Red Phoenix Burning (40 page)

Long nodded his understanding. “We respect the decision of the general and completely understand his rationale. But I must inform you, with all respect, that of necessity I will pass the information on the target’s location back to my commander. While we will spare no effort to make tonight’s operation a success, I already know that my government will spend a sleepless night monitoring our progress.”

Long took care to look in Kevin Little’s direction as well as Sohn’s. “Please inform your governments that if we detect a missile launched from within the Redoubt, whether it is aimed at Beijing or not, our rocket forces will unilaterally respond with an attack as I’ve already described. If your operation fails, if the Kim holdouts begin launching, then China will act, for the protection of our country and all of Asia.”

Rhee rose defiantly, insulted as much by the Chinese general’s recommendation as his innuendo that Rhee’s plan wasn’t good enough. Staring straight at Long, he said tersely, “We won’t fail.”

6 September 2015

Seventh Air Force Headquarters, Operations Center

Osan Air Base, United Han Republic

“This is no way to run a railroad,” muttered a frustrated Tony Christopher. He shifted about the overloaded desk, lifting one folder after another until he found the spreadsheet he was after. Supply issues were whittling away at his F-22 contingent as one ship after another dropped offline due to maintenance gripes. And even though the requisition for the repair parts had been submitted, there weren’t enough of them on hand to keep the aircraft up—more parts had to be shipped from the contractor in the US.
Just in time maintenance my ass
, thought Tony.

His bad mood wasn’t caused solely by the USAF’s annoying maintenance system; no, the main source of irritation was that he was a fighter pilot flying a desk during a war. It wasn’t that Tony didn’t appreciate the importance and necessity of what he was doing; “experts study logistics,” or so he was told. But it didn’t change the simple fact that he would much rather be strapped into a jet, hip deep in a furball in contested skies. It’s what he did . . . emphasis on did.

“Saint!” shouted General Carter as he strode into the ops center.

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you to get your butt to Kusan, ASAP. We just received a mother of a strike package and I want you down there to help organize it. This is a maximum force effort with a tricky time-on-target schedule; we can’t afford any screwups. You leave immediately.”

“Understood, General,” replied Tony as he quickly turned to leave. Since the beginning of the conflict, he kept an overnight bag packed in his office, and it would take him only a minute to grab his gear. He was just reaching for the doorknob when Carter called back to him.

“And Saint, no shenanigans. You’re to keep both feet firmly on Mother Earth, clear?”

“Of course, sir. No shenanigans.”

“Good. Now off with you.”

Chapter 21 - Stronghold

6 September 2015, 1915 local time

Kunsan Air Base

Gunsan, United Han Republic

The emergency response vehicles wailed as they charged down the taxiway toward the subsiding orange fireball. At the far end of the runway, a returning F-16C had just plowed into the field, tumbled, and burst into flames. Tony held his breath as he watched the ejection seat shoot skyward moments before the jet blew up and prayed the pilot had escaped unharmed. That was the third aircraft the 35th Fighter Squadron had lost that evening, and the massive attack on the Kim redoubt was still to come.

The preliminary strike was a large-scale suppression of enemy air defenses, or SEAD, raid by seven squadrons—three US, two Korean, and two Chinese. The objective was to make the holdouts believe a massive air attack was underway, and trick them into engaging with their SAMs and AAA. The ruse worked well.

Apparently, it never occurred to the defenders that almost all of the “targets” that their radars detected were decoys. They held nothing back, and an eruption of missiles and shells poured out from the mountains against the phantom raiders. Once the weapons’ locations were exposed, the aircraft began launching anti-radiation missiles and GPS-directed bombs against the radars, missile launchers, and guns. The result was a bloodbath. The initial battle damage assessment intelligence cell concluded that over eighty percent of the air defense assets were either destroyed or damaged. But even though the SEAD raid had “severely degraded” the Kim air defenses, it wasn’t without cost—eight aircraft were either missing or known to have been shot down.

Tony looked on as the F-16C fighters taxied to their hardened aircraft shelters and came to a stop. As soon as the engines had shut down, an organized horde of aircraft maintenance specialists and ordnance mechanics swarmed over the aircraft, furiously prepping them for their next mission. The pilots jumped down from their aircraft and headed straight to a waiting van. The vehicle whisked them over to the squadron’s ready room for a quick debriefing; the squadron intelligence shop was working frantically to update the raid’s damage assessment.

Seeing the flurry of activity, Tony was dragged back to the last war. He vividly remembered being the one hurrying over to the ready room with his wingman, Hooter, both of them bubbling over with an adrenaline overdose. Now, he was a general officer, one of the senior leaders, who sent young men and women downrange in their Falcons to fight. At that moment, he would gladly trade his star for an aircraft.

“General Christopher!” came a shout from behind him. Tony turned to see the wing commander, Colonel Graves, jogging in his direction.

