“You know the imperialists will use this delay to strengthen their defenses.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Pyongyang will want our full assessment of this setback. Can I assure the General Staff and the Dear Leader that your next attack will succeed?”
Chyong didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” He saw Cho’s raised eyebrow and continued on, “Given twenty-four hours to deploy and zero in, my heavy artillery should be able to pound the enemy’s forward defenses to pieces. In addition, I shall not repeat this morning’s mistake. There will be no smoke screen blinding us the next time. My assault waves will go in covered by direct fire from our own tanks and missile teams.”
Cho nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. I shall inform Pyongyang of your confidence.”
Chyong held out a hand. “There is one thing more, however, my friend.”
“Yes?”
“The Americans will undoubtedly send their aircraft to attack my bridging units in their staging areas. I have concentrated all my available SAMs and mobile flak batteries to protect them, but that may not be enough. It would be helpful if our Air Force could lend a more active hand in this battle.”
Cho nodded again, more slowly this time. Chyong’s carefully phrased point was well-taken. At this crucial stage of the campaign, friendly air cover was even more important than usual. And so far at least, North Korea’s MiGs had been less successful than he would have liked. They were inflicting losses on the Americans and their South Korean puppets, but their own casualties had been horrendous.
Fortunately it appeared that steps were at last being taken to remedy their deficiencies. Or so Pyongyang had promised in its latest string of dispatches to his field HQ. He glanced sidelong at Chyong as they reached the parked command vehicles. “I will see what I can do, comrade. “More than that I cannot promise.”
Chyong smiled gravely. “More than that I cannot ask.”
He glanced back at the last vestiges of smoke drifting downwind and then saluted. “Very well, then. Give me twenty-four hours to prepare and I shall give you a firm bridgehead across the Han.”
Cho noted how the setting sun burnished the stars on his subordinate’s shoulders. For his own sake, he hoped that Chyong’s confidence was warranted. Every passing day gave the imperialists more time to recognize the trap he was preparing to spring. Cho also knew that every day that passed without significant territorial gains would be viewed as a day of failure by Kim Jong-Il. It was unfortunate that the Dear Leader’s definition of military success was so limited. Unfortunate, but too late to change.
Cho returned Chyong’s salute and then climbed back into his command vehicle for the ride back to headquarters. He had more work to do before the evening staff meeting.
Colonel Sergei Ivanovitch Borodin strode confidently onto the stage, noting the mood of the assembled squadron. He was pleased by what he could see in their eyes — eagerness, anticipation, determination. These North Koreans were by no means the best pilots he had ever commanded, but they were unsurpassed in their ability to absorb losses and remain undaunted. And now he had something to give them that was worthy of their courage.
He reached the center of the stage and stood without speaking for a second, aware that all eyes were on him. Finally he lifted a single hand and signaled the five armament technicians waiting just offstage. They came forward, pushing a dolly occupied by a single long, narrow wooden crate.
Borodin waited while murmurs swept through the crowded auditorium. Then he spoke. “Comrades! I present to you the weapon that will help us win this battle for command of the air. Will you do the honors, Comrade Captain Kutusov?”
The senior armament technician nodded and bent to release the base of the crate so that the other four men could lift the casing up and bring the object inside into view.
The air-to-air missile they lifted was two meters long and weighted about sixty kilograms. Its four large rear delta fins gave it maximum maneuverability — maneuverability reinforced by triangular canard controls indexed in line and by the four small rectangular fins spaced around its IR seeker head.
Borodin let his enthusiasm for the weapon show in his voice. “Comrades, this is the AA-11, arguably among the world’s most advanced infrared homing missiles! It has a maximum front aspect range of approximately eight kilometers, and a rear aspect range of nearly five kilometers. It does not limit you to a rear attack. With it mounted on your aircraft, you will have a weapon that matches the performance of the American Sidewinder!”
Borodin paused, seeing sharklike grins appear on the face of every combat pilot in the room. So far in the war, they’d been forced to sit helpless while closing with the enemy as all-aspect American IR missiles knocked their comrades out of the sky. Now all that would change. They, too, would carry a weapon with a seeker head sensitive enough to home in on the heat emitted from the front of an enemy plane. And they would no longer be sitting ducks from the front.
Borodin matched their smiles with one of his own. “The first shipment of these missiles has arrived from the Soviet Union, comrades. We will carry them on our next mission against the imperialists!”
He stepped off the stage as his North Korean counterpart moved up to brief the squadrons on the new set of tactics they’d devised to take advantage of their new missiles’ capabilities. While the North Korean spoke, Borodin fished a small notepad out of his flight suit and finished writing up a rough account of his last action. The South Korean F-5E he’d downed this morning made his score four so far — two F’5s, an American F-16, and an F-4 Phantom. One more and he would be an ace, one of only a handful since the Great Patriotic War. The thought brought another smile to the Russian pilot’s lips.
Commander Kerwin “Corky” Bouchard, USN, scanned the sky around his F-14A Tomcat, counting aircraft as they launched from either Nimitz or Constellation and orbited about five miles from the two carriers. He shook his head in wonder at the number of planes filling the airspace around him. Twelve F-14 Tomcats and ten F-18A Hornets as escorts. Twelve F-18s carrying HARM antiradar missiles for use against NK SAM and antiaircraft fire control systems. Eight more Hornets flying as flak suppressors armed with rocket pods and cluster bombs. Then the strike force itself, twenty-two A-7E Corsairs and 18 A-6E Intruders. All accompanied by four EA-6B Prowler electronic warfare aircraft. Four fat-bellied KA-6D tankers circled as the formation assembled, passing fuel to planes that had been launched first. Finally an E-2C Hawkeye was aloft to control the strike.
Ninety aircraft all massing for a single, maximum-effort Alpha strike against the North Korean bridging units moving toward the Han River. There would only be time for this one, mammoth attack. U.S. weather satellites in geosynchronous orbit showed a storm front moving down out of the Siberian wastes — bringing with it high winds, hail, and snow that would put an end to normal flight operations until the skies cleared.
“Red Dog Lead and Duster Lead, this is Roundup. Proceed.” The strike commander’s voice came through Bouchard’s earphones.
He keyed his radio mike twice to acknowledge and waggled the Tomcat’s wings to signal the rest of the strike escort. Then he banked right, heading for the Korean coastline one hundred and fifty miles ahead at four hundred and fifty knots. The F-18s slid lower and out in front, while his F-14s stayed high and behind. Two Prowlers followed, ready to jam enemy radars and radar-guided missiles if MiGs appeared to contest the air.