Coffey watched unhappily. "Right. We killed a South Korean officer. There will be repercussions."

"He was crazy," said Herbert. "We shot a rabid dog."

"Who may have a family. Rabid dogs don't have rights; soldiers and next of kin do."

Bugs interrupted with a call from General Schneider. Hood told him to try to raise Mike Rodgers, then sat on the edge of his desk and picked up the phone.

"Yes, General?"

"Looks like you may have pulled this one out. There's no shooting-- the North Koreans seem to be waiting."

"Can you see General Hong-koo?"

"No," said Schneider. "My boys up there are still ducking."

Hood looked at the monitor. "Well, the General's sitting up in the jeep, holding a handkerchief or cloth to a wound in his shoulder. Now they're driving away. Looks like he's okay."

"Colon's still going to shit."

"I don't know," said Hood. "The President may like how this worked out-- self-policing plays well in the press. So does taking a hard line with an ally we've been underwriting for forty-plus--"

"Excuse me, sir," Bugs interrupted, "but I have Lt. Col. Squires on the TAC SAT. I think you'll want to talk to him."

Elation was replaced by a fresh wave of burning in his gut as Hood was plugged through and listened to what Rodgers was attempting

CHAPTER EIGHTY

Wednesday, 9:00 A.M., the Diamond Mountains

The trip down the hill was slower than Rodgers had hoped. They had gone over four hundred yards around the troops stationed below and had crept down on their bellies, feetfirst, to keep as low a profile as possible. Sharp rocks poked at them, thorny plants stabbed their bare arms, and the grade was exceedingly steep the lower they got. Several times, each man had lost his footing and had to dig at the rocks, hand and foot, to keep from sliding into the camp. Rodgers realized that that had to be the reason the command tent had been pitched where it was: in daylight it was difficult enough to approach. In the dark, even with night-vision glasses, it would have been virtually impossible to get to.

Rodgers was in front, Moore and then Puckett behind; he stopped them behind a boulder twenty yards above the tent. With his two men behind the rock, Rodgers leaned around to watch for signs of activity below.

He heard soft, very muted voices, but saw no movement within.

Damn strange, he thought. This wasn't standard operating procedure at all. Once the Nodongs were raised and targeted, it was typical for commanders to be in the field: a launch order would never be given over the phone, but in person. It frustrated Rodgers that he couldn't make out what was being said in the tent, not that it really mattered. The only way they were going to stop the missiles from being launched was to get in there and persuade whoever was in charge to lower them. Though he couldn't hear, he was willing to bet his pension that it wasn't the North Koreans who were calling the shots.