Grunting with the effort, Chon pulled the ungainly A-10’s nose back level less than a hundred meters above the snow-covered ground and risked a quick glance at the instrument panel. Red MALFUNCTION warning lights blinked on almost every crucial indicator. No good. He could feel the aircraft growing less responsive with each successive maneuver. It was time to get out.
He pulled the wavering A-10 up into a shallow climb, feeling the stick shudder in his hands as the vibrations grew worse.
“Black Dog Nine, this is Blue Dragon Leader. Over.” He paused, waiting for a response, and watched the altimeter climb slowly past seven hundred meters while his airspeed bled off — dropping from over 300 knots to just under 200 in seconds.
“Blue Dragon Leader, this is Black Dog Nine. Over.” The airborne controller’s voice sounded calm, impartial, almost soothing.
“Black Dog Nine, Blue Dragon Leader declaring emergency. Triple A hit east of Tuil. Ejecting. Out.” Chon put his hand on the ejection handle.
“Roger your last, Blue Dragon Leader. SAR on the way. Good luck.” The voice sounded a little less detached, a little more human now.
As the shuddering A-10 leveled out, Chon paused for just a split second to thank whatever gods were looking out for him. With a SAR — search and rescue — chopper on the way to him now, all he had to do was survive the ejection and any North Korean reception committee that might be waiting for him on the ground.
He tapped the 9mm pistol in his shoulder holster once and punched out.
Kevin saw the A-10 pilot’s chute blossom over the village moments before oily, black smoke from the burning tank company blotted out visibility. He shook his head, knowing that the pilot didn’t have a chance. The North Koreans would probably be on top of him before he could even shrug out of his parachute harness.
Rhee saw the drifting parachute, too, and scrambled up out of the ditch. Kevin followed him, ready to move away under cover of the smoke.
But Rhee had other ideas. Instead of heading south, toward safety, he lurched off north through the virgin snow with his M16 at the ready.
Kevin stumbled after the South Korean lieutenant. “Where the hell are you going?”
Rhee glanced sidelong at him and snapped the safety on his M16 off. “To help the man who helped us.”
Oh, Jesus, Kevin thought, we’re gonna put our necks on the chopping block for a flyboy we’ve never met. But he jogged forward with Rhee, unslinging his own rifle as he ran. He was too tired and too cold to argue — too tired to even feel much fear at the thought of death. A stray thought flashed through his brain as they crested a low rise and came out of the smoke. Did most soldiers do the things they did in war because they were too damned fatigued to know any better?
There wasn’t time to think the question through. The parachute was lower, sinking rapidly toward the cluster of houses that marked the small village they’d come through the night before. The wind shifted slightly and the chute skimmed low over the tangle of tiled roofs and stone walls to collapse in a billowing mass of windblown silk a couple of hundred meters ahead.
Kevin saw the pilot roll over, stand up, and start frantically tugging at the chute’s harness to free himself. He ran faster and stumbled as Rhee put out a hand to stop him. The South Korean pointed to the right, toward other shapes emerging from the smoke — four North Korean infantrymen who’d survived the slaughter in the orchard.
Damn. Now what? Rhee leaned close to him and said, “Keep moving. We can flank them. They’ll think we’re part of that.” He pointed back over the rise toward the burning tank company.
Kevin nodded and they ran forward again through the ankle-deep snow, angling slightly to close with the enemy soldiers moving in on the A-10 pilot still struggling with his balky chute.
Kevin watched the North Koreans carefully as he and Rhee closed with them, waiting for the sudden shout that would show they’d been spotted and identified.
It didn’t come, but Kevin could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. Anytime now. They came down off the hill onto low, flat ground carpeted by frozen rice paddies and waist-high, snow-covered dikes. The North Koreans were still running on open ground as Kevin and Rhee slithered down the first embankment and half-ran, half-slid across the ice to the next.
The four North Korean infantrymen were within thirty meters when Rhee suddenly flopped down on a paddy dike and brought his M16 up to his shoulder. Kevin did the same, and the movement caught the attention of one of the enemy soldiers. The man goggled at Kevin, yelled something to his comrades, and started to lift his AK47.
Rhee fired a three-round burst into the North Korean. One bullet caught the man in the stomach, and he screamed and toppled to the ground, wriggling in short-lived agony. Rhee’s shots echoed back from the village and surrounding low hills.
The other three were turning in shock when Kevin fired — a long, scything, uncontrolled burst that emptied his magazine and kicked up the snow all around them in a white mist. Two were thrown back dead, but the third dropped to his stomach, seeking cover. While Kevin frantically tried to snap a new magazine into his M16, he saw the muzzle of the North Korean’s automatic rifle swing toward him and flash.
A bullet moving at supersonic speed cracked through the air near his head. Shit! Kevin jammed the magazine in place and started to bring his M16 around. He knew he wasn’t going to make it. The North Korean’s next burst couldn’t possibly miss.
He gasped as Rhee fired, hammering the ground around the North Korean. Bright-red blood spilled out into the snow. Both Kevin and the South Korean lay motionless on the dike, looking for signs of movement. There weren’t any. The whole fight had taken less than ten seconds.
Footsteps crunched in the snow behind them and they whirled round. It was the A-10 pilot, gun in hand and a broad smile plastered across his flat-featured face. Kevin could see an angry-looking bruise puffing up on the man’s left cheek.
“I owe you my thanks, gentlemen! I won’t ask what you’re doing here. Wise men don’t question heaven’s gifts.”
Rhee stood up, slung his rifle across his shoulder, and saluted. “It was our pleasure, Major.”
Kevin was speechless. They’d just killed four men, four human beings with fathers and mothers and others who loved them, and now these two were acting as if they’d just met in some fancy restaurant in Seoul. He could feel himself starting to shake, and he fought down a sudden urge to vomit. Suddenly he could almost hear Pierce’s voice, loud and booming in his ears. Don’t be an asshole, Lieutenant, it said. They would have done the same to you. Remember your platoon. Which would you rather be? Innocent and dead? Or alive and able to feel guilty?
Kevin straightened. His hands were still shaking, but he no longer felt gut-wrenchingly sick. If that North Korean’s bullet had been one inch closer …
Rotors beat off to the south, the sound rising above the crackling flames still consuming the smashed North Korean tank company. The pilot heard it, knelt, and shrugged a small radio off his shoulder. He extended its collapsible aerial and thumbed a switch.
“Blue Dragon Leader. This is Echo Two-Niner. We have your signal. Identify yourself. Over.”
“Chon Sang-Du. Major. Four five four niner two three.”
A pause. Then the radio squawked again. “Confirmed, Blue Dragon Leader. Stand by for pickup.”
Chon glanced up at Kevin and Rhee and then bent to the radio. “Roger, Echo Two-Niner. Two friendlies also at this location.”
“Copy that, Blue Dragon Leader.” The rotors clattered closer.
Chon looked up again at Kevin and Rhee. “Can I offer you two gentlemen a ride?”
Rhee grinned at the Air Force major and gave him a thumbs-up.
All three turned as the search and rescue UH-1H Huey helicopter lifted above the hill, hovered overhead for a moment, and then settled in to land amid a rotor-blown snowstorm.
As they hurried toward the waiting chopper, Kevin felt the tension drain away. They were getting out in one piece. Back to their own lines. He was safe.
He was wrong.
