A Northern Thunder (36 page)

On the left forearm, the suit had a velcroed flap of material. When Will pulled it back, a small LED panel was revealed. He aimed it at the snow-covered woods, pressing on the LED of the personal integrated area network. The suit, employing its microprocessor, scanned the snow-white and brown terrain. Like a chameleon, the suit instantly turned to a matching snow-white and brown color. He lifted up the backpack, pulling a small cable from a side, velcro-closed pocket. As he plugged the cable into the suit, the backpack changed to an identical color—white and brown. Will turned nearly invisible, and did so just in time.

Sang’s patrol had rounded the lake and neared the stand of trees. “Captain, we have lost the trail,” Will heard one of them say.

Sang looked around the lake, seeing the other half of the patrol approaching from the south side of the lake.

“Where should we go, Captain?” said the soldier.

“Follow this stream to the beach. He must be heading toward the water.”

Will, understanding the Korean perfectly, moved out of the tree stand and toward the stream, heading due east. As darkness fell, he stepped into the streambed. Again he reached into his backpack, pulling out a pair of wraparound glasses, also from the SSC Natick Laboratory. The lightweight night-vision glasses gave him a daylight view of the stream. The clamor of the troops from behind diminished as the snowstorm continued to build.

At the point where Will had stopped two days before, he felt the full brunt of the snowstorm and the winds blowing in from the Sea of Japan. Below him, he saw the lights of an increased number of soldiers at the point to the south. He also saw the lights of men closing from the roadway to the north. In the dark water, lights bobbed up and down near where the ASDS was anchored. North Korean patrol boats were criss-crossing the bay.

Will had a score of DPRK troops on all sides of him, with Sang’s patrol now less than fifty meters behind. The patrol had spread out, and was now on both sides of the streambed, behind and up the rocky slopes. They would search and search until they found him.

Will turned toward Sang’s net of men, back up the streambed, to the west. A few meters up the stream were three snow-covered boulders, still within sight of the rocky beach. The soldiers were close—close enough that, in the green glow of his night-vision glasses, he could see the stars on their hats and collars. He saw their Kalashnikovs. He could see their eyes.

Wedging in between two of the boulders, Will used the suit’s LED microprocessor to match the color of the rocks. He pulled off his backpack, removing from it a small black remote control device shaped like a deck of cards.

Will punched in a series of numbers, put the device back in the pack, placed the pack underneath his chest, and leaned over, using the suit to camouflage his presence. He bent down, trying to breathe slowly and relax, forcing his mind elsewhere.

At that moment, Sang stood on the rock above Will.

“Captain, he must be between us and the beach,” said the soldier.

“Slow the men down,” said Sang.

“Yes, sir.”

“No, stop the men. Tell them to be totally quiet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Will slowed down his breathing, forcing himself to hear only the water bubbling past.

“Let’s wait,” said Sang.

“Yes, Captain.”

Sang pulled out his pistol and chambered a round. From atop the rock, he could see the stream, the beach, the road bridge below, and the patrol boats in the dark water beyond.

“He’s between here and the water.”

“Yes, sir,” the young radio operator whispered as Will heard the crackle of radio traffic. A swarm of patrol units chattered back and forth.

“Turn the radio off,” said Sang.

Then silence covered the woods. The only thing heard was the stream of water running over the rocks. Sang waited, and Will remained as still as possible, less than an arm’s reach from the captain’s boot.

“Sir, look.” The radio operator pointed down the stream, to the other side of the bridge. There, between the rocks, was a flash of light. “That’s him.”

“Let’s go,” said Sang. “Radio the units to close on the bridge now!”

The radio operator’s radio buzzed with traffic as others converged on the bridge. The patrolmen moved out, clambering with excitement. The prey was in the trap.

Sang stopped the last of his patrol as his men moved downward to the bridge. He turned back upstream.

“Captain,” said a soldier, “they found a tent, and they think he’s still in it.”

A shot rang out as an impatient Kalashnikov fired at the small, snow-covered tent.

“Dammit! Stop all firing!” cried Sang.

A bright flash halted the radio operator’s chance to reply. The explosion lit up the pitch-black sky, momentarily blinding the army. As the darkness returned, Sang’s radio chattered loudly as they closed in on the remains of the tent. A billow of smoke floated up between the boulders. Sang and his men ran down the rocks to the road and bridge just above the debris and smoke.

“Captain, we have him,” said a soldier.

“Alive?”

“No, sir.” The North Korean held up, by the wrist, a severed arm. It was covered in blood. “Form the men up,” said Sang. “I want every man to be accounted for.”

“Captain?”

“I want to be assured that’s the arm of our prey, not one of ours.” The units formed up on the road. No one was missing. Sang now canvassed the guards to the south and to the north. No one was missing there, either, or unaccounted for. They continued to canvas the nearby units until well after first light.

“Sir,” said a soldier, “we have debris of a Soviet frogman’s suit, another Spetsnaz uniform, and a Soviet Type-64—all destroyed by the explosion.”

“Then maybe we got him,” said Sang. “Not maybe, sir.”

“O
h, my God.” Kevin Moncrief saw the flames streak across the sky. From the ASDS, it was odd seeing the explosion—the water above them muffled the sound.

“What’s up, Gunny?”

“We lost him, Hernandez.”

“Bullshit,” said Hernandez.

“No, it came from the tent.”

“Gunny, we need to go in there.” Stidham, now standing, rocked the mini-submarine with his large frame.

“Men, we got orders to beat it back to the
Florida
,” said the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant, I don’t know,” said Moncrief.

