‘Climax, this is Alpha Three.’ ‘Climax’ was the USS
‘Alpha Three, Climax. Go ahead.’
‘Climax, we’re feeding you data through the JTIDS and we’re not seeing much we didn’t expect north of the DMZ. But we’ve just picked up four contacts in the Yellow Sea, heading east towards Seoul and wearing South Korea-block squawks. It’s subjective, but they looked to us like carrier-launched aircraft. We were briefed to expect one contact in that area sometime this morning, not four. Can you check with Intelligence and get an update?’
‘Alpha Three, stand by.’ There was a short pause while the radar operator in the Combat Information Center on the
‘Roger that.’
William Rodgers was, like the captains of all US Navy carriers, a highly experienced aviator. He had over three thousand hours in the F-14 Tomcat, an aircraft he’d been sad to see finally retire, though he had to acknowledge there were undeniable advantages to the new F/A-18 Super Hornet. And, though his craft now displaced ninety-four thousand tons, he still thought like a pilot.
The moment he heard the exchange between the Hawkeye and the radar operator he strode across the CIC and peered at the officer’s display. It was linked to the E2-C’s sensors through the JTIDS (Joint Tactical Information Distribution System) and the four contacts, now well into South Korea and still heading east, were clearly displayed.
‘That’s them?’ he asked, bending forward to point at the returns on the radar screen.
‘Yes, sir. The Hawkeye reported them first appearing over the Yellow Sea, pretty much where that little British carrier is supposed to be operating.’
‘Those carriers may be small, Lieutenant,’ Rodgers growled, ‘but they still pack a serious punch.’ For a few seconds he just stared in silence at the screen.
The signal that was still tucked in his hip pocket was absolutely unequivocal: he was to do nothing that might provoke or irritate the North Koreans, just in case they decided that hitting Los Angeles with a nuclear weapon was the most suitable response.
That was one factor.
The other factor was right there on the radar screen in front of him: the tiny, relatively slow-moving returns that he knew represented four British Harriers embarking on a mission that wasn’t quite suicidal, but certainly came close. Four subsonic single-pilot aircraft trying to carry out strike missions – strike missions actually requested by Washington – and facing not only an air force on high alert that could field in excess of eight hundred fighters, but entering territory that was guarded by one of the highest concentrations of surface-to-air missile and gun systems in the world.
Rodgers knew what his orders were, knew that they were clear and concise and absolutely specific, and knew what the consequences were likely to be if he ignored them. But he couldn’t forget his hours in the driving seat of a Tomcat, the feeling of loneliness and vulnerability when approaching a hostile environment, and knew that the four men in the Harriers would be feeling exactly the same.
He stood up straight, his decision made. It was, he hoped, the right one, but he’d accept the consequences later if it turned out he was wrong. He muttered something under his breath that sounded to the radar operator suspiciously like ‘Fuck Washington’, then issued his orders.
‘OK, we were expecting a single contact to follow a similar track to that. My guess is that the Brits decided to fly more than one aircraft. Get the Prowlers and the Hornets warmed up in case they need any help. Advise me the moment they clear the coast and start to drop.’
The Senior Pilot in Cobra One was to the right and ahead of Richter’s GR9, Viper One and Two half a mile behind. From just over thirty-five thousand feet, the mountainous countryside of the Korean Peninsula looked starkly beautiful, the early-morning sun casting enormous shadows that turned whole valleys into black pits. They were approaching the coastline about ten miles north of Kangnung, and preparing for descent.
They’d contacted Seoul as they approached the coast and received immediate clearance to climb and cross the peninsula. They’d also confirmed with the controllers that other Sea Harriers might be landing in South Korea during the morning, but obviously hadn’t explained why.
‘Cobra Two, Vipers, switch to tactical on stud four.’
Richter switched frequency and checked in. ‘Cobra Two.’
‘Viper One.’
‘Viper Two.’
‘Roger, Cobra Two, Vipers. Stand by for rate one right turn onto one four zero in thirty seconds.’
‘Roger.’
‘Cobras, Vipers, turn now, now, now.’
As the Senior Pilot finished the sentence, all four aircraft swung gently to the right – a rate one turn being comparatively slow – and steadied on their new heading.
‘Cobras, Vipers, this is November Alpha.’
‘November Alpha, Cobra One, you’re loud and clear.’
‘Roger, Cobra Lead. You’re identified, Picture Alpha.’
Just under six minutes later the four Harriers throttled back and began a cruise descent. Passing twelve thousand feet, their Radar Warning Receivers showed the last of the North Korean surveillance radars beginning to lose contact, and by the time they reached eight thousand, the RAWs were silent.
‘Cobras, Vipers, stand by for a hard port turn onto north. Turn now, now, now.’
The moment they steadied, and passed five thousand feet in descent, Long ordered them to accelerate. Their comparatively slow speed and turn away from North Korea might have fooled the DPRK radar controllers, but none of them felt like betting on it. Their best weapons now were speed and surprise.
In the CIC, the radar operator called out to the captain. ‘Sir, those four contacts have cleared the east coast of South Korea, but they turned south-east and they’ve just started to descend.’
‘Of course they’re heading away from North Korea. They’re not stupid. If they’d turned towards the north, every radar station above the DMZ would have been tracking them, and feeding their coordinates to their SAM sites. Just keep watching. When they’re low enough, they’ll head north.’
‘Sir,’ the voice of the radar supervisor at the coastal radar station sounded calm and controlled, ‘those four aircraft are now heading away from us, and they’ve started descending. I suggest they’re probably just on a regular patrol, and therefore no direct threat to us.’
‘You could be right,’ Kim Yong-Su replied, ‘but your orders are perfectly clear. We still believe they may be planning an attack, so continue watching the areas out to the south and east, and inform me the moment you see any sign of them returning.’
‘You’re right, sir. They’ve turned north and increased speed. They’re not squawking Mode Charlie, but the Hawkeye estimates they’re down below two thousand feet.’
