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THE RADIO WAS EERILY quiet as they flew down the North Korean peninsula at thirty-two thousand feet. There wasn’t much air traffic, and when they did hear other aircraft, the transmissions were extremely short.
DARPA had equipped their aircraft with a small computer that hooked into their communications systems that could translate both incoming and outgoing transmissions. It took a little getting used to, but it seemed to be working just fine so far.
The system would change the voice depending on who was talking, to allow the crews to more accurately decipher who was talking. It attempted to mimic the speaker as best it could, while still being comprehensible.
There seemed to be two controllers on frequency. One male controller spoke Russian to the FSB Global 8000 pilot leading their formation while a female controller spoke Korean to everyone else. So far, Spectre had only counted an Air Koryo flight and what sounded like a flight of two MiG-21s on a combat air patrol, but he suspected the military aircraft had their own air traffic control system entirely separate from the frequency they were on.
There was a bit of an undercast as they approached Sunchon. Spectre switched to the Automated Terminal Information System (ATIS) on the auxiliary radio. The airbase was reporting a broken ceiling of four-thousand feet and visibility eight miles with light winds out of the south.
Spectre switched back to the interflight frequency on the aux radio. “Looks like it’ll be the low show, Woody. Four-thousand-foot ceiling.”
“Copy you,” Woody replied over the interflight freq. “Sounds like an adventure!”
“He’s a sarcastic one, isn’t he?” Cowboy asked over the intercom.
“Just remember, we’re going to stay flat,” Spectre said, reminding Woody of the demo profile they had briefed for their arrival. With a four thousand foot ceiling, they wouldn’t be able to do the vertical maneuvering demo, which wasn’t a bad thing since the vertical maneuvers had a decent chance of departure from controlled flight and impact with terra firma.
“Roger,” Woody replied.
They started their descent toward the airfield. The Global 8000 was given a handoff to the Sunchon approach controllers. The pilot acknowledged and checked in as the formation approached the Sunchon Airport on the southwest side of the city of Sunchon in South Pyongyang. It was the home of the 55th Fighter Regiment consisting of MiG-29 and SU-25 jets and had a single eight-thousand-foot paved runway.
They stayed on the Global 8000’s wing until they were safely below the cloud deck. It was a bit higher than four-thousand feet, but still not high enough to do any vertical maneuvering. The pilot of the Global 8000 advised the controller that the two Advanced Flankers would require a separate clearance and vectors before clearing Spectre and Woody to detach. The DARPA system perfectly translated the Russian pilot’s command and Spectre raised the Flanker’s big speedbrake to create separation.
As the Global 8000 continued toward the field, Woody rejoined on Spectre’s right wing. “Empire One-One, turn right heading two-seven-zero,” the North Korean controller said in Russian.
Spectre repeated the clearance, hoping the translator did its magic as he complied with the request. The controller was attempting to create spacing so that the Global 8000 could land well before Spectre and Woody arrived, which would allow them to put on a quick demonstration before landing. They had to do everything as if they were Russians trying to sell their fighter jets, which meant showmanship was everything. A key aspect of mission success meant making a good first impression that was credible to the North Korean dignitaries.
The controller vectored them around Sunchon while the Global 8000 landed at the air base. From the higher altitude, the city looked like any other he’d seen from the air. But, as the controller cleared them to lower altitude, Spectre saw that the buildings were outdated, worn, and falling apart in most cases. It looked worse than he had expected – almost post-apocalyptic.
The controller turned Spectre’s flight back toward the field and asked Spectre if he had the field in sight. With the diamond in his HUD on the end of the runway, Spectre acknowledged that he did and the controller handed him off to Sunchon Tower.
“Sunchon Tower, Empire One-One,” Spectre said, still wincing as he spoke in English, half-expecting them to realize the ruse and shoot him down at any moment with an KN-06 surface to air missile.
“Empire One-One, cleared to commence maneuvering,” the controller replied.
So far, so good.
“Alright, Woody, push it up, let’s make it loud,” Spectre said over the interflight freq.
They accelerated to four hundred knots and lined up on Runway 15. Spectre took the flight down to five hundred feet as they approached the numbers of the dilapidated runway. As he looked down, Spectre wondered if they would blow a tire on the busted asphalt, a contingency he hadn’t even considered in their pre-mission planning.
Spectre found the brightly-colored observation tent near the southeastern part of the field. It was on the ramp next to a half dozen MiG-29s parked in a row and he watched the Global 8000 pull to a stop next to it. Spectre banked slightly to the left and aimed for it as their show center.
“Standby,” Spectre said as they approached. “3...2...1...ACTION.”
On Spectre’s command, they both lit their afterburners and turned away from each other. They each completed two-hundred and seventy degrees of turn, easing the pull so that they would create a head-to-head pass.
“Left to left,” Spectre called, reminding Woody of their deconfliction plan.
“Left to left,” Woody repeated.
As they merged, Spectre turned left across Woody’s tail and Woody turned right, creating a single circle fight toward the viewing stand. They bled off airspeed, reversing direction each time they subsequently merged and crisscrossing in a flat scissors fight.
As they passed over the viewing stand, Spectre called, “Empire, knock-it-off. Empire One-One knock it off.”
“Empire One-Two, knock it off,” Woody repeated.
“Empire request left downwind,” Spectre said over the primary tower frequency as Woody maneuvered to a trail formation behind Spectre.
“Cleared to land Runway One-Five,” the controller replied.
“Cleared to land,” Spectre repeated.
They turned downwind and Woody took spacing behind Spectre’s aircraft. Unsure of the radio calls, Spectre resisted the urge to call “Left base, gear down, full stop,” as he would’ve in his Air Force days.
Instead, he just lowered the gear and flaps and landed just past the numbers about five hundred feet down the runway.
“You think they bought it?” Cowboy asked over the intercom as they rolled out and Woody landed behind them.
“We’re about to find out,” Spectre replied.
He slowed the Flanker to taxi speed as he headed toward the viewing area. The runway looked even worse up close, filled with potholes and loose asphalt. It was evident that the North Koreans didn’t believe in sweeping the runways for foreign object debris as the U.S. military did.
“Uhhh...boss, we may have a problem,” Woody said suddenly over the aux frequency as Spectre turned onto the taxiway in front of the viewing stand.
“What’s up?” Spectre asked.
“I think the jet might’ve sucked up a piece of this shitty runway on landing. I got a compressor stall indication on rollout and had to shut down the right engine,” Woody said. “Sounded pretty bad.”
“Fuck me,” Spectre said as he dropped his mask.
“What does that mean?” Cowboy asked.
“It means that jet isn’t flying anywhere anytime soon,” Spectre replied over the intercom and then keyed up the interflight radio. “Copy. We’ll deal with it after we shut down.”
“Bloody hell!” Cowboy said.
“You got that right,” Spectre said. “We might be fucked.”