factories and smokestacks. A squared-off tower rose next to the water, the Wonsan Sports Complex. Fishing boats and small craft crowded against the jetties of the commercial waterfront.
'So that's Wonsan,' Peters said.
'Yeah, and that ain't all, Sarge.' Gould pointed. 'Take a look there. To the south, just to the left of that big gray mother.'
Peters did not need binoculars to recognize that ship. He'd seen it before, during briefings on the Chosin. 'That's Chimera,' he said. 'That's the goddamned Chimera!'
The captured ship now lay less than two miles away. Beside her was a warship, flying the red and white naval ensign of the Soviet Union.
'Let's get back, Gould. The choppers'll be coming in soon.'
'Yeah. Right, Sarge.'
They started back toward the buildings. Gunfire rattled and popped from the south, where Marines were setting up their perimeter. From the sea came the deep-voiced whup-whup-whup of CH-46 Sea Knights, twin- rotored, banana-shaped helos loaded with troops and weapons to reinforce the Kolmo beachhead.
He thought of the Russian ship in the harbor. What, Peters wondered, were the Russkies making of all this?
From five thousand feet, Tombstone could see the whole of Wonsan Harbor spread out for his inspection. Smoke still rose from the hangar buildings southwest of the airfield and from the grounded frigate to the north, but overall damage had been slight. The waters off Blue Beach were swarming with Mike boats and other Naval landing craft, as well as an armada of AAVPs making their endless churnings between shore and the Marine ships just visible on the horizon.
'Shotgun, Shotgun, this is Homeplate, do you read, over?'
'Homeplate, Shotgun. What can I do for you boys?'
'We've just had word from the beach. Kolmo Airfield is secure. Cavalry Two is now inbound. Please deploy to cover their approach, over.'
'Copy, Homeplate.' Tombstone banked the Tomcat, his eyes scanning the blue-gray of the ocean to the east. He saw a number of helicopters: Super Stallions still dragging their mine sleds, SeaCobra gunships working close support with the grunts, Marine Sea Knights heading for the captured airport.
Then he saw them, four RH-53D Sea Stallions with Marine markings, flying in a wedge formation low over the water. According to plan, they would set down at the Kolmo Airfield and await the call from Nyongch'on. When the camp was completely secure, they would make the last short hop to the airstrip at Nyongch'on-kiji.
'Homeplate, Shotgun. I have Cavalry Two in sight. Will comply.'
Batman pulled up close to Tombstone's starboard wingtip. 'Well, pardner,' Batman said. 'Now we find out if this shindig was worth the price of admission.'
'You're right there. Ready, everyone? Let's go give the grunts a hand.'
The four Tomcats peeled out of formation and dropped toward the sea.
Far below, the Marines hurried to throw up their perimeter south of the airport. The runways were too pitted and cratered by the Intruder bomb runs of a few hours before to be usable by regular aircraft, but the helicopters would have no trouble finding a place to set down.
And soon, very soon, it would be the helicopters' show… the final act.
'Make smoke,' the voice said over Morgan's radio.
'Roger that.' Morgan nodded to Gunnery Sergeant Walters, who popped the pin on a smoke grenade. Green smoke billowed out, a cottony cloud in the morning sun.
'I see green smoke,' the radio voice said. 'Come on in.'
Second Platoon rose and began walking the final hundred yards toward a gap torn in Nyongch'on perimeter fence. Craters marred the road, and Morgan saw the burned-out hulk of a Russian-made ZSU.
Captain Ford was waiting for him. 'About time you showed up, Lieutenant.' He grinned, teeth white in his camo-smeared face. The smile vanished as Marines approached, carrying stretchers. 'How many casualties?'
'Two wounded,' Morgan replied. 'Not too bad, considering. Oh… and a Navy guy, Lieutenant Grant.' He pointed. 'We found him up there, pretty badly hit. He saved our asses. We're also bringing in a KIA, one of the SEALS.'
'Corporal!' The captain signaled. 'See the wounded get to the Waldorf.'
'Aye aye, sir!'
'Oh, yeah, we also found these.' Morgan handed the captain a packet of folded papers. 'Took them off a dead NK colonel. They looked important.'
'Good work, Lieutenant,' Ford said. 'Pull up a seat and take a load off.'
'Thank you, sir. Morgan savored the silence, broken only by the clink and trudge of Second Platoon coming in. The rumble of bombs sounded to the northeast. 'It's quiet.'
'Too quiet. They hit us three times before dawn, then broke off. We think they're gathering for a hard push.'
'And Cavalry Two?'
'Waiting.' The captain wiped his eyes with his hand. 'At Kolmo Airfield. Hear the thunder? That's A-6 Intruders laying a carpet. When all the SAM sites are cleared, Cav Two will come on in.'
Morgan smiled. 'I'm glad we didn't miss that.' He watched as the last of his men filed through the gap in the fence.
'That's for sure, Lieutenant,' Ford said. 'That's for damned sure.'
AN/3 Dale Carter was tired. His division had been on alert and on the job for nearly sixteen hours straight now, an uninterrupted agony of work as Jefferson's aircraft were launched, recovered, and launched again. Long days were the rule rather than the exception on board aircraft carriers, even during normal times. During a crisis such as this one, every man on board was expected to work around the clock. Most of the crew took this in stride, even preferring work to the boredom of below-decks routine. There was sharp pride in the certain knowledge that it was they, the men of the U.S.S. Jefferson, who kept the big ship going and her planes flying.
Carter, carrying a heavy lug wrench in one hand, was coming around the open door of the forward bomb elevator where red-vested ordies were jack-assing a rack of Mark 82 GPs onto a hand cart for transport to a flight of waiting Intruders. Fifty yards away, his division chief waved, then pumped his fist up and down. Double time!
Breaking into a run, Carter ducked underneath the bulk of an A-6 already locked into the number two catapult, engines howling and ready for launch. Exhaustion, and the fact that Carter was still new to carriers, bluffed his thinking. He turned sharply left, taking a shortcut in front of the Intruder.
Someone yelled a warning, but he couldn't catch the words through his ear protectors and the shriek of the Intruder's engines. Before he even had a chance to scream, he was swept from the deck, caught in a black maelstrom of wind and noise and plunged headfirst into the aircraft's starboard intake.
Carter's body was more than enough to wreck an engine, but it was the lug wrench which did the real damage, shearing off turbine blades and blasting them through the aircraft's thin skin like shrapnel. Fuel vented from a dozen punctures in the wing tank, gushing across the hot engine manifold.
Flames boiled into the sky as if from a bomb blast, and every sailor on the deck was hammered flat by the concussion. The catapult officer tumbled to his knees, his uniform wreathed in flames until a sailor, less stunned than others, knocked him down and pounded them out.
'Emergency! Emergency!' shrilled from the 5-MC. 'Fire on the flight deck! Fire on the flight deck! Fire and damage control parties man your stations!'
Air operations on the Jefferson came to a halt.
How long can we keep them up?' Admiral Magruder's voice sounded grim over the batphone.
