phasing them out; however, the situation had now changed. The North Korean Air Force had been shamed by the Party Leadership and its leaders were desperate to prove themselves again. Already a very few fighters were pieced together and being sent to guard the capital. If this worked, the air force would strike a blow against the American Navy as their shore-based batteries had.

Strapped to the bomb bay of the old bomber was one P-15 missile. The P-15 was a variant of the SS-N-2 Styx missile. It was not designed to be launched from a bomber, but the technicians had been able to jury rig the missile to ignite when launched and search for the American ships. The bomber’s own radar would help launch the missile in the right direction. In this case, there might be no need. Since an American attack on the naval facilities in Wonsan, an air and surface search radar was operating. The bombers were going to follow that signal and launch within 40 miles of the ships.

The pilots and crews crawled into their airplanes and completed their preflight list. Then, one-by-one, they started the two engines. The missiles were actually heavier than what the craft was designed to carry, but it was deemed a necessity for the mission to continue. The airplanes reached the end of the runway and ran the engines up to full power. It took nearly the entire runway before the small bombers finally lifted off the ground. Once in the air, the pilots had to maintain 80 percent on the engines just to keep their ships flying. They banked in a circle until all four airplanes were in the air, then lined up and flew in a “V” formation toward the signals from the American radar.

The SPS-43 air search radar aboard USS Little Rock picked up the airplanes as soon as they left the ground over 100 miles away. The position was plotted and the CO informed. A sleepy Captain Jack Ziemer walked into CIC scratching his chin and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Ziemer was brought out of retirement to command the old cruiser and he missed the regular nights of sleep he had grown used to as a civilian.

“OK, what’s happening?” he asked with a yawn.

“Looks like four contacts coming from this air base above Wonsan. They circled a while, then started heading for us,” said the petty officer of the watch.

“Humph,” Ziemer growled and scratched the stubble on his chin. “Headed right for us?”

“Yes sir, Captain. Right at us. Their course is 120, speed about 250.”

“Do these guys have a missile launching capability? I thought we knocked out their varsity.”

“Yes, Captain, but it looks like they got something together. From the speed it isn’t very modern, but I don’t really know what they might throw together,” the petty officers said.

Ziemer grunted again and looked at the young man approvingly. “I agree. Just keep thinking like that and I’ll sleep better.” He hit the bitch box. “Bridge, combat, this is the Captain, sound general quarters and get ready for a missile launch,” he ordered.

In seconds the ship was pounding with the feet of 500 sailors rushing to their general quarters stations. The ship was ready in less than five minutes. In Combat, Ziemer was talking with Ops.

“Lock them up and ready the fantail,’ Ziemer said.

On the after part of the ship the two huge SPG-49 radars swung around and pointed toward the planes still eighty-five miles away. On command the powerful radars were switched on and the beams locked onto the lead two aircraft. Inside the magazines, two Talos missiles were readied. As they slid along the rail to the doors, several men attached the fins that would control the missile in flight. When complete, the doors on the main deck under the radars opened, guides extended, and two white Talos missiles slid along the guides and onto the rails of the launcher. Once on the rails, the doors closed and the huge missiles turned towards their targets.

“This is Sierra Hotel, request birds free tracks one and two,” said the Operations Officer in the radio handset.

“Sierra Hotel, this is Sierra Whiskey, birds free tracks one and two,” came the response on the receiver.

“This is Sierra Hotel, roger out,” said Ops. He turned to the Captain.

Ziemer nodded. “Weapons free.”

The Operations Officer never believed he would actually get to do it, but he turned to the weapons control officer. “Weapons control, launch missiles.”

“Weapons control aye, in three, two, one.” The man flipped a protective cover and pressed the firing key twice. The two missiles had already been designated to the two targets. When the button was pushed, the squibs on the first then the second Talos missile ignited the rocket motors.

The gleaming white missile some called the “flying telephone pole,” streaked into the night sky. The crewmen on deck followed the trail of the rocket as the booster fired. After a short time, the booster fell off and a ramjet engine provided the thrust. Inside the nose of the missile, the seeker was aimed at the target and the missile was flying inside the beam of the radar. The electronics inside the missile were old, but worked. The missile just kept flying at a speed of Mach 2.5. At sixty miles, the seeker could see the target. At seventy-five miles, the seeker saw that it was close enough and detonated the 300 pound warhead. Both planes were blotted from the sky.

The second two airplanes were behind the others and watched their compatriots meet their end. Screaming over the radio, both pilots toggled off their missiles and turned their airplanes heading back to base.

Aboard the Little Rock, Ziemer made the call. “Sierra Whisky, this is Sierra Hotel. We have inbound Styx from the bearing of the contacts. They are too far away to reach us. Request birds free tracks three and four, over.”

“This is Sierra Whisky actual, I want those two. Birds free, tracks three and four, over.”

“This is Sierra Hotel, roger out.” Ziemer turned to the watch. “Weapons free.” Two seconds later two more missiles were on their way.

“Sierra Whiskey this is Sierra Hotel. Birds away tracks three and four, over.”

‘This is Sierra Whiskey, roger out.”

Once again the Talos missiles streaked towards their target. Both airplanes were rapidly making their way back to base. The two Styx missiles dropped to 1,500 feet and continued on the bearing they were fired. Unfortunately, the onboard radar did not pick up any targets. The missiles maintained their heading until their fuel ran out.

The two North Korean pilots pressed their throttles as far as they could go, hoping they would be too far away to be a target. They were screaming over the radio to have the runway lights turned on at their airbase. Both men saw the lights and began a rapid approach.

At just over 100 miles, the warhead of the first missile went off taking the tail off its target. The second went off just above the last bomber, ripping through the thin skin and perforating the fuel tanks on both wings. Raw fuel entered the engine compartments and ignited, filling the air with flames and melting through the wings and engine supports. Within seconds, the wings fell off the plane within sight of its home base.

Aboard Little Rock, the fire control radars were switched to standby and the ship returned to its regular steaming watch. No other targets presented themselves that night.