The cheering was deafening.
Cho looked out the window of the Surion helicopter and saw the greenish-hued terrain pass by in a distorted blur. He didn’t even want to think how low they were, or how fast they were going. Both were undoubtedly in the “very unsafe” category as far as normal civilian operations was concerned. What was I thinking? he thought to himself. Cho raised his night vision goggles and closed his eyes. He struggled to concentrate on happy thoughts as the helicopter bounced about unevenly in the night air. Stay calm. Don’t think about your stomach. It would look very unprofessional if he threw up on the Ghost Brigade command staff.
The twenty-four helicopters flew in two long columns a mere fifty meters off the ground. Each of the formations was led by three US Army AH-64D Apache Longbow gunships as escorts for the nine troop-carrying Korean Surions. The Americans would also provide close air support should the Korean assault group run into resistance, and act as a backup just in case something went wrong with the strike aircraft. Each of the Surion helicopters carried two pilots, two gunners, and nine commandos. Between the eighteen transports there was a handpicked company of the Ninth Special Forces Brigade — about to be unceremoniously dumped into the heart of the Kim redoubt.
A hand grabbed Cho’s shoulder and gently shook him. Opening his eyes he saw Master Sergeant Oh in the dim light; he was holding something in his hand. “Here, chew on this. It’ll help keep your gut from rebelling.”
“What is it?” asked Cho.
“Ginger gum.” The commando smiled broadly. “It’s our best defense against lunatic pilots. They’re always trying to get us to vomit. They think it’s a cute game. Sick bastards!”
“Thank you,” Cho replied gratefully. He popped the stick of gum into his mouth and immediately felt a tingling sensation from the strong spice. It didn’t take long for the soothing effect to quell his upset stomach.
“Sergeant Cho, what unit do you belong to? I don’t recall ever seeing you before with any of the ROK Special Forces brigades, and your accent sounds northern,” inquired Oh.
Cho looked at the senior enlisted man with wariness, uncertain if Oh was just trying to make small talk to pass the time, or if his question was of a more probing nature. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my affiliation, Master Sergeant. Let’s just say I’ve been to where we are going.”
“Ah, I see. Well, it’s always a good thing to have a guide in a strange land,” Oh replied politely. Then leaning closer, and with a more serious tone, he said, “Since you’re probably not a special warfare operator, stay close to me and do as you’re told. Before you do anything, and I mean anything, make sure Colonel Rhee or I give you permission. And for God’s sake, don’t do anything heroic. If you follow these instructions to the letter, there is a reasonable chance you’ll survive this mission. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly,” Cho answered with a note of irritation. As far as Oh was concerned, the new sergeant was an amateur who needed a last-minute introduction to Special Warfare 101. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time, so the next best thing was a harsh warning. Cho understood Oh’s motivation; the man was a consummate professional and expected the same from his colleagues. Clearly Oh didn’t like having an “untrained” individual on this mission. But even if he meant well, the gruff delivery left Cho’s ego bruised. He didn’t like being treated like a child.
Rhee waved his hand, grabbing everyone’s attention. Pointing to a tablet, he marked their location and said, “We’ve reached the break-off point. The other formation will peel off and take their own route in. The ride is liable to get a bit rough once we start flying down these valleys, so make sure all your gear is secure. We land in sixteen minutes.”
Cho braced himself. Now it’s going to get rough?
It had been awhile since Tony felt so good. He was in heaven, literally. The sixteen F-16Cs of the Hellcat strike were organized into four flights, flying high above Incheon as they headed north to their loiter station. Each flight had one bird with two GBU-31 2,000-pound armor-penetrating bombs for the hardened missile storage bunkers, and three aircraft with four GBU-38B 500-pound high-explosive bombs for everything else. Once the SOF guys pinpointed the location of the armored bunkers, fifty-six bombs would descend on them like a pack of wild dogs, or cats, in this case.
General Carter was fuming, and he let Tony know it as the strike passed by Seoul. But Carter wasn’t so angry that he ordered Tony to abort. No, Carter knew this raid had to work, or else. And as much as he would hate to admit it, both men knew Tony was the right guy, in the right place, at the right time. Oh, there might be a disciplinary hearing afterward; perhaps a letter of reprimand would find its way into Tony’s record, maybe. But in the end, he was at peace with his decision. This would be his last chance to fly a combat mission, and any punishment the air force could come up with would be well worth it.
Still, Tony knew there would be hell to pay when Ann found out about his little junket. And Randy Carter would make sure Ann knew about it. “C’est la guerre,” Tony mumbled to himself.
“Puma lead, this is Lighthouse. Hold you on course three four five, speed five hundred, angels thirty. Nightstalker one and two have delivered the package and are holding to the west. There are no friendlies above angels five. There are no bogies to report,” concluded the air battle manager on the E-3C Sentry.
“Roger, Lighthouse. Hellcat strike proceeding to station,” replied Tony.
“Puma lead, DPI coordinates will be relayed by Dog Pound via JTIDS.”
Tony acknowledged the report that the E-8C JSTARS command and control aircraft, code named Dog Pound, would be relaying the aim points from the special ops team to his strikers by digital data link. All the pilots had to do was release the weapons within parameters and the GPS guidance would do the rest. With the team on the ground providing a differential GPS correction, the bombs should land within a handful of inches of the target — more than close enough.
As Tony was signing off, the air battle manager chimed back in once more with a cheery, “It’s good to see you back in the saddle again, Saint. Good luck. Lighthouse out.”
Smiling, Tony radioed his instructions to the other three flights. They’d be on station in fifteen minutes.
Tae was pleasantly surprised that the commandos took so little time to secure the airfield. On the one hand, the general was pleased with their rapid progress; on the other he knew the air base had been practically unprotected. Only a minimal troop complement had defended it, and rather badly at that. Most were untrained conscripts; they were zealous, but had no chance against Ro’s professionals. Very few surrendered.
“Comrade General, Major Ro reports the bridging units will be in place shortly and his commandos are ready to forge ahead,” reported Ryeon.
“Very good! Tell Ro to have his commandos scout out these two main roads to the southwest.” Tae pointed on a map to the roads that climbed into the foothills. “I need to have a better idea of what defenses are up there. We’ve met almost nothing! They must be concentrating their forces up there in those heights. And get some of those miniature UAVs up there as well!”