“Sir, unless there is a drastic change in data trends, we are currently less than two hours from going to a level three threat. Our intelligence indicates the entire People’s Korean Army is mobilizing. There are also unconfirmed reports that first- and second-stage reserves are being given their mobilization orders. The South Korean 4th Infantry Division destroyed one infiltration tunnel when the exit was opened. Their sector of the DMZ is north of Kumsong.” The G-2’s pointer slapped the map. “No report on ROK or PKA losses.”
Patterson ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. Since taking command of the Eighth Army a year ago, he’d known he was in the most volatile military theater in the world. The two countries were still technically at war, more than forty years after most people thought the Korean War had ended. In those forty years, thousands of people — Korean and American — had died in what the politicians liked to term incidents. But what was brewing now was no incident.
The accord that the two countries had signed in 1991 promised better relations, but it had barely been worth the paper it was printed on. As long as Kim II Sung’s son ruled, then only united Korea would be under his direction.
“No indication of any drawback?” the G-3 asked.
“No, sir.”
Patterson wasn’t willing to wait two hours. Most of his combat troops were based less than an hour’s flight time from the border, vulnerable to a quick air strike. Although the carefully mapped intelligence plan for North Korean mobilization and preparation for war was accurate, Patterson also remembered that there had been a very good intelligence plan in 1941 in Hawaii. It hadn’t worked too well.
Patterson had authority to go to level three. Level two required presidential approval. He had been here long enough to know one thing: the North Koreans were determined to go through with this.
“All U.S. forces will go to level three. I will inform my South Korean counterpart and the Pentagon.”
“Hold on!” Pak yelled as he felt the rope give way through his gloves. Lieutenant Kim and Sergeant Lee — at the tail end — wedged their bodies behind the sled to keep it from sliding back down the hundred-foot incline they had just laboriously negotiated.
“Pull,” Pak exhorted Sun and Ho. They tried to get a better grip on the icy rope in the front. Ho slipped, the rope burned out of Pak’s grip as the entire weight of the sled bore down on the two men in the rear.
Lee screamed as the eight-hundred-pound sled snapped the leg he’d wedged up against the lip. Kim threw himself out of the way as the sled ran over Lee’s twisted leg and rocketed to the bottom of the incline before finally turning over.
Pak slid his way down the hill to Lee. He didn’t need to probe for the injury in Lee’s thigh: white bone had pierced the many layers of clothes and was exposed to the brutal cold.
Kim joined him, and their eyes met as they looked over the injury. Lee’s face was twisted as he forced himself not to scream again.
“We can pull him on the sled,” Kim suggested weakly.
Pak was angry at his executive officer for even saying that. With five men they had barely been able to pull the sled. Now they were down to four.
Pak slowly stood and took a deep breath.
“I will take care of it, sir,” Kim said, obviously realizing the foolishness of his earlier comment.
“No.” Pak put his mittened hand on Kim’s shoulder. “I am the leader. It is my responsibility.” He looked down. “Do you wish for some time?”
Lee shook his head and closed his eyes. Pak pulled his AK-47 from where it hung across his back and slipped his index finger into the trigger finger in his mitten. He fired twice, both in the head, then turned and walked away. Behind him, Kim took two thermite grenades off his harness. He grabbed Lee’s weapon, then placed one grenade on top of Lee’s face and one on his chest. He pulled both pins and followed his commander.
They went to the bottom of the hill. The puff and glow from the thermite grenades flickered on the incline above them as they struggled to right the sled. The fire had burned out by the time they accomplished that and started the sled back up the hill, using longer traverses this time to prevent a repeat of the accident.
Major Bellamy listened through the headset as the pilot updated him on the situation. “The weather over the target is still too rough for you all to jump in. We’re going to head to McMurdo Station and let you jump there — the winds are much lower. We’ve received word that you will load onto a platform there, and that will take you out to the target.”
“What kind of platform?” Bellamy asked.
“Unknown. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Roger.”
Bellamy put down the headset. They’d received the news about the nuclear explosion several hours ago. Bellamy hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of jumping right on top of that. As far as he knew, their job was to secure the site, but the information he was getting over the radio was confusing. The biggest unanswered question was why the bomb had gone off.
Sammy sensed something different and halted. As she peered ahead, trying to figure out what had alerted her, she realized that it was the lack of something that had caught her attention. She turned around and looked back — Conner and Devlin were almost a hundred yards back and moving very slowly. She had no idea how long Riley and she had been pulling away from them. What had been missing was the noise of their shuffling feet on the ice as she concentrated on keeping up with Riley.
“Hold it,” she called out to Riley.
He turned. “What?”
Sammy pointed, and together they retraced their tracks.
“What’s the matter?” Sammy asked her sister when they came up to them.
She pointed at Devlin. “He says he can’t feel his feet.”
“Sit down,” Riley ordered Devlin.
Riley shrugged off his backpack and knelt down next to him. Devlin’s skin was white, and he was not fully aware of his environment. His lips were pale blue and he was shivering uncontrollably: the early symptoms of hypothermia. If allowed to progress much further, Devlin would go into true hypothermia, and Riley knew he couldn’t do anything about that — not in this environment.
“Get in your sleeping bag,” Riley ordered Conner. “Zip your bag with his and try to get him warmed up.”
Devlin looked right through him. He started walking off, back in the other direction. Riley caught up with him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get help,” was the barely coherent reply.
Riley grabbed his arm and dragged him back. He took off Devlin’s backpack and pulled out the sleeping bag. “Get in this. You’re not in any shape to go looking for help.”
Riley quickly dug through Conner’s backpack and pulled out her bag and sleeping pad. He laid them out, unzipped the bag, and helped her into it. After making sure that Devlin was bundled up next to her, Riley pulled out his portable stove. Sammy crawled into her own bag to keep warm. Riley pumped up the stove, squeezed starter gel around the nozzle, and lit it. When it was running smoothly, he pulled his canteen from the vest pocket of his parka and poured water into his canteen cup.
Riley made a cup of instant soup and split it between Devlin and Conner. He forced it down Devlin’s throat, getting the warm liquid to his stomach. In the early stages of hypothermia, circulation to the hands and feet is reduced as the body tries to maintain temperature in the vital organs. Riley knew that no matter how well insulated Devlin’s extremities now were, they would not warm unless the central core of his body was warmed. He also knew that this situation was precipitated not only by the cold but by lack of fluid intake. They had to give up an hour or two of traveling to ensure that they would be able to keep going.