Thunder in the Morning Calm (24 page)

“Looks like we are in business, XO.” The captain handed the orders to his second in command. “Helmsman. Plot a course to 40 degrees, 8 minutes north latitude, 129 degrees, 40 minutes east longitude. Advise of distance and course setting.”

“Yes, Captain,” the helmsman said, then started punching the coordinates into the ship’s GPS guidance computer. “Stand by, Captain.” A few seconds passed. A revolving circle rotated on the computer screen. And then the coordinates appeared.

“Coordinates plotted, Captain,” the helmsman said. “That position is ten miles to our east.”

“Very well,” the Captain said. He hit the intercom button, opening a channel to the radio room.

“Radio. Bridge.”

“Radio. Go ahead, Captain.”

“Send flash message to East Sea Fleet Headquarters, T’oejo-dong. Acknowledge receipt of your orders and proceeding to coordinates stat.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Helmsman. Plot course zero-nine-zero degrees. All ahead full.”

“Aye, sir. Plotting course zero-nine-zero degrees. Engines all ahead full. Aye, Captain.”

The
Najin
began her turn in the water, her bow cutting a course toward the east. The captain picked up the microphone and clicked the button activating the ship’s loudspeaker system. “Now hear this! This is the captain speaking! Our shipboard radar and land-based radar have detected a mysterious blip that appeared and disappeared on our screen
just a few minutes ago, ten miles to the east of our current position. Fleet headquarters in T’oejo-dong has determined that we are the nearest vessel and has ordered us to steam to that position to investigate. All lookouts, pay close attention to anything suspicious on the sea or in the air. I know it is dark, and I want all lookouts sweeping the seas with searchlights. Our orders are to report back to T’oejo-dong no later than 2300 hours. This is the captain speaking.”

Beechcraft Bonanza G36
the Sea of Japan

C
old water now stood three inches deep on the floor of the cabin, and the Bonanza’s nose section sunk deeper into the sea with each rise and plunge of the aircraft.

“Commander! Hurry! Get the heck out of there!” Jackrabbit yelled.

“Almost done,” Gunner said. “A few more MREs and we’ve got everything.”

Gunner sloshed to the back to grab the MREs. Each packet contained a ready-to-eat 1,200-calorie meal, albeit not tasty, wrapped in airtight and watertight packages. Mr. Kim, if that was his name, had purchased sixty-three such packets, enough for a seven-day supply of three meals a day for the three of them without having to forage or steal anything to eat from the North Koreans.

The waves were getting much larger. “The wind’s whipping up, Commander!” Jackrabbit yelled. “Leave the rest!”

Jackrabbit’s right, Gunner thought. Better get out of here. “I’m coming!”

As Gunner reached for the doorway, a wave raised the plane up much higher than any of the previous waves. The monster wave felt like the surge of a tsunami. At the crest, the plane suddenly dipped, then tipped, sliding down the back of the wave like a roller-coaster car starting a long drop. Gunner lost his balance and tumbled into the tail section of the cabin.

Seawater gushed through the open door with a fury. The plane’s tail section sank quickly, tipping the nose up, dumping the seawater in the nose compartment down into the cabin.

Gunner had pulled himself up, but then fell back down and slid again into the back of the flooded cabin. He fought to keep his head up for air. The cold water pouring in through the door was like a strong undertow keeping him from fighting his way out.

“Help!” he screamed. “Help me! Help!”

USS
Boise
depth 100 feet in the Sea of Japan

S
kipper, target is starting to move. She’s setting a new course. Looks like course zero-nine-zero degrees. She’s moving out pretty fast, sir. Looks like all ahead full.”

From the center of the sub’s control room, Commander Graham Hardison, the experienced captain of the Los Angeles – class nuclear-powered submarine USS
Boise
, calmly finished his swig of steaming black coffee and set it on the plotting table behind the periscope.
Boise
had been patrolling the waters off the east coast of North Korea for a week now, monitoring the naval activities of the Democratic People’s Republic. At depths varying from one hundred to three hundred feet, she was invisible to the world. Only those in the United States Navy with a need to know knew her location.

