KPA AIR FORCE HEADQUARTERS
KAECH’ON AIRFIELD
KAECH’ON
A male officer in a tan military uniform stared down at a screen. He wore a headset. The screen displayed live radar of the North Korean border with South Korea. The screen was black with digitally imposed bright green markings, showing North Korea’s borders. A small red light caught his eyes. The light was flashing. It was in South Korea but appeared to be heading directly toward the North Korean border. It was approaching near the western end of the border with South Korea, over a small inlet of water at the eastern edge of the Yellow Sea, into a province known as South Hwanghae.
The officer, Rhee, a lieutenant in the KPA Air Force, typed quickly, zooming in on the approaching light. He double-clicked the light. In small lettering, the words appeared:
HELICOPTER/mil
SPEED: 261 kmh
DIR: NNW .087
This was not unusual. He assumed it was American. The Americans constantly tested the North Korean air defenses, but the location was unusual. Normally, the Americans came from the central part of the border, north of Osan Air Force Base. They liked to fly along the no-fly area, but never crossed into the demilitarized zone.
Rhee locked the satellite group against the approaching chopper. It went deeper into the DMZ and came closer and closer to the border. Just when he expected it to turn, the American helicopter continued on, crossing the border. A low, dull alarm started ringing from his workstation. Rhee typed, shutting down the alarm, then pressed his headset just above his right ear.
“This is Rhee, KPAF border systems control. We have a breach of the border at thirty-seven degrees north, one twenty-five east, near the Yellow Sea. The violator is a military helicopter moving in a northeast vector at two-five-zero kmh and is in violation of Korean sovereign airspace.”
“Roger,” came the voice of the top-ranking KPAF on-duty officer, Colonel Rok. “Lock in missile defense systems and initiate warning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rhee typed quickly, locking the nearest KPA surface-to-air missile battery onto the helicopter, which was now more than twenty kilometers inside North Korean airspace. He heard a high-pitched beeping noise, signifying acquisition of the target.
He typed again, then hit Enter. This command broadcast an emergency message—in English—across all frequencies to the helicopter cockpit.
“You are in violation of North Korean airspace. Turn around immediately or you will be shot down.”
Rhee analyzed the surface-to-air missile battery. The computer estimated a flight time of six minutes.
He broadcast the message three more times. The helicopter continued on a straight northward course.
He hit his headset.
“Colonel, the target is locked into the missile defense protocol.”
“And you issued the warning?”
“Yes, sir. There is no reaction from the American helicopter.”
“Very well,” said Rhee’s commander. “Fire two missiles, when ready.”
“Affirmative,” said Rhee. He pressed two buttons in succession on the work console just below the satellite screen, waited for a monotone, then prepared to flip a pair of switches. “Firing in three, two, one … and fire.”