The war at sea was also being won. The carrier air wings operating off Constellation and Nimitz were back up to strength, and the Navy’s escort forces could now guarantee an uninterrupted flow of seaborne supplies into Pusan and Pohang. Confronted by superior technology, training, and numbers, North Korea’s navy had virtually ceased to exist as a viable fighting force.
All of which brought Logan to the most important theater of the war — the land battle along South Korea’s western coast. Everything else hinged on the outcome there. Victory against North Korea’s armored spearheads would ratify the UN Command’s hard-won successes in the air and at sea. Defeat would render them meaningless.
Logan’s verdict was short and painfully blunt. “That’s where we’re getting our ass kicked, General. The troops we’ve committed to this area are just plain fought out. They’ve been in action for two weeks now and they need help. Oh, sure, supplies are getting through for once, that doesn’t change the fact that our boys are outnumbered, outgunned, and out of luck.”
Several of his South Korean staff officers murmured at Logan’s lack of tact, but McLaren simply smiled. The colonel was absolutely right. He looked at Smith. “Recommendation, Barney?”
The tall New Englander came back to the map table. “Simply this, General. We’ve been surrendering eight to ten kilometers of ground every day, just to keep from being surrounded and crushed. That’s got to stop, and we” — he gestured at the assembled staff officers — ”believe this is the place to do it.” His pipe rested on the map showing the ridges and hills around Ch’onan.
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve made the calculations and believe that, by using the divisions held out thus far as reserves, we could hold these positions indefinitely.” Smith’s hand traced the line of ridges. He stepped back a pace and stood waiting.
McLaren shook his head decisively. “No.”
Several officers moved forward in protest. “But General, if you’d just…”
“We could stop ’em cold on…”
“Sir, we’ve got to do someth…”
He held up a hand. “Gentlemen.” They shut up. “I’m not interested in just holding our ground. That’s how we got into this mess the first war around, back in ’52 and ’53. I don’t want a replay of that stalemate. I want victory.”
His eyes settled on a figure waiting quietly off to the side. “Doug, go ahead and start setting up my dog-and-pony show.”
As his aide moved forward to the table, McLaren continued, “Gentlemen, what I’m about to tell you must not go outside this tent. The maps Captain Hansen is laying out contain the bare-bones outlines of an operation I’ve code-named Thunderbolt. And if I hear any one of you so much a whisper that name anywhere but here, I’ll personally kick your ass. Is that clear?”
Heads nodded.
Hansen finished and stepped back, clearing the way for the others to study his handiwork. McLaren heard gasps from around the table.
He grinned. “I’m gonna start by telling you that the trouble isn’t that our troops have been giving up too much ground. The trouble is they’ve been giving up too little ground. Now, here’s what I mean by that…”
McLaren spoke for nearly half an hour, without notes and with complete conviction, stabbing the maps with an unlit cigar to emphasize particular points. While speaking, he kept his eyes fixed on the faces of all around him, ready to pounce on the faintest sign of doubt or disagreement. He knew that he had to win these men over. For security reasons he’d kept his staff largely in the dark while formulating Thunderbolt, but now he needed their wholehearted support to make the plan work. He’d have enough trouble selling the plan to the Joint Chiefs and the two presidents without worrying about dissension among his own subordinates.
He closed with a single admonition. “Taejon is the key, gentlemen. That’s where we’re going to make Uncle Kim’s bastards think they’ve hit a solid, brick wall.” He slapped a hand onto the map, all five fingers covering the outlines of the city of Taejon. “Right there. We’re going to hold the NKs by the nose, while we kick ’em in the ass.”
McLaren smiled at the chorus of approving growls that greeted his statement. They were with him, just as he’d hoped they would be. The urge to hit back, to counterpunch, had been growing with every kilometer they’d retreated. Even his South Korean officers seemed willing to gamble with more of their territory in return for the payoff Thunderbolt promised. “All right. Let’s break this up for now. You each know what needs to be done, so let’s get it done. Our next meeting is set for oh five hundred hours, tomorrow, and I want to see some preliminary logistics schedules, extra deception plans, and proposed assembly points by then. Any questions?”
Hansen caught his eye and pointed toward the satellite communications gear banked along one wall of the tent. McLaren nodded and looked back at his staff. “None? Good. Dismissed then, gentlemen. And I’ll see you all dark and early in the morning.”
Several men chuckled, but most simply saluted gravely and dispersed to their desks in the main tent or in the other command trailers.
McLaren turned to Hansen. “What’s up?”
“Washington’s on the horn, sir. The Chairman wants to speak with you, pronto. The NSC wants a full briefing from the Joint Chiefs on things over here at its next evening meeting. And the Chiefs want to include your views.”
For a second McLaren’s temper threatened to flare at the unwanted interruption. Then his irritation faded. Phil Simpson had actually been damn good about keeping the D.C. bureaucrats off his back. And so had the President. Both men had bent over backward to avoid trying to micromanage the war from ten thousand miles away. But it was about time that he let the good admiral and the Commander in Chief in on his plans. High time in fact.
He picked up the phone.
Colonel General Cho Hyun-Jae clambered down out of his camouflaged command trailer and smiled appreciatively up into the white, snowflake-filled sky. His II Corps commander stood waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. “Ah, Chyong. I see you’ve brought me a gift of good weather.”
Lieutenant General Chyong smiled back dutifully. His superior usually left all attempts at humor to him. And with good reason, he judged.
Abruptly Cho’s smile faded. “Walk with me, Chyong. What news from the front?”
“The news is good, sir. My spearheads advanced more than eleven kilometers yesterday, and they report even lighter opposition this morning. The enemy’s resistance on the ground seems to be crumbling.”
Cho stopped walking and eyed his subordinate closely. “Are they retreating in order or in panic?”
“Not in panic,” Chyong was forced to admit. “But they have been abandoning very strong natural defensive positions without putting up any real fight.” He paused and then went on, “Their behavior is hard to characterize. It is not really a fighting withdrawal, and yet they show no signs of collapsing morale.”