Lucky’s Bridge (Vietnam Air War Book 2)

by Tom Wilson

  Nguyen Wu returned to the telephone and told the embassy operator that it was most important that he speak to Dimetriev as soon as he arrived. He said he'd be in the command center for the next few hours, and to have Dimetriev phone him there. He hung up.

  The intelligence officer awaited his answer.

  "Tell the command center that I shall hurry there to verify things for myself," he said. He glanced at the communications lieutenant, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. He needed a few more minutes to sever the communications links with the bases. It would take them that long to go to the basement.

  At just after six-o'clock Wu and his communications lieutenant entered the command center. As the senior officer present, Wu would now make all decisions until one of the generals arrived. A captain there saw them and came over to advise Wu that four minutes earlier listening posts at the border had reported large formations of aircraft passing overhead.

  Wu continued toward his seat at the rear of the large room.

  "Shall we call the first phase of alert, comrade Colonel?"

  Wu stopped, acted as if he were considering, then shook his head. "Wait for confirmation by the Phuc Yen P-1 radar," he said. "They may not be coming this way."

  Such a procedure was not uncommon. When Phuc Yen radar confirmed the attack was coming toward the Hanoi area, they would be ordered to assume responsibility for notification of first the MiG regiments, then the rocket and artillery battalions. But of course that first communication would be impossible.

  Phuc Yen radar would be able to talk only with his rocket sites.

  The stage is set, thought Wu, and nervousness began to tingle at his spine.

  Quon and General Tho came in the side door, engaged in deep conversation, and Wu's heart began to crawl toward his throat.

  What are they doing here?

  Quon's eyes searched, then found Nguyen Wu's. A slow smile formed at the fighter pilot's lips, and a crawling feeling of fear begin to permeate Wu's being.

  Did he suspect something?

  "Communications to the Phuc Yen P-1 radar have been interrupted. Their last transmission said that a large strike force is approaching the Hong Valley from the west," said the captain from beside him.

  "Have them alert all defensive units," sputtered Colonel Nguyen Wu in a high-pitched tone. He was unable to wrest his eyes from Quon's stare.

  "Yes, comrade Colonel," said the captain. He nodded and motioned to several men, who spoke excitedly into their field telephones.

  They began to speak about communications problems, with only static on their lines.

  Quon continued to pin Wu with the look.

  Quon knew something. He was sure of it!

  The communications lieutenant motioned to him, holding out a telephone. "It is the Russian colonel," the lieutenant told Colonel Wu.

  Panic seized Wu as he took the receiver, remembering that he had not yet shut down the first plan. Then he calmed himself. Surely there hadn't been sufficient time for anyone to set up Quon's son for the kill.

  The babble in the room grew, for now there was no contact with the interceptor bases.

  "Good morning, comrade Colonel," said Feodor Dimetriev on the telephone. His voice contained the same loathing as Quon's stare.

  0617 Local—Kep PAAF Auxiliary Air Base

  Kapitan Aleks Ivanovic

  Aleks took the cup from the cook, swirled the tea residue about in the bottom, and noted with satisfaction how dark the liquid was. He drank and sighed.

  The major, leader of the two cells of interceptors, was at the door staring out. They waited patiently for the first siren. A few of the maintenance people had even wandered out to the aircraft in anticipation.

  "Perhaps they will not come today, kamerade mayor," said Aleks.

  The major glanced back at him and nodded. "Perhaps you are right." He stared for a split second longer, then turned back to look out toward the camouflaged hangarettes. "Perhaps," he iterated in a mutter.

  The major did not like Russians, but that did not concern him. Aleks's easygoing nature made it easy for him to build rapport, and the major was warming, already friendlier than he'd been in the beginning.

  Aleks joined the major. Like him, Aleks was surprised they hadn't yet been alerted.

  The sirens for the three alert stages would be activated from the operations room, the dugout a hundred meters south of them. Thus far there had not been a murmur.

  In the distance Aleks heard a faint Klaxon, likely from one of the artillery batteries ringing the base. Not as many as normal. He'd seen only two batteries of S-60 57mm guns and a single SON-9 artillery-guidance radar. Aleks had noticed it when he'd gone for his run around the base perimeter the previous evening. But . . . the SON-9 was the only radar he had seen. The rocket battery, with its advanced radar and six firing units, had been removed from the usual position on the east side of the base. Aleks supposed it had been moved to another nearby location. Air bases, he knew, ranked high on the list of assets to be protected.

  He'd asked Thanh to accompany him on that evening run, and the first time they'd slowed their pace to rest, Aleks had begun to work on him.

  "I am honored you have come with me," he'd said.

  "Honored?" Thanh had asked incredulously. He'd always fawned on Aleks, amazed that Aleks could wring so much performance from the small-tail MiG-21 when he could only flounder about the sky, continuously wary that he might induce a spin. He'd repeatedly asked for advice, as if Aleks might hold some secret to make him a better pilot.

  "Of course I'm honored," Aleks had replied. "Everyone knows how you've offered your life to the party. We read in the newspapers about you and your father."

  Thanh had avoided his look.

  "I am sorry I did not respond earlier to your requests for advice," Aleks had said, "but truthfully, I did not believe you needed anything I could offer."

  The young lieutenant had looked surprised.

  "You are doing well, much better than any of the other new pilots."

  "I've only flown in combat twice," the lieutenant had mumbled, "and we did not engage the enemy."

  "But I can tell such things. The others are still fearful of combat."

  "Are they?" Thanh had murmured.

  "I suppose you have also already guessed that your natural flying skills are much greater than theirs."

