Dragon Sim-13 (32 page)

Mitchell nodded. He didn't trust himself to say any more. The two men embraced briefly. Riley picked up his SVD and walked over to the rest of the team. Not much was said. There was nothing noble or heroic about the scene. Just a pervading sense of sadness tainted with desperation—the same atmosphere that has been present before battle since the beginning of time. Heroism and nobility seemed to come from others talking about events after they were over. Now, as they faced the spectre of death, none of the participants wanted to play their roles. 

Reasons for being here, and for doing what they did, didn't seem to add up anymore.

Riley smiled and, as he walked out of the camp with Chong, softly called out over his shoulder, "See you all back in Korea."

Sokch'o Air Traffic Control, East Coast, South Korea Saturday, 10 June, 1306 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 10:06 p.m. Local

Sokch'o was the northernmost sizable South Korean city on the east coast. As such, the air and sea routes around it were guarded vigilantly. The entire coastline from the nearby demilitarized zone, south one hundred kilometers, was entirely fenced in to prevent infiltrators from swimming in. The airspace was tightly managed out of Sokch'o airfield.

On the radar screens at Sokch'o, Flight 579 suddenly disappeared. The Korean operator had been watching the flight with growing concern. According to the flight plan he had called up on his computer, 579 was on a training flight from ChunChon to Sokch'o and back. The flight had crossed the shoreline only one minute previously. The controller had expected it to turn any second and head back west. Now it was gone. He keyed his mike. Speaking with great difficulty in English, he broadcast: "United States Army helicopter Five Seven Nine. United States Army helicopter Five Seven Nine. This is Sokch'o Control. You have gone below allowable altitude. Acknowledge. Return to altitude. Over."

He waited a minute, then transmitted again. Still no reply. After five minutes, with no sign of 579 reappearing or replying, the operator reported to his supervisor. Ten minutes later, still with no response, a downed aircraft report was broadcast and search aircraft were alerted.

On board 579 Colin Lassiter had the aircraft skimming the wave tops as the Korean shoreline disappeared behind them. Jean Long was slouched back in her seat, trying to rest. In the cargo compartment, Hooker and Trapp had finished unpacking the duffel bag they'd brought aboard. Now they worked in the cramped space between the four bulging fuel bladders, stowing the weapons Hooker had brought from Yongsan and preparing for other contingencies.

They tied a 120-foot nylon rope to each of two large O-rings bolted to the top center of the cargo compartment. After making sure that both ropes were securely attached, they coiled each one separately in a weighted canvas bag. This was done carefully, to ensure that each rope would deploy without snags if the bag was thrown out the door of the helicopter. The weighted bag would pull the rope to the end of its 120-foot length.

The two men then carefully unbolted the frame for the two forward internal tanks and replaced all the bolts with wraps of 550 cord, the same line used for suspension lines on parachutes. This would allow the two forward tanks to be quickly cut free and removed, when empty, to make space for the team.

With the coastline out of sight, Lassiter gently eased the helicopter around to a heading of 42 degrees—right up the middle of the Sea of Japan.

US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida Saturday, 10 June, 1320 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 8:20 a.m. Local

Colonel Moore didn't like coming in to work on a Saturday, but having been gone the whole past week participating in the exercise up at Fort Meade, his in box was overflowing. He wanted to get a jump on the paperwork before Monday.

Moore was halfway through his first cup of coffee, and a quarter of the way through the contents of his in box, when he came across the duty log from the previous night. It was in his box because it was Moore's responsibility to brief his boss, the G-3, on Monday morning on everything that had happened over the weekend.

Moore slammed his mug down on the desk as he turned the page and read the notation about the strange phone call from a Colonel Hossey in Korea.

"What the hell," he muttered as he punched in the home phone number for the major who had been on duty then. He waited and then heard the line picked up on the other end.

A sleepy voice answered. "Major Mills."

"Mills, this is Colonel Moore. What is this notation in your duty log about a phone call from a Colonel Hossey in Korea?"

