the United States on the world stage. Initially, it had involved only the capture of the American spy ship; the Party leaders believed that espionage confessions by the ship's crew would holster North Korean prestige… especially with the Soviet Union. The PDRK's Russian allies, mired in the legacies of perestroika, had drastically cut their military aid packages to socialist countries around the world… especially to those that could not pay. In the People's Democratic Republic, this new austerity had resulted in especially severe shortages of parts and spares. Many MiG-21s had already been cannibalized just to keep the others flying.
Chance had given Major Pak his opportunity to shoot down an American F-14, but the government had seized on that victory, added it to Saebyok Chosumnida's promise. P'yongyang had authorized Pak's Plan Dagger two days earlier for that reason; the more aircraft and pilots the Americans lost in their attempts to punish North Korea, the more foolish and helpless they would appear to the rest of the world, especially in Moscow and Beijing.
And now that the Americans were attacking Wonsan in force, there was an even greater opportunity. Suppose they lost not just aircraft, but one of their warships.
Pak glanced through his orders. 'I am directed to escort a flight of fighter bombers, Comrade General. The target… He looked up. 'The American amphibious forces off Wonsan Harbor.'
Yi jerked a thumb over one ornate shoulder board. 'Correct. We are loading four Nanchang Q-5s with AS-7 missiles. The American amphibious ships will be loaded with aviation gasoline, with ammunition, with troops. A solid hit by a one-hundred-kilo warhead coming in at Mach 1-'
'A triumph, Comrade General!' Pak's heart pounded in anticipation.
Yi's mouth twisted unpleasantly. 'Perhaps. The mission will be code-named Plan Vengeance. You will brief the men of your squadron, then ready your aircraft. You should be cleared for takeoff within two hours.'
'Yes, Comrade General!'
Yi nodded toward the papers in Pak's hand. 'You have your orders from our government, Major. I will add one of my own. You have shown a disturbing tendency, these past few days, toward an independence of thought and action unbecoming to one in your position. I am thinking of your attack on the American F-14s five days ago. Your mission this time will be to escort the Nanchangs, not to engage in aerial dogfights. Victory this time will be measured by the survival of the fighter bombers, and by nothing else. Defeat is unthinkable. Do you understand me?'
'Perfectly, Comrade General.' Yi was telling him to get the Q-5s through to their targets… or not return. The implied threat did not worry him. Already he thought he saw a way to slip the Q-5s past the American defenses. 'Our Beloved Leader will have his victory, I swear it!'
CHAPTER 28
Dawn came to the rugged hills of North Korea in blue and gold, accompanied by the thunder of explosions and the howl of LCACs drifting across the rocky beach, a barren stretch of coastline designated Blue Beach.
The hovercraft came ashore at Blue Beach less than a mile from Wonsan's large airport and military airfield, climbing well beyond the surf line before settling to the sand on deflating skirts. LCACs were designed to carry troops and vehicles well inland on flat terrain, but the Kolmo Peninsula presented the MEU with a special problem: narrow beaches backed by rocky slopes too steep for hovercraft to climb. Ramps dropped across the LCACs' fore and aft skirts, and Marines pounded across the sand, taking cover along the base of the slope. Overhead, AH-11 SeaCobra gunships swooped and darted like dragonflies, seeking targets called in by Marine aviators serving as forward observers on the ground.
But there were no targets on the beach, no organized resistance at all. Within ten minutes of coming ashore, Marines had seized the dirt roads on the seaward face of the peninsula leading to the airfield which lay on the level ground above.
The slope was too steep for LCACs, but not for the amphibious tractors which followed them. Scores of them were swimming ashore in the wakes of the hovercraft, trailing smoke to hide their numbers. They were ugly, snub- nosed craft officially designated AAVPs for 'Armored Assault Vehicle, Personnel,' but known more descriptively to the Marines who rode them as 'tuna cans.' Each carried twenty-one riflemen as well as a squat turret mounting a machine gun, 40-mm cannon, or TOW missile launcher. By H plus 1, foot patrols had reached the airport, the AAVs close behind.
Or most of them. Sergeant Calvin Peters slammed his fist into the side of the AAVP's hull. 'Okay,' he growled. 'Which of you dickheads has been eatin' apricots?'
'Not me, Sarge.' The driver blinked at him owlishly through Marine-issue glasses. 'Shit, we all know better than that!'
'Oh, come on, Polaski!' The AAV's gunner was fresh out of boot camp, obviously too raw to understand the realities of Marine Corps physics. 'You don't believe that apricot curse stuff, do you?'
Peters's eyes narrowed. He pointed one camo-smeared finger at the gunner. 'it ain't crap, puff, and don't you forget it. One of these babies throws a track, there's only one thing it could be. God damn it to hell!' He slammed the amtrack's green-and-brown-painted hull again in disgust. 'Okay, Marines! Fall out! We walk from here!'
It was an article of faith among Marine Corps officers and men alike that if you ate apricots on a tank or an amtrack, that vehicle was going to break down. Any track driver could recite an endless list of incidents where vehicles had been crippled by the 'apricot curse.'
The Marines piled out of the amtrack as the driver shut the engine off. The AAV had crested the ridge near the south end of the airport, wallowing up the rocky slope like some massive, high-snouted, prehistoric beast, when the portside tread let go with a crash and a grinding clatter.
'Cover us,' Peters shouted to the gunner. The track's turret slewed about, its 40-mm cannon probing the smoke which hung like thick fog across the top of the ridge. 'The rest of you guys, c'mon! By fire teams!'
Three by three, the Marines advanced into the fog. Their mission had been to check out the south end of the airport, but the smoke was so thick there there was nothing to check. Reaching a bomb crater, Peters waited while five other men dropped in behind him. Off to the left, Peters could make out the charred skeleton of an aircraft ? a MiG-21, it looked like, its back broken.
'Navy pukes sure flattened this place,' one of the men said. 'They could sink the whole stinking country,' Peters replied. 'Wouldn't bother me at all! Weber! Gould! Take point!'
'Right, Sarge!' The two men rose and clambered over the lip of the crater. The smoke was clearing now, revealing the tattered outline of structures ahead, buildings, and a stone tower. That must be the traffic control tower, Peters thought.
A flash of light winked from the tower platform, accompanied by the chatter of an assault rifle on full-auto. Stone chips and sparks gouted from the tarmac. Weber, arms outstretched, toppled backward into the crater.
The other men opened fire, pumping round after round toward the tower, the building, and anything else they could see through the thinning smoke. The AAV opened up as well, its cannon adding a deep-throated thunder to the gunfire.
Explosions gouged chunks of concrete from the tower. 'Go!' Peters yelled. 'Move it! Move it!' The Marines rolled out of the crater and charged, moving in short rushes until they reached the building.
Peters used his tactical radio to signal the AAV. 'Cease fire! Cease fire!'
They found the sniper behind the tower, what was left of him. The airport buildings appeared to be deserted.
'My God, Sarge!' Gould called. 'Will you look at this!'
Not sure what to expect, Peters joined the Marine rifleman. He was standing on a boulder outcropping a short distance behind the buildings, looking toward the west.
The smoke was lifting there, like smog above a city. Morning light filtered through, catching the buildings on the far side of the bay.
They were perhaps a mile and a half from the waterfront and well above it, looking down into the city. Modern skyscrapers mingled with shacks, and everywhere was the clutter of industrial plants and shipyards,