“Very well, Lieutenant.” Hardison acknowledged the sonar officer, then turned to the sailor sitting in the chair in the far-left corner of the control room. “Helmsman, let’s get in her wake and follow her. We’ll see where she goes. As loud as that old bucket is, she’ll never know we’re down here. Set course zero-nine-zero degrees. All ahead full.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Setting course zero-nine-zero degrees.” The sub started a turn in the water. “All ahead full. Getting on his fanny right now, sir.”

“Very well,” Hardison said. “Steady as she goes.”

Beechcraft Bonanza G36
the Sea of Japan

O
nly a small portion of the Bonanza’s cockpit and the propeller were still above the surface. The plane was almost vertical in the water. Gunner clung to the pilot’s seat, trying to keep his face and nose up in the rapidly shrinking air pocket. He pressed his head against the windshield and sucked in the precious oxygen from the six or seven inches of space that was not yet flooded.

The torrent of water gushing into the plane had been like a powerful fire hose blocking him from even trying to get out the door for fear he’d lose his grip and be tumbled backward again. He clung to the seat, his heart pounding so hard he could feel the rapid beat. He was cold all over. He began shivering despite the thermal wetsuit. He wasn’t sure if fear, shock, the cold water, or the realization that he was about to die had caused the shivering.

Gunner knew he had one chance. In a few seconds, as the last air pocket filled with water, the water would stop rushing in through the door. The pressure of the fire hose that had pushed him back would be gone. His life or death hinged on his ability to swim back through the cabin to the open door and pull himself out before the plane sank to the bottom, taking him with it.

With the air pocket gone, if he could not get out within thirty seconds, he calculated, his life would be over.

J
ung-Hoon! Hit it with that flashlight!” Jackrabbit said. The Korean complied, flashing the high-beam utility light in the direction of where the plane had been only moments before.

With no time to mount the outboard and get it running, they had drifted twenty, perhaps thirty feet from the sinking plane. Only part of the yellow nose section remained visible in the swells.

“I’ve lost him! I don’t see him anywhere!” Jackrabbit said. “I’m going in after him.”

“No!” Jung-Hoon protested. “The plane is going down. If you jump in, there’s a good chance both of you will drown.”

“I gotta go,” Jackrabbit said. “He’s risking his life for a good cause. He’s a good man. Americans either live together or we die together.”

Jackrabbit stood up and dove headfirst into the frigid waters of the Sea of Japan.

G
unner pressed his nose tight against the glass windshield, gasping to inhale the last of the oxygen from the tiny pocket of air.

A light flashed through the windshield and into the water that filled the cockpit. The bright beam set his mind into a panic. A searchlight? A flashlight! Help was on the way! Instinctively, he beat his fist against the inside of the windshield, and then …

Cold water swirled around his ears and forehead. He sucked the last ounce of air into his lungs. Water now covered his face and nose.

Like a submarine diving, the plane slid under the surface and disappeared from view.

Gunner closed his eyes. It was time …

J
ung-Hoon tried standing in the Zodiac so he could see better, but lost his balance and slipped to his knees. He flashed his high beam in the direction that he had last seen the plane. Nothing. “Jackrabbit!” He had lost sight of Jackrabbit. He could not hear or see any splash of kicking in the water.

“The plane is gone! Get back to the boat!”

He swept the flashlight back and forth. Nothing but rolling swells. “Jackrabbit! Get back to the boat!”

I
nside the plane, total darkness had snuffed the slight semblance of light that had still existed before the wreck had gone under. Gunner felt around for something to grab. Cold, dark panic gripped his body. He
found the passenger’s seat beside the captain’s chair. The door leading out of the plane he knew was behind that seat. But he had to be fast.

