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After spending four hours in the water, the young girl was in shock. Once she was onboard, the loadmaster wrapped her in a thermal blanket, coaxing her body temperature back to normal while the rescue swimmer continued to retrieve the bodies. The chopper remained at the scene for several grueling hours, recovering the bodies of her father, her mother, her brother, her sister and her grandmother.

The rescue helicopter touched down at the airport a little after midnight the following morning. Lee could still remember the look on her face, her cold clammy skin and dilated pupils. She lunged for him as he reached out to help her down from the chopper. The girl threw herself into his arms and clung fiercely, as if she were still in danger of dying alone in the water instead of safe on dry land. He’d tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort to give.

It was four in the morning before Child Services arrived to take her away, and in the intervening time she never spoke a word. She cried as she left. It was the first time he’d seen her cry since they fished her out of the ocean. The elderly lady from Child Services was kind and soft spoken, but that didn’t matter. The young girl reached out for Lee. Her eyes flooded with tears, and Lee found himself crestfallen as she was pulled away.

The incident left Lee shaken. There was nothing more he could have done, and yet he felt the weight of guilt bearing down on him. To see a child so distraught left him devastated.

In the back of his mind, Lee struggled to reconcile the words of the US Navy SEAL; We need to get that little girl. Those words cut through to his heart. He breathed deeply, steeling his mind to focus on the present. He had no idea who this girl was, but right now she had to take second place. He hated himself for the decision he had to make, but he had no choice. The safety of his crew came first.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Lieutenant Andrews. “There will be no drop. You’ll have to find another way into North Korea.”

“Son of a bitch!” Andrews yelled, thumping the steel bulkhead of the helicopter.

Andrews had no idea how hard that decision was for Lee. Looking into the darkness, Lee felt physically sick.

“That MIG must have been on an exercise,” Park said. “There’s no way they could have scrambled a MIG that quickly in this weather.”

“Go dark,” Lee replied.

Park flicked a bunch of toggle switches and the strobe light and spotlights turned off. The backlit instruments in front of him cast a soft red glow throughout the cabin. With no external lights, the night closed in on them. Lee kept his eyes on the altimeter and elevation bubble. He eased the Sea King slightly higher, wanting to compensate for their blind view.

“He’s coming around again,” Park said. “Fucker’s coming straight at us from six o’clock. Two miles out. Flying right up our tail.”

Lee keyed his microphone and pleaded for their lives, again speaking in Korean as he cried, “Sunwi-do. This is Foxtrot Echo Sierra Four Zero. We are heading to international waters. Disengage, I repeat, disengage. Over.”

Again, there was no reply.

Lee switched to internal coms, asking, “Guns or missiles?”

“Sorry?” Park replied.

“What do you think he’s carrying? Guns or missiles? If you’re right, and he was on night exercises, what armament would he carry? Guns, missiles or both?”

“Guns,” Andrews offered, injecting himself into the conversation. “Bullets are cheaper than bombs and missiles.”

“Is he left handed or right?” Lee asked.

“I don’t know,” Park snapped.

“Which way did he break last time? To the left or the right?”

“Left.”

“Then he’s right handed. When we break, we go right, we turn against his natural lean. We try and force another fly-over.”

“What are you going to do?” Andrews asked.

Lee ignored him. “Distance?”

“Half a mile,” Park snapped.

“Hold on,” Lee cried. He raised the collective control, arresting the forward momentum of the Sea King and adjusting the angle of the blades so the helicopter climbed swiftly.

The Sea King shuddered.

The airframe of the helicopter groaned under the strain. Lee could feel the blood draining from his head as he snatched at the collective, rapidly altering the pitch of the blades. He pulled back on the cyclic stick, forcing the helicopter to pitch back with its nose raised. The Sea King’s initial momentum fought against the screaming engines driving them higher.