“He’s coming around again,” Park said. “Fucker’s coming straight at us from six o’clock. Two miles out. Flying right up our tail.”
Lee keyed his microphone and pleaded for their lives, again speaking in Korean as he cried, “Sunwi-do. This is Foxtrot Echo Sierra Four Zero. We are heading to international waters. Disengage, I repeat, disengage. Over.”
Again, there was no reply.
Lee switched to internal coms, asking, “Guns or missiles?”
“Sorry?” Park replied.
“What do you think he’s carrying? Guns or missiles? If you’re right, and he was on night exercises, what armament would he carry? Guns, missiles or both?”
“Guns,” Andrews offered, injecting himself into the conversation. “Bullets are cheaper than bombs and missiles.”
“Is he left handed or right?” Lee asked.
“I don’t know,” Park snapped.
“Which way did he break last time? To the left or the right?”
“Left.”
“Then he’s right handed. When we break, we go right, we turn against his natural lean. We try and force another fly-over.”
“What are you going to do?” Andrews asked.
Lee ignored him. “Distance?”
“Half a mile,” Park snapped.
“Hold on,” Lee cried. He raised the collective control, arresting the forward momentum of the Sea King and adjusting the angle of the blades so the helicopter climbed swiftly.
The Sea King shuddered.
The airframe of the helicopter groaned under the strain. Lee could feel the blood draining from his head as he snatched at the collective, rapidly altering the pitch of the blades. He pulled back on the cyclic stick, forcing the helicopter to pitch back with its nose raised. The Sea King’s initial momentum fought against the screaming engines driving them higher.
Within twenty seconds, the helicopter approached vertical and began to stall. With its nose pointing toward the clouds, the helicopter’s engines stuttered in the air. Lee slammed the stick forward and pressed hard on his right foot pedal. The aging helicopter was sluggish, slow to respond. Eight and a half tons of metal began falling from the sky, plummeting under the pull of gravity. Lee could feel himself lifting out of his seat as they plunged back toward the ocean. His stomach moved up into his throat. A burst of lightning lit up the night, illuminating the raging sea hundreds of feet below them. The engines whined.
“Come on, you bitch!” Lee yelled, dropping the collective control while pulling on the control stick, fighting to level the Sea King as she plunged toward the ocean. Lee executed a 180 degree turn and had the helicopter racing north toward the MIG.
“What the hell are you doing?” Andrews yelled, gripping the side of the cabin for dear life.
“Reducing his angle. Cutting down his response time. Limiting his options.”
The Sea King leveled out barely twenty feet above the waves, its engine whining as it tore through the storm.
The helicopter shook with the impact of incoming rounds striking the airframe. The windscreen shattered. Soldiers screamed in agony. The MIG raced screaming overhead. Lee eased the cyclic control stick to one side, turning the helicopter back to the south as the cabin filled with acrid smoke.
“Mayday, Mayday,” Park cried into his microphone. Although he was broadcasting externally, this time he was speaking in English, knowing the frequency was being monitored from Incheon. “This is Foxtrot Echo Sierra Four Zero declaring an emergency. We have a cockpit fire.”
“Losing hydraulics,” Lee called out.
“Losing hydraulics,” Park repeated, relaying their predicament over the radio.
A calm voice replied over the airwaves, saying, “Foxtrot Echo—”
“We’ve lost flight controls,” Lee barked as the power surged and the radio cut out.
“Brace for impact,” Park yelled. “Brace—”
Lee thought he was ready, but he wasn’t.
The ocean seemed to reach up and snatch them out of the air, pulling them violently into the murky depths. The left float of the Sea King caught the top of the waves, causing the helicopter to wrench to the side as the float was sheared off by the initial impact. Although the front of the Sea King was designed as a boat, with a broad, curved, flat front, the angle the helicopter came down at was awkward, at almost thirty degrees, negating any design considerations as the chopper caught on the waves.
The Sea King shuddered as it slammed into the ocean swell. To Lee, it felt as though he’d driven into a brick wall. His head snapped forward. His body strained against the harness holding him in his seat, while his seatbelt dug into his hip. His arms were flung out in front of him, striking the instrument panel.
Water poured in through the shattered windscreen.
The Sea King listed to one side as it was buffeted by the waves.
For a moment, Lee couldn’t see anything, but not because of the loss of cabin lights. Although he was conscious, his vision had blacked out. Hazy red dots flickered before his eyes. His head pounded. Slowly, his eyes focused on the dim, flickering instruments before him.
Ice cold water flooded the cabin, swirling around his legs and up over his thighs. He struggled with his harness release, but the lock was jammed. In a panic, Lee fought with the locking mechanism. His gloved fingers slipped on the slick metal clips. Water rose over his chest, soaking his uniform.
Lee tugged at the seatbelt, but the more he pulled, the tighter the harness seemed to hold him. He could feel the icy cold water creeping through his trousers and into his boots. The shock of the water running from his neck down his chest and around his waist caused him to gasp.
The sinking helicopter continued to twist, leaning heavily to one side, leaving him with a triangular pocket of air around his head as the canopy began to slip beneath the waves.
Lee struggled to keep his head above water as he yelled out, “Park? Andrews? Anyone?”
The wind howled outside. Rain pelted the sheet metal, but there was no sound of life, human or mechanical.
“I need help!” he cried. “Is there anyone there?”
Waves broke against the sinking hull of the Sea King.
“I’m stuck! I can’t get loose!”
The frigid water swirled around his chin, forcing him to take a deep breath as the salt water lapped at his mouth. Within seconds, the ocean claimed him entirely, covering his eyes, his forehead and his helmet. Lee tried not to panic. He had to stay calm. If he could remain calm, he had a good minute or so to get out of his seat. If he panicked he’d be dead in seconds, burning up what little oxygen there was in his lungs.
A light flickered beneath the water. Through the murky gloom, Lee could see that his co-pilot was dead. Park’s lifeless body was pinned in his seat. Blood blossomed in the water from a shard of glass embedded in the side of his neck.
Seconds were the enemy.
He had to get out of his seat.
Lee pushed himself back against the cushion, relieving pressure on the belt. He twisted the release as gently as though he were sitting in the cockpit on the tarmac back in Incheon, having just finished his shift.
Deep inside the steel lock he felt something click and give. Pushing off gently with his feet, he drifted out of the harness. Lee reached out with his hands, pulling himself through the sinking wreckage.
The side cargo door was submerged, but open. His lungs were burning. He kicked toward the door, pushing off the bulkhead and reaching for the opening, but his boots were heavy, his helmet was bulky, and his clothes weighed him down.