Seeing the flurry of activity, Tony was dragged back to the last war. He vividly remembered being the one hurrying over to the ready room with his wingman, Hooter, both of them bubbling over with an adrenaline overdose. Now, he was a general officer, one of the senior leaders, who sent young men and women downrange in their Falcons to fight. At that moment, he would gladly trade his star for an aircraft.
“General Christopher!” came a shout from behind him. Tony turned to see the wing commander, Colonel Graves, jogging in his direction.
“What’s the status of that pilot?” Tony called out while pointing toward the crashed fighter.
Graves’ expression was one of relief, but the roar of a passing F-16 made it impossible to hear his response. It wasn’t until he got closer that he could finally answer. “He got out clean, sir, but landed as hard as you’d expect. He’s over at the infirmary now, being treated for some minor cuts and bruises. He’ll be sore in the morning, but otherwise he should be fine.”
Tony unconsciously rubbed his right arm, recalling a similar injury he sustained when he ejected from a crippled aircraft so many years ago. He shook himself from his musings and asked, “So, what’s the damage, Colonel?”
Graves and Tony walked into one of the shelters, mostly to get away from all the noise. “Confirmed three birds lost, including the Thirty-Fifth’s squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ortiz. His wingman said his aircraft was hit on the way out. No one reported seeing him eject, and he has yet to report in. Right now he’s listed as missing.”
“Damn it!” Tony cursed in frustration. The next strike had to be airborne in an hour, and the loss of the squadron commander was a severe setback. The Eightieth Fighter Squadron had taken off thirty minutes earlier and would soon be over the target area to plaster anything they found in the open. No one expected this attack to get the ballistic missiles, but it would force the Kim faction to keep them buttoned up in their hardened caves. The artillery bombardment was carefully timed to occur just as the second wave of strike aircraft cleared the area. Thirty minutes later the ground troops would begin their assault. By then the 35th was supposed to be back on station, loitering to the south, waiting for the SOF guys to provide the precise location of the bunkers’ armored doors. The schedule was very tight, and unforgiving. In the back of Tony’s mind was the Chinese threat to level the whole area with one honkin’ big nuke.
“How good is the deputy squadron commander, Andy?” he demanded.
Graves hesitated for just a moment, but the delay spoke volumes, “Major Jackson is a good man, General, but he’s barely been with the squadron for a month and…”
That was enough for Tony. Pivoting quickly, he spotted the crew chief working on the F-16 in the shelter. “First Sergeant!” he shouted loudly.
The man turned about, annoyed by the interruption. However, once he saw Tony waving to him, he broke out at a run. “Yes, General. What can I do for you?”
“Get me a ship.”
Tae watched with satisfaction as the second wave of aircraft bombarded the redoubt’s outer defenses. The explosions were so numerous that they continuously lit up the night sky. The sheer amount of ordnance being dropped on that parcel of land was difficult to comprehend. He momentarily felt sorry for the Kim faction, pinned down in their holes, thinking they might yet somehow endure to cause untold death and destruction on all their enemies.
That their ultimate defeat was inevitable wasn’t in question; it was whether it would come by way of the American/Han plan, or the Chinese plan. The general still shivered when he thought about the Chinese suggestion to drop a five-megaton nuclear warhead on the redoubt and be done with it — an option they refused to take off the table.
Major Ryeon walked up quietly beside his general and stared in amazement. He was also having trouble grasping the weight of firepower pouring down on his former countrymen. “How could anyone survive such a pounding?” he asked.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” remarked Tae as he kept his eyes on the flashes blooming on the horizon. The delayed rumble that followed could easily deceive someone into believing a storm was approaching — a bad one.
“And yet, you’d be equally shocked by how much of the Kim faction’s strength will remain intact. Don’t get me wrong, they will suffer many casualties, lose many fortified positions, but they will still be a force to reckon with. Our approach won’t be a leisurely stroll in the countryside, Major.” He briefly looked down at his watch and noted the time. The air strike would be ending soon.
“Are the unit commanders gathered?”
“Yes, sir, they’re assembled in the command tent,” replied Ryeon.
“Excellent! Then let’s not keep them waiting.” The two men turned and walked quickly for the makeshift tent city a hundred meters behind them. As they approached, a guard lifted the flap. Inside a South Korean officer ordered loudly, “Attention!”
“Be seated!” Tae barked, gesturing for everyone to sit. As the men took their seats, the general noted the blend of uniforms — soldiers from the North and South fighting together. He was still struggling with the concept, even though he’d worked hard to make it happen, and silently conceded that it would likely take him the rest of his life to reconcile his mixed feelings. Although hastily built from various former DPRK and ROK units, his command was nearly a full-strength corps, with a brigade of the North’s best tanks, four infantry divisions, and several batteries of excellent South Korean artillery. Many of these men had served with him from the beginning of the civil war and he knew how worn out they were, even though their faces beamed with excitement. They had just one more battle left to fight.
“Comrades, in less than ten minutes the artillery barrage will begin. Our units are already in position for the final assault on the Kim stronghold. As soon as the artillery commences firing, Major Ro will lead two Reconnaissance Bureau comp… Correction, two Han special forces companies against the Sunchon airfield. Once the airfield has been taken, we will step off and attack along the southeast corner. The Chinese have already begun their assault to the north, and surveillance reports indicate the Kim holdouts have committed some of their reserves. We will attack from the opposite direction and force them to use what little they have left to try and fend us off.
“We must make them believe that our three corps attacking from the east and south are a crushing threat to their survival, so we must strike fast, and we must strike hard. The goal is to force the Kim faction to pull assets away from their western flank and thin their lines for the special forces assault group. We cannot hold back tonight. We must hit the enemy with every drop of our strength.”
Tae paused and stepped away from the map board, approaching the first row of chairs. Looking intently at his audience, he spoke with a tempered voice. “For many of you, the adversary we face includes individuals we once knew as comrades, colleagues, and perhaps even friends. I understand your mixed feelings — the confusion, even the awkwardness of working with our Southern kinsmen. I understand, because I share them as well. But you must put that all aside tonight; for tonight we fight for our land.
“For the people in those mountains do not share our dreams for the future,” stressed Tae as he pointed toward the redoubt. “In fact, they are doing everything in their power to prevent that dream from coming true. They either cannot, or will not, see the possibility of a new way of life — one without constant fear, one without ‘the state,’ one with hope. After tonight, if you wish to stop being a soldier, and do something of your own choosing, you will be free to do so. But tonight, I need you to fight one last time to free our people from the deadly plague that is the Kim regime. Are you with me?”