Red Phoenix

of being a plain, old, harmless water molecule.”

Forward in the cockpit, the P-3’s pilot considered that. Any sub that could stay that silent was a damned big threat to the convoy, and it would probably be impossible to localize with passive sensors alone. On the other hand, staying that quiet also meant it couldn’t be moving very fast. Which meant it was still close at hand. He clicked his mike, “Frank?”

“Yeah, Skipper?” the Orion’s tactical coordinator answered.

“Drop a DICASS. I think we can ping on this guy.”

“You got it.”

The active sonobuoy splashed down noiselessly into the water and unreeled its hydrophone.

“Activate.”

Sound waves pulsed out through the water in widening circles, seeking something solid to bounce off. They found it.

“Bingo! Sonar contact bearing one four five. Range fifteen hundred yards!”

DPRK GREAT LEADER

Piinng!

“They have us, Captain.”

Chun nodded. The noise was too loud for any other possible conclusion. “Take us to periscope depth, comrade. We’ll scratch this flea off our back.” He hoped his voice conveyed his confidence.

Although detected by some kind of American ASW aircraft, they still had a chance. Its Soviet builders had equipped Great Leader to deal with such a contingency. The submarine’s periscope mast carried an SA-N-8 SAM system. Now Chun and his crew would learn whether or not the system was worth the added expense.

Piinng!

“Up periscope!”

SIERRA FIVE

“Contact bearing steady, range one thousand yards.”

The P-3’s pilot eased his throttle back, settling the plane into its attack run.

“Look! Dead ahead!”

He followed his copilot’s pointing finger. Their target had raised its periscope well above the water. It made a good aiming mark. But what was that box attached to the scope?

“Jesus!” His startled shout was echoed by the other man in the cockpit as a finger of orange-red flame suddenly erupted from the box.

The missile flew straight into the Orion’s outer starboard engine and exploded — throwing red-hot fragments into the turboprop’s fuel lines and fans. It seized up and fireballed. The P-3 dropped toward the water with its starboard wing trailing flame.

“Feather number four and activate extinguishers!” He held the Orion on course while the copilot and flight engineer worked frantically to put the fire out.

“Range five hundred yards.” The sonar crew was still on duty.

“Dump that torpedo!”

The pilot felt the Orion lift momentarily as the Mark 46 released. He pulled back on the control, trying to gain altitude.

“Skipper, the fire’s out of control. It’s gonna — ”

Sierra Five exploded in midair.

DPRK GREAT LEADER

Chun watched pieces of the American plane fall into the sea and grinned. “We got him! We killed the American bastard!”

“Captain! High-speed screws bearing three two five! Range close!”

Chun pulled his head away from periscope and whispered, “And he has killed us…”

Then he recovered and roared, “Left full rudder! Flank speed!”

He had to try to save his boat — not just for himself and for his crew, but for his country as well. Great Leader was North Korea’s most modern, most effective submarine. Without it, the North’s already uphill battle to interdict the South’s sea lines of communication would become completely unwinnable. American reinforcements and materiel would flow virtually unchallenged into the South’s teeming harbors.

Chun felt Great Leader’s deck cant as it turned, slowly at first, but faster as the submarine’s speed picked up.

It was still too slow. When the American torpedo reached its target area, the Great Leader was moving at just nine knots. That wasn’t fast enough for Chun’s abruptly ordered turn to form the “knuckle” of disturbed water needed to confuse the torpedo’s onboard sonar.

Instead, the torpedo steered right through the patch of mild turbulence, corrected its course slightly, and then drove straight into the Great Leader, striking just aft of its conning tower.

The Mark 46 exploded and ripped open a gaping hole in the Great Leader’s pressure hull. The submarine flooded in seconds and settled to the bottom on its side, trailing a stream of bubbling air, debris, and fuel oil.

North Korea’s prewar naval strategy sank with it.

ABOARD USS O’BRIEN, IN PUSAN HARBOR

Captain Richard Levi swept his eyes over the rows of merchant ships riding at anchor in Pusan harbor and then looked back at the three moored closest to O’Brien. Andrew T. Thomas, Polar Sea, and the Thorvaldsen. He’d done it. He and his crews had brought their ungainly charges to safety. Now gangs of South Korean longshoremen swarmed over the three, unloading their precious cargos for immediate shipment to the front. Levi permitted his shoulders to sag ever so slightly. Now he could rest.

“Captain?”

He turned to find a signals rating waiting. “Yes?”

“Message from Seventh Fleet, sir. Marked urgent.”

Levi took the message and scanned it. Almost imperceptibly he straightened. Relaxation would have to wait.

“New orders, Captain?” his executive officer asked.

“Yes, Mr. Keegan.” He looked out across the crowded harbor again, focusing on a group of gray-painted Navy ships anchored together near Pusan’s largest dock. “We’ve been assigned to the amphibious group assembling here. We’ll join the escort when it sails north.”

For a moment he stared at the massive amphibious transports and helicopter carriers riding uneasily at anchor. It was time to strike back. Time to cut the North Koreans off at the knees. Then Levi turned away from the sight. He and his officers had a lot of work to do before O’Brien would be ready to get under way again, and not enough hours to do it in. He didn’t have time to waste.

CHAPTER 39 High Tide

JANUARY 7 — UN FORCES HEADQUARTERS, SOUTH OF CH’ONAN

McLaren stood motionless for a moment, listening to the wind howling outside the command tent. His breath misted in the chill air before vanishing. It was so cold outside that not even the headquarters’ most powerful oil- fired heaters could do more than make things inside the tent barely livable. He snorted, reminding himself that conditions were infinitely worse for the fighting troops on the front lines. They existed in a kind of frozen hell, unable to stay warm unless they moved, and liable to be killed by enemy fire if they moved. He shook his head wearily. Christ, if either side in this war were really civilized they’d have long since called the fighting off on account of weather. With things as they were, both sides might even be taking more casualties from frostbite than from enemy action.