She dozed as best she could, and watched the people she worked with, and who worked for her. It was interesting to see who complained, who accepted their fate, who helped out. She knew she wasn’t in the last category. Few were, especially as the night wore on.
Dawn finally came, and they had shuffled and moved into what would have been a waiting area for departure under more normal circumstances. They started to get themselves organized, and the group in front of them went through a door. They were next.
Another cargo plane came and went, and an Air Force tech sergeant came out and said, “Army Logistics staff. Follow me for boarding.”
Smiling and relieved, they went through, expecting to march into the cargo door of an aircraft. Instead, they went into a large room with metal walls and grease stains on the floor. From the signs on the wall, Anne guessed that it had been used for storing maintenance equipment. It was noisy, but when Anne saw the source, she was glad. Someone had moved two gas heaters into the otherwise unheated building.
All the maintenance gear had been removed, and the floor had been marked off into several large areas. The sergeant started calling off names, in alphabetical order. As each person answered, he checked their ID again, then handed them a battered index card. He pointed over to an empty marked-off space and told them, “Get in it and stay in it.”
Anne’s turn came, and she looked at her card. Hand-lettered, it said “C-141, 50.” She would be the fiftieth person on that aircraft, and they now knew it would be a C-141 Starlifter. She saw one group ahead of them and knew it wouldn’t be long now.
Their square started to fill up, first with her group, then a group of civilians who turned out to be Air Force maintenance contractors. The area looked full, but the Sergeant checked his clipboard and called out, “Seventeen!”
A side door opened and another group of civilians came in. These were obviously dependents, mothers with children in their arms or clinging to them as they walked.
The last people were worming themselves into the area when the sirens went off again. Anne was near a window and saw people running for cover. Suddenly four fighters appeared in her field of view and split off.
They had to be MiGs, she thought, because they were firing. She saw one drop bombs and bank away. She suddenly felt herself being pulled to the ground as the explosives hit. The shock wave shattered the glass and spread fragments over everyone in the building.
There was a second explosion, much closer. The walls started to shake, and the Air Force people started shouting “Out! Everyone out!” There was a double door on each side of the building, leading out to the field, and people poured through it.
She moved with the crash of people and was outside in seconds. As she emerged from the building, Anne felt a wave of heat one side and looked over to see a cargo plane on fire. One wing tip touched the ground, and the front of the plane looked chewed up.
The cargo door was open and soldiers in camouflaged uniforms were running out of the plane. Some helped injured comrades, and there were several inert forms lying on the ground near the back.
Anne looked around the field. Antiaircraft guns were firing, making a sound like ripping metal. She followed one line of tracers and saw a delta-winged fighter jinking. Another stream of tracers joined the first, but the fighter barrel-rolled away.
She followed its flight path and saw its target. A four-engined shape was turning, diving, trying to get out of the MiG’s path, but the fighter followed easily. A smoke trail appeared in front of the attacker, and then a second one followed.
The cargo plane turned, trying to perform a break maneuver that would take a fraction of a second for a fighter. It was far too slow, and both missiles hit on the starboard wing. It broke away, spinning crazily, and the rest of the aircraft fell, trailing smoke.
She didn’t see if the MiG escaped. Looking at the airfield, she saw fires, columns of smoke, and craters in the runway. At least two cargo aircraft had been destroyed, with full loads of human cargo.
An Air Force lieutenant came up to her. “Miss Larson? You and your group should come back inside the main terminal. We’re closing the airfield.”
They would have to find some other way of getting out of Seoul
Tony dragged into the ops building, feeling as if he were nine hundred years old. The last mission had been a good one, a close air support flight that had turned into an air-to-air hassle with another two kills for him and no friendly losses. If he weren’t so tired, he might actually smile.
He noticed a commotion around the situation board. The progress of the NK offensive was posted on a large map, updated by the intelligence officer. Pistol was taping up a message, which was being read with intense interest by other pilots and ground crew.
“Pistol, what’s all the excitement?” Tony wasn’t too tired to be curious. Besides, if it involved the war, it was his business to stay informed.
“Big raid at Kimpo, Saint. The gomers massed enough aircraft to get past the CAP and attack the field.”
Tony’s chest felt cold. Anne was supposed to be getting evacuated through Kimpo. “How much damage did they do?”
“Pretty bad. They bombed the runway and the main terminal, which was packed with evacuees. Worse still, they got four transports on the ground and shot down one that had just taken off. Total killed is going to be over five hundred. They’ve closed the airfield until further notice. I think they’ll start diverting stuff down here…”
Tony turned and walked away. There were enough people listening to Pistol so that nobody noticed his abrupt departure.
His office was mercifully close. He ignored several message slips and dialed two numbers. One was Anne’s apartment, the other the logistics office where she worked. There was no answer at either.
CHAPTER 29
Juggernaut
Lieutenant General Cho stood by the roadside watching his troops march south down the thoroughfare the imperialists called Highway 1 or the Main Supply Route. He stood in the shadow thrown by a wrecked South Korean M-48 main battle tank.
The tank and its crew had been killed on the first day of the war as they tried and failed to stem the North Korean offensive. Its twisted gun barrel still pointed north along the highway. The three T-62s it had destroyed before dying were already gone, pulled off the battlefield back to rear-area repair shops. They would fight again. The M-48 would not.
The wind veered slightly suddenly, and Cho’s nostrils twitched as they caught the faintest smell of death rising from inside the tank. He was immediately thankful for the freezing temperatures that had delayed the onset of corruption and decay. Seeking fresher air, he stepped away from the M-48 and stood motionless again, silhouetted by the setting sun.
Cho clasped his hands behind his back and smiled. Tanks, trucks towing artillery pieces, APCs, and other vehicles jammed every lane on the highway, rolling steadily on their way to the front nearly twenty kilometers ahead. Columns of marching infantry paralleled the highway on both sides, pushing through the snow to leave the road to their mounted comrades.
Red Phoenix was working. The frozen ground and iced-over rice paddies were giving his men a mobility undreamed of in the warmer summer or spring months. And Korea’s harsh winter weather was playing its part by degrading the enemy’s air attacks on his columns — making it difficult for South Korea’s surviving F-16s and F-5s to find their targets.
Cho knew that the same weather hampered the North’s air forces even more, but he had never counted on their support to win this war. A draw in the air battle would satisfy him and leave the ultimate outcome in the hands of his tank and infantry commanders.