James Barrington - Foxbat

‘Any questions?’ Four heads were shaken in unison. ‘Above all, remember to watch out for the SAMs.’ Richter held up three envelopes. ‘Right, these are data packs listing the frequencies, squawks and so on. They’re classified Secret because of the information they contain on South Korean airfields, so remember to dispose of them correctly once you get back from this little excursion. The EMCON policy is unrestricted whilst we’re under South Korean control, but keep communications on our discrete frequency to a minimum, as the last thing we want is to alert the North Koreans by unnecessary radio chatter.

‘Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll shred this lot here and meet you in the ACRB for a plate of low-cholesterol bacon butties in five minutes. We should aim to get airborne in about three quarters of an hour.’

Pyongyang, North Korea

Kim Yong-Su was awoken by the telephone ringing. Like most other North Korean senior officials, he’d taken to sleeping in his office so that he could be contacted immediately by the leadership.

‘Kim Yong-Su,’ he announced, glancing at the wall clock.

‘It’s Pak Je-San,’ the caller replied.

‘Yes?’ Kim’s voice was noticeably more abrupt now he realized he wasn’t addressing the ‘Dear Leader’. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’m not sure it’s significant, but two of our radar units – the stations at Ongjin and Haeju – have detected the launch of four aircraft from the British warship that’s been operating west of Seoul.’

‘That ship has been flying aircraft regularly for the last two days.’

‘I know, but all those flights have remained within patrol areas over the Yellow Sea. These aircraft have climbed to high level and headed into South Korea. None of the aircraft have done that before. Judging by their secondary radar returns, they’re now being controlled by the radar unit at Seoul.’

Kim Yong-Su sat down at his desk and thought for a few seconds. ‘You were right to call me, Pak. If the British were intending a preemptive strike against our missile bases, they’d probably cross into the Sea of Japan and then launch an attack from there.’

‘But we have no quarrel with the British.’

‘No,’ Kim replied, ‘but they’re still the best friends the imperialist Yankees have. If Washington says “Jump”, all the spineless British ever say is “How high?” It looks as if you were right, Pak. The only surprise is that the British are doing the Americans’ dirty work for them. I must pass on this information at once. Ensure that all our southern radar stations are warned about these aircraft, then launch our interceptors and alert the missile bases.’

Kim put down the phone and reached out a hand for the red telephone. Before picking it up he looked again at the clock. It was very early, but he knew the information couldn’t wait. The high command had to be informed. The next phase of the plan was about to be implemented.

E2-C, callsign ‘Alpha Three’, Sea of Japan

‘Climax, this is Alpha Three.’ ‘Climax’ was the USS Enterprise ’s tactical voice radio callsign.

‘Alpha Three, Climax. Go ahead.’

‘Climax, we’re feeding you data through the JTIDS and we’re not seeing much we didn’t expect north of the DMZ. But we’ve just picked up four contacts in the Yellow Sea, heading east towards Seoul and wearing South Korea-block squawks. It’s subjective, but they looked to us like carrier-launched aircraft. We were briefed to expect one contact in that area sometime this morning, not four. Can you check with Intelligence and get an update?’

‘Alpha Three, stand by.’ There was a short pause while the radar operator in the Combat Information Center on the Enterprise consulted someone, then he replied. ‘Nothing known by us or the JIC, Alpha Three. We understood one aircraft. We’ll request a flash check with Homeland Intelligence.’

‘Roger that.’

USS Enterprise , North Pacific Ocean

William Rodgers was, like the captains of all US Navy carriers, a highly experienced aviator. He had over three thousand hours in the F-14 Tomcat, an aircraft he’d been sad to see finally retire, though he had to acknowledge there were undeniable advantages to the new F/A-18 Super Hornet. And, though his craft now displaced ninety-four thousand tons, he still thought like a pilot.

The moment he heard the exchange between the Hawkeye and the radar operator he strode across the CIC and peered at the officer’s display. It was linked to the E2-C’s sensors through the JTIDS (Joint Tactical Information Distribution System) and the four contacts, now well into South Korea and still heading east, were clearly displayed.

‘That’s them?’ he asked, bending forward to point at the returns on the radar screen.

‘Yes, sir. The Hawkeye reported them first appearing over the Yellow Sea, pretty much where that little British carrier is supposed to be operating.’

‘Those carriers may be small, Lieutenant,’ Rodgers growled, ‘but they still pack a serious punch.’ For a few seconds he just stared in silence at the screen.

The signal that was still tucked in his hip pocket was absolutely unequivocal: he was to do nothing that might provoke or irritate the North Koreans, just in case they decided that hitting Los Angeles with a nuclear weapon was the most suitable response.

That was one factor.

The other factor was right there on the radar screen in front of him: the tiny, relatively slow-moving returns that he knew represented four British Harriers embarking on a mission that wasn’t quite suicidal, but certainly came close. Four subsonic single-pilot aircraft trying to carry out strike missions – strike missions actually requested by Washington – and facing not only an air force on high alert that could field in excess of eight hundred fighters, but entering territory that was guarded by one of the highest concentrations of surface-to-air missile and gun systems in the world.

Rodgers knew what his orders were, knew that they were clear and concise and absolutely specific, and knew what the consequences were likely to be if he ignored them. But he couldn’t forget his hours in the driving seat of a Tomcat, the feeling of loneliness and vulnerability when approaching a hostile environment, and knew that the four men in the Harriers would be feeling exactly the same.

He stood up straight, his decision made. It was, he hoped, the right one, but he’d accept the consequences later if it turned out he was wrong. He muttered something under his breath that sounded to the radar operator suspiciously like ‘Fuck Washington’, then issued his orders.

‘OK, we were expecting a single contact to follow a similar track to that. My guess is that the Brits decided to fly more than one aircraft. Get the Prowlers and the Hornets warmed up in case they need any help. Advise me the moment they clear the coast and start to drop.’

Cobra and Viper formation, above South Korea

The Senior Pilot in Cobra One was to the right and ahead of Richter’s GR9, Viper One and Two half a mile behind. From just over thirty-five thousand feet, the mountainous countryside of the Korean Peninsula looked starkly beautiful, the early-morning sun casting enormous shadows that turned whole valleys into black pits. They were approaching the coastline about ten miles north of Kangnung, and preparing for descent.

They’d contacted Seoul as they approached the coast and received immediate clearance to climb and cross the peninsula. They’d also confirmed with the controllers that other Sea Harriers might be landing in South Korea during the morning, but obviously hadn’t explained why.