Red Phoenix

Other heads nodded around the staff circle.

“Right, gentlemen.” McLaren stepped forward again. “Now I do not believe in playing the game by the enemy’s rules or doing what he wants us to do. So what we are going to do is this…”

The staff listened as he outlined his plan. Except for a thin screen, all the South Korean and American combat troops north of the Han River were to withdraw. The South Korean Capital Corps and an assortment of reserve and home defense units would stay behind to garrison Seoul, but McLaren wanted everyone else out of the intended North Korean pocket. He would let the North Koreans close their trap on thin air.

He jabbed the table with a rigid forefinger to emphasize the point. “Everyone goes, gentlemen. Tanks, artillery, infantry, supply units, field hospitals. Everyone. Is that understood?”

Heads nodded. All but one.

“Yes, General Park? You have an objection?”

The South Korean chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked much older than his years. “Yes, General McLaren, I do. What you propose is unacceptable to the government of the Republic of Korea. Seoul is the nerve center of our nation. It contains a quarter of our population. We cannot risk its capture by the communists.”

McLaren lit a cigar to buy time while studying the faces of the other South Korean officers in the room. One or two looked as though they agreed with Park. The others were less sure.

He drew on the cigar and then took it out of his mouth. “General, with all due respect, my decision is final. We will not dance to North Korea’s tune. They want us to risk and lose everything we’ve got to hold on to a single city. We aren’t going to do that.”

“But my country — ”

McLaren cut him off. “General, your country exists so long as an army remains intact to defend its freedom. Lose that army and you will lose this war.”

Park looked unconvinced.

The J-3 joined in the debate. “Frankly, General Park, I doubt very much that the North Koreans will dare attack Seoul so long as our main army remains in the field. If they do, the forces we’re leaving behind should be able to hold them off for quite a while. You’ve prepared the city for a siege by stockpiling food, water, and ammunition. I suggest we make use of those preparations.”

The Korean waited for him to finish and then said stiffly, “That is not a decision we should make here. I must consult my president before agreeing to your plan.”

McLaren puffed on his cigar and eyed Park for a moment without speaking. Then he said, “Very well, General. That’s certainly your privilege. In the meantime, however, my orders stand. And they will stand until I get word to the contrary from my president. Is that clear?”

Park nodded abruptly.

“Good. Captain Hansen will make arrangements to get you into Seoul to confer with the President.” McLaren turned to face the rest of his officers. “All right, gentlemen. We’ve got a lot to do. I want to see the plans for the withdrawal from Seoul immediately. Let’s move!”

The officers scattered. McLaren put a hand out to stop his J-3. “Hold on a sec, Barney.”

“Yeah, Jack?”

“We both know it’s gonna take a helluva long time to move our troops through Seoul. The roads are still clogged with rear-echelon crapouts and refugees. We’ve got to hold the NKs on the Han until they can get clear. Right?”

Smith nodded.

“Okay, so what I want is this. Get together with the J-1 and comb through every noncombat unit you can lay your hands on. I want every spare man who can carry a rifle on the line ASAP. Form ’em into provisional units and send ’em up to the river. Scrape up some officers to command them.”

Smith looked at him closely. “Jack, you know those boys are going to get chewed up pretty bad, don’t you? I mean, you’re sending supply clerks up against T-62s. That’s kind of an uneven proposition.”

“Yeah” — McLaren stubbed his cigar out on the table — “I know.”

He looked at the red arrows pushing down from the north toward Seoul. “But they’re all I’ve got left right now.” He turned to face his J-3. “Time, Barney! We’ve gotta buy time.”

NAHA HARBOR, OKINAWA

The frigates sortied first, upping anchor on a cold, clear morning, just before dawn. Their job was to “sanitize” the Naha harbor channel, sweeping the water and the seabed for hostile submarines. North Korea’s Romeo-class diesel boats had never operated this far from their own coastal waters, but that wasn’t any reason to take chances. Every American naval officer had the lessons of Pearl Harbor drummed into his skull from the first day of his service to the last.

Admiral Thomas Aldrige Brown, USN, watched the four Perry-class and two aging Knox-class frigates under his command slip out of port. His breath hung in an icy haze around him. Christ, it was cold out here. It would grow colder as his task force moved north, and colder still once the ships reached the open ocean. There wasn’t much wind blowing across the motionless aircraft carrier’s bridge wing at the moment, but Brown knew how raw it would be once they were underway, moving into the teeth of a twenty-plus-knot wind.

He shivered and pulled the parka his wife had packed tighter around him. She’d had a devil of a time finding one that fit his tall, gaunt frame. His eyes followed the tiny frigates as they steamed out toward the gray ocean beyond the harbor. Good God, he thought, this was a far cry from the hot, hazy confines of the Persian Gulf, his last duty assignment. Cold air, cold water, cold steel.

Brown turned on his heel and left the bridge, headed for the warm, darkened confines of USS Constellation’s Flag Plot. The Flag Plot contained the computers, display screens, and staff he would need to fight a modern battle at sea. A battle Brown hoped he wouldn’t have to fight. But if he did have to fight one, he was certainly glad he’d have the Constellation along to fight it with. He smiled to himself, knowing that was an admission he’d never willingly make in public.

Brown had cut his teeth commanding the frigates and destroyers that he still thought of as the “real” Navy. As a junior officer and then a ship’s captain, the massive aircraft carriers he’d escorted around the world were just targets, troublesome beasts to be protected from all manner of threats — planes, missiles, submarines, and other warships. Now he had his flag, and his thinking had expanded with it. Now it was comforting to know that he could call on a powerful air group to reach out and strike down enemies while they were still hundreds of miles away. The admiral reached the Flag Plot and stepped over the hatch coaming past a pair of armed Marine sentries standing at rigid attention. The plot’s dark, stuffy warmth was welcome.

Brown unzipped his parka and moved to study an electronic map covering part of one wall. The map displayed the jagged outlines of Naha harbor and the positions and status of all his ships. Once they were at sea, it would also show the positions of every aircraft aloft and of any neutral or hostile contacts the task force’s radars or sonars detected.

Right now the map showed the harbor filled with ships. Most were naval vessels, including the better part of the Pacific Fleet’s amphibious ships. Most had traveled at flank speed to reach Okinawa on time, then loaded troops and equipment of the 3rd Marine Division all day and all night. It had been a straight and exhausting grind, but now, at last, they were ready to pull out.

Brown knew that the task force he commanded was going to be the largest assembly of ships seen in these waters since the Korean War. The First Korean War, he corrected himself. The troops his warships escorted represented a mobile, powerful punch that could be landed anywhere there was a coastline. Not that they planned an immediate amphibious assault. They had no planned target. Instead his orders directed him to get the Marines and their transports safely to Pohang, a port on South Korea’s east coast. The classified war reports he’d seen made it crystal clear that the Combined Forces Command desperately needed every division of fresh troops it could lay its hands on.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to give the enemy a few more worries. The amphibious command ship Blue Ridge would join the rest of the group south of Japan to boost the appearance of an impending landing operation, and if Wisconsin could make the rendezvous in time, the battleship would be along to provide welcome gunfire support. It wouldn’t be the first time these coasts had seen her.

A phone buzzed. “Sir, it’s the screen commander.”

Brown took the phone from his flag lieutenant. “Yes, Mitch?”