Into the fire, p.20
Into the Fire, page 20
Baumstark looked to Dawson. “How many personnel will be going in on the first run?”
“Jesse Carpenter and I will be going in, and we’ll have two or three waterproof cases with equipment. How about you, Major?”
“I’ll take everyone I brought along,” Volner replied. “There’ll be eight of us, and we’ll be going in heavy with weapons and about seventy pounds of gear per man. We’ll probably come out a lot lighter.”
“And I’ve decided to send along my medical officer,” Baumstark continued. “My last from Seventh Fleet is that there are several seriously wounded sailors that are going to be brought aboard the ASDS. He’ll be needed, but only on the first run. So that’s eleven that will board the ASDS from here, and perhaps twelve or so wounded and a few others on the first run back. How many can you carry, Master Chief?”
“Hard to say with the wounded and their condition. Probably not a lot more. Past that, we’ll try for about twenty per trip, but we’ve never had that many aboard. We’ll just have to wait and see. And you can make that twelve on the first run into the island. Lieutenant Denver will ride the ASDS both ways to help with the transfer.”
“I have a question,” Volner said. “Where are we going to put all these people?” This was not Volner’s first time on a submarine, but his previous experience was with USS Michigan, a Trident-class ballistic-missile submarine that had been modified to support special operations missions. It was almost three times the size of Greenville. Compared to Michigan, the Los Angeles–class boats were sewer pipes.
Baumstark grinned. “It will be a little crowded, but we’ll make it happen. And that’s why we have Santa Fe.”
“Santa Fe?” Volner asked.
“That was another piece of information we received on our last communications check. We’ll have some help on this mission.”
Volner considered this. I know we’ve got to get the crew off this rock. They’re counting on me, Mr. Williams is counting on me, and Mr. Dawson is counting on me. I’ve worked with SEALs before, but it’s been on land—not in a submarine and a submersible like this. Can I really control this mission and bring this crew—and my men—out alive?
* * *
While Greenville sped north, blind, deaf, and putting a lot of noise into the water, USS Santa Fe (SSN-763) was silently making her way into the northern Yellow Sea at ten knots. Also a Los Angeles–class boat, it was carefully sniffing along the proposed track of the Greenville to make sure there were no enemy submarines lurking about and to be on hand to handle some of the evacuees from Milwaukee. And neither of the boats assigned to this rescue mission were without teeth. In addition to a large number of torpedoes, each of them was equipped with twelve Tomahawk cruise missiles housed in vertical launch tubes mounted just forward of their sail.
* * *
On Kujido Island, a buzz of excitement and anticipation had overtaken the crew of Milwaukee. There was, in reality, little for them to do, but the officers and senior petty officers kept them busy to pass the time. They had been told they could bring nothing—no bag, backpacks, or carry-ons. Space would be at a premium, and they needed to be prepared to move quickly down boarding ladders and through a narrow hatchway. Personal effects were to be limited to medicines and a few articles of personal hygiene stuffed into pockets. They were to dress warmly, but no bulky clothing. In scarcely five hours, they would begin moving the wounded back across the beach to the ship along with about a third of the crew. The rest would follow the next evening when the actual evacuation began.
Kate Bigelow continued to make periodic rounds and spent a moment or two with each crewman. And each hour, she checked in with Seventh Fleet Operations. All seemed to be in order for the planned rescue, although for reasons that were not given, the parent sub, which she now knew to be USS Greenville, was not going to be on station off Kujido Island until late tomorrow afternoon. That was cutting it a little close, but she was assured that it would be there and that the physical evacuation would begin on schedule.
“Captain, Chief Picard would like to see you in sick bay.” It was Petty Officer Third Class Horace Matthews, one of the more medically knowledgeable crew members Picard had pressed into service to help her with the wounded.
“Very well, Matthews,” she said, and they made their way across the concrete enclosure to where the wounded were being cared for. She found Chief Picard standing over a blanketed form that had the sheet pulled up over the head and shoulders. Picard stood with her arms folded, seemingly unaware of Bigelow’s presence. She waited in silence a moment with her chief corpsman before she spoke.
“Who?” she asked quietly.
“Petty Officer Gary Radcliffe.” Bigelow took her by the elbow and with more than a gentle tug, led her away from the still form on the ground. “I did everything I could, Captain, but this cold, this place; damn it, he never had a chance. I didn’t even have the right meds to ease his pain. When’s it going to end, Captain? And how are we going to get the rest of these people down to the ship and into this submarine or whatever it is that’s supposed to be coming for us?” Bigelow now had placed her hand on her shoulder in a soothing gesture, but she was closely observing her. “And no, I’m not taking any meds myself, damn you! Sorry, Captain, it’s just…”
Bigelow now had a hand on each of her chief’s shoulders, and she was in fact looking for signs Picard was taking something. She saw nothing. “Look, Carol, we asked for none of this, but here it is and here we are. Everything that has taken place, those who have died, including Petty Officer Radcliffe, and those who may yet die, are my responsibility and mine alone. I’m the captain. I have to do my job, and I have to depend on you to do yours. Now I want you to continue to prepare these people for transport.” Picard started to protest, but Bigelow silenced her with a firm stare. “We will leave no one behind, and that’s my final decision. Those shipmates who are dead we’ll come back for another time. I’ll have Master Chief Crabtree get Radcliffe to the ship so he can be with the others. I want you to focus on those who still need your care. Okay?” Picard nodded, but she seemed to be looking past her. Bigelow shook her gently. “I said, okay, Chief?”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Good. I’m counting on you.”
She turned to go and found Jack O’Connor waiting for her on the edge of sick bay. He had a sour look on his face.
“What’s up, XO?”
“I heard about Radcliffe. It’s a shame. You know he has a wife and three kids back in San Diego.” Bigelow did in fact know that, but she was not going to let Jack O’Connor take her there.
“There’s someone at home waiting for all of us. The loss of Radcliffe is a tragedy, for his family, for me, for you, and for his shipmates. That doesn’t alter what’s ahead of us and what we have to do.”
“But respectfully, Captain, what is it we have to do? The North Koreans have offered to help us; if we’d taken them up on that offer, we might have saved Radcliffe. And this proposed submarine rescue is not going to be easy. And I know about that dry minisub the SEALs use. It’s an untested prototype system. Are you sure this is worth the risk? And who thought this one up? Sorry, Captain, but I don’t like this.”
Bigelow waited a full fifteen seconds before responding. “Jack, I don’t care if you don’t like it. I’m not sure I like it. But all that’s beside the point. This is our duty. It’s our duty to get off this island, out from between the North Koreans and our fleet. I’m in command, and we’ll do our duty to the best of our ability, period. Now, you don’t have to like it, but if you’re not prepared to back me one hundred percent and execute my orders, then I better know that right now. So how’s it going to be, Jack? Are you prepared to execute my orders without question?”
O’Connor hesitated a moment longer than he knew he should have before answering. “Yes, ma’am, I will follow your orders.”
“Very well.” She took a half step closer and continued in a quieter voice. “And when and if you have command at sea, I hope you have an executive officer who shows you a lot more support and loyalty than you’ve shown me.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Now I want you to go with the wounded and first lot of the crew to be evacuated. I’ll send Master Chief Crabtree with you. You’ll wait the day out there in the mission module deck and then begin the loading at dusk tomorrow when that minisub gets alongside. Any questions?”
“No, ma’am.”
“If there are, you’ll know where to find me. I’ll be over with the last of the crew to leave the island. Now, you better get your people ready to move out. Good luck, Jack.”
“Uh, good luck to you, Captain.”
* * *
The wounded of Milwaukee now numbered thirteen. A number of those only slightly injured in the surface action and artillery shelling had been patched up and returned to duty. Eleven had been killed in the attacks or died of their wounds and would remain on board the ship until they could be reclaimed along with what was now the hulk of Milwaukee. The thirteen wounded were now back aboard the LCS and resting as comfortably as possible in the vessel’s mission bay. The ship’s enginemen had brought one of the portable generators back aboard and had powered up several space heaters. It was not warm, but they had taken the bite out of the wet Yellow Sea winter chill. There was just enough fuel to last the day. Two of the casualties were highly sedated and another four had injuries that rendered them incapacitated due to their pain meds or splinted limbs. The other seven were semiambulatory but would need some assistance in any evacuation effort.
Another twenty crew members had reboarded the ship with the wounded. Seven of those twenty were civilian technical representatives. The eighth tech rep had been killed in the exchange with the North Korean frigates. These twenty would assist with getting the wounded over the side and then be the next increment of evacuees. Still on the island were forty-two crewmen and the captain of Milwaukee.
“XO, Master Chief, are you there?” Kate Bigelow was speaking into her Motorola transceiver.
“XO here, Captain.”
“Master Chief Crabtree standing by.”
“Everything all right there?”
Jack O’Connor answered. “We’re all secure and the wounded are resting as comfortably as possible. The spaces smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, but we’re setting up a portable blower to get some fresh air in here. We have a long day ahead of us, but we’ll make the best of it. And we’ll make a point of staying off the weather decks. Any word from our rescuers?”
“I don’t expect to hear from them directly until later this afternoon. When I hear from them, you’ll hear from me. If anything comes up, give me a call. Captain, out.”
While the crew on Milwaukee did what they could to be comfortable and await events, those ashore moved in and out of their concrete refuge at will. The roving patrols were visible, and they had started a burn pile some fifty yards downwind from the building. Inside, they continued to make preparations to abandon the building under cover of darkness that evening.
* * *
Orbiting at thirty-five-thousand feet overhead was a lone Lijian, or Sharp Sword, Chinese drone. The unmanned aircraft had stealth design features and bore a striking resemblance to the American X-47 stealth drone. The Lijian was a prototype aircraft and did not yet have an infrared capability, and the ducting that served the turbofan engine was such that the U.S. airborne radars circling over the South Korean mainland had no trouble tracking it. There was talk of shooting it down, but not until it served its purpose, which was that of reporting to its Chinese controllers the Americans were still hunkered down in the abandoned cannery on Kujido Island.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE
November 14, 1030 Eastern Standard Time
Wyatt Midkiff knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant encounter, but he needed to ensure that his Op-Center director and his national security advisor were on the same page—that’s why he had insisted on the meeting. The tension between the two men was well contained but still just under the surface. Williams knew Harward had supported the defense secretary and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs in urging immediate, decisive action against North Korea for attacking Milwaukee. Close to a dozen U.S. Navy sailors had died, and more were wounded. Worse, North Korea was trying one plan after another to snatch the crew off the island and hold them hostage.
But the president had the final word, and Williams had convinced him to play for time and let him try to rescue the crew with the ASDS. Now they were just hours away from executing the plan. Midkiff needed consensus.
“Chase, we’ve read your memos, and I’ve back-briefed Trevor on our most recent phone conversation. You have an update on USS Greenville and on Milwaukee’s crew on Kujido Island?”
“I do, Mr. President. First, regrettably, another Milwaukee sailor has died, bringing the total dead to eleven. And it is good we are close to extracting the crew. Commander Bigelow reports at least one sailor, and perhaps another, will likely perish within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours if we don’t extract them from that freezing rock soon.”
“How cold is it there on Kujido Island?” Harward asked.
“It creeps up to about forty degrees by early afternoon but then plummets to below freezing at night. The medical packet we air-dropped about eight hours ago helped, and the captain and her chief corpsman have all the antibiotics and other medical supplies they need for the moment. But there’s nothing we can do about the exposure the crew is dealing with except to get them off that island.”
“I’ve got that, Chase,” the president replied. “Now tell us more about the rescue and about Greenville and the other assets you’ve got close to the scene.”
Williams powered up his secure iPad and began to walk them through the plan.
Chase Williams’s spectacularly successful naval career and his success in winning the confidence of the president in being appointed Op-Center’s director were not achieved by second-guessing himself or by letting himself become immobilized by a crisis. But while he confidently walked the president and Harward through the rescue process, he thought, Will this plan really work?
* * *
The day and evening of the planned rescue seemed to drag by. Those huddled aboard the grounded Milwaukee had little to do but try to stay warm and pass the time. Those who could sleep did, but most were too keyed up with the prospect of a rescue to do more than nod off for a few minutes. All were dreaming of a hot shower and a fast-food burger with fries. Under Master Chief Crabtree’s direction, one of the culinary specialists had gone to the galley and was able to activate one of the gas-fired shipboard grills. Though the ship was at a severe starboard list, she was able to put together a broth with a few vegetables and deliver a round of hot soup. It did much to cheer her shipmates.
On the island, the rest of the crew did what they could to maintain a routine. They kept up a roving patrol and burned trash at the downwind site a short distance from the cannery. The only sign of conflict was the ongoing artillery exchange. The North Korean coastal guns on the mainland and the South Korean 155 mm artillery on Yeonpyeong Island kept up an intermittent duel that crashed and echoed just a few miles northwest of Kujido Island. While the crew of the Milwaukee both ashore and on board were somewhat content to pass the time as best they could, their captain was not.
Kate Bigelow paced about the disused concrete cannery, becoming more impatient by the hour. During each of her scheduled Iridium sat-phone calls to Seventh Fleet Operations, she asked about the progress and location of the rescue submarines, and each time she was told that all was on schedule. On a recent call, when she further probed, the watch officer did admit it had been more than eight hours since Greenville’s last comm check. Following the 1700 call, Bigelow was struggling with great difficulty to remain calm. She told herself a great many people and a great navy were doing all in their power to help her and her crew. But she was exhausted, and the crushing responsibility of extracting her crew from this concrete hell was almost overwhelming. There was nothing for her to do but put on a positive face, make her rounds, and do what she could to keep up the morale of her crew. Or are they keeping up my morale? Each one I meet seems to have a smile and a good word for me! God bless these fine sailors; I simply must find a way to get them out of here and to safety.
“Hey, Captain,” Petty Officer Matheson called from across the large central room. There was some urgency to his voice, bringing Bigelow at a run. “Some guy named Dawson. He asked for you by name.” She grabbed the Iridium and made for the door, again for the privacy and the reception.
“This is Captain Bigelow.”
“Captain, this is Brian Dawson here aboard USS Greenville. Was it you who called for a taxicab?”
“Damn straight, Dawson, and it’s good to hear your voice. Where are you and”—she just couldn’t help herself—“who in the hell are you, anyway?”
“Captain, I’m the guy who’s going to get you off that island. Right now, we’re about ten miles south of your position. And you can call me Brian, Cap’n. The ASDS, or minisubmarine, will be leaving Greenville in just a few minutes to come for you. Are your people ready to make the transfer?”
“As ready as we can be, and our wounded will be first.”
They talked for another five minutes before Dawson rang off. Bigelow returned the Iridium to Petty Officer Matheson feeling better than she had since the two North Korean frigates appeared on the Milwaukee’s radar in what now seemed like several months ago.
Aboard Greenville, Brian Dawson left the sub’s communications station and made his way aft to the ASDS. Greenville was indeed a little more than ten miles south-southwest of Kujido Island. The submarine was at periscope depth with her comm mast extended and was making three knots—just enough to hold depth, which was a challenge for the planesman with the weight of the ASDS on the parent sub’s back.
Aboard the ASDS, Lieutenant Bill Naylor was at the controls with Master Chief Harlan Mecoy at his side. They were going through their prelaunch checklists. In the rear of the minisub, Major Mike Volner and seven heavily armed members of his team sat quietly awaiting events. Collectively, they maintained a practiced impassivity that only veteran special operators can do on the eve of a mission tasking. Along with the JSOC team was a single medical officer who, though a qualified submariner, had the apprehensive look of a doctor used to a much larger submarine. With him was Jesse Carpenter, along with several waterproof cases of electronic and communications gear. Also aboard were Lieutenant Tom Denver and Petty Officer Collins to help get the wounded aboard from the LCS. Collins was a last-minute addition for this first run to help embark the wounded. Under normal circumstances, Greenville would be in deeper water for an ASDS launch, and at a lower speed, and there would be SDV SEALs outside in the water to help get the ASDS safely away. But not at this speed.
