Dragon Sim-13 (3 page)

The initial series of Strams exercises in the Tunnel was conducted in 1987. Dubbed Bear Sim-1 through Bear Sim-23, the exercises had focused entirely on military actions against the Soviet Union, ranging from selective nuclear strikes to military, economic, and political sabotage of the Soviet infrastructure by surgical strike missions. Meng continually refined the simulation as he learned what worked and what did not. After ten missions, the entire setup had become so realistic that the secretary of defense had designated the Tunnel as the alternate EOC in case the Pentagon center went off line.

Meng had been forced to run the Strams in sequence using the same target country because of the difficulty designing the opposing forces (OPFOR), or enemy, program of capabilities and possible responses. That overall country program was called the scenario program. The one for the Soviet Union Meng had labeled as Bear. The various U.S. military scenarios based on contingency oplans, or operations plans, were the numbered Sim programs.

When the Bear Sim programs had run their course, Meng was ordered to turn his attention elsewhere. He had then run four scenarios in the Middle East—Lion Sim-1 through Lion Sim-4. At that point, in the fall of 1988, he had been directed to scenario-program a new target country: China.

Meng labored for more than two months to develop the Dragon scenario program. The first Dragon Sim took place in January 1989. Since then the Dragon series, and the whole Strams program, had been receiving less and less attention as peace prevailed around the world. To revive the project, Meng wanted to switch its emphasis to terrorism or to the drug war, and indeed after the two Dragon Sims remaining on the long-range planning calendar, the focus would shift to international terrorism.

Meng was finding scenario programming for the new Medusa series to be most challenging. Since it took more than two months to program a new scenario, he had requested that the last two Dragon missions be scrubbed to allow them to concentrate on the Medusa program, but General Sutton had overruled his civilian counterpart. The units participating had already prepared their operations plans and scheduled the operation. Meng had learned early in this job that the military was not very flexible in its operations.

Meng looked at his calendar. Dragon Sim-13 was starting in two days. The oplan sat in his in box. He hated the thought of flowcharting this exercise, since he wanted to get a jump on the Medusa program. He was finding the new program most interesting, considering the number of terrorist organizations in the world and the almost innumerable ways they might act. It was his greatest challenge yet.

Meng grabbed the oplan for Dragon Sim-13 and glanced through it. An army Special Forces mission, he noted—at least it would not be boring. He'd enjoyed the one Bear Sim mission with the Special Forces people. They had shown quite a bit of imagination in their planning and flexibility in their responses to the challenges presented by the computer, unlike many of the other organizations that had been run through Tunnel 3.

Meng began separating the pages of the oplan, preparing to lay them out on his tables and begin the program flowcharting. He would let his primary assistant, Ron Wilson, do the after-action report for Dragon Sim-12. Meng didn't want to have to deal with that obnoxious air force general anymore. Besides, the sooner he got 13 and 14 out of the way, the sooner he could work on his Medusa program.

Meng glanced at his watch—nearly 4 p.m. He pulled the remote control out of his desk drawer, flicked on the color TV mounted on the far wall of his office, and flipped through the channels until he got to CNN. As the CNN logo rolled across the screen, Meng put aside his work and walked over to stand right in front of the TV. The lead story, as he had hoped, was on the one subject that concerned him more than his work. The screen was filled with the image of the Goddess of Democracy overlooking the hordes of students filling Tiananmen Square in Beijing.

Meng felt his heart catch as he viewed the spectacle. It was a sight he had never expected to see in his lifetime. Moving even closer to the screen as the camera panned the ranks of the students, he tried to examine every face as the camera swept along the sea of protesters. With foreboding Meng listened carefully to the announcer. "There have been unconfirmed reports that elements of the 38th Army have moved into positions around the city of Beijing. Whether these reports are true is not known, nor is it known whether the government will use these troops in an attempt to abort this movement that has been going on for more than seven weeks now."

