"This new ten-meter will hit forty knots, but no way we can outrun a missile. We can hope to hear some eighty-five millimeter rounds coming at us. That will mean they have no missiles."
He used the radio for a minute, and then got back to Murdock. "We're splitting off from the other RIB. Give the fuckers back there two targets to worry about. Hold it, here comes a round."
They couldn't hear any incoming sound, but an explosion blasted a crater in the soft green of the sea.
"He's three hundred meters off," the coxswain said. "Damn good. We'll do some maneuvering. Tell your guys to hold on with both hands."
The V-section-bottom fiberglass boat took a hard right turn, then a left, and plunged through the building seas. They took water over the bow, and in a moment the three crewmen were as wet as the SEALs.
Another round came in, landing far to their right this time. Murdock knew the patrol boat was trying for a bracket, but they had no forward observer. He wondered if they had radar. They must to come even this close. With any luck they'd only have surface-search radar. That was all they needed right now. He hoped it was only a Pot-Head I band. But he couldn't know.
The little craft took another drastic turn, this time to the left, and continued for what Murdock figured was a quarter of a mile before the RIB angled back on its course toward the destroyer.
"Can your chopper help out?" Murdock asked the coxswain.
"Not unless I ask him to," the sailor said. "Hell, I want to ditch this turkey myself. Better have your guys stand up for the rest of the run, easier on the kidneys that way."
The RIB heeled over again as it made a high-speed turn to the left again, held that direction for ten seconds, then whipped back to the right, and continued for another quarter of a mile before it angled away from the coast again.
One more round came in, but it was barely heard over the roar do the RIB's engine.
The craft made another sharp turn, then concentrated on moving to sea. They saw flashes of two more rounds, but the low-to-the-water inflatable boats were hard to spot on radar, and this time they had slipped out of the North Koreans' grasp.
The coxswain throttled back to abut thirty knots to make it easier riding. Still, they were the first of the two boats to reach the Cole. They tied up to the stern of the ship and went up ladders dropped down from the helicopter landing pad. They changed into dry clothes in their assigned assembly room, and Murdock asked for a casualty report.
Mahanani grinned at the commander. "Skipper, not a fucking scratch on this one. The JG has some blood on his hands, but he claims it ain't his. Says he had an up close and personal relationship with a North Korean sentry."
"Good. Now let's get some chow and then bunk out. We've got an eight-hour ride back to the Hotel Monroe."
Murdock and the JG had just finished their specially prepared steak dinners when a radioman found them.
"Commander, you're wanted in communications right away."
They both went, and the commo officer pointed to a radio and a handset. "The CAG on the Monroe wants to talk to you, Commander." Murdock took the microphone.
"Murdock here, sir."
"Good work with those fifties, Commander. We sent a flight of eighteen Hornets up that way. The first two found almost no enemy missile fire at that air base, and we went in with all eighteen and blew the place into hell. Our first count shows we caught fourteen of their fighters on the ground and demolished them. There were jet fuel fires all over the runway. Three of them tried to take off and got plastered into the concrete.
"The front-line troops won't have any trouble with those fighters, and the rest of their Air Force is on the run. Good work. Oh, Don Stroh is here and panting to talk."
"Thanks, Captain. We appreciate your comments."
"Murdock? Yeah, you came through," Stroh said. "The Eighth Army general is pleased as a cocker spaniel with a raw steak. You have a nice nap and we'll see you when you get to this floating hotel. Oh, I think that the general and his staff have a new job for you, so don't cave in on me yet. This one could be important… as the others were."
"Don't try to be nice, Stroh. It isn't like you. And I still say that I caught the biggest fish back there in San Diego."
"Biggest, maybe, but I caught the most calico bass and those were the ones we grilled for the fish fry."
"Wait till next fishing trip. See you later." Murdock gave the handset to the operator and he and DeWitt headed back to the assembly room.
"He's got another job for us?" DeWitt yelped. "How about a couple of days of R&R somewhere?"
"JG, this is Don Stroh we're talking about."
Lieutenant General Richard F. Reynolds stood in front of the huge map in the war room and studied the red line that showed the present MLR. The Main Line of Resistance had been moving little the last two days. The Republic of Korea troops had weathered the attacks well, and had in some cases pushed back the NK troops after their first dramatic drive southward.
The red marks could be wiped off and redrawn whenever news came in of advancements or attacks. Colonel Vuylsteke waved at the line north of Seoul.
"We've trapped at least a battalion of NKs in this region. They stormed through with tank support. We actually fell back to sucker them in, then crashed in on them from both sides and the front and cut them off.
"The cleanup process is starting. We saturate the area with artillery, then do daylight bombing in the morning followed by our assault on three sides. We should have it mopped up by noon."
The general looked at the west side of the line. There the red marks extended only two to three miles south of the old DMV, which was still printed in permanent ink.
"What about this side? Any movement?"
"Not much, sir. The NKs simply extended their supply lines too far, too fast, and couldn't keep the troops furnished with ammunition, let alone food and gasoline. We're in good shape on the west front, and should have the NKs pushed back to the DMZ within three or four days."
"So, we're making progress. How long do you think it will take us to win back the real estate that we gave up?"
Colonel Vuylsteke shook his head and laid down his pointer. "On that score, we can't say. It depends a lot on how hard the ROKs fight, how well our own supply lines work. We didn't have the chance to stockpile food, ammunition, and gasoline the way the North did. I'd say two months at least to get back to where we were."
"I'm getting lots of flack from Washington and the Pentagon," General Reynolds said. "They say get it over with quickly. I can't convince them that we have a war on out here. They think of it as a small flare-up, a minor support mission for a needful ally. It's goddamned war if I've ever seen one."
"I agree, sir," Colonel Vuylsteke said. He pointed back to the center of the map. "Sir, you asked about the Ninety-first Tank Battalion. They were in that first cutoff push we made. They held their position, and now have joined in the closure of the trap of that battalion of NKs. They are functioning well, and we have lost only one tank in the strike."
"Yes, good." The general threw his riding crop into a chair and sat down across from it. "We need something dramatic, something swift and deadly to convince the North Koreans to pull back to the former lines. We need to talk again. This foiled attack may have reduced the NKs' military's role in the government."
Colonel Vuylsteke drew a circle in red around Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea. "Here is where we need to strike, General Reynolds. If we hit the capital hard with fifty planes, we might be able to convince them the war is too costly."
"Come on, Colonel. It sounds good, but it won't work. Remember Vietnam and then again in the Gulf War? You can't bomb these people into surrendering. It just isn't practical. We need something else. I want you and G-2 to get together and come up with some ideas. We need a good plan, one that will work. Something like that air raid on the Sinuju air defenses. Now, that worked."