Episode 70

ODA 1211, A Co, 2nd Btn, 1st Special Forces Group

“GO! GO! GO!”

Before the Load Master had finished the first GO, Captain Peters was waddling down the ramp and into the cold air behind the C-130. While warriors are not supposed to waddle, you really can’t describe a fully loaded paratrooper’s movement any other way. Strapped down with rucks, parachutes, breathing equipment and all manner of other supplies, they were simply too heavily encumbered to do anything else.

Within thirty seconds of exiting the plane, Peters popped his chute and got his bearings. He needed to maintain a northerly heading in order to get far enough away from the DMZ to avoid the regular roving patrols that the DPRK maintained within ten miles of the DMZ. At 35,000 feet, he had plenty of glide to get him where he wanted to go. He couldn’t see the other members of the A-Team, but he knew they were there. Each man would have to make his own way down, it was too difficult to coordinate a tight jump at night.

It was normally quite easy to get disoriented when jumping at night. However, in this case, he simply found he had to keep his back to the visible lights of South Korea. Seoul was only thirty miles from the DMZ and even though it was a bit hazy out, he could clearly see the light pollution that any large western city generated.

North Korea, on the other hand, was dark. Between electricity rationing and the general lack of nightlife, the country was almost completely blacked out. As his altitude dropped and he continued to float north, the lights of the south became less visible. Eventually, he was gliding through the darkness with only an occasional star overhead. Adjusting his binocular night vision goggles, he looked down and saw only farms and the occasional woods below. The goal was to rendezvous at a specific farm which was supposed to be secured by their CIA counterparts. Getting onto the ground and to the rendezvous point was the most dangerous part of any covert mission behind enemy lines.

Falling below one thousand feet, Peters started focusing on his landing site. He was aiming for a field that looked to be plowed, but not planted yet. There were some woods to the south where he could take cover, but the field was large enough that he was unlikely to miss it or get caught up in a tree, always a danger when trying to land a parachute. There was nobody moving in the field or the farmhouse a kilometer away. Not surprising at 2 am, but reassuring. Unlike Afghanistan or Iraq, the North Koreans maintained tight surveillance on their borders so a random patrol was not out of the question. On the other hand, at this time of night, any vehicle lights would stand out like a searchlight to his NVG’s.

One hundred feet. Ten Feet. Flare out and WHOOF! Contact. Peters rolled as he hit the ground, trying to ensure he didn’t injure an ankle. You looked like a moron falling down on contact, but it was way safer than trying to run a few steps as you came into a landing. Leave that to the showoffs. He was landing in a field that he had never seen before in the middle of the night. He wasn’t going for style points.

Peters quickly gathered up his chute and sprinted into the woods. While he was carrying a crap ton of gear, the adrenaline rush that came from being in enemy territory gave him the strength he needed to sprint. Breathing hard, he scanned the field he had just left. Nothing moving. Just the sounds of insects and the occasional nocturnal animal. So far, so good. He checked the small but extremely accurate GPS unit strapped to his wrist. Only two kilometers to the rendezvous. A nice walk in the woods. What could be safer?

After burying his parachute and oxygen equipment, he set out through the woods. He kept his head constantly moving to make up for the fact that the NVG’s limited peripheral vision.

As he moved closer to the rendezvous, he slowed down. Better safe than sorry. Slowly, he examined the rendezvous. A large barn, it could have been almost anywhere. It was almost completely unadorned. A wooden structure with a metal roof, the building could have been on his cousin’s alfalfa farm in Spokane. As he moved his head slowly right, he caught the flare of body heat. There was someone to his right, watching the barn. The figure was also wearing NVGs.

Slowly, Peters pulled off a glove and made an “OK” gesture with his thumb and index finger. He waited. Sooner or later, the other soldier would look to his left and see the recognition signal. After a few seconds, the other man turned and saw Peters. Slowly, the man took his glove off and made the same gesture, but inverted. Peters sighed with relief. He didn’t really expect DPRK soldiers to be walking around the woods wearing night vision goggles, but it wasn’t impossible that they would be.

“Sir.”

“Evening.”

“Looks quiet so far.”

“Any sign of the rest of the team?”

