“The Ministry of State Security teaches you to do that?”
“No, I taught myself,” she smiled.
“Ok. Charlie, this business with the USS Benfield and the sub. You know the President can’t be held back from that one.”
“You know you need to keep him on his leash, as best you can.”
“Come on Charlie, he has to do something.”
“Do you know where in Nam she is?”
He knew the MSS would know, the bastards. “Where?”
“The lovely Peekaboo’s in Nha Trang I’m told. That’s on the southeastern coast.”
“I know where it is,” he replied.
“It’s a nice place. But does have its seedy side. You need to be careful. The MSS can protect or pursue, you can play a part in that.” She took her coat off. “Now, enough of that, let’s eat.”
COMMUNICATIONS OFFICER Lieutenant Commander Lemineux handed Commander Nathan Blake a communications slip.
“This just came in from COMSUBPAC Sir.”
He read it. The XO was back aft with some A-gangers. An issue with a stern ballast pump.
Nathan walked over to the chart display. Lieutenant Nikki Kaminski looked up, smiled and then quickly suppressed it. He handed her the communication.
PRIORITY RED
R 221345Z JUL 86 ZY17
COMSUBPAC PEARL HARBOR HAWAII//N1//
TO STONEWALL JACKSON
PACFLT// ID S072RQ81//
NAVAL OPS/02
MSGID/PACOPS 6738/COMSUBPAC ACTUAL//
MSG BEGINS://
MAINTAIN STATION. OFFENSIVE OPERATIONS ON TEMPORARY HOLD.
MSG END//
She read it and handed it back.
“So, Nikki, it looks like she gets to keep her panties on for a bit longer.”
She gave him a cheeky smile. “Poor girl.”
NATHAN COMPLETED HIS tour of the boat, all was well, she was in fine shape. How long this hold would last was anybody’s guess.
“XO, Kaminski, Weaps. Let’s go to the wardroom. We’ll go via the galley and get some coffee.”
Sitting around a table in the wardroom, Nathan looked between the two people before him.
“Weaps, Lieutenant Kaminski has a plan outlined. It hasn’t been authorised, but at some point it may be. I doubt it, but we can’t rule it out. I’d like to put some flesh on the bones, just in case it’s needed. We have a hold on operations, so we’ll do it now. Kaminski, if you outline the plan to Weaps first, then we’ll get started.”
Nikki explained the plan.
Weaps puffed his cheeks out. “I see, ok I’ll start a new plan of Ops. What are we going to call it, Sir?”
“You’d better ask Kaminski.”
“Well,” she said, “this is the USS Stonewall Jackson, so I guess it has to be Bull Run. The two battles are where the General excelled himself.”
THE BENFIELD HAD TO be avenged, there was no holding back, the political situation demanded it. It started hours after the sinking.
Four GE F101-102 turbofan engines rolled down the runway. Sheets of flame poured out from their afterburners, producing one hundred and twenty thousand pounds of thrust. The B1-B Lancer bomber lifted skyward, followed quickly by a second B1-B.
“Rooster 2 from Rooster 1 taking up flight level 33 for WP1”
“Copy Rooster 1.”
“It’s a long trip north, Kip.”
“Yeah, but then the fun starts.”
Major Pete ‘Soup’ Campbell mission commander and Lieutenant Kip ‘Slippy’ Clay, sat side by side at the pointy end of one big kick ass bird.
Slippy had logged over 1000 hours flying the B-1B or the ‘Bone’, as it was affectionately known. Bone, B one.
Soup had nearly that, having moved over from the B2 Spirit Stealth Bomber. He’d said that this was real strike missions for real men, not cruising near invisible at high altitude. This was get down low and get dirty.
The two were part of a flight from the 28th Bomb squadron, on detachment from Dyess AFB Texas.
