Steve Abbott: Devil's Gambit

Two Hind helicopters, painted in North Korean colors, rounded the point of the bay. Sung looked at the Colonel and nodded. He had to admit, the man was thorough in his job. He would have been surprised if he knew the Colonel thought Sung was the one to call in the Hinds. The deadly looking helicopters took up a low circling route around the middle of the bay.

The damaged warhead was the first out of the sub. The boat’s doctor had felt that a short exposure to the radiation that leaked from its cracked case would cause no long-term effects. The Captain watched the splintered crate spin slowly out of the hatch and hoped the man was right. It was not good to die from an enemy you never knew was there. A crew on the rear of the crane truck was waiting to snag the crate with loading hooks. It took great effort, but Sung kept his distance.

The morning sun began to illuminate the harbor with harsh gold light. Everything stood out in brilliant relief, a shining sepia-colored photograph of reality. They were down to the last crate. The sub tender had swung fuel lines across the dock space. Members of the Leader’s crew were topside assisting with refueling, as the Leader drank her fill. The Captain had retreated back inside the steel confines of his boat. He was glad that the political officers had decided to go ashore, and gloat beside their Comrade Sung.

New and disturbing orders had been issued to the Leader. The cramped confines of the officers’ mess was not the best place to hold a meeting, but there was nowhere else.

The Captain started the proceedings. “Well?”

The head engineer shrugged his grease-stained shoulders. “The tiles I cannot replace. We put to sea with no spares. This boat is so new, I doubt they even have any spares.”

“But otherwise.”

The Engineer nodded, “But otherwise, everything is okay. We took no major damage in the engagement with the Americans. Battery power should be up to full in about four hours.”

“Good.” The Captain turned to his first officer. “I wish we could give the men some time on shore, but we have orders to put to sea as soon as possible and begin attacks on shipping in the Strait of Tushima. I need to know our remaining weapons inventory.”

The last of the heavy crates from the Leader touched the wood on the back of the transport truck. The soldiers who had loaded them started to pull a heavy tarp across their bulk. Sung turned to the Colonel standing beside him.

“Excellent work, Colonel. Well under the time needed.”

“We….” The Colonel exploded, chunks of his body flying in all directions out of his shredded uniform. Everything stopped, frozen in place by the Colonel’s death. Sung could hear nothing but the blood rushing in his ears as his mind struggled to come to grips with what had just happened a foot from him.

Hunter and his team gave no pause. The political officers died next. Both were blown apart by the kinetic energy of the fifty caliber rounds striking their bodies. Sung dove for the ladder at the edge of the dock. The rough concrete ripped open his pants leg at the knee as he slid to a stop at the rail. He vaulted over the side of the ladder to the roughhewn catwalk below. The creosote boards cut at his palms, their oily shellac burned into the gash on his knee. A shower of sparks and concrete chips ripped through the air where his head and shoulders had been a second before.

Armor piercing SLAP rounds punched into the side of the sub tender’s wheelhouse. The rounds turned to superheated jets of metal plasma as they passed through the steel plate of the wheel house’s exterior. The inside of the wheel house became an incinerator. 40mm grenades began to slam into the exposed side of the ship. Red hot shrapnel rained down on the sailors manning the fuel lines. Brilliant white sparks shot off the ship’s antennas and radar as round after round of fifty caliber, armor-piercing bullets destroyed the ship’s ability to communicate.

The explosion on the sub tender was felt by all on board the Leader. There was no need to say the obvious or ask any questions.

The Captain slid back from the table. “Sound General Quarters and have the men on the deck cut the hawsers. The Americans have found us again.”

Hunter kept low. This was turning into a real hornet’s nest. Time to liven things up. “All Alpha elements, engage targets.”

Sung watched with relief as the Hinds turned from their patrol of the bay and headed towards the SA-6 site and the Nodong launchers. Sounds of intense fighting around the two sites floated across the bay. They would make short work of anyone on the ground stupid enough to be caught out of cover. Sung’s relief turned to horror when streams of heavy rocket fire leapt from the outboard pylons of the Hinds and slammed into the two weapon sites. A flat clap of thunder followed by a huge geyser of white fire erupted from under the camouflage netting. The two Nodong rockets, their bodies leaking caustic liquid fuels, leapt in flaming spirals two hundred feet into the sky and then tumbled down on the other side of the harbor into the rail yard. A huge fireball followed seconds after.

Sung, his eyes half blinded by the glowing ascent, blinked back tears and looked at the gray cloud where the SA-6 battery used to be. The screams and moans of the injured and dying filtered across the bay through the staccato pop of small arms fire. For the first time in his life, Sung knew he was out of his element. If he stayed here, he was going to die. He looked down at the Leader. It was sliding from its mooring, back into the safety of the harbor. Four sailors lay dead on its hull, the fire axes they had used to cut the hawsers still clutched in their hands. The sub tender’s upper deck was fully engulfed in flames. Toxic black smoke billowed from her deck into the morning sky. Her crew on deck were trying desperately to fight the blaze before it hit the fuel tanks.

What had gone wrong? How could the Americans have known? Sung looked around, desperate to find a way out of the killing ground.

Sean ran in a crouch through the maze of barrels and scrap that littered the streets of Chanjon. Harris kept an eye on their left. Gayle was in the middle, with the Russians bringing up the rear in a tight semi-circle. Things were going better than planned. He had expected the Koreans to pick up on the Hinds right away. Something had gone right for a change. Sean slowed. They were almost at the dock. He could see the transport truck with the warheads.

The front windshield was shattered. The driver lay slumped over the wheel, the wreckage of his head spattered across the back of the cab. There was a choking sound behind him. Sean turned around. Gayle was pale, her hand over her mouth.

“If you’re going to be sick, get it over with. I don’t need you puking when we’re in the shit.”

Gayle’s eyes flashed and color came back to her face. “I’ll be fine Addison. Just get me to those nukes.”

Sean shook his head. “I’ve got a better idea. You wait here.” He tapped Harris on the arm. “Come on, let’s grab us a truck.”

The clock was running. Hunter’s group was keeping the Koreans well-contained. Sounds of heavy fire came from all around. What the SEALs missed, the Hinds with a few well-directed commands from the ground elements, eliminated. The bay was gaining color, magic hour was bleeding into regular daylight.

Sean, Harris right behind him, ran low and fast to the parked transport. His gun tracked back and forth for a target. It was a long hundred meters. Both men slid to a stop and crouched by the front bumper. Sean looked over the whole of the dock, what he could see at least. Fighting was fierce outside the barrier of black smoke, but the acoustics of the dock made a confusing hash out of the sounds of battle. He had no idea where the fighting was thickest or even how close it was to the team.