Tugur was angry with the regimental commander. The man had ruptured the cordon they had so carefully designed to capture the terrorists. In his haste to attack, the man had opened up gaps. Tugur didn't think that whoever had been shooting could have outflanked the attacking force and escaped. They had to be moving farther into the mountains. Still, there was the slight possibility they might escape. He ordered even more reinforcements into the area.
He instructed the other four gunship helicopters to start up. He also ordered four S-70 helicopters to fly reinforcements above and to the west of the terrorists' likely location. Each aircraft could carry ten men. Tugur planned to emplace a number of squads higher up in the mountains and have them work down, catching the terrorists between them and the picket line.
General Parker had listened as calmly as he could to Hossey's story. The fact that the Special Forces colonel couldn't explain the reasons behind the mission, nor could he shed any light on why this Colonel Moore at US-SOCOM was now saying the mission should not have gone, made the whole thing more ludicrous than it already was. The story of a Chinese computer scientist at Fort Meade instigating all this was the icing on the fruitcake.
The ring of the STU III phone cut through Parker's thinking. He indicated that Major Thomas should answer. "Put it on the speaker."
Parker waited as Thomas turned on the voice box. "Parker here."
"This is Jim Gunston."
"What have you got, Jim?"
"The AWACS has picked up an aircraft making its way toward the North Korean coast. It's moving at about a hundred and thirty knots and down in the waves. We're pretty sure that it's the Blackhawk. Also we're picking up a lot of Chinese helicopter activity in the Changbai Mountains, south of Yanji. That's really unusual, because the Chinese very rarely fly their helicopters at night."
"Can you intercept the Blackhawk?"
There were a few seconds of silence on the other end. "No. The F-16s can't intercept in time. Also, there's another problem. That helicopter is flying just outside the twelve-mile limit from the coast in international airspace. It's way down in the wave tops and hasn't been picked up on radar yet. If we send some F-16s in there after it, we're definitely going to alert the Soviet and North Korean radar."
Parker considered this. "What about Wildcard? Can it make it in time?"
There was another pause. "It definitely wouldn't make it in time to stop them. The bird is only about ten minutes out from crossing the coast and only about fifty minutes out from where all this Chinese helicopter activity is. We've got to figure that's where the bird is heading. It would take Wildcard more than an hour to make it there. Plus, it would take us at least ten minutes to get it airborne."
Parker thought about the implications. "Launch Wildcard. I want it to be very clear that Wildcard is not to violate Soviet or Korean airspace. But I want it to get as close as it can to the Blackhawk. We need to keep our options open."
Again, a pause on the other end. Then Gunston's troubled voice came over the line. "Wildcard is only over here for classified test flights. It's not meant to be operational yet."
"I know that, Stu. I've seen the test results. It's already done more in practice than we're asking it to do now. I don't want it to violate sovereign airspace. Just hang off the coast until we figure out what's going on."
"All right. No harm in that. I'll alert them and get them airborne."
After fifteen minutes of creeping in the dark, wary of another encounter with Chinese soldiers, Mitchell finally arrived at the intersection of the unimproved dirt road and river, which was the guide point for the pickup zone. He shot a 320-degree azimuth and led the rest of Team 3 off through the woods. The pickup zone was about four hundred meters away. The moon had risen and even those without goggles could see relatively well. Mitchell would have preferred no moonlight.
They could all hear the sound of vehicles moving in the dark. Even as they left the dirt road behind, they could see the glow of headlights on it as reinforcements poured into the area.
While Lassiter flew, Jean Long did some final navigational calculations. They were headed on the right azimuth for landfall just south of Najin and should reach the shoreline in another five minutes. Then it would be twenty to thirty minutes to the pickup zone.
Already one of the internal tanks was dry and they were well into the second one. They would be working on the third when they landed at the pickup zone. That ought to leave enough room to get the survivors on board and also make the helicopter light enough to lift off with the additional weight.
During the hours of low-level flight above the wave tops, Jean had tried not to think about what they might find when they got to the PZ. Colonel Hossey had told her that the message said one man was dead and three wounded. Worrying about her husband would drain energy she needed to fly and navigate, so she had resolutely refused to allow her thoughts to dwell on the possibility that Mitch might be one of the casualties.
Jean scanned the instrument panel, then keyed her intercom to talk to Lassiter. "How do you arm these Stingers?"
Her copilot gave the answer she expected. "I don't know. I've never flown with them before. I imagine that switch down there on the lower right arms them. I know this button here on the cyclic fires them."
Jean had never flown with Stingers either. She hoped Lassiter's guess was right. With a little luck they wouldn't need the missiles.
Mitchell scanned the small open field with the night-vision goggles. Aided by the light of the moon, the field appeared as it would in daytime. Its size was adequate for landing a helicopter. Several small trees would have to be cut down, however.
He turned to the other members of Team 3 who were crouched in the tree line on the southeastern corner of the field. "Hoffman and Comsky will help me take down those trees. C.J., you stay here with Olinski. Ski, turn on the FM and start monitoring it."
The three men moved out into the field. Using their survival knives, they began hacking down the small trees that would have impeded the landing of the helicopter they all hoped was on the way. C.J. watched as the men worked. He could hear the rumble of vehicles going by only four hundred meters to the east on the unimproved road. It was obvious that the Chinese were bringing more units into the area. He could also hear and see the two helicopters off to the northwest searching the ridgeline.
Riley and Chong had made it over the crest of the northern ridgeline. They paused briefly to rest while Riley checked the terrain to the east. As far as he could see were the headlights of numerous vehicles moving to the north and south. Making it to the coast was out. He turned and looked up the ridgeline to the peaks of the Changbai Mountain Range. This was not the direction he wanted to head, but it seemed to be their only choice.
He gestured to Chong, and the two resumed their scramble up the ridgeline. The two Z-9s were still flying only a kilometer to their south, quartering the ground in a grid pattern. They would be overhead in less than fifteen minutes. Riley wasn't afraid of being seen by the helicopters as long as it was dark. Avoiding the searchlight would not be difficult. Tomorrow morning would be a different story. Riley was not optimistic about their chances of seeing another sunset.
Their chances further diminished as two new S-70 helicopters, with searchlights on, flew by to the south, higher into the mountains. The two aircraft carefully set down about two kilometers to the west. They landed about eight hundred meters apart, then took off, heading back toward the coast. Riley had little doubt about what was happening. Someone in the Chinese headquarters was getting smarter. Their last option was being taken from them. They had nowhere to go.