On board the Am Nok Sung the translator put the document he had just read in the completed pile and looked at the next one. His eyes froze as he read the heading:
DTG: 1 AUGUST nHS/lDOQ HOURS TOKYO
FROM: IMPERIAL NAVY STAFF/COMSUBGP
TO: COM/1 2M/EYES ONLY
TEXT: PROCEED TO HUNGNAM-, KOREA-, AJ FLANK SPEED TO TAKE ON CARGO. FURTHER ORDERS WILL FOLLOW
The translator turned the page and there it was: the further orders with the following day’s date, time, group. He read down the text of the document and sharply exhaled. He quickly copied the text of both messages onto a piece of paper. He sprang to his feet and ran for the radio room, the paper grasped in his hand.
Nishin was working his way up the right side of the short rear deck, his destination the bridge. Whoever was in charge would be there and he had no doubt that not far from that person would be the documents.
A roar of automatic fire from one of the Yakuza signaled the outbreak of all-out combat on the deck of the trawler. At least they were all on board, was Nishin’s thought as he carefully aimed and killed a Korean on the wing of the bridge deck.
Nishin made it to the base of the three-story bridge complex and slowed down, edging his way along the steel wall. He had far outdistanced the Yakuza who were still making their way across the rear deck, embroiled in combat with a handful of Korean soldiers.
Lake heard automatic fire below him and to the left. He pulled on the toggles and steered in the direction of the firing.
The battle became pitched as the North Koreans rallied and fought back ferociously. Their lack of firepower, only seven MAC-10s, was made up for by their training and disregard for their own safety. A hatch swung open in front of Nishin and two Koreans sprang out. He killed the first with a burst from the Steyr AUG. In his dying second the man threw himself onto the muzzle of the gun and Nishin was forced to drop it to face the second man, who was armed with a fire ax.
The man swung and Nishin leaped back, the ax scattering sparks as it hit the side of the bridge tower. Nishin jumped in, grabbing the Korean’s arm that controlled the ax and striking a kite blow in the direction of the man’s throat. He missed, his hand slamming into the man’s collarbone, snapping it.
The ax fell to the deck with a clatter, but the North Korean was far from being done. He snapped a front kick into Nishin’s gut, doubling him over. Nishin dropped the standard moves he’d been trained on and growled as he butted his head forward into the man’s stomach, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. He lifted him and slammed him back against the wall. Again. Shifting slightly he did it a third time and the Korean screamed as the handle for the hatch ripped into his back, tearing through skin and muscle.
Nishin stepped back. The Korean was caught on the handle, but he was still alive, writhing in agony, trying by force of will to lift himself off the metal hook, but his feet could get no purchase, dangling six inches off the deck.
Nishin slipped past the man, ducking the dying blow the Korean threw at his head. Inside, a set of stairs beckoned to Nishin, heading up toward the bridge.
Lake had his feet and knees tight together, just like the jump masters at Fort Benning used to scream through megaphones at novice airborne students to do as they drifted toward the ground on their first jump. The firing was much closer now, but the fog was just as thick. Lake glanced at his altimeter: one hundred feet.
He cocked his head. He could hear the throb of a ship’s engines in between staccato bursts of fire. He rotated his elbows in to protect his face and kept his knees slightly bent.
Something passed by, about twenty feet in front of him. A ship’s crane. He pulled in the last inch of slack in the toggle lines and then he touched down on steel decking, grateful for the deceleration of the square canopy that made his landing so soft. He kept on his feet and ripped open the canopy release assemblies on the front of his shoulder. He popped open the small steel loops inside. The parachute hadn’t even settled yet and he was out free of it. The chute drifted over the side of the ship and disappeared.
Lake unhitched the MP-5 as he looked about. He was on the forward deck, standing on top of one of the large cargo hatches. All the firing seemed to be coming from the rear. Lake began making his way to the stern.
Quantity was prevailing over quality. Surprise also was a factor with a third of the North Koreans having died before they realized they were under attack. The platoon commander screamed commands from the open windows of the bridge, rallying his forces, with their final defensive line being the island the bridge was on.
He gave instructions to the ship’s captain, then went to the radio shack at the back of the bridge. It was a small, windowless room with half its space taken up by a sophisticated communications array.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, seeing the translator sitting at the small table, rapidly typing a message into the encryption device.
“I found it’v” *e man yelled excitedly. “You will not believe what it says.” He thrust the piece of paper he was copying off of in the platoon commander’s face.
“You have radioed this information?” the commander asked.
“Not yet,” the translator said. “I just finished typing the message into the encryption machine.”
“Good,” the commander said. He pulled out a double edged knife from its sheath.
“What are you—” The translator never finished the sentence as the commander slammed the blade to the hilt into the man’s chest.
The commander shoved the body aside and sat down at the radio. He began checking the equipment to make sure it was properly set.
Nishin pushed open the door to the room on the second floor and stepped in, muzzle of the AUG leading. The room was empty and he turned to leave when he noticed the box sitting on the small table in the center of the room. Stepping over, Nishin confirmed it was the box stolen from the university the previous evening. There was no time to investigate further. He had to make sure the Koreans were finished first. He went back out, closing the door behind.
Lake surprised two men locked in combat on the left side of the bridge tower. He killed them both with a short burst from his MP-5. There were several other bodies scattered about, both Korean and Japanese. Lake could hear firing coming from above him and he knew that was where he had to go.
Nishin cleared the bridge with one sustained, silenced burst from the Steyr AUG. He leaped over a body and kicked open the door at the back of the bridge. A man sat by the radio, his hands on a computer keyboard, a body at his feet. Nishin fired, his bullets slamming the man up against the radio console, blood spraying the machinery.
Nishin rushed over but he saw he was too late. Two words flashed on the computer screen: message sent.
There was a paper in the man’s hand. Nishin knelt and carefully pulled it out of the dead fingers that clutched it. He stuffed it inside his shirt. He checked the numbers on the digital displays of the radio, committing them to memory.
There were voices speaking behind him in Japanese. He reentered the bridge. Oyabun Okomo was standing with a handful of surviving Yakuza, several of them sporting wounds.
Okomo pulled a body off of the bridge controls and grimaced. “We are sinking.”
His words caused Nishin’s trigger finger to pause just a millimeter from pulling back. He looked about. The ship was listing slightly to the right. Three more Yakuza entered the left side of the bridge, weapons at the ready. Nishin removed his finger from the trigger.
“The captain opened the sea cocks to scuttle the ship,” Okomo explained, slapping the control panel. “They are jammed. We cannot close them. We must get to the tugboat before it is too late.”