Meng was aware that someone else had come into his office. He didn't let the new presence distract him as the report continued. "So far, things have been calm. The troops that have been stationed around the square have reacted in a peaceful, almost friendly manner to the crowds."

Meng turned his attention away as the story shifted to some self-proclaimed American expert discussing the situation. Meng didn't need an expert to tell him what was going on. He looked over as Ron Wilson spoke out. "Sort of makes you feel hopeful, doesn't it?"

Meng shook his head. "It fills me with fear more than hope."

Wilson looked at his colleague in surprise. That was the most emotional statement he had ever heard the normally stoic Meng utter. "You don't think this will get resolved peacefully?"

Meng shrugged. "I cannot foresee the future. But I do know that those Old Men in charge will not bow to the desires of a group of students."

"But isn't the entire country behind the students?"

Meng tended toward a more cynical attitude of human nature. He knew that the students and the others with them in the square were good people. He knew that very well. But they were a tiny handful compared to the entire population of China. "The majority of people in the world, not just the Chinese, are concerned only with putting food on the table and having a roof over their head. Concepts such as democracy are a long way from that. The only thing those Old Men in charge understand is power, and they are the ones who wield it in China."

Wilson pointed at the paperwork piled along the circle of tables. "I guess the possibility that things could get nasty over there is why we have these plans. Options for the president to use if he wants to apply varying degrees of military pressure to the government over there, short of all-out war. It's our job to test those options for him."

Meng sighed. He doubted very much that any of these plans would ever be used. The American Eagle seemed much too afraid of the Sleeping Dragon.

"Generally in battle, use the normal force to engage;

use the extraordinary to win."

Sun Tzu: The Art of War

Chonjinam Drop Zone, Republic of South Korea Thursday, 1 June, 1300 Zulu Thursday, 1 June, 10:00 p.m. Local

The two rear, side doors of the air force C-130 were open to the chill night air. Sergeant First Class Dave Riley took a firm grip on either side of the left-hand door and leaned out of the aircraft into the 135-mile-an-hour wind, searching for the drop zone (DZ). As the aircraft made minor adjustments in direction, the lights of a small town sparkled and danced below in the clear night sky. Off to the left, the flicker from houses on the mountains could be seen even with the aircraft at eight hundred feet.

As the plane crossed Highway 4, Riley pulled himself back into the aircraft. "One minute," he yelled, holding his index finger aloft to the nine jumpers already hooked to the cable running the length of the aircraft. The dim red glow of night lights in the cargo bay made the interior only slightly brighter than the sky. Riley could make out the glint from the wide-open eyes of the first jumper as the man shuffled a little closer. The lead jumper was now poised within three feet of the open door.

Riley leaned back out of the door, locking his elbows and blinking in the wind. He could see the lights on the drop zone. The small lights, arranged in an inverted L pattern, indicated that the jump was a go.

The base of the inverted L designated the point where he would release the first jumper. This drop zone was small—only ten seconds long. Riley had one second per man to get his entire team out. A few seconds late or early would put some of the jumpers in the trees or rice paddies that surrounded an open field. As jumpmaster, Riley's primary concern was the safety of his jumpers.

Riley took a deep breath and watched the release lights grow closer. Even though he had been on airborne status his entire twelve years in the army, he disliked jumping. No matter how many jumps a man had, or how accomplished a parachutist he was, there was always that element of chance involved—especially at night. The ground couldn't be seen clearly during descent. You could easily land in a soft sand pit or in a hole that could snap your leg like a twig. A safe landing was determined by the winds, the pilot, and the jumpmaster, as well as the jumper. That was one of the reasons why Riley always preferred jumpmastering—so he could control two of the four variables.

At least the drop zone was marked on this particular mission. Riley hated blind drops, where the jumpers had to trust the navigation of the air force to locate the drop zone, then exit the aircraft simply on the green light, with no spotting by a jumpmaster. Riley had a lot more trust in his jumpmastering abilities than in an air force navigator's skills.