“We have three more up yonder.” CWO Smith pointed with his chin across to the far side of the farm. “I suspect the rest are still makin’ their way up.”

“Thirty minutes to the planned rendezvous.”

“The guys will be here.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“How we play this one, Captain?”

“Straight up. We wait for the CIA dude to come out and make the signal.”

“And if he gives the warning sign?”

“We go inside and kill everyone we find.”

“Roger that.”

Slowly, the team assembled around the farm. As they had gamed out the insertion, the team broke down into pairs in a circle around the farm. If there was one thing that the US had learned over the past fifty years of irregular warfare, it was the importance of teamwork and flexibility. The team had a plan, but they also knew that things could go seriously wrong in an instant. Each man had a set of responsibilities, but also knew the responsibilities of the other team members.

At precisely 3am local, the door on the side of the barn opened. While the team could clearly see the figure emerging, they couldn’t see his face or much detail about what he was wearing. They were able to clearly see him take his glove off and touch his nose, his chin and then his ear in what to any red blooded american would instantly be recognized as a baseball sign from manager to catcher.

“OK. That’s the all clear.”

“Right, you stay here this time, Captain.”

“I’m pretty sure I out rank you, Chief.”

“That you do, that you do.” Smith chuckled. “But you ain’t goin’ down there, now are ya?”

“Guess not.”

“Glad we agree.” He paused before a only slightly sarcastic “sir.”

Carefully, Smith moved down to the farm. The eleven remaining in hiding readied their weapons, just in case. Nobody expected trouble, but they were ready for it. Theirs was a dangerous business and being sloppy was a sure way to get very dead, quickly. Or slowly if they were unlucky.

After a quick consultation with the CIA officer, Smith disappeared into the barn. A few seconds later, he returned and made the “all clear” signal. Peters and the other members of ODA 1211 moved quickly but quietly into the barn.

Inside the dimly lit barn, Peters found a Korean man dressed in civilian clothes. “You Park?”

“Yes.” He reached out a hand to shake as if having twelve heavily armed men meet him in a barn was an everyday occurrence. Of course, given his profession, it might be.

“I’m Captain Peters and this is Chief Smith.” The men exchanged a round of handshakes.

“Welcome to North Korea gentlemen. Our local asset is due in about an hour. However, I’m not sure what our mission is here. I was just told to activate the asset and get him and his family here.”

“You’ll find out soon enough. The whole fucking army is about to come up north. It’s up to us to make sure the locals aren’t ready for that.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“Aren’t you following the war?”

“Not really. We don’t get CNN here you know. Well, that explains why we are burning this asset now.”

“Who is it?”

“You’re gonna love it.” Just then the sound of vehicles broke the silence outside. “Fuck, he’s early. He thinks he’s clever like that. We have been working this dude for ten years, he’s a real prick.”

With a gesture from Peters, the team dispersed throughout the barn. Like most barns, it had various bits of equipment, bales of hay and other things scattered around. The eleven members of the team quickly disappeared into the gloom.

Outside, the sound of vehicles died down. Peters could hear low voices speaking what sounded like Korean. While he spoke Korean, it was too muffled to pick out clearly. After a few moments, the door opened and a Korean man of middle years walked in. Peters stiffened in surprise as he recognized that the man was wearing the uniform of a DPRK Army General. The general closed the door and came closer to Park and Peters. As soon as he saw Peters’ uniform, he stopped.

“Why have you brought imperialist soldiers into my country? You said nothing about soldiers!” The man’s tone was as belligerent as his stance as he jabbed a pudgy finger towards the CIA officer. “I should have you all shot!”

Silently, Chief Smith moved up behind the North Korean and placed an ancient M1911 against the base of his neck. “This here 45 would make a right mess of that nice hat you got there.” Smith pulled the hammer back on the weapon, making a loud “click” in the quiet barn. Smith carried the ancient pistol mainly for that sound. Peters gave Smith a hard look. Smith’s affection for the weapon had been a source of friction in the past and it struck Peters as unprofessional in the extreme.

“General Pak, may I introduce you to Captain Peters of the US Army? These gentlemen are here to fulfill our side of the agreement. You may want to hear them out before you do something we would all regret.”