The pressure was mounting like a crushing vice on his skull as the plane continued its way to the bottom. It seemed as if the plane was twirling as it sank deeper through black water. Floating between the two cockpit seats, Gunner pulled himself toward the doorway. He blew out a bit of air and reached into the dark watery abyss. Something wooden.

One of the wooden crates floating inside the plane was in the way.

Panic gripped him. He pushed the crate aside and swam toward the door. If he could just get out through it.

His hands walked along the inside of the fuselage.

Where was the door? Where was the opening?

Then he felt it.

The latch.

The door had closed shut!

T
he Zodiac had drifted fifty to sixty feet from where the plane had sunk, and from this point, even the high-beam flashlight was useless.

Jung-Hoon realized that if the boat kept drifting away, Jackrabbit too would be lost at sea, and there would be no chance of finding Gunner.

He lifted the outboard and carefully positioned it on the mounting board on the back of the rubber inflatable. He pushed down hard on the vice clamps to secure the outboard. He screwed the rubber hose from the gas tank into the side of the engine. He squeezed several times on the pressure bulb on the gas tank hose and pulled out the choke. Then he pulled hard on the rope to start the outboard.

Nothing.

He pulled again.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR …

The outboard ignited! He pushed the choke in. Jung-Hoon exhaled in relief, then sat down and put his hand on the throttle and twisted. The boat moved forward, and he steered in the direction that he had last seen Jackrabbit swimming.

T
he latch … Gunner tried twisting one way, then the other. Somehow he could not get a good grip on the latch. It seemed slippery in the cold water.

He blew out a little more air and tried again.

He released more air.

Suddenly he felt dizzy. Very dizzy.

His chest reflexes commanded him to inhale.

Why not? He had done all he could do.

He twisted the latch once more.

The door popped open!

He pushed his head against the door, holding tight on each side of the door to give himself more leverage, and it gave way. He kicked with his legs and pulled hard with his arms. Suddenly, he floated free of the plane.

He was out of the plane, but which way was up?

He blew out the last bit of air in his lungs and kicked with what little strength was left in his legs. With his arms, he pulled against the water, hoping that the direction he was trying to swim was up.

J
ung-Hoon headed to where he thought he had last seen the nose section of the plane bobbing in the water. The blanketing darkness and the large swells made it hard to judge where the plane had been. At this slow speed, barely a sputter, and with the swells as they were, he could not have moved more than a hundred feet from where he started.

This seemed like the right spot where the Bonanza had sunk. He turned the throttle down to idle and slid the gearshift lever to neutral.

He remembered that they had put one pair of night-vision binoculars on their checklist. He aimed the flashlight on the gear in the boat. There. Beside the ammo case. Crouching low, he moved halfway up the boat and grabbed the binoculars.

The night-vision binoculars made the huge swells look menacing. The seascape glowed a ghastly green through the scopes.

No sign of either American. He looked all around in a full circle. Still nothing.

He cut the engine to save gas.

Swooooooooooooosh … Swoooooooooooooosh …

He held his breath trying to listen, but heard only the sound of the wind and the roar of the sea.

“Help!”

A voice!

“Over here!”

“Where are you?” The howling wind made it impossible to track the direction.

“Here!”

Jung-Hoon swept the flashlight beam to the left and to the right. Nothing but waves.

“Jung-Hoon.” He swept the light around to the other side of the boat. “Here!”

There! About fifty yards away! Hands splashing the surface of the water!

“Hang on! I’m coming!” He turned and pulled the starter rope. The outboard ignited. With one hand on the tiller-throttle and the other pointing the light in the direction of the flailing hands, he steered toward the swimmer.

The Zodiac crested and troughed straight across a couple of large waves. It then peaked up on a third wave that seemed as big as Mount Hallasan. When he came down on the back side of the wave, a black-painted face gasping for air was right in front of the boat.

Jung-Hoon quickly steered to the right to avoid ramming the face with the bow. He cut the engine back to idle, shifted to neutral, and reached down over the left side of the boat.

“I got him right here.” It was Jackrabbit. “I’m all right. See if you can pull him back in.”