Riley tilted his head and listened. The beat of rotor blades sounded off to the east. He checked the surveillance notes. Pretty close. Yesterday it had come at 0300Z. Within an hour wasn't bad. The next time the Chinese helicopter came they'd be long gone.
Trapp had called at ten from the pickup zone and they'd briefly confirmed the message and the updated plan.
The mood was growing more tense at the rally point. Riley could feel it. Adrenaline was starting to flow. Hoffman and Smith were starting final preparation of the charges. Everyone was checking his weapons and cleaning them. Reloading magazines to make sure every round was properly seated. Repacking rucksacks and tying everything down. Hoffman and Smitty had run six lines of rope from rocks on the ground up to a nearby tree and were practicing placing their charges.
In isolation, Hoffman had come up with a simple device to speed up the emplacement process. Each charge was taped to a piece of rubber from an inner tube. The rubber was wrapped around the wire, holding the charge tight against the cable, and then fastened there by hooking the end of the rubber on a nail embedded in the plastique charge itself. It took less than three seconds per cable to attach the charges.
Riley reread the security notes and discussed them with Mitchell. Together, they decided on two slight modifications of the tactical plan. They'd have Hoffman and Smith blow the hole in the fence on the east side of the compound instead of the north. It appeared that the T-field fence system wasn't working over there. Every little bit of advantage would be needed. Additionally, they would not have to use the line charge to blow a path to the berm, because the landing of the helicopter inside the compound had confirmed that the ground was not mined.
Riley just hoped they'd receive the final go. He hated to think of the effect a no-go would have on the team.
11
"Thus, those skilled in war subdue the
enemy's army without battle."
Chief Warrant Officer C. J. Mclntire pulled in collective with his left hand and felt the Blackhawk's wheels leave the ground. He climbed to five hundred feet and then waited until the other Blackhawk, with his friend Luke Hawkins at the controls, slid into place to his left rear.
While his copilot updated the Blackhawk's Doppler navigating device with their present location, C.J. pushed his cyclic control forward and turned on an azimuth of due west.
The Doppler is a navigating device that theoretically would allow them to find the Rathburne in the middle of the ocean. C.J. was worried because in his experience the Doppler was unreliable over water. He hoped that a combination of staying on the proper headings for the designated amounts of time, and interpreting what information the Doppler did give, would allow them to locate the ship. If absolutely necessary they could call the Rathburne and have it turn on an electronic beacon. They had already planned on doing that for the return trip, but C.J. preferred not to rely on that going in. The fewer electronic transmissions, the less the chance of alerting the North Koreans or Russians.
C.J. estimated a 3.7-hour flight to the Rathburne, arriving about 6:43 p.m. local time. That would give them a six-hour rest on board before having to fly the rest of the mission. Just as important, it allowed them to fly this leg in daylight, saving their goggle time for the actual penetration of the hostile airspace.
Once he was sure everything was working, C.J. let his copilot, Tim Yost, take the controls. C.J. leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was trying to control his nervousness. Despite all his flight hours, this was the first time he was flying a mission like this — into hostile airspace with state-of-the-art detection devices. Between the Soviets, North Koreans, and Chinese, there was a pretty impressive array of air defense systems waiting up ahead.
Once they left the Rathburne and got down into the wave tops, C.J. felt confident they'd make the shoreline. From there to the pickup zone, it would be terrain flying under goggles. Terrain flying consisted of following the contour of the earth with a margin of safety of only twenty-five feet above the highest object. At that altitude they should avoid getting picked up on radar, yet be high enough to avoid crashing into an obstacle.
The trip out was going to be the hairy part, C.J. figured. It all depended on whether or not they were spotted. He didn't know what the people he was picking up were doing, but he had a feeling it was something that probably would upset the natives. C.J. shook his head — flying under goggles at any time was dangerous work. Those mountains were going to require some good flying tonight.
Senior Lieutenant Chelyabinsk peered at the green haze on his surface radar screen. There in the center sat the brightly glowing dot that indicated the American warship, more than one hundred kilometers to the east. The Komar-class missile boats had a curious radar setup: They could see farther on the surface of the ocean than they could into the sky. The ship was designed to attack surface ships, not air targets. According to the radar, the American ship had been steaming in a tight circle for the past hour. Chelyabinsk didn't know what it was doing out there and frankly he didn't care. It was a nice, clear, crisp day. As long as the ship didn't come any closer he was happy.
Chelyabinsk looked to the west at the shoreline. The Changbai Mountain Range loomed in the distance. It was at times like this that he was glad he had joined the navy and not the army. Imagine being out in those hills looking across the border at the Chinese or North Korean pigs, he thought. Much nicer here aboard ship, where a man could always get hot food and stay out of the rain and snow.
He glanced forward along the short deck of his ship. Seamen Second Class Aksha and Kachung were manning the forward, twin 25mm antiaircraft gun. Chelyabinsk looked at the two Mongolians with undisguised loathing. The riffraff he had to work with. Those two idiots hadn't even known what boots were until they'd been drafted into the navy to do their obligatory two years of service. Chelyabinsk wasn't even sure they knew how to fire the 25mm.
In his three months in command, the crew had never had an opportunity to conduct a live-fire exercise. The cost of ammunition was too high, they'd been told. Chelyabinsk could only assume that the two gunners had been taught how to shoot in their basic naval training, but he wasn't confident of that. The men spoke only the most basic Russian.
The shadows were lengthening. Riley glanced around — everyone had their gear packed. Lalli finished bursting out what would hopefully be their last send before the PONDER report and exfiltration. The message rogered the last FOB message and reconfirmed the location and time of the exfiltration.
Hoffman and Smith had finished priming the demolitions and placed them on top of their rucksacks. Everyone would move from the objective rally point to the target as soon as Trapp and Comsky rejoined them. Riley figured that the two would show up about 2030 local. Then a half hour up to the target, arriving about 2100. That would give them five hours prior to the actual hit.
It was going to be a cool, clear night, Riley observed. Should be good weather for the exfiltration. The ride home was the only thing that was out of their hands right now — they simply had to be in the right place at the right time.
Riley sat on his packed ruck next to the team leader. "Let's play what if, Mitch. What do you want to do if the birds don't show?"