After months of siege, there has been liberation. After months of hardship, there is a new feeling of optimism and goodwill among the people. Through simple songs, the young Americans on the ship passed their own hope and enthusiasm to the people of this city.
Now as I walk through the streets I see smiles instead of frowns. People walk tall instead of slumped. Vendors are on the streets again selling their wares and the fishermen have returned to their boats to bring in their catches. Throughout the area people have begun picking themselves up and stepping forth to rebuild. During the day word has reached the people of Pusan of neighboring towns and cities being liberated. They have begun hearing from families they had considered lost. Optimism is growing with each word of hope, and it all started with the notes played by a few simple sailors. America returned to Korea last night and brought with it a refreshing new outlook. America and its allies are helping the Koreans reclaim their identity and their heritage. The miracle of freedom has begun again.
This is Jason Murrow, good night and good luck.”
The radio was switched off. “My God. What ship was that?” the President wondered.
“I’ll find out,” Butler promised.
Mayor Patricia Crowell heard the music and listened to the commentary. She knew exactly what ship it was. At the end of the broadcast her telephone rang.
“Did you hear?” asked Jack Latham from his shipyard office.
“That was our guys,” she said. There was a tear in her eye.
“Damn, I can’t believe this. What can we do for them?” he asked.
“I don’t know right now, and I doubt they would accept anything. It makes me glad we were able to get those guys that equipment. Maybe we could send them some better instruments or something.”
“Maybe. I’ll ask around. In the mean time do you want me to see about getting copies of those broadcasts? Might go really well in the museum,” he said.
“I’ll call. I can call in a couple of favors over at the affiliate. It kind of makes me wonder if Iowa is a part of the rest of the broadcasts. Either way, those copies will be good to have,” the Mayor said. “I can’t wait till they get home.”
There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. “You still writing?” Latham asked.
“Got a couple of responses, too, but he can’t really say much in a letter.”
“Didn’t anybody tell you long distance relationships can’t work?” Latham prodded.
“You know me. I’m a glutton for punishment.”
Latham laughed. “Pathetic,” he said. “Well, I’m going to share this with the guys over here. We may have a party or something.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I better get back to business,” she said.
“Okay, if I hear anything else I’ll call.”
After hanging up the telephone Patricia Crowell pulled a letter out of her desk and opened it. It was the third one she had received. After writing six letters she had finally gotten the first reply. Then surprisingly she received a second a week later. Since then she had faithfully written a letter every other day. This one had been on her desk this morning when she came back from a meeting.
Crowell looked at the handwritten letter and began reading it.
Dear Patricia,
I must write quickly since we are getting underway and the mail is going ashore. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your letters. I never put much into receiving mail before, but now I anxiously look forward to each mail delivery. We are getting underway for our mission now and I don’t know how often the mail will be picked up. Please don’t stop writing.
Everyone aboard is really eager to get over there and get the job done. I must admit I am, too. These guys have worked hard. I don’t know what happened in Vallejo before I got there, but whatever it was made this crew the best. I hope to make you and the people of Vallejo proud of us.
I have been re-reading your letters often. They help me relax and think of home. I like knowing what’s going on there and I share that info with the guys onboard. I know it makes me feel like Vallejo is my home now. Maybe I’ll settle down there after the war. I may even ask you for some advice on where to stay.
The word is we should be in action within a few days. I promise to write as often as I can to let you know how we are doing. Who knows? You may even hear about us in the news. In any event I hope this will be over soon.
On a personal note, I want to thank you for being a friend to an old sailor. Your caring thoughts help make the days and nights easier. I look forward to the day when I can see you again.
I’ll write when I can.
Roger
The letter had been dated a week ago. She folded it and put it with the others in her personal drawer. She could only imagine what he was going through now. The actual fighting had begun. Somewhere the ship they restored and its crew were probably engaging the enemy. The fear of Hammond being hurt suddenly reared its head in her imagination and she had a difficult time pushing the brief thought away. She couldn’t lose him now.
After a moment, Mayor Crowell pushed away from her desk and walked to her public relations office. Her request was simple. Fortunately someone had already made the arrangements and the recordings and articles were being gathered and filed. Several of the staff members noticed an extra spring in the Mayor’s step when she left the office.
Chapter 15
The Defense Headquarters was a shambles. Two Tomahawks hit the structure and toppled one end, but there was still access to the bunker underneath. Men and women were running around frantically, not really accomplishing anything. In the Battle Center a group of senior military and political officers were huddled around a large map table. Two east coast radar sites began reporting aircraft inbound. Hua Te Nua positioned himself at the head of the giant table with a map of the Korean peninsula. He was shouting orders to everyone.
“I want every fighter up and after the planes in the east!” he shouted.
“Comrade Minister, our planes near the east coast are already alerted and taking off,” an old general said.
“Just the east coast? I said I want them all up!”
“But, Comrade Minister, that would leave us vulnerable if…” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Hua Te Nua pulled the revolver from his holster and shot the man between the eyes. As the old man dropped to the floor Nua shouted, “I expect my orders to be obeyed! Get this garbage out of my sight and get the rest of those planes up!”
Immediately men began dashing around the room grabbing telephones and issuing orders. Watching as plotters were positioning symbols on the table, the incoming aircraft were plotted over the Sea of Japan, steadily making their way inbound. In a few minutes North Korean aircraft had taken off and were outbound toward the incoming threat. Airplanes from all over the North were soon in the air moving east.
“The Wonsan Threat Center is reporting American B-52 airborne search radars bearing 122 degrees,” an operator reported in the Battle Center.
“Is everything up?” Nua shouted.
“Everything, Comrade Minister,” said the General.
“There are aircraft coming through the chaff cloud,” reported the telephone monitor in the room. The men huddled closer to the man as he repeated the data. “Multiple aircraft, estimated high altitude,” the man announced. “We are getting jamming.”
“B-52s. Those are very old American bombers,” Nua said with a swagger. The other men in the room stole glances at one another. They were all thinking two things. Some of the fighters going to intercept those bombers were older than a B-52 and Americans would not be that stupid. The Air Force general picked up a telephone and issued orders for the intercepting planes to watch for fighters escorting the bombers. More than 80 fighters were up and on their way. None of the fighters ever heard the message. A Navy EA-6B Prowler switched on its jamming gear. It had already interfered with the radar signals. Now it was going after the communications.