“Gunny, we got a swarm of patrol boats overhead, some with sonar. They can’t get to us right now, but they
are
looking for us. We’ve got to get out of here now.”

Moncrief knew the lieutenant was right. He could hear the churn of propellers above him from several different directions. The beach, from north to south, was swarming with lights.

“Okay.”

“Gunny.” Both Hernandez and Stidham stared at Kevin Moncrief.

“Gunny, staff sergeants—the skipper ordered us to get back to the boat. He’s got something important,” said the lieutenant.

Moncrief sensed that was the thing to do. “No, let’s button this up,” he said.

Neither Hernandez nor Stidham could believe what was being said—not by Kevin Moncrief. “Guys,” Moncrief said, “follow me on this.”

The two men sat back down as the lieutenant pulled the hatch over, sealing the opening. The boat floated up from its moorings, turned, and headed west into deeper waters.

“She’s moved,” the lieutenant said.

“How deep?” said Moncrief.

“Two hundred feet, thirty miles out.”

“Are we being tracked?”

“Not now.”

“I don’t want to lead them to the
Florida
,” said Moncrief.

“We’re clear now.”

“Let’s go deeper.”

“Yes, sir, fifty meters,” said the lieutenant.

“Head north for thirty minutes.”

The mini-submarine tilted over and banked as it headed north. The lieutenant sensed that the patrol boats’ attention was still toward the shoreline. In deeper water, North Korea had very limited assets. At best, they had one diesel submarine, 1950’s vintage, on the east coast. Most of their submarine assets were on the west.

After some time, the ASDS tilted again to the west, banking as it turned.

“The
Florida
is on the move,” said the lieutenant. “It’ll catch up to us ten nautical miles to the north.”

“Let’s slide deeper,” said Moncrief.

“Sir, seventy meters.”

“Good.”

The ASDS had returned to the boat the day before, recharged, and then returned to its present location. It was perfectly silent and undetectable by sound.

“No patrol boats,” said the lieutenant.

“How far?”

“One nautical mile.”

“And on depth?” said Moncrief.

“Yes, sir.”

The mini-submarine slid up in alignment with the boat, slightly above and behind. It pulled up over the moorings and floated down, clanking as metal connected with metal.

Moncrief felt the floating sensation cease as the ASDS came to rest on top of the much bigger boat. He heard the rush of compressed air and felt his ears pop as the mini-submarine sealed itself onto the
Florida
.

The hatches banged as they swung open. Moncrief led the way into the brightly-lit mother submarine.

“Are we secure?” J. D. Hollington waited at the base of the ladder.

“Yes, boss, we’re locked on,” said the lieutenant.

“Let’s move to deeper water.”

The
Florida
headed east, making time and depth and putting distance between it and North Korea.

“But, Skipper. . .” Moncrief caught the skipper at the control room.

“Yeah, Gunny?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“No need,” said Hollington.

“Skipper?”

“Gunny, we’re making knots out and running deeper. As soon as things quiet down, we’ll turn back to the west and check things out. We’re following our orders now.”

“What are they?”

“Abandon mission,” said Hollington. “Leave area immediately. Straight from the Pentagon.”

“When did you get them?” said Moncrief.

“Just before the explosion.”

“
Before
?”

• • •

The wind continued to blow inland, driving snow toward Will harder and harder. He waited behind the two boulders, well after the explosion. He waited still, long after the North Koreans had left the area. Just before dawn, Will moved inland, back up the stream, toward the little lake.

At the lake, he moved south at a constant pace, building up a rhythm through the snow. As he did so, Will kept the Diamond Mountain peaks to his left, traveling through deep stands of pine trees and drifting snow. He kept moving past daylight as the snowstorm continued to rage, almost instantly covering his tracks.

At midmorning, Will stopped at a culvert under a gravel road that headed east. He was well into a valley on the other side of the mountains from the shoreline. Here, the stench of open sewage forced him to breathe shallowly through his mouth. North Korean farmers fertilized the rice fields with whatever nutrient they could find.

Will felt the rumble of vehicles as they approached from the west. He looked down into the water pooling around the culvert and saw ripples form from the vibration. With the last vehicle, Will pulled out toward the western edge of the culvert—the convoy was heading up the valley. As he watched the Soviet-built supply trucks move south, Will noticed the movement of a North Korean soldier, just west, to one side of the road. He appeared, and then as Will watched, disappeared behind a snow-covered mound. He did it again and again.

Will then saw another man in a similar olive-colored uniform appear from another mound. As he made out the shape of the first, Will spied a series of mounds stretched across the valley.

I know what these are
, he thought, cupping his hands around his eyes. From countless briefings, Will knew he had gone too far south if he began to run into the North Koreans’ hardened artillery sites—vast bunkers for their long-range artillery, called HARTS. Embedded deep within each bunker’s concrete, steel-reinforced walls were M-1978 Koksan 170-mm self-propelled guns and 240-mm MRLs. The multiple rocket launchers could spew out hundreds of chemical shells over the border, saturating square miles with deadly poisons for lengthy periods of time. And the self-propelled guns could lay down a formidable barrage of hot steel.

Will was nearing the rear of North Korea’s DMZ defenses—hundreds of sentry posts, troops, and detection devices. If he somehow passed through this maze, he would come upon miles of mine fields, layered in crisscross patterns, each device capable of blowing any man to shreds.

I’ll wait until dark and head to the coast
, thought Will, leaning back against the cement culvert and ignoring the stench.

His mind drifted, wondering where she might be now—and if he could beat the odds stacked against him.