Loaded down with a parachute on his back and a rucksack hanging in front under his reserve, Dave Riley appeared dwarfed by his equipment. At only five feet seven inches tall, and weighing barely 145 pounds, Riley was by far the smallest man on the team. His dark skin and black eyes were inherited from his Puerto Rican mother; it was hard to say what physical characteristics had been imparted by his long-forgotten Irish father. His angular face reminded people more of a native American's than a freckle-faced Irishman's. Riley's body was that of a middleweight prizefighter—lean, ropy muscles with no apparent fat. He needed that strength to hold himself in the doorway of the aircraft wearing equipment that more than doubled his weight.

When he estimated the drop zone lights to be at a forty-five-degree angle from the plane, Riley leaned out and did one final 360-degree check for any other aircraft or hazards that might be in the area. The safety was controlling Riley's static line, keeping it from becoming entangled as the wind blew it about. These last seconds seemed to take forever. Slowly, the drop zone edged beneath the aircraft. Satisfied, Riley pulled himself back into the plane, turned to the lead jumper, and pointed at the exit. "Stand in the door!"

Riley grabbed the static line as the first jumper took his position in the door. He peered over the man's left shoulder, watching the lights pass under the aircraft. The green light lit up on the side of the door. Half a second later, Riley screamed "GO!" and smacked the lead jumper on his rear. The man was gone.

The rest of the jumpers swiftly shuffled forward and out—sucked into the dark night sky. As they flashed by, Riley grabbed each man's static line with his right hand and passed it smoothly to his left, pinning it against the trailing edge of the door. Riley was right behind the ninth man. He slapped both palms on the outside of the aircraft and threw himself forward and out, tucking his body into a tight position. "One thousand," he counted as the turboprop blast tore at him and he could see the tail of the aircraft between his feet. "Two thousand" as the aircraft roared away. "Three thousand" as he felt the beginning of the opening shock.

Before Riley made it to four thousand, the deploying chute jerked him upright. In the space of four seconds he had gone from a forward, free-fall speed of 135 miles an hour to practically zero. His first action was to check the canopy to make sure it had deployed properly. As he scanned the nylon umbrella over his head, he reached up and gained control of the toggles that steered the MC1-1 parachute. He waited a few seconds, until the chute automatically settled in line with the drift of the wind, then he pulled the left toggle, turning into the night's slight breeze to counteract the eight-mile-an-hour forward speed of the parachute.

Jumping at eight hundred feet left little time for sight-seeing, but Riley took a quick glance about and in the moonlight counted the nine other chutes stretched along the trail of the aircraft. At least everyone looks like they're over the drop zone, he thought. Chonjinam drop zone was so short that sometimes an entire team didn't make it out on a pass, in which case the aircraft had to circle around and do another. That was okay in training, but on a combat jump one pass was all the air force would give them. Riley's standing team policy was that if one man went out the door, everyone on the team went in the same pass. That made for some fierce arguments with aircrews, since the last members of Riley's team would occasionally jump on the red light— the navigator's signal that they'd reached the end of the drop zone. Riley had implemented this policy for two reasons: to instill a solid sense of teamwork, and to train exactly as if the mission were real.

One hundred and fifty feet above the ground, Riley reached down and pulled the two quick releases that dropped his rucksack to the end of its fifteen-foot lowering line, where it dangled below him. Landing with the bulky rucksack still tight against the front of the jumper's legs made him a candidate for a broken leg. Lowering it too soon, above two hundred feet, induced oscillations that swung the jumper back and forth, leading to a much harder impact. The dark ground rushed up as Riley kept his eyes focused forward on the horizon. Pulling his knees tight together, Riley pointed his toes down and prepared to land. He grunted with the shock of hitting the ground, and rolled onto his right side.

Riley stood up and began unbuckling himself from the harness. As he did so, he scanned the area to see if he could spot other team members. Another jump done. Now the ground mission began. Once out of the harness, the first thing he did was unsling his M16A2 from his shoulder and prepare it for action. Although he was carrying only blanks and knew that there would be no "enemy" on the drop zone, old habits were good to keep.