They would keep, he decided. His first task was to stop the Imperialist Marines coming over the top of the hill behind him.
"Chogi!" He pointed. "Over there. Behind those rocks!"
"Ne, Comrade Colonel!" The soldier propped the Type 80 on a rock, the muzzle probing back up the slope.
The sky to the south and east was well along toward dawn, growing lighter almost minute by minute. Last night's overcast appeared to have broken up, and a few of the brighter stars were shining against the royal blue patches that showed through rents in the clouds.
Colonel Li looked up the hill. The crest of the ridge was clearly visible against the sky; anyone who came over that ridge would have to show themselves, and when they did…
His hand closed on the machine gunner's shoulder. "Chunbi toesyossumnikka?" he asked, his voice scarcely raised above a whisper. "Are you ready? They will be coming soon."
The gunner nodded hard, his eyes narrowing over the weapon's rear sight, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Pin them down, then run. Bleed them with pinpricks until they bleed to death. That was the way of guerrilla war.
Any moment now…
Coyote saw the two Korean soldiers take cover behind the rock some fifteen yards from his position, setting up a machine gun to face back up the ridge. He'd heard gunfire on the far side of the slope a few moments ago. That meant friendlies were coming, his ticket off this hill.
It seemed like he'd lain there on the ground for hours, his leg throbbing so hard he was afraid to even try to attempt the walk down the uneven slope to the camp. Crawling on hands and one knee, Coyote had taken the radio, Kohl's pistol, and some fresh magazines for the rifle back to a hide in the tangled brush near the clearing. More than once in the past hours, bands of Koreans had passed him, most heading up-slope and away from the camp, and he'd remained silent and hidden, praying that they would not stop.
The growing light as dawn approached was raising the chances of him being discovered. If someone didn't come out from the camp to get him, some gomer with nothing better to do was going to find him… and if it came to that, Coyote was determined not to let the bastards capture him again. Once on this cruise was enough.
Besides, it was quickly clear to him that the Koreans were setting up an ambush. One of them appeared to be an officer, though their backs were to him and he could make out no details on the rather plain uniforms.
Only slowly did the realization that he could take both of them with Kohl's G3 rifle make its way through the shock and pain which had numbed Coyote's brain. The selector switch was set to full auto; if he emptied what was left of the magazine at them he would almost certainly hit them both.
Slowly, so as not to make a sound, he raised the rifle. As he'd been taught in survival school, he took in a deep breath, released half, and held it, centering the sight over the back of the machine gunner. His finger closed on the trigger.
A single shot rang out… but only one. The machine gunner leaped up as though stung, scrabbled with one hand at his back, then fell. The officer whirled about, clawing for a holstered pistol. With a slow-motion sense of arrested time, Coyote saw the gleaming gold cartridge stuck in the G3's mud-caked ejection port, saw the Korean officer drawing his pistol and raising it in both hands. He recognized him. Li!
Coyote hurled himself to one side, gasping as fresh agony seared his leg from ankle to hip. Li's pistol barked and the aviator heard the bullet's snap inches from his ear. Coyote reached for Kohl's pistol, lying on the ground a foot away. Li fired a second time, and a pile driver struck Coyote high in the left shoulder, knocking him back.
He lunged, his fingers closing on the hush puppy's checkered grip. His left arm refused to obey orders, but he managed to heave the pistol up one-handed and squeeze the trigger. The softened blast of the suppressed weapon was drowned by the crack of Li's pistol. Dirt spat, stinging Coyote's face, but he held his wavering hand as steady as he could and kept firing, three shots, four, five, six.
The hush puppy's slide locked open, the magazine empty. Colonel Li remained standing, his automatic still clutched in his right hand. The man took a step, the pistol coming up once more…
Then he toppled forward, hitting the ground with a thump, facedown. The SEAL pistol fell from nerveless fingers.
Coyote was not sure how much time passed before hearing returned to his ringing ears. "Hey, fella! Fella!"
Someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up into a hideously green-painted face under a steel helmet. "Lieutenant Morgan, U.S. Marines," the face said. "Hang on. We'll have a corpsman up right away."
Then night returned and Coyote slipped away into oblivion.
Pak stood at attention in front of the general's desk. It was almost dawn, light enough that he could look through the window behind General Yi and see the line of MiG-21s lined up on the tarmac outside.
He was still angry. Hours after his return to Wonsan two days ago he'd been summoned to P'yongyang, then grounded with no reason given. Pak had spent the better part of thirty-six hours waiting, fuming… and now listening with increasing despair to reports of American attacks near Wonsan. He should be out there, leading his squadron against the Imperialist enemy!
"So you still believe your Plan Dagger was a success, Major?" the general asked.
Pak swallowed. "Sometimes, Comrade General, success or failure cannot be measured solely by the number of kills-"
"I read your report, Major! It happens that I do not agree with your conclusions! Your so-called ambush of the American aircraft was a waste of precious national resources… worse, a waste of good pilots!"
Pak decided that it would be better to keep silent. He remained at attention, his eyes fixed on the MiGs in the window at Yi's back.
"Nevertheless," the general continued. "It seems you are to be given another chance, whatever my own reservations on the subject." He handed Pak's orders across the desk. "Please note the signature."
Pak did so. His eyebrows arched. "I… I am honored, Comrade General."
"Yes, I imagine you are. It seems there are those at Party Headquarters who agree with your notions on tactics." He sighed and looked away. "They are, apparently, more interested in politics than in the realities of men and machines."
So, the conflict here was one of politics. Pak had thought as much. "It is not our place to question the wisdom of our superiors, Comrade General."
Yi shot the major a look of pure venom, and Pak wondered if he'd gone too far. He was, after all, a very low-ranking piece in the chess match unfolding between the leadership in P'yongyang and factions within the North Korean military itself. If he overstepped his authority, the general could still crush him, with or without the signature on those orders.
"You have been given a new mission, Major," Yi continued. "A mission vital to the success of this… this plan devised by our Beloved Leader." He used the common euphemistic title for North Korea's president.
The plan, called Saebyok Chosumnida ― the Fortunate Dawn ― had been conceived as a way to humiliate the United States on the world stage. Initially, it had involved only the capture of the American spy ship; the Party leaders believed that espionage confessions by the ship's crew would holster North Korean prestige… especially with the Soviet Union. The PDRK's Russian allies, mired in the legacies of perestroika, had drastically cut their military aid packages to socialist countries around the world… especially to those that could not pay. In the People's Democratic Republic, this new austerity had resulted in especially severe shortages of parts and spares. Many MiG-21s had already been cannibalized just to keep the others flying.