Sikes studied the map a moment longer. "Agreed," he said at last. He pointed toward the airfield, sprawled across the ridge-top spine of the peninsula to the north. The valley between that ridge and this one was filled with the regular outlines of fenced-in compounds, military-looking buildings, massed trucks, and military vehicles. "We've got hostile air based there… and a major Army base of some kind down there in the valley." He dropped his arm. "Shit. Ten minutes after it goes down, we could have half the North Korean Army on our asses."
"We could bring in some cavalry," Huerta pointed out. "Just enough to hold on until we could evac the hostages." Already, he was thinking of the op like a hostage rescue, something he'd trained for intensively during a tour with SEAL Team Six.
They discussed the situation for another fifteen minutes, suggesting alternatives, planning, revising. Finally, Sikes looked across the hide to where Tom Halliday was unfolding the compact satellite dish and aligning it with a nondescript piece of the southern sky. The unit could assemble a burst transmission and hurl it to a Navy comsat hanging in a stationary orbit 22,000 miles above the equator, then on to Washington and to the Navy ships waiting beyond the eastern horizon.
"Well, the decision won't be ours," Sikes said at last. "Thank God. But if we can get some help, we'll go in."
The SEALs crouched lower over the map as they went over their options, composing the message they would transmit.
Admiral Magruder let his finger slide across the stretch of blue labeled Yonghung Man on the map. Hundreds of close-spaced numbers gave depth readings. The finger came to rest on the out-thrust slash of the Kolmo Peninsula. Symbols on the map marked the airfield at the peninsula's base, the tangled maze of Wonsan's streets across the narrow gut between peninsula and mainland, the red-flagged triangles of known SAM and radar sites along the coast. "This stretch of beach looks clear," he said.
The man in camouflage fatigues opposite the plot table from the Admiral was Colonel John Caruso, commander of the MEU's Marines. Next to him was Admiral William E. Simpson, CO of the four ships of the amphibious squadron. They'd heloed in from the Chosin only an hour earlier and stood now in Flag Plot with Magruder, studying the map of the North Korean coast.
Admiral Simpson traced narrow corridors on the map, between the islands which interrupted the approaches to Wonsan. The islands bore exotic names: Yo-do, Sin-do, Su-do. Do, Magruder remembered, was Korean for island. "These stretches could be mined," Simpson said thoughtfully. "Gun emplacements on these islands."
"We have plenty of Mark 106 sleds to take care of the mines," Magruder said.
"Air strikes can take out the gun emplacements," Caruso added. "And any NK air out of this airstrip will have to be neutralized before my boys go ashore."
"We can handle that," Magruder said. "This'll be Winged Talon all over again, except this time we'll carry it out!"
The brief message from Bushmaster had electrified the staff and senior officers of TF-18. Here was a real chance to rescue the men of Chimera's crew ― all of them ― from a single compound four miles from the coast. There would not be a better chance than this. Bushmaster had warned that the prisoners might be moved soon. When that happened, they would be beyond the carrier group's reach forever. A rescue, if it was to be attempted at all, would have to be mounted within the next day or two, and that meant getting a start on the planning now.
"Do you think your people can pull it off?" Magruder asked Caruso at last. "Two thousand men against… God knows. Ten thousand? Twenty?"
"More'n that if we're not in and out, chop-chop." The colonel frowned. "I gave you my recommendations the other day, sir. I thought we could do it then. I think we can do it now. But the show's gonna be yours."
"I know."
Caruso's plan, submitted as one of the options the task force had been examining two days before, had been for a Marine landing to secure a base on the mainland, with recon teams ranging inland to secure the American prisoners… assuming that preliminary reconnaissance could locate them. At the time, no one knew where Chimera's crew was being held, and the plan had been shelved in favor of Winged Talon.
But now…
The real question was what Washington would think. Winged Talon had been aborted minutes before the Navy aircraft had hit Korean air space, and since that time there had been no explanation, no word at all save that the SEALs should be sent in and that TF-18 should hold station at Point November. It seemed unlikely that they would approve a full-fledged Marine landing one day after calling off a far simpler, far cheaper air strike.
Magruder was still angry about that call, angry with a simmering, barely restrained resentment which needed little to boost it to white-hot fury.
"Recap it, then," Magruder said at last. "Air strikes to take out KorCom radar, SAM sites, and guns. A heliborne Marine assault on Nyongch'on to support the SEALs and secure the prisoners. Marine assault at Kolmo to give us a secure base from which to support the Nyongch'on op. Why not just go straight in from the task force with helos? Why have the Marines go ashore at all?"
"Too many things could go wrong, with nothing in reserve," the Marine colonel said. "We only have two large flight decks, Jefferson's and Chosin's… and Jefferson is going to be busy with CAP and ground strikes. We have no guarantee that all of our helos will arrive at Nyongch'on intact, and we might have to reinforce before we evacuate. It'll help to have a shore-based helo pad, and the airfield will provide us with just that. Any helos that are damaged on the ground at Nyongch'on will have a friendly place to set down and off-load only a few miles from the DZ and won't have to make it all the way back to Chosin, eight, ten miles out at sea."
Magruder nodded. "Makes sense."
"Besides, the beachhead will help divert enemy attention away from Nyongch'on. Our boys are gonna have their hands full in there, no matter what, but we can help 'em take some of the heat off."
"Okay. Bill? How long before you have a detailed working plan?"
Simpson pulled at his lower lip. "My staff's already working on it. I can have a preliminary on your desk in three hours. Your boys'll have to work out the air ops and fire control."
"A preliminary's all I'll need for right now… to sell Washington on the idea."
Simpson grinned. "I'm glad that's your department, Tom, and not mine. I'd get mad and want to kick bureaucratic ass."
"Who says I won't?" He looked at the map again, at the small forest of red triangles, SAM sites and hardpoints. This was going to be lots more expensive than Winged Talon, in men, money, and aircraft. But then, from the look of things, Washington was going to ignore the military option in favor of the diplomatic one.
And how long, he wondered, before those boys at Nyongch'on came home? How many wouldn't come home at all? He wondered if Washington would even let them take the first, necessary steps. He felt a stab of fire in his gut, an old ulcer burning anew. Sometimes it was hard to know who the real enemy was.
CHAPTER 19
Batman queued up with other officers to buy a meal ticket from the cashier, picked up a tray, and started down the cafeteria-style line. It wasn't that he was hungry ― quite the contrary, in fact ― but the mechanical actions of moving through the chow line were a piece of mindless routine that allowed him to put off the thoughts that had been troubling him since the party the night before. Finding an unoccupied table in the corner of the wardroom, he slumped at the seat and began picking at his food without interest. His thoughts kept returning with a kind of morbid fascination to the subject of death.