Warriors

CHAPTER 61

FitzHugh “Lightning” McCoy was a sniper.

He was one of the most highly decorated snipers in recent military history and had even written a bestselling book about his experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now, along with two of his best men, he was getting ready to take out the NK guards in the machine-gun towers.

They were in the woods, just above no-man’s-land. With NVG telescopic optics, they could see the guards, not a few of them dozing atop the towers. Occasionally, the guards would fire up a searchlight and play it lazily around the perimeter. One could sense these were not men on a high state of alert. This was Norkland, for God’s sake! The home of the Norks! Norkland was what T&L called North Korea and its vast numbers of military rulers. Who in the world would ever attack a bunch of Norks out in the middle of bloody nowhere?

Fitz spoke in a low, deadly serious whisper.

“Take out the towers to either side of the main gate first. That’ll be their wake-up call this morning. Then work outward along the perimeter. Remember, the colonel says there are three guards to a tower. But there’s always one on a cot below the ledge where they catnap until relieving one or the other. I want three down before you move on to the next.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Take out all those bloody searchlights, too. Just for good measure. Might encourage other internees to escape after we’ve gone. One can only hope.”

Cho pulled Hawke aside.

Hawke’s men were all still well hidden inside the copse of trees. Ahead of them, a wide stretch of barren ground with little or no cover. No-man’s-land. No one could survive crossing that killing ground beneath the withering fire from the guard towers. The NKs used Type 73s, based on old Soviet machine guns, but updated and still effective.

Beyond the open ground stood the high walls of Camp 25.

“That open ground,” Hawke said to Cho. “Was it mined at the time of your escape?”

“No, sir. Should have been, my opinion. Should have had heat sensors, pressure plates, all that and more. But the guards here are usually drunk and always lazy. This is the last stop in an NK People’s Army officer’s career. The only way to go from here is down. They’ve got nothing to lose, and they take it out on the prisoners.”

“The worst kind.”

“You been there, sir?”

“Some. Once when I got shot down over northern Iraq. Did about a month in one of Saddam’s desert charm schools before I broke out. A longer stretch another time in a jungle hellhole on mainland China. Met some lovely chaps along the way. Unforgettable, really.”

“Fitz says you’re Royal Navy, Commander.”

“Semiretired. I used to fly.”

“What aircraft?”

“Harriers, mostly. But a lot of newer stuff more recently.”

“Wait until I introduce you to Babyface,” Cho said.

Hawke said, “You don’t mean the Dear Leader himself? I thought he lived in some sick palace in Pyongyang.”

Cho laughed.

“No, sir, I mean the camp commandant. That’s what we called him. Babyface. Angelic little shit with the soul of a scarab. Likes-to-throw-babies-down-deep-wells kind of human being. You know the type.”

“I take it you’re not fond of him.”

“He’s the reason I’m standing here, Commander Hawke. He ripped my baby brother from my mother’s arms and threw him down a well. Then he put a knife in my mother’s stomach and twisted it until he found the uterus, killing both my mother and my unborn sister, too.”

“Good God. I’m very sorry, Colonel.”

“It’s war, isn’t it, Commander?”

Hawke looked away for a moment and said, “Colonel, as you know, after Chief’s demolition guys blow the main gates, you and I will be first through the breach. As I said earlier, I want you to take me directly to the commandant’s residence. We’ll take a squad of four, including Froggy and the Alsatian gunner. One heavy machine-gunner fore and aft.”

Cho nodded. “Babyface knows where the American hostages are. Based on what I know, the children will be aboveground and the mother below. Please leave that part to me, sir. I’ll make sure he sees the sense in taking us right to them. He won’t resist. He’s actually a terrified little gnome playing God, lording it over this squalid corner of hell.”

“All cruelty starts with fear. Or something like that. Seneca.”

“Seneca. A great philosopher.”

“Right,” Hawke said, pulling out his hand-drawn map of the camp. “Show me his residence again.”

“It’s right here. The two-story house with his precious orchard of cherry trees around it. We called it the Teahouse of the August Moon. Guarded twenty-four hours a day. He sleeps on an outside sleeping porch located here. “

“You said there were land mines around his house?”

“Yes. But I know the clear path to his door. You’d think they’d move them around occasionally, but they don’t. Lazy bastards.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Colonel. From the gate, that’s, what… half a klick to his quarters?”

“About that.”

“Stokely, Chief, Froggy, and Brock, you know what to do. Start searching the barracks one by one. Maybe you’ll get lucky. I’ll radio you as soon as we get their precise location out of the commandant. Meanwhile, keep looking. Capture a guard and make him talk. Find out in which barracks they’re keeping all the children. Get them out, not just the hostages, all of them. Alive. Whatever it takes. Yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Froggy said. “Count on it, Hawke.”

“All right then. As soon as Fitz has taken out those towers, we move out. Get your heads on straight and don’t make any bloody mistakes. You guys are the best at this on the planet. You’re number one. Go do it.”

At precisely 0400, Fitz and the other two snipers began the process of reducing the six guard towers to smoking heaps of splinters. Their actions initiated a swift but confused retaliation. Unwisely, the main gate was now swinging open to expel an armored vehicle with twelve heavily armed troops in the rear.

“I’ve got zee muzzafookah!” Froggy said. He stepped from the woods hefting the shoulder-launched ATGM, an antitank guided missile light enough to be fired by one soldier.

“Take him out, Froggy!” Rainwater said.

The missile streaked upward trailing yellow fire, reached its apogee, and nosed over into a steep dive toward the oncoming armored troop vehicle. The driver swerved wildly but the missile was smarter: the impact was immediate and incredibly destructive. A loud crack, a blinding ball of fire, and thick black smoke rising from the unrecognizable hulk of wreckage. No survivors.

“C’est bon?” the Frogman said, smiling at Hawke.

“C’est tres bon,” Hawke said, peering at the destruction through his binoculars. Suddenly, he pivoted left. “Heads up. Frogman! There’s a second armored vehicle inside the compound speeding for the gate. Waste it, Froggy, while it’s still within the compound. We’ll use the chaos inside to cover our infil.”

Hawke swept his glasses back and forth, assessing the unfolding situation.

Froggy lit off a second missile, and seconds later, another explosive CRACK and heavy flames and black smoke rising above the walls from within the camp. The two heavy gates slammed shut. Whatever resistance this “secret” death camp was capable of putting up… was now being implemented. The no-man’s-land obstacle had been overcome. It only remained to be seen how much fight these desolate men had in them.

Hawke looked up. There was a new tinge of pink in the charcoal skies.

It was time.

“Go, go, go!” Hawke said, leaning in and giving each man a solidarity hit on the shoulder as he passed by. He was saying in their ears exactly what he had always said to them in times like this.

“Use this time, son… use the time… use it to get your head on straight… use this time… get your head on straight… yeah, that’s right… focus, focus… you’ve got it… now keep it on straight… you too… okay… give ’em pure hell down there… okay… that’s it… go…”

And so on they went.