“Defense. Mud Spike. Picking up a Charlie band target acquisition radar, twelve kilometres bearing two one degrees. Source is a Flat-Face radar. I’m also detecting a Side-Net radar in support. We have an SA-3 Goa SAM out there. I’m streaming the tail.” Pausing for a few seconds Donna ‘Fangs’ Farra called out, “Tail deployed, going active.”
Streaming out behind the Bone was the ALE-55 towed repeater jammer, millions of dollars of sophisticated electronics, emitting signals to confuse enemy radar. The towed decoy acts as a missile countermeasures decoy. Crews had nicknamed it ‘Little Buddy’. On the B1-B Lancer, it was integrated into the ALQ-184/9 Electronic Counter Measures pod, thus creating an integrated threat-protection system.
“FINAL RUN IN,” SAID Soup, “weapons free.”
“Rooster 2, you are weapons free.”
“Copy Rooster 1, we are running in. On your right.” Both B1-Bs were going in, fangs and claws out.
“Offence. Selecting Paveway GBU-48, weapons armed. Opening bomb bay. Come five degrees right.”
Slippy banked the aircraft slightly. Laser and GPS guided the one thousand pound bombs that awaited the drop. They’d be guided in by the Sniper XR, chin mounted targeting pod. Linda ‘Razor’ Seraisi, the Offensive Systems Officer, was about to do her thing. That thing was what the Bone was good at; delivering destruction right where the enemy doesn’t want it. Wonsan naval base was about to be in a world of shit.
“Defense. We have India/Delta band Low Blow fire control radar. The Goa’s gone active. Keep on your run in Soup, it’s time to trust Little Buddy.”
“Offence. Bombs away. Salvo one gone. Come to one three zero degrees.” Slippy applied power and turned the Bone hard to the right.
“Defense. The Goa is running in.” Chaff, flares and decoys were ejected from the quadruple launchers in the B1-B’s rear. The SA-3 Goa streaked in at Mach two, closing on its target at an alarming rate. Fangs had done all she could, it was down to luck and Little Buddy’s electronics now.
Salvo one’s bombs hit their targets, and ships, dockside cranes and supply tankers disappeared in a storm of fire.
“Offence. Bombs away. Salvo two gone.” The Goa SAM flew well wide of the B1-B, its guidance confused.
“Turn seaward now,” said Soup, “go, go.” Slippy powered on and pulled hard left, and the afterburners thundered out over the bay. The Lancer rode on the four flame trailing GE turbofan engines. Rooster 2 dropped its load of death and followed.
SA-7 Grail shoulder mounted SAMs launched from the port, but the Lancers were too fast.
Black smoke rose and fierce fires burned around the base. Secondary explosions blew ships apart as magazines succumbed to the fires.
“ROOSTER FLIGHT COME to four three degrees select WP3,” ordered Soup. Target two, the nuclear complex at Punggye-ri, would now receive two very nasty visitors.
“WP3. Losing height.” The two aircraft dropped down to two hundred feet.
“Rooster 1, feet dry. Rooster 2 feet dry.” They went in just east of Kimchaek. The pair flew up a steep-sided valley around six miles long, before turning right over a flat area to the west of Kiju. Then it was North West up a river valley on the ten mile run into Punggye-ri.
Six miles to go.
Five miles to go.
“Rooster 1 on final,” Soup called.
“Rooster 2 on final from the west.”
“Defense. Mud Spike,” said Fangs, “picking up a Charlie band target acquisition radar, five kilometres bearing three two zero degrees. Source is a Flat-Face. Side-Net radar in support. We have another SA-3 Goa SAM out there. Tail is active.”
“Offence. Selecting Paveway GBU-28/B. Armed, opening bomb bay doors.” This was a frightening five thousand pound ‘bunker buster’.
Chaff, flares, decoys and the tail’s electronic dance of deception lured the SAM away.
“Bunting,” said Slippy, applying power and climbing. The bomb would be more effective when dropped from a height. The bomb was released at the position in the climb that the aiming computer calculated.
“Offence. Bombs away.” The Giant Paveway arced up over and down, following the laser designator’s aim. Its target was a hillside just above a hardened steel door. The bomb slammed in, burrowing down before exploding. It was as though an earthquake shook Punggye-ri. The shock was staggering.
Seconds later another earthquake struck as Rooster 2’s bomb found its mark.
The two Lancers turned for the coast and headed southeast over towards Japan, where a Stratotanker would be waiting.
IT WAS SAID THAT THE air turned blue, verging on violet, when Kim Jong-un was informed of the attack. A senior Air Force officer was said to be facing an anti-aircraft gun firing squad.
THE NEXT DAY, PEEKABOO Stockhaisen stood before the Long Son Pagoda. She’d wanted to be here after seeing the large white statue of the Buddha that was visible from the city. The beautiful and unique Taoist architecture was embellished with mythical animals and sculptures of Taoist gods, within a working monastery, complete with a school for monks in the grounds.
The elegant and impressive three-tier roofed entrance, decorated with dragon mosaics, led to the large temple grounds decorated with potted vegetation. She spent an hour exploring the tranquil grounds, enjoying the simple beauty of its buildings. She stopped for a rest and sat on a low stone wall in the shade of trees. Sitting opposite, were two Buddhist monks chatting quietly. One of them left after a few minutes. Two tourists walked by, and the two women spoke in what Peekaboo now recognised as Japanese. She noticed the monk looking at her; he was in his fifties she thought. She looked away, the sun shone through the leaves dappling the wall and stone pavement. She noticed him looking at her again, she didn’t feel threatened at all, he seemed peaceful.
“What troubles you?” he asked.
She frowned. “Nothing, I’m just enjoying the Pagoda and its grounds.”
“You are troubled, I can feel it. You’re carrying a burden. Let us talk. The Buddha said much about carrying and ridding yourself of trouble. In the end, only three things matter: How much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you. I can see that you carry a pain. I know this. Do you?”
She didn’t reply, and the monk continued. “The Buddha was asked, what have you gained from meditation? He replied “nothing”. However, let me tell you what I have lost: anger, anxiety, depression, insecurity, fear of old age and death. Let us talk.”
She nodded.
THEY TALKED FOR NEARLY an hour. He discovered the source of her pain, and initially she resisted his solution, but little by little, he talked her around.
“Remember, it eats you away.” He said. “The Buddha said. Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Don’t wait to attend to your problem.
Remember the problem is that you think you have time.”
He stood. “Will you follow the Buddha’s advice?”
She nodded. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”