“What’s the status of that pilot?” Tony called out while pointing toward the crashed fighter.

Graves’ expression was one of relief, but the roar of a passing F-16 made it impossible to hear his response. It wasn’t until he got closer that he could finally answer. “He got out clean, sir, but landed as hard as you’d expect. He’s over at the infirmary now, being treated for some minor cuts and bruises. He’ll be sore in the morning, but otherwise he should be fine.”

Tony unconsciously rubbed his right arm, recalling a similar injury he sustained when he ejected from a crippled aircraft so many years ago. He shook himself from his musings and asked, “So, what’s the damage, Colonel?”

Graves and Tony walked into one of the shelters, mostly to get away from all the noise. “Confirmed three birds lost, including the Thirty-Fifth’s squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ortiz. His wingman said his aircraft was hit on the way out. No one reported seeing him eject, and he has yet to report in. Right now he’s listed as missing.”

“Damn it!” Tony cursed in frustration. The next strike had to be airborne in an hour, and the loss of the squadron commander was a severe setback. The Eightieth Fighter Squadron had taken off thirty minutes earlier and would soon be over the target area to plaster anything they found in the open. No one expected this attack to get the ballistic missiles, but it would force the Kim faction to keep them buttoned up in their hardened caves. The artillery bombardment was carefully timed to occur just as the second wave of strike aircraft cleared the area. Thirty minutes later the ground troops would begin their assault. By then the 35th was supposed to be back on station, loitering to the south, waiting for the SOF guys to provide the precise location of the bunkers’ armored doors. The schedule was very tight, and unforgiving. In the back of Tony’s mind was the Chinese threat to level the whole area with one honkin’ big nuke.

“How good is the deputy squadron commander, Andy?” he demanded.

Graves hesitated for just a moment, but the delay spoke volumes, “Major Jackson is a good man, General, but he’s barely been with the squadron for a month and . . .”

That was enough for Tony. Pivoting quickly, he spotted the crew chief working on the F-16 in the shelter. “First Sergeant!” he shouted loudly.

The man turned about, annoyed by the interruption. However, once he saw Tony waving to him, he broke out at a run. “Yes, General. What can I do for you?”

“Get me a ship.”

X Corps Headquarters

Northeast of Sunchon, United Han Republic

Tae watched with satisfaction as the second wave of aircraft bombarded the redoubt’s outer defenses. The explosions were so numerous that they continuously lit up the night sky. The sheer amount of ordnance being dropped on that parcel of land was difficult to comprehend. He momentarily felt sorry for the Kim faction, pinned down in their holes, thinking they might yet somehow endure to cause untold death and destruction on all their enemies.

That their ultimate defeat was inevitable wasn’t in question; it was whether it would come by way of the American/Han plan, or the Chinese plan. The general still shivered when he thought about the Chinese suggestion to drop a five-megaton nuclear warhead on the redoubt and be done with it—an option they refused to take off the table.

Major Ryeon walked up quietly beside his general and stared in amazement. He was also having trouble grasping the weight of firepower pouring down on his former countrymen. “How could anyone survive such a pounding?” he asked.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” remarked Tae as he kept his eyes on the flashes blooming on the horizon. The delayed rumble that followed could easily deceive someone into believing a storm was approaching—a bad one.

“And yet, you’d be equally shocked by how much of the Kim faction’s strength will remain intact. Don’t get me wrong, they will suffer many casualties, lose many fortified positions, but they will still be a force to reckon with. Our approach won’t be a leisurely stroll in the countryside, Major.” He briefly looked down at his watch and noted the time. The air strike would be ending soon.

“Are the unit commanders gathered?”

“Yes, sir, they’re assembled in the command tent,” replied Ryeon.

“Excellent! Then let’s not keep them waiting.” The two men turned and walked quickly for the makeshift tent city a hundred meters behind them. As they approached, a guard lifted the flap. Inside a South Korean officer ordered loudly, “Attention!”

“Be seated!” Tae barked, gesturing for everyone to sit. As the men took their seats, the general noted the blend of uniforms—soldiers from the North and South fighting together. He was still struggling with the concept, even though he’d worked hard to make it happen, and silently conceded that it would likely take him the rest of his life to reconcile his mixed feelings. Although hastily built from various former DPRK and ROK units, his command was nearly a full-strength corps, with a brigade of the North’s best tanks, four infantry divisions, and several batteries of excellent South Korean artillery. Many of these men had served with him from the beginning of the civil war and he knew how worn out they were, even though their faces beamed with excitement. They had just one more battle left to fight.

“Comrades, in less than ten minutes the artillery barrage will begin. Our units are already in position for the final assault on the Kim stronghold. As soon as the artillery commences firing, Major Ro will lead two Reconnaissance Bureau comp . . . Correction, two Han special forces companies against the Sunchon airfield. Once the airfield has been taken, we will step off and attack along the southeast corner. The Chinese have already begun their assault to the north, and surveillance reports indicate the Kim holdouts have committed some of their reserves. We will attack from the opposite direction and force them to use what little they have left to try and fend us off.

