“Each of us has at least one reload. Unit Twelve has two Scud-B reloads; my Unit Fourteen, which is a Nodong-1 unit, has two reloads as well. After you secure your units, we will try to meet at this location three days after the first launch, or at one of the other rendezvous locations listed on your sheet in four days; we will contact you with instructions. We will then proceed to secondary launch points inside Kangyang Do province. Depending on the success of our first launch, we may decide to try to split up the reloads, or we might try to get more reloads from one of our bases.
“Most important, comrades, is this: survival,” Kong said. “We represent the last and only hope for the restoration of our nation. We are possibly the only weapon left that can stop the capitalists from destroying us. Guard your weapons with care. Do whatever is necessary to preserve your forces and carry out your assigned mission. If one of you is down, destroy or cache any remaining weapons, destroy all classified documents, then rendezvous with another unit to assist them. Remember: your mission is not complete until you receive verified, competent orders from myself or from headquarters telling you otherwise.”
Kong looked at the men assembled around the camp-fire. He saw that his message had stirred them, but he also saw the fear in their eyes. Their nation was imploding, coming apart at the seams. They had all heard the muted whine of enemy planes overhead, wondered when the cluster bombs or nuclear detonation would hit, whether the end had come. They had a long march ahead of them, at least five hundred kilometers. Under normal conditions, such a march would take less than a week. Under current conditions, it could take months.
It was not just the South Korean warplanes, or the threat of an American nuclear-loaded cruise missile that posed the greatest risk — it was the threat from one of their own, their comrades-in-arms. They were more likely to be killed by a bullet from a North Korean rifle than an American bomb. The man they shared a meal or a laugh with yesterday, someone they had known or trained with for years, might be the man who would put a bullet through their head tonight.
“This is the time to be strong, all of you,” Kong Hwan-li said as forcefully as he could. “We have trained for this our entire lives. The skills and knowledge given to us by the party and the fatherland are not just a means of livelihood — they are a solemn duty, a terrible and important responsibility.
“We have always said in our command that we are the point of the spear. It has never been more true than now. We may be the last hope of the fatherland. The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea lives, but it needs our spirit to nourish it if there is any hope for survival against the imperialists. You are not alone out here. Your lives and your actions will set the course of history. Your ancestors will be the witnesses, your descendants the judge. Do not disappoint them.”
General Samson here and secure.”
“Earthmover, Jester here,” Air Force Chief of Staff General Victor Hayes responded.
“Thank you for returning my call, sir,” said Terrill Samson, commander of Dreamland. “I know it’s late. Did you get my proposal outline, timetables, and budget proposals, sir?”
“I’m not returning your call, Earthmover,” Hayes said somberly. “I need to find out what in the hell you’re up to out there.”
“Please be a little more specific, sir.”
“McLanahan. The Nevada Air National Guard B-1s. Dreamland. Balboa is getting it in Surround Sound from the Navy, from the Air Force, and from the National Guard Bureau about General McLanahan’s project, and now he’s pissing on my desk,” Hayes said. “First, you guys set off that plasma-yield thing without telling the Navy. Bad. That went straight to Balboa. We cooled things down with him and the Navy, but he’s got a burr under his saddle. He hears about B-1s and Dreamland and McLanahan and Samson and immediately gets a bad butt-rash.
“Next, a wing commander in Idaho claims a couple B-1 bombers almost rammed his jets deliberately. That was a Class One incident, Earthmover, a near-miss observed by both military and civilian radar facilities on the ground and in the sky. They had no choice. The reports went straight to Balboa’s desk and got cc’ed to the SECDEF. More bad press.
“But that’s not the best part, Earthmover,” Hayes went on, his anger growing in intensity. “As part of the Class One incident investigation begun by the secretary of the Air Force’s safety office, we start looking for the planes. We can’t find them. Someone pushes the panic button and the word goes out right up to the Pentagon and on to 1600 Pennsylvania that four B-1 bombers with weapons aboard are missing. Shades of the A-10 suicide. Shades of the F-117 hijacks in California. National Guard, FBI, CIA, DIA, FAA, every alphabet noodle in the damned soup can is mobilized.
“So where do we find them? Where are they? In your sandbox, Earthmover! You got ’em! And no one can touch them! Now everyone is howling at me, at Balboa, at the SECDEF. Everyone wants some butts, Terrill! And I look like the biggest dipshit in the universe because I authorized all this and I didn’t know what the hell was going on! Hell, everyone was saying those B-1s were hijacked by North Korean terrorists in retaliation for the South taking over their country, and that seemed like the best possible scenario! Now, what in the hell is going on out there?”
“Sir, we’re moving ahead with Coronet Tiger and deployment of Lancelot,” Samson said. “General McLanahan has been working closely with the Air National Guard unit from Reno, and he’s determined that they’re best suited for Coronet Tiger. When the Korea incident occurred, and since we had operational control of the Nevada B-1s, I decided we should implement the plan ahead of schedule. Since General McLanahan already had the bombers near our base, I authorized him to bring them on in to begin the conversion process, as previously planned.”
“The ‘best suited’? Are you crazy, Terrill? They almost rammed two F-15 fighters — not once, but twice. Then they almost rammed each other! They’re nuts! They’re crazy! And so are you and McLanahan if you think you’re going to use them!” He paused, and Samson could hear swearing on the other end of the phone. “Terrill, you can’t tell me that you knew and approved of all this. I know you too well. You’re not like Brad Elliott. You would have come to me first. McLanahan did all this, didn’t he?”
“I tried to contact you earlier, sir, but with the Korea thing erupting, the networks were a jumble,” Samson lied. “And General McLanahan has a lot of initiative, and I give him a lot of authority and responsibility around here, but he doesn’t do anything unless I give him approval. The B-1s’ arrival was coordinated well in advance…”
“Don’t bullshit me, Earthmover,” Hayes interjected. He paused again, then went on: “Don’t touch those bombers until I tell you to, Terrill. Don’t even gas them up. Discontinue all test flights and weapons trials. You, McLanahan, and the Nevada Air Guard crews will probably face disciplinary action for what you’ve done today. I can’t help that. Coronet Tiger and the Lancelot project might be all that keeps you two off the unemployment lines — or out of Leavenworth.”