But he knew it was no use using the radios. The nuclear blast that destroyed Suwon sent a wave of highly charged energy, called the electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, many miles in all directions, turning the atmosphere into a mass of random electrical sparks. Even if anyone was listening, all they would hear was static. The EMP at the time of the blast itself was powerful enough to fry electronic devices many miles away. The effects of an EMP on the atmosphere could last for many hours, even days.
“Six o’clock, sixty miles,” the ESM officer reported. “He’ll come within max Alamo range in less than two minutes.” The Russian-made R-27, code-named “Alamo,” had a maximum range of about forty miles. The senior controller knew that was probably their countdown to die — because there were no friendly aircraft up in the vicinity right now. In an effort not to appear too hostile or offensive, all American aircraft that survived North Korea’s initial ballistic missile attack were grounded. The South Korean Air Force was being used to attack a few targets inside North Korea, relying on ground-based air defense to protect the cities from air attack.
So there was no one up protecting Guardian from air attack.
But they still had a chance. They were less than one hundred miles from the coastline, heading toward Kun-san Air Base. That base was fully operational, and it was armed with Patriot surface-to-air missiles, with a maximum range of sixty miles. It was a footrace now to see if they could get inside the Patriot’s protective umbrella before the North Korean MiGs caught up to them.
“Crew, this is Echo, I’ve got hostile ESM contact at eleven o’clock, fifty miles. Another Slot Back radar — looks like more MiG-29s over South Korea.” Their worst fear had come true: the North Koreans had begun their counterattack and had already penetrated deep inside South Korea, all the way to the southern part of the peninsula. The North Korean MiG-29s would clear the skies of enemy fighters well enough to allow the North’s large but older and less capable fleet of fighter-bombers to sweep across the South and finish off what their ballistic missile barrage failed to do.
“Let’s get this beast down on the deck now, pilot!” the senior controller shouted on interphone. The E-3C AWACS radar plane had a suite of electronic jammers and decoys, but in daytime in good weather, enemy fighters didn’t need electronic sensors to kill a big E-3. Even North Korea’s lowest-tech fighter in the hands of young, inexperienced pilots could do it with ease. A MiG-29, with its outstanding maneuverability and close-range kill capability, could move in and kill an AWACS without even altering its flight path.
“Bandit at eleven o’clock, forty miles… bandits at six o’clock, forty-five miles… eleven o’clock, thirty miles… six o’clock, thirty miles… stand by for evasive maneuvers, crew… eleven o’clock, twenty miles… six o’clock, twenty miles… bandit at twelve o’clock, missile launch, missile launch, pilot break left!” As the pilot started a steep, swift turn, the ESM officer pressed a button, ejecting clouds of radar-decoying chaff into the sky.
It was a desperation move, nothing more. A big E-3C AWACS plane couldn’t do a break or any other maneuver fast enough to defeat an air-to-air missile. But it might be enough to break a radar lock long enough for the enemy missiles to lose track, long enough for someone from Kunsan or Taegu to help. It was their only hope…
“Bandit six o’clock, fifteen miles, locked on, missile launch, missile launch!” the ESM officer shouted. Both MiG-29s were firing… both were locked on…
Then, suddenly, the North Korean MiG-29 behind them disappeared, followed seconds later by the MiG ahead of them. “Pilot, roll out!” the ESM officer said. He punched out more chaff as the pilot started to level off. “Crew, Echo, I have negative contact on both bandits. Stand by for evasive maneuvers.” The only possible explanation: both North Korean fighters had moved within IRSTS, or infrared search and track system, heat-seeking sensor range. With IRSTS, a MiG-29 didn’t need radar to find and track a target. Now their only indication of an attack would be the AWACS’ tail-warning system, which used heat-seeking sensors to detect fighters and the flare of a missile’s motor to detect a missile launch.
“Contact!” the pilot called. “I’ve got bandits at twelve o’clock high!”
“Go nose-to-nose, pilot!” the ESM officer shouted. “Stand by for defensive maneuvers!”
“It’s moving in on us!” the pilot yelled. “It’s closing in… Shit, it’s got us, it’s got us dead in its sights, twelve o’clock, three miles…” Then the pilot stopped. Nothing.
“Pilot, where is he?” the ESM officer asked. “Where did he go? Can you see him?”
“He’s… he’s off our left side, range… range about one mile,” the pilot said. “Holy shit, it’s a Japanese fighter! I see a red rising sun on its tail! It’s a Japanese MiG-29 fighter! Damn, they must’ve killed those North Korean MiGs chasing us!”
It was an unbelievable and very welcome sight. Two Japanese Self-Defense Force fighters, on patrol over the Sea of Japan, had raced across the Korean peninsula, risking attack by South Korean air defenses, to rescue the AWACS plane. The Japanese government, in retaliation for increased American presence and influence in Asia over the past few years, had spurned American military hardware and purchased large numbers of Russian weapons, including the modern and powerful MiG-29SMT, the Western-modernized version of Russia’s most advanced fighter-bomber. The Japanese could buy three times as many MiG-29s as American F-15s, F-16s, or F/A-18s, and get a plane that was every bit as capable as its Western competitors.
“I’ll be damned,” the pilot murmured on interphone. He waved at the Japanese fighters and watched as they wagged their wings in response and peeled off. “They saved our asses big-time. I’ll never bad-mouth the little buggers again.”
The anthem of the Republic of Korea played in the background as the lights came up. The first thing seen was a strange new banner — one that combined the flags of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and the Republic of Korea.
There were two dark blue bars, at the top and bottom of the banner, representing the sky and the strength of the earth. The white middle section symbolized the united land. The circle in the center, the t’aeguk, represented yin-yang, the power of opposites. Its red “yang” upper half, or positive side, represented life, goodness, and fire; the lower “yin” blue half, or negative side, represented evil, death, darkness, and cold. The two segments were entwined, meaning that they could never be separated. Surrounding the center circle were the four broken-bar trigrams, taken from ancient Taoist and Confucian thought, representing virtuous ideals important to a long and happy life.
On either side of the new banner were four other flags: those of the United States, the Russian Federation, the People’s Republic of China, and the Republic of Japan.
As the anthem played, two men walked to lecterns set up before the flag, bowed deeply to each other, and shook hands warmly. At that moment, three men and one woman walked out and took their places in front of their respective flags: Vice President Ellen Christine Whiting from the United States; Deputy Foreign Minister for Far East Affairs Dmitriy Antonovich Aksenenko of the Russian Federation; Minister of Foreign Affairs Ota Amari of Japan; and the assistant deputy secretary for cultural affairs of the Chinese embassy in Pyongyang, Xu Zhengsheng. All stood at attention behind the lecterns until the anthem finished.
On a signal from a stage director, Kwon Ki-chae, president of South Korea, bowed to the others, then bowed to the camera, and said: “My fellow Koreans, it is with great sorrow and also great happiness that I address you today. I am pleased to speak to you from the Hall of the People at the Korean Workers’ Party headquarters in Pyongyang, the capital of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.