There was a brief pause. "Oh, yeah, sir. Some nutcake called and said that he was the commander of DET-K and that he had some men

on the ground in China who needed to be exfiltrated. He said it was part of some mission he was running for us."

Moore's mind raced as he considered this. "Did he say what kind of mission?"

"No, sir. He did say that he had lost his commo with an SFOB we had set up at Fort Meade, so I figured this guy was one of those people you spent the week with up there at Meade, trying to test our security or something."

"What did you tell this guy?"

"I didn't tell him anything, sir. I hung up on him. He tried calling back a few times and I hung up on him every time. It was an unsecure line and I figured it was some sort of test."

"All right." Moore hung up the phone. Maybe it was just a further test by the Strams people. The thing that bugged him, though, was that Colonel Hossey was the DET-K commander. And the phone call had come just after they shut down the simulation. In the simulation the team had exfiltrated successfully. Moore rubbed his eyes. This whole thing was very strange. He looked at the clocks on the wall. It was 2:30 in the morning over in Korea. Probably couldn't get ahold of Hossey right now. He decided to make some calls first thing Monday morning, though, and check this out.

Korea

Saturday, 10 June, 1330 Zulu

Saturday, 10 June, 10:30 p.m. Local

The disappearance of army aircraft 579 quickly gained notoriety. Sokch'o Control contacted Camp Page Control with the report. Camp Page Control alerted the battalion commander of the 309th Helicopter Battalion. When the battalion commander found out that no one had authorized the flight, and also that live Stinger missiles were on board, he quickly notified his higher headquarters at the 17th Aviation Brigade in Seoul.

Following standard procedures, a nationwide alert was put out for the missing helicopter. All U.S. and Korean agencies were informed. A search was mounted off the coast in the vicinity of Sokch'o to look for helicopter wreckage. It didn't occur to anyone that the helicopter had not crashed.

Changbai Mountains, China Saturday, 10 June, 1345 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 9:45 p.m. Local

Mitchell led his men carefully through the dark. It was only seven hundred meters south to the streambed, but they were moving very slowly.

The night was clear. The moon would be rising in another two hours. Until then, they had only the starlight to guide them. Mitchell was wearing the only set of night-vision goggles; the rest of the team stumbled along in the dark. Only four hundred meters to the east, they could see the fires of the Chinese picket line.

Mitchell tried to force all thoughts out of his mind, except for those needed to make this move. He didn't want to think about the two men heading up the mountain. He didn't want to think about the slim chance that a helicopter would make it to the pickup zone tonight. He didn't want to think about what he would do when the helicopter didn't show. In spite of his efforts, these thoughts swirled around in his mind.

He was walking slowly, to allow those behind him to keep up. Hoffman and Comsky carried the stretcher, watching each step to avoid dropping Olinski. Hoffman, at the lead end of the stretcher, was only two feet behind the captain, following two small pieces of luminous tape sewn into the back of the captain's black watch cap. Comsky held onto the trail edge of the stretcher and shuffled his feet along the ground to avoid tripping. C.J. brought up the tail, staying in contact by continuously reaching out and touching Comsky's back.

After only a hundred meters, Mitchell realized that he was going to have to help carry Olinski. The man's weight was too much for Hoffman. Mitchell grabbed the lead end of the right stick with his left hand. His right arm was still tied against his side to prevent the sutures from pulling out, and his MP5 hung on its sling on his chest. The indomitable Comsky handled the tail end of the stretcher by himself.

Mitchell led the way through the undergrowth. They were going downhill slightly, as the terrain sloped into the streambed. After forty minutes, they reached the edge of the thicker undergrowth along the bank. Mitchell cautiously guided them downstream. He wanted to get as close to the picket line as they could before the action started. Slowly he moved them another two hundred meters closer. He halted the team in an area of especially thick underbrush. Carefully, trying not to make any loud noises, they crawled under the bushes and sat down in a tight circle to wait. It was 10:45 p.m. Another hour and forty-five minutes until the shooting started.