  Thanh had been bewildered, yet increasingly pleased as Aleks continued to praise him. He was a dull and unimaginative young man. If it had not been for his father, there would have been little chance he would have been selected for pilot training. But it was precisely that slow wit that would make Aleks's task easier.

  While they were flying, it should not be too difficult to scrape the trusting leytenant off on a mountainside, Aleks had thought. He had not yet concluded how he could make him into a hero, but he believed that idea would come.

  "Great pilots realize that there are no limits on their capabilities," Aleks had told him as they'd continued walking. "They do not recognize impossibilities, only challenges." He had continued in that vein for half an hour, alternately bolstering Thanh's ego and telling him he must be very bold. Thanh had listened intently, nodding more vigorously at each pause. He was giddy to be singled out for such praise from the man he admired so, and he swelled with pride about capabilities he'd never dreamed he possessed. And he nodded just as vigorously each time Aleks told him that he must be bold.

  It had been so easy to change the young pilot's perception of himself that Aleks began to feel he might not have to do much more than continue to build his overconfidence. Thanh might not have to be killed after all . . . with only a little more prodding and manipulation, the fool would be pushed into a frame of mind to do it to himself.

  The next time they'd stopped running, when they were approaching the sleeping quarters, Aleks had placed his hand on the young man's shoulder in a moment of intimacy and stopped, as if overcome with emotion. "I feel there is a moment of greatness coming very soon f
or you, my friend." He nodded, eyes piercing into Thanh's.

  The young pilot had stared back, breathless and in awe of the moment.

  "You must be equal to the occasion when it is presented, as your father was when he was young."

  Thanh swallowed and stared.

  Aleks whispered, "You will be even greater than your father."

  Thanh had been stunned into silence for a long moment, and it was obvious that Aleks had told him something he had not dared even dream.

  Aleks had known he'd discovered the key. Thanh wanted to emulate his father and would do anything to achieve it.

  The rest would be easy. "I will help you," he'd told him.

  When they'd returned to the sleeping dugout, Thanh had advised the major that he wished to fly with the Russian advisor. The major was to lead the first section, and Aleks the second. Thanh would fly on one side of Aleks, another leytenant on the other.

  As he sipped his morning tea, Aleks thought of all that and concluded that the killing of Thanh must not be delayed. Only after he'd finished the distasteful task would he be able to begin cleansing himself. Since the meeting with Polkovnik Dimetriev, time had passed miserably slowly, and he'd felt very unclean.

  Thanh came into the kitchen, yawning and stretching in the dim morning light. He stood beside Aleks and frowned.

  "I am surprised that there is no phase-one alert," said Thanh. "I heard sirens from the artillery batteries."

  The major came back inside and impatiently motioned for the cook to refill his cup with tea. He looked displeased at a leytenant who came into the kitchen to join them wearing rubber clogs.

  "Where are your boots?" the major snapped.

  "On my cot. Since the first siren has not yet sounded . . ."

  "Get them, you fool. Do you think we should all wait for you to go to your cot before we take off?"

  The leytenant hurried out.

  Another siren in the distance. They waited, but there was still nothing from the operations building.

  The major could stand it no longer. "I am going to see if there is a problem. Perhaps the line to Phuc Yen is out. If it is the sirens that are malfunctioning, listen for my voice."

  Today's takeoff might be more hurried than normal, Aleks was thinking. Perhaps in the confusion following a hurried takeoff . . . He glanced at Thanh.

  The major left.

  "An old maid," whispered Thanh, smiling secretively to Aleks.

  Aleks leaned toward Thanh and placed a hand on his shoulder, as he had the evening before. "I feel it again. When we are in the air, follow me very closely. Keep your eyes on me, Leytenant, for this will be the start of your greatness."

  He felt unclean.

  "We will shoot down a Mee fighter."

  The leytenant's eyes glittered.

  "Perhaps not just one."

  Thanh's eyes grew wider.

  "Try to stay with me. We shall be flying at the edge of performance."

  Thanh spoke quietly. "I shall be there on your wing."

  Aleks stared at him. "Do you feel it too? The sense of destiny."

  "Yes, I . . . I do."

  "There is nothing you cannot do when you have that feeling," said Aleks gravely. "Your father will be proud of you, Thanh."

  The young pilot beamed his pleasure.

  0619 Local—Route Pack Six, North Vietnam

  First Lieutenant Billy Bowes

  Flying the big formation was difficult, especially doing it for the first time in combat. Trying to get sixteen fighter pilots to fly in a predictable manner, to maintain 1,500 feet and forty-five-degree separations in all planes, to preserve radio silence when they saw the others around them screwing up, not to jink when they saw flak down below, just to keep flying straight ahead like a bunch of bomber pilots, was almost too much to ask.

  Before they'd left the flight briefing, Turk Tatro had said it would be like trying to get a group of nymphomaniac hookers to give up fucking and sew doilies for a church benefit.

  But they'd turned on their ECM pod switches, gritted their teeth, and tried it.

  By the time they approached the Red River and watched the smattering of flak, low and to their right at Yen Bai, the aircraft in their formation had finally formed into a semblance of what they thought the intell lieutenant had tried to explain. The separation looked fairly even between all the aircraft Billy could see, and a number of the ECM pods must be working, because the scope of his RHAW receiver was sputtering with static from the noise jamming.

  Then the Wild Weasel flight, which ranged several miles ahead of the first gaggle, called back that the target area was CAVU, and that no SAM sites had been detected. Which was very good, because Billy would have hated to see them flying the new formation that no one trusted and trying to cope with shitty weather and SAMs, all at the same time.

  But regardless of all of that, he hoped there'd be a MiG left for him at Kep.

  0629 Local—Kep PAAF Auxiliary Air Base, DRV

  Kapