Into the fire, p.23
Into the Fire, page 23
* * *
The captain of the Shang-class Chinese submarine was not entirely sure what the two American submarines were up to, but his orders were to find out. All submarines have signatures, and veteran sonarmen have learned to distinguish between classes of submarines and even individual subs. He knew he had two American Los Angeles–class boats operating nearby, but there was a third acoustic signature with which he was totally unfamiliar. Periodically, one or the other of the American boats would activate a beaconlike underwater transponder, as if it was attempting to mark its position. Then there was what seemed to be a third craft in the area that was electronically very noisy. According to the Chinese sonar technicians aboard, it appeared this third submarine was emitting navigation-sonar transmissions. But the emissions were beyond anything they could classify.
Not wanting to guess wrong or appear unknowledgeable to his superiors, the captain came to periscope depth and raised his communications mast. He reported only that the two American boats, and possibly a third, were maneuvering south and west of Kujido Island—nothing more. He was ordered to press in closer to determine what the Americans might be up to. This sketchy and imprecise information was immediately passed to the North Koreans.
But the Chinese submarine running at periscope depth for the time it took to transmit its message and receive instructions had not gone unnoticed. It had lingered near the surface just a few minutes too long. The sky high above the northern Yellow Sea was now a debris field of orbiting satellites, with more being repositioned each day to cover the crisis. The submarine had been seen by a keen-eyed Key Hole KH-12 high-resolution satellite, and that sighting had been confirmed by a Lacrosse 2 radar-imaging satellite. Both relayed their findings to the NSA. That information was immediately relayed to Seventh Fleet and to Santa Fe when it surfaced to receive what it hoped would be its last complement of the Milwaukee crew.
Yet with the daylight, there was no hiding from Chinese surveillance satellites. And since time was more important than stealth and the risk of detection by North Korean coastal radar, Santa Fe had closed to within four miles of Kujido Island for this final transfer. It was indeed spotted on the surface by an orbiting Chinese surveillance vehicle. But unlike the flow of information from NSA to Seventh Fleet to the operational units at sea, this sighting was processed by one bureaucracy and only grudgingly made available to another. This critical piece of intelligence would not arrive at the headquarters of the Shenyang Military Region of the People’s Liberation Army until later that afternoon. It was the Shenyang Military Region that was responsible for the northern Yellow Sea.
Greenville, too, still had another load of refugees to retrieve and a minisub to recover and make fast to her hull. It had closed to within six miles of the island. But the Santa Fe was now a free, fast-attack, hunter-killer sub, albeit a very crowded one.
* * *
At the North Korean special operations compound at Nuchonri Air Force Base, some forty miles northwest of Kujido Island, a North Korean colonel did something most uncharacteristic for a senior military officer in his army; he made a decision without going to his superior to ask permission. He was experienced enough to know his superior would have to ask his superior and that the moment would be lost. In that case, his men on the contested island and their objective of capturing the American crew would be lost. The fact that he would be blamed for the failure, whether he acted or not, helped him to come to this decision. His commando team’s assault on the island had started well. The submarine had successfully delivered them to the island, where they landed unopposed. They had located the American sailors in an abandoned building and had stormed the building successfully, or so he was led to believe. They had picked up radio broadcasts from the American ship’s captain, a woman, if that could be believed, who said they were being overrun. It seemed that his commandos had been successful. But since then, nothing! His commando team leader was under strict orders to check in hourly and report his progress, both to him and to military headquarters in Pyongyang. But that call had been long overdue. When a call finally came, it was not by radio but by cell phone. The assault had been a trap, and half of the commando force was out of action. It was from this cell-phone call that the colonel learned of the setback and what still might be done to overcome the American crew that had now reboarded their ship for a final stand.
His quick-reaction force was standing by, and the flight crews were on alert status. All he had to do was give the order, which he did. Moments later, two Russian-made MI-24 Hind helicopters lifted off and streaked at low level for the island. Each carried a dozen commandos, but these men were armed differently. In addition to their normal combat load and AK-56 assault rifles, each carried an RPG-89 grenade launcher and several rounds of grenade ammunition. As for the Hinds, they had a dual mission. They were to serve as troop transports and as attack helos. Their primary mission this day was to deliver their cargo to the island. Then they were to remain on station to support an assault on the ship.
* * *
The Air Force AWACs aircraft orbiting over Seoul picked up the helos shortly after they lifted off from Nuchonri. But at their top speed of two hundred knots, they were barely twenty-five minutes from Kujido Island. Alerted by the AWACs and half a world away, two Predator drone controllers saw the inbound helos just as they cleared the coast. By then, they were but fifteen minutes from a touchdown on the island. Both Predators were armed with Maverick missiles, but neither could engage a moving airborne target. All they could do was arm their missiles and track their targets. The two helos touched down several hundred yards from the cannery about fifty yards apart. The commandos were able to clear the aircraft and safely make for cover, but the aircrews had no chance. One was turning on the ground while the other had just lifted into a hover when the Mavericks slammed onto them, creating two giant fireballs that were clearly visible to the JSOC snipers on Milwaukee.
* * *
Several decks below the sniper perches, Brian Dawson and Mike Volner were joined by Kate Bigelow to watch the new batch of commandos disperse across the island. They moved in pairs, so no raining death from the sky could get more than a few of them in a single strike. The Raven drone had long since expended its on-station time and was allowed to drop into the sea. A Global Hawk with a downlink created by Jesse Carpenter had been brought down to fifteen thousand feet and now orbited the island. The presentation on the small computer screen was not as precise as that of the Raven, but then the distance was much greater.
“Well, this kind of ups the ante,” Dawson said. The North Korean commandos had fanned out and were moving like a troop of rats to the island’s southern strip of beach. The RPG launch tubes were clearly visible on their backs. “Can we hold them?”
Volner didn’t answer for several moments as he made a professional assessment of the video presentation. “Yeah, maybe, but it will be a close-run thing. A lot will depend on their orders. They probably think all of the crew is still aboard. Are they here to take hostages, or are they here to kill us?” He leaned in and continued to study the screen. Neither Dawson nor Bigelow spoke. Both knew from here on, no matter what happened, Major Mike Volner would be in charge. “Okay, this is how we’re going to play this. I want all your people ready to go when that ASDS returns. Keep them well to the starboard side of the ship as close to the skin of the ship as possible. I want everyone in flak jackets and helmets. Those RPGs will go through the skin of this ship like it isn’t there. If the warheads have any kind of a delay, one of them could get through. I’ll need two of your gunners and one of your deck people to help me defend and delay what’s going to come at us in short order.” He looked to Dawson. “I’ll be occupied keeping them off the ship. Let me know when that ASDS gets alongside and then again when you and everyone but my people are aboard.”
“Are we going to be able to get everyone on board?” Bigelow asked.
“Don’t worry about that right now. You just focus on getting your people and yourself aboard. Our job is to keep them off the ship until that ASDS is loaded and away.”
The ship suddenly shook as a rocket-propelled grenade slammed into the port side of Milwaukee. It was a solid hit, opening yet another gaping hole just below the pilothouse. But the shooter paid for it with his life. Rather than ducking for cover, the commando couldn’t help but watch the impact of his rocket. One of the snipers quickly traced the rocket trail back to the missileer’s firing position. He was lying prone on the beach berm just down from the bow of the ship. The JSOC marksman took him with a head shot.
* * *
The call with his United Nations’ ambassador had, at least for the moment, cheered the president and reminded him why he had selected her for the assignment. While there was no chance of getting a Security Council resolution to censure North Korea for attacking Milwaukee, as China would certainly have vetoed that effort, the General Assembly was another matter. Japan, South Korea, Indonesia, Malaysia, and other Asian nations had had their fill of North Korea’s intransigence. Under her leadership, they had joined America in a coalition of the willing to censure the Hermit Kingdom. North Korea’s aggression and violation of international norms would be fully exposed in the General Assembly. And once the LCS crew was safe, the president himself was going to address the United Nations.
* * *
The ASDS arrived back at the Milwaukee midmorning to find a ship under siege. Volner had partially offset the commandos’ use of the RPGs by mounting two of the ships .50 caliber machine guns fore and aft, where they could rake the beach with their heavy fire. They were manned by two of the ship’s gunner’s mates. But automatic-weapons fire from the beach and the RPGs had forced them to periodically abandon these partially exposed emplacements. Now one of the gunners had been wounded, and his gun was inoperable. But only once had the North Koreans tried to cross the beach. The machine-gun fire and precision shooting of the JSOC team had driven them back. But the one operable .50 caliber still in action was beginning to overheat, and Volner’s men were now rationing their ammunition. Both the commandos and defenders knew it was but a matter of time until the North Koreans were able to cross the beach, put grappling hooks over the bow, and board the ship.
“Mike, this is Brian,” Dawson said over the team tactical net. “The last of the crew is just now boarding the ASDS. I’m here with Captain Bigelow. What’s next?”
“Get aboard. I’ll send the remaining gunner down to you. I want no one aboard but me and my team. Let me know when you have everyone else aboard the ASDS.”
Kate Bigelow refused to leave the deck of Milwaukee until every member of her crew was in the minisub, including the two gunner’s mates, Jesse Carpenter, Lieutenant Tom Denver, and her boatswain mate chief petty officer, who had been tending the ship’s Zodiac that was now tied off on the side of the LCS. It was a tight fit, but they crammed everyone aboard, with pilot Bill Naylor fighting to control the buoyancy of his overloaded craft. Brian Dawson sat on the hatch coaming of the ASDS and slipped through just ahead of Milwaukee’s captain.
“Mike, Brian here. We’re ready to shove off. Sure you don’t want a ride? Room enough to squeeze in one or maybe two more.” There was another flurry of gunfire coming from the shore, and it was a moment before Volner replied. “They’ll be aboard any minute now, Brian. Get the hell out of here. With any luck, I’ll be aboard Greenville before you.”
“Good luck, Mike.”
“And you, Brian.” And he was gone. Now it’s up to me, Mike Volner said quietly to himself. Just cover their escape. Once they’re gone, you can get out yourself. But cover their escape!
Dawson closed and secured the hatch, then nodded to Master Chief Mecoy. A moment later, the ASDS slipped from the side of the LCS for the last time. Still tied to the side of Milwaukee was the last Zodiac. But the previously mounted OMC twenty-five-horse outboard that was clamped to the transom had been jettisoned for a 110-horsepower Mercury that was purring impatiently at idle. The main and cross tubes had been topped off so they were now rock hard.
Each member of Mike Volner’s JSOC team knew exactly what he was to do. One at a time, they dumped their magazines on rapid single fire, turned, and raced along a predetermined route to the waiting Zodiac. The first man there stowed his weapon and took charge of the outboard engine. Then, one at a time, they made the edge of Milwaukee’s aft mission bay and the open mission-bay door, and Volner directed them over the side. They came in the sequence he had expected, but number six did not appear. When the last man, his senior sergeant and a burly veteran, arrived, Volner knew he probably had a man down.
“Carson, Volner here. Where are you?” Volner and his sergeant heard a mic being keyed, but there was no voice transmission. “Carson, this is the major. Are you there?” Nothing. He turned to the man at the outboard. “In sixty seconds you go, with or without us, clear?”
“Clear, sir!”
I’m not leaving without all of my men! Volner raced along the route the last man should have taken, followed by the big NCO. Up a deck and in an interior athwartships passageway just inside the port skin of the ship, they found him. As Carson turned to leave his fighting position, he had taken a round under the ear, and it had unhinged his jaw. He was unconscious, and there was a lot of blood, but he was breathing. They discarded his weapon, and Volner helped the wounded man to a fireman’s carry over the sergeant’s shoulder. Then they turned and ran. Volner, a step behind, chanced to look down a port-side fore-and-aft running passageway and saw two armed men in black, ninjalike attire. His weapon was still slung so he instinctively snatched a fragmentation grenade from his vest and tossed it at them. He had nearly caught up with his sergeant and called “fire in the hole” when the blast crashed behind them. But they were now ninety degrees to the blast alleyway and escaped back across the passageway to the bay that led them back to the Zodiac.
It had been closer to two minutes than sixty seconds when the three of them reached the tethered inflatable. The man at the outboard was where Volner had left him, but two of the others had taken up security positions, and the fourth tended the little craft’s mooring line. The two on security quickly collapsed back in and were over the side in seconds. They handed down the wounded man, and the others literally dove into the boat. The man at the tiller in the coxswain’s position popped the big Merc into gear, and they tore away from the side of the LCS. While they sorted themselves out, the rest of Volner’s exit strategy began to unfold.
The controller of the orbiting Global Hawk, on seeing the Zodiac leave the side of the Milwaukee, bid the drone to signal Greenville, which was patiently waiting with a raised communications mast. Shortly after receiving the coded transmission, a fire-control technician aboard Greenville closed two firing circuits on his firing panel. First one and then a second Tomahawk land-attack missile leapt from their vertical-launch tubes just forward of the submarine’s sail. Following their precisely programmed instructions, they nosed over and flew straight for Milwaukee, each at an altitude of no more than fifty feet. Just before they reached the ship, they climbed to a terminal attack altitude of three hundred feet and detonated exactly over the ship—again the one, then the second.
Aboard the Zodiac, the JSOC medic tended to the team’s wounded comrade as best he could while the others clung to the spray tube of the pounding craft. Volner looked back across their wake to the LCS. There were waterspouts as the North Korean commandos took up firing positions along the deck. There were now a dozen or more of them aboard, most of them shooting at the fleeing Zodiac. Then came the crash of the airburst over the LCS. The force of the blast sent a pressure wave across the weather decks of the ship. It did little additional damage to the battered ship, but it swept the North Korean commandos who were topside away like grains of sand being blasted by a garden hose. Those inside were knocked from their feet, and those who didn’t go down from the first blast did so from the second.
Volner took stock of his team and his boat. They’d taken no hits, and the tubes appeared to remain firm. And the engine screamed with effortless power. He crawled forward to where his medic and his team sergeant were working on the wounded Sergeant Carson.
“How’s he doing?” he shouted over the roar of the outboard.
“If we could slow down a bit, sir,” his team medic said, “I think I can get a pressure bandage in place and stop the bleeding.”
Volner again looked back at Milwaukee. They were well out of range, but the sooner they got to Greenville, the better. Yet he estimated they were making close to thirty-five knots. The ASDS was doing no more than nine. He motioned for his coxswain to slow down.
* * *
The Shang-class submarine was moving toward Greenville at three knots and at a range of just over two miles. It was bow-on to the American boat and at its best speed for passive listening. The sonar operator aboard the Chinese boat sat concentrating, pushing his earphones tightly against the sides of his head so he would miss nothing. He had heard the two missiles leave Greenville, but, because they were launched close to the surface and there was a great deal of surface-chop noise, he didn’t know what they were. He had never heard an American cruise-missile launch, nor had the simulators where he received his sonar training prepared him for the real thing. All he really knew was that this was a loud, unfamiliar noise coming from an enemy submarine that was not only an extremely quiet adversary but one who took great pride in that silence. And there was the issue of the transponder-like pinging that in fact was a homing beacon for the ASDS. Suddenly, his face contorted in pain, and he ripped the earphones from his head. He dropped them to the deck and clamped the heels of his hands over his ears in an attempt to ease the ringing in his head. The force of the screech he had just experienced was all but debilitating.