US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida

Saturday, 10 June, 1552 Zulu

Saturday, 10 June, 10:52 a.m. Local

That phone call the previous night was bugging Moore. It was a loose end, and he didn't like loose ends. If the Strams people were still playing their game, he wanted to know about it. They had more important things to worry about here than some stupid simulation.

Moore grabbed the file for the Dragon Sim-13 exercise from his safe and flipped through it until he found the administrative phone numbers for the Tunnel. He scanned the list until he spotted the office number for the man who had outbriefed them yesterday. Moore wasn't sure if anybody would be at work on a Saturday, but he wanted to try and clear up this thing. Moore punched in the number on his secure STU III phone. He waited as it buzzed on the other end. On the seventh buzz he was just about to hang up when it was picked up.

Fort Meade, Maryland Saturday, 10 June, 1553 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 10:53 a.m. Local

Wilson had barely heard the ringing of the secure phone on his desk. He was in Meng's office, where the two were going over the Medusa program. Wondering who could be calling on a Saturday, he jogged out and picked up the phone. "Doctor Wilson here."

"Doctor, this is Colonel Moore. Could you please go secure?" I hope he isn't calling about the damn after-action report, Wilson thought as he turned the key that made the phone secure for classified conversations. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"

The voice at the other end sounded hesitant. "This is kind of strange, but I'd like to know whether you all are still running something with Dragon Sim-13." 

"What do you mean, Colonel, running something? We shut down yesterday right after you all left."

"Well, my duty officer got a strange phone call last night from someone claiming to be the commander of DET-K, saying something about having troops on the ground in China that he had to get exfiltrated. I was wondering if it might have been someone from your Tunnel, checking up on us after the fact, so to speak."

Wilson frowned. "No, sir. No one from here called as far as I know. Like I said, we shut down yesterday morning. Did you call Colonel Hossey in Korea to see if he really was the one calling?"

"It's after midnight over there, and I doubt that anyone will be at the DET-K compound. I'd have to contact the Eighth Army duty officer to get ahold of Hossey. I really didn't want to go through all that hassle if someone was just pulling a prank. I am worried, though, because whoever was calling obviously had some classified information about the exercise."

"Well, I can't help you on this end."

"Thanks anyway. I'll try tracking down my people. Maybe it was one of them. Out here."

Wilson put the phone down slowly. It was odd. He looked down Tunnel 2 at the door to Meng's office. It had been a strange morning ever since he had shown up, three hours ago. Meng had been acting very weird, even for him. As the two of them worked on the Medusa program, Meng had seemed to be trying to pass on to Wilson as much information about the program as he could—almost as if Meng felt he wasn't going to be around much longer.

Something occurred to Wilson. He looked down his phone number list taped to the top of the desk and punched in a four-digit number on the secure internal NSA phone. The phone was picked up on the first ring.

"Imagery. Sandra."

"Sandra, this is Ron Wilson from the Tunnel."

"Yeah, Ron. What's up?"

"Could you check on something for me?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"My boss, Doctor Meng, had some pretty interesting imagery of a crash site that we were going to use. I was wondering if you could give me an idea of where and when that imagery was taken. Doctor

Meng said something about you all pulling it from your files yesterday."

"Wait a minute. Let me check the log." The minute stretched into two. Finally Sandra was back. "If you're talking about some photos we faxed down to you and over to Korea early yesterday morning, I've got it here. Let's see, it was 0614 Zulu on the ninth, and that was hot off the computer down link. Real-time stuff. I don't know why Meng thought it was coming out of the files. He asked for it specifically by location."

Wilson looked toward Meng's door. "Could you tell me what area that imagery was covering?"

"Let's see. Yeah. It's in China. Northeast. Manchuria. Real close to where the Chinese, Russian, and North Korean borders come together."

Wilson felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Hello? Ron, you there?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Sandra." Wilson slowly lowered the phone. It couldn't be, but he knew it was. He switched over to his STU III.

US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida Saturday, 10 June, 1556 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 10:56 a.m. Local

"Colonel Moore."

"Sir, this is Doctor Wilson. Go secure, please."