“We must make them believe that our three corps attacking from the east and south are a crushing threat to their survival, so we must strike fast, and we must strike hard. The goal is to force the Kim faction to pull assets away from their western flank and thin their lines for the special forces assault group. We cannot hold back tonight. We must hit the enemy with every drop of our strength.”

Tae paused and stepped away from the map board, approaching the first row of chairs. Looking intently at his audience, he spoke with a tempered voice. “For many of you, the adversary we face includes individuals we once knew as comrades, colleagues, and perhaps even friends. I understand your mixed feelings—the confusion, even the awkwardness of working with our Southern kinsmen. I understand, because I share them as well. But you must put that all aside tonight; for tonight we fight for our land.

“For the people in those mountains do not share our dreams for the future,” stressed Tae as he pointed toward the redoubt. “In fact, they are doing everything in their power to prevent that dream from coming true. They either cannot, or will not, see the possibility of a new way of life—one without constant fear, one without ‘the state,’ one with hope. After tonight, if you wish to stop being a soldier, and do something of your own choosing, you will be free to do so. But tonight, I need you to fight one last time to free our people from the deadly plague that is the Kim regime. Are you with me?”

The cheering was deafening.

Han Special Forces Assault Group—Ghost Brigade

45 KM Southwest of the Landing Zone, United Han Republic

Cho looked out the window of the Surion helicopter and saw the greenish-hued terrain pass by in a distorted blur. He didn’t even want to think how low they were, or how fast they were going. Both were undoubtedly in the “very unsafe” category as far as normal civilian operations was concerned.
What was I thinking?
he thought to himself. Cho raised his night vision goggles and closed his eyes. He struggled to concentrate on happy thoughts as the helicopter bounced about unevenly in the night air.
Stay calm. Don’t think about your stomach
. It would look very unprofessional if he threw up on the Ghost Brigade command staff.

The twenty-four helicopters flew in two long columns a mere fifty meters off the ground. Each of the formations was led by three US Army AH-64D Apache Longbow gunships as escorts for the nine troop-carrying Korean Surions. The Americans would also provide close air support should the Korean assault group run into resistance, and act as a backup just in case something went wrong with the strike aircraft. Each of the Surion helicopters carried two pilots, two gunners, and nine commandos. Between the eighteen transports there was a handpicked company of the Ninth Special Forces Brigade—about to be unceremoniously dumped into the heart of the Kim redoubt.

A hand grabbed Cho’s shoulder and gently shook him. Opening his eyes he saw Master Sergeant Oh in the dim light; he was holding something in his hand. “Here, chew on this. It’ll help keep your gut from rebelling.”

“What is it?” asked Cho.

“Ginger gum.” The commando smiled broadly. “It’s our best defense against lunatic pilots. They’re always trying to get us to vomit. They think it’s a cute game. Sick bastards!”

“Thank you,” Cho replied gratefully. He popped the stick of gum into his mouth and immediately felt a tingling sensation from the strong spice. It didn’t take long for the soothing effect to quell his upset stomach.

“Sergeant Cho, what unit do you belong to? I don’t recall ever seeing you before with any of the ROK Special Forces brigades, and your accent sounds northern,” inquired Oh.

Cho looked at the senior enlisted man with wariness, uncertain if Oh was just trying to make small talk to pass the time, or if his question was of a more probing nature. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my affiliation, Master Sergeant. Let’s just say I’ve been to where we are going.”

“Ah, I see. Well, it’s always a good thing to have a guide in a strange land,” Oh replied politely. Then leaning closer, and with a more serious tone, he said, “Since you’re probably not a special warfare operator, stay close to me and do as you’re told. Before you do anything, and I mean anything, make sure Colonel Rhee or I give you permission. And for God’s sake, don’t do anything heroic. If you follow these instructions to the letter, there is a reasonable chance you’ll survive this mission. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly,” Cho answered with a note of irritation. As far as Oh was concerned, the new sergeant was an amateur who needed a last-minute introduction to Special Warfare 101. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time, so the next best thing was a harsh warning. Cho understood Oh’s motivation; the man was a consummate professional and expected the same from his colleagues. Clearly Oh didn’t like having an “untrained” individual on this mission. But even if he meant well, the gruff delivery left Cho’s ego bruised. He didn’t like being treated like a child.

Rhee waved his hand, grabbing everyone’s attention. Pointing to a tablet, he marked their location and said, “We’ve reached the break-off point. The other formation will peel off and take their own route in. The ride is liable to get a bit rough once we start flying down these valleys, so make sure all your gear is secure. We land in sixteen minutes.”

Cho braced himself.
Now
it’s going to get rough?

Hellcat Strike