WP1 or waypoint 1 was just off Southern Japan. The pair of B1-B Lancers would cross Japan between Hiroshima and Kitakyushu, making rendezvous with a KC-135 Stratotanker over Mishima Island in the Sea of Japan. Refuelled, they’d start to lose altitude before going feet dry south of Donghae, South Korea. It would then be a low-level flight north over the Odaesan and Seoraksan National Parks on their way to the target.
“Don’t you boys be getting lost now, d’ya hear?” Sat in a separate compartment to the rear of the cockpit was Lieutenant Donna ‘Fangs’ Farra. As the Defensive Systems Officer, she controlled the B1-B’s sophisticated defensive systems. Sitting next to her was Linda ‘Razor’ Seraisi, the Offensive Systems Officer. A black girl from Louisiana and cool as they come, Razor was competent and seemingly unflappable.
“Yeah, don’t you guys fuck this up. Joe Gook’s looking forward to our visit,” said Razor.
“Yeah, right,” said Slippy, “you gals knit me a new jumper back there.”
“In your dreams,” replied Fangs Farra.
Rooster 1 headed north north west, with Rooster 2 1,000 feet below and behind.
“ROOSTER 1 DISENGAGED. Thanks for the fill up, Fatman one.”
“You’re welcome Rooster flight, good hunting. Returning to Yokota. See you on the exfil.”
“Copy.” The KC-135 turned back to Japan.
Slippy lined up the aircraft and selected WP2 just off the coast. He eased back on the revs slightly for the long gradual fall to the ingress altitude of two hundred feet.
Long minutes later they approached the coast.
“Levelling off, two hundred feet.” Soup saw the coastline through the gathering gloom, lights were on along the coast road. The two deep penetration strike bombers raced in at four hundred knots.
“Rooster 1 feet dry,” called Slippy.
“Rooster 2 feet dry.”
Night vision goggles lit the scene in a pale glow. Slippy selected the valley to his left and followed the western slope. At the end of the valley, he turned hard left, overbanking to line up with the next wooded valley. He settled on a height of one hundred and thirty feet.
A warble sounded from Fangs’s DSO station. “Defense. Mud Spike. Picking up an Echo band radar, range eight kilometres bearing two six-five degrees.”
A South Korean military ground radar was painting them.
“Defense. IFF positive ID.”
Being an ally, the Republic of Korea Identification Friend Foe system wasn’t flashing the USAF aircraft as a threat. The two B1-Bs rolled on north through steep wooded valleys.
“Slippy, let the old man have a go at this,” said Soup.
“You have control.”
“I have control.” Soup pulled hard into a turn in the valley, reaching a ninety degree bank.
Pilots who’ve flown both, say the Lancer handles like a heavy F4 Phantom.
The B1-B screamed up the river valley at four hundred knots. The river was a good visual clue, and Soup got her down to around sixty feet. Their path would take them just west of Yanggu, and Soup saw the lights coming up on the right.
The lights disappeared, and the B1-B flew over a broad fertile plain on the east bank of the river.
“Coming up on Uncle Kim’s backyard.” The Bone crossed the border at eighty feet altitude and four thirty knots.
“We are officially in bad man’s land,” said Fangs, she let out a whoop. “Time to earn our pay.”
“Slippy. You take over, we’re on the ingress to the target soon,” said Soup.
“I’ve things to do. You have control.”
“I have control.”
After five kilometres, the Bone flew down the lake complex of Imnam Josuji. Around twelve miles long, it allowed the Lancer to get down real low. There were still turns in the lake complex; forested hills rushed by as they skimmed the lake surface. Slippy pulled back on the stick to gain altitude prior to pulling hard left. A brief fast run over the surface, then a long right turn. The wooded hill was just feet away from the cockpit. The lake petered out into a river, leading them towards the town of Hoeyang. It was now a flat plane all the way to their first target, the Naval base and East Fleet HQ at Wonsan. They crossed the Pyongyang — Wonsan highway, and kept that to their right all the way in.