“And how the hell does he plan to do that?” Pepper asked.
He asked as if he didn’t believe it was possible. But maybe there was more to it than that. Maybe Pepper thought that she was lying to him.
Kara answered with a constricted response.
“It’s too complicated and without being an expert in all the wizardry that is going on down here, I can tell you that they are using only drones and it appears there is a lot that can go wrong.”
The line was silent for a moment.
Kara said nothing.
Pepper wasn’t talking which meant that Pepper was thinking.
Kara surmised that he was preparing to share some important information with her. Something was going on at the White House. The President’s entire cabinet was staring at a dark spot on a video monitor. She sensed that Hail’s mission wouldn’t garner that sort of attention unless there was another element she was missing.
“I don’t see how this will affect Hail’s mission, but we have developed a backup plan in case he fails,” Pepper confessed.
And to Kara, it sounded like a confession. It sounded like Pepper was telling her a dirty little secret that, given the choice; he would be just as happy to keep to himself. But since others knew, Pepper had decided that he would confess his sin to her as well.
Kara said nothing at first. She was wondering if she even wanted to know the specifics about the backup plan. If Pepper was right and it wouldn’t affect Hail’s primary mission, then why did she even need to know about it? And if she knew, then she would have to decide if she would share it with Hail. That was a lot of drama she didn’t need on her plate right now.
Instead of starting with the how, Kara decided to test the waters with the why.
“Why do you need a backup plan?” She asked.
Pepper appeared to be expecting the how question and took a moment to change gears.
“If we have intelligence on the exact location of all the missile parts and Hail’s mission fails, then we might not get another opportunity to destroy them.”
Kara thought that logic was pretty sound, so she decided to ask the how question.
“How do you plan to do it? A Predator strike?”
Pepper responded almost giddily, “No, none in the area. We are using a single jet fighter. One sortie with one load. It should be more than enough to do the job.”
“I thought we were trying to avoid a US strike on the North Korean target?”
“Not really,” Pepper corrected her. “We are trying to avoid a number of jets hitting a number of warehouses. That’s messy. One jet hitting a single warehouse full of ICBM parts; that might be something that the North Korean’s may not even want to talk about, once it’s over. Regardless of the political fallout or the cost, those missiles have to be destroyed.”
Kara had to ask one more question.
“When is this supposed to happen? What time?”
“Four-hundred-hours your time and of course that’s if Hail doesn’t get the job done before that time.”
If Kara remembered correctly, Hail’s strike was scheduled for three in the morning. Certainly not much wiggle room if Hail’s operation was running late. It didn’t matter one way or another to Kara if Hail blew up the missiles or Washington’s airstrike did the job, but she didn’t know if Hail would feel that same way.
“Is this confidential information or can I share it with Hail?” Kara asked.
Pepper thought for a moment and responded, “If you think Hail needs to know, then you can tell him. Otherwise, what’s the purpose? It’s not like he has people on the ground. Either he gets the job done or we will.”
“Understood,” Kara said.
Pepper added, “We are watching the warehouse on the video, but give me a call if it goes boom so we have verbal confirmation.”
“Will do,” Kara said.
A pause and then Pepper asked, “How are you doing, Kara?”
His question sounded distant and expressionless, like Pepper thought it was his job to ask such questions even though he really didn’t care.
“I’m fine. I will give you a call one way or the other.” Kara said flatly.
“Sound’s good. Keep up the good work. Goodbye,” Pepper said.
Kara said nothing. In the dark, she watched the icons on her phone change as the transmission was terminated. She left the shelter of the massive radioactive containment vessels and walked out on to the running track and rested her arms on the ship’s railing. The night was bright. A full moon was out shining so brightly that Kara thought it resembled a mini sun. Somewhere in the bright night, Queen was on its way to do bad things. At least bad things to the North Koreans. Good things if you were on the other side of the explosions that would soon follow.
The sea was still and except for the air flowing past her from the four-knot forward speed of the ship, there was no wind at all.
Sea of Japan ― on the cargo ship Hail Nucleus
“What’s Queen’s altitude,” Hail asked Knox.
“Two thousand feet,” Knox reported.
“Has the glide path been plotted?” Hail asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Knox said. “We are within gliding range and we are good to release.”
Hail pressed an icon on his screen and patched in Dallas Stone who was working in the ship’s security center.
“Hi Dallas. Is there any unusual air activity around Wonsan that we need to know about?”
The voice over the speakers said, “No, nothing on the radar. I’ve also been monitoring the video feeds from our drones stationed at the North Korean airfields and no combat aircraft have taken off.”
“Very good,” Hail said. “Please let us know if anything changes.”
“Will do, Skipper,” Stone said.
“Bring up the video from Blondie’s main camera,” Hail told Knox.
The large screen above the controller’s station blinked on but nothing appeared.
“What’s up with the camera,” Hail asked.
“The camera is on and streaming, but there is nothing down there to see,” Renner said. “No lights, no nothing. Maybe when we get closer to Wonsan we’ll see something.”
Hail asked Knox, “Are you ready?”
“Sure am,” Knox said with a measure of excitement in his voice.
“Then deploy the wings, recalculate the glide path and release Blondie from Queen.”
“Deploying the wings,” Alex Knox reported as he pressed the appropriate icon.
The nineteen-year-old pilot then pressed another icon labeled RELEASE and said, “Blondie’s free falling.”
Hail’s next order went to the mission pilot sitting two stations down on Knox’s left, Tanner Grant.
“Tanner, get Queen home. Keep it slow and just above the tree line. We don’t want to make any blips on any North Korean radar stations.”
“Understood,” Tanner Grant replied.
The mission control room was full tonight. All sixteen stations had pilots occupying the seats. Three-fourths were young men or boys, depending on who was making the determination and the other stations were occupied by girls or women, with the same caveat.
Hail knew each of his pilots to one degree or another. He had observed each of them in the flight simulator and he and Renner had both certified these particular pilots for this mission. This was the very first mission for most of his pilots. Hail hoped it would be the first of many missions they would share together.
Instead of gliding Blondie to its landing zone, Knox had become more of a spectator, relying heavily on Blondie’s computers to make critical flight adjustments. The night was windless, so keeping the drone pointed toward its landing zone was easy. And the rate of decent was a simple mathematical formula; ROD = GRAD x GS, which meant for a three percent glide slope, you multiply your groundspeed in knots by approximately five and you get the rate of descent in feet and minutes. The computers onboard Blondie were recalculating this formula fifteen times per second and making adjustments to Blondie’s flight surfaces and continually correcting for any anomalies. Essentially, the drone was flying itself. Blondie knew its landing coordinates, it knew its height, and it knew its rate of decent; therefore, short of snagging a power cable (of which there were very few in North Korean) this part of the mission was simple. The decision to fly in as a glider meant that the approach and landing would be completely silent. A guard could be a hundred yards away and hear nothing when the drone touched down on the other side of the chain link fence.