Magruder found himself thinking about one particular failure of American arms in recent history, the debacle at Desert One, during Operation Eagle Claw in Iran.
The situation there had been similar in some ways, a large number of Americans held hostage by a hostile regime, an attempt to reach them by helicopters flown off a U.S. carrier. Eagle Claw had been unthinkably complex, much more so than Righteous Thunder. The chances for success in Iran had been slim to begin with.
But contributing to the disaster had been Washington's efforts to micromanage the entire affair. President Carter had been trying to direct the entire operation by satellite link from the White House, and a disaster had happened.
Magruder reached over to the plot table and picked up the latest TENCAP stat. It showed the inner harbor of Wonsan, Chimera tied up at the dock, close alongside the Russian warship. At least this President was giving his man in the field his head. The admiral knew that his career would stand or fall by his own decision. "Lieutenant," he snapped, gesturing to an aide. "Get Admiral Simpson on the horn. Now."
"Aye aye, sir!"
Magruder grinned suddenly as he turned to face Fitzgerald, the first real smile to crease his face in several days. "By God, Jim. This time we're going to take them!"
Coyote shook his head in amazement. "You guys can't be for real."
Lieutenant Sikes grinned, his teeth startlingly white against the blacking on his face. "That's the way we earn our pay."
"Yeah, but fourteen men against three hundred…"
"Don't worry, fly-guy," one SEAL said, caressing his silenced Uzi SMG. "We'll get 'em to surround us then kill them all. No sweat."
Coyote decided he did not understand SEALs and never would. They looked… dangerous was the only word that came to mind.
They spoke in whispers, careful not to disturb the night. The compound had been in a frenzy ever since Coyote's escape, with groups of men hurrying about inside and patrols filing through the front gates and into the surrounding darkness. More than once, the SEALs had heard men thrashing through brush in the distance, searching for the missing prisoner, but so far no one had come close to the hide. The Americans would be safe until the enemy started using dogs or infrared gear ― which would take time to organize for a small base like this ― or until daybreak.
And by then it would be too late.
Coyote's leg throbbed, a pounding agony beneath the bandages. One of the SEALS, a black guy named Robbins, had cleaned and dressed his wound. He'd been lucky. The AK round had torn through the fleshy part of his thigh, missing both bone and major blood vessels. There'd been a lot of blood, though, and the leg hurt like hell now that the initial shock had worn off. Whatever happened tonight, he'd be staying put, at least until he could find something he could use as a crutch.
"Okay," Sikes said, gathering the small circle of men with his eyes. "Here's the way we'll play it. Kohl, you stay put with the fly-boy. Your first responsibility is the POWs. You see what looks like a major move on the Chimera's guys, get me on the TAC COM. Depending on where we are at the time, I might have you start taking them down… or sit tight while we deploy. No way to call it at this point."
"Right, Lieutenant."
"Rest of you guys are with me. You all know your targets?"
There was a chorus of nods and affirmative grunts. "Good. We'll lay low until midnight. You guys have until then to check your weapons, get your demo packs ready and get some sleep. It's gonna be a long night."
Coyote's guts churned. The SEALs had been taking an almost bloodthirsty zeal in their last-minute planning, ever since word had come through on their compact satellite receiver from Jefferson that the rescue op was on for tonight. In general, the SEAL team's part in Righteous Thunder was simple: secure the prisoners and an LZ within the Nyongch'on compound, then send the message "Sunrise Blue." Reinforcements, code-named Cavalry One, would arrive shortly after that. Zero hour had tentatively been set at 0200 for the SEAL assault and 0400 for the arrival of Cavalry One, though those times were flexible, subject to immediate change.
If Sunrise Blue was not transmitted, Cavalry One would come in anyway, but no one wanted to think about what that would mean. A helo assault into a hot LZ with an alerted enemy would not be pretty.
Coyote's real fear was that he had been responsible for this whole operation… and if things went down bad, it would all be his fault. His escape had aroused the North Korean camp with the thoroughness of a stick thrust into a hornet's nest, and with about the same result. Enemy patrols continued to wander through the darkness nearby, and the single sentry outside the POW compound had been replaced by an armed band of at least ten soldiers, armed with AKs and a Russian-made RPD machine gun.
If the SEALs couldn't infiltrate the enemy camp, if Chimera's crew was spirited away somewhere out of reach before the op could be launched, it would be his fault.
Tombstone felt renewed.
The excitement extended to every man on the flight deck crew, visible in the crisp motions, signals and gestures, the jaunty grins, the two-fingered V-for-victory signs raised above their heads in salute. One yellow shirt stood in a pool of light from a nearby work lamp, looked up at Tombstone, and rammed his fist into the air. Tombstone grinned and returned the greeting with a thumbs-up as the yellow shirts began breaking down his Tomcat, releasing the chocks and chains which held her to the deck. Morale aboard the Jefferson had never been higher. We're going in this time, Tombstone thought. And this time nothing's going to stop us!
"How you feeling back there, Snowball?"
"Never better," his RIO replied. He sounded self-assured, businesslike. "Radio frequencies set, nav guidance punched in. We're ready to roll, skipper."
"Here she goes." He started up the Tomcat's engines, first the left, then the right, feeling the surge of power shudder through the airframe. Gently, he set the gray-white throttle handles by his left hand to idle, waiting until the breakdown was complete. A yellow shirt waved his colored wand, directing Tombstone out of his parking space.
Slowly, the F-14 moved toward the catapult. Above the thrumming roar of his engines, Tombstone heard the sudden, howling thunder of an A-6 Intruder's twin Pratt and Whitney turbojets revving to full throttle, then the shuddering blast of sound as a catapult hurled the aircraft out over the ocean. The building excitement was tangible. This was it!
The order to assemble for a briefing had come through from CAG less than three hours earlier. As before, Tombstone would be leading the tactical CAP for the ground attack aircraft, Hornets and Intruders. The Alpha Strike would be going in low, hard, and fast, skimming the waves almost all the way in; their primary targets included most of the objectives of the aborted mission of the day before, SAM sites and coastal radars, AA batteries and communications centers, as well as the airfield at Kolmo across the bay from the Wonsan waterfront.
It was imperative that the Strike, code-named Desperado, knock out the SAMs and radar. If it didn't, the entire op would almost certainly fail. For the first few hours, the operation's success would be riding on the A-6 Intruders of VA-84 and VA-89, the Blue Rangers and the Death Dealers. The Hornets of VFA-161 and VFA-173, the Javelins and the Fighting Hornets, would be following close behind, taking down what the Intruders missed.
Meanwhile the F-14s, code-named Shotgun, would provide cover for Desperado.
As CAG had laid it out at the briefing, Righteous Thunder would go down in a series of stages. The air-to-ground strikes were Phase One. Phase Two would begin approximately two hours later with CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters in their minesweeper role, using towed sleds to clear the approaches to the landing beaches for the Marines. At about the same time, a special flight of four RH-53D Sea Stallion helos designated Cavalry One would depart from the U.S.S. Chosin. The Marine landings were scheduled to begin with high tide, at approximately 0545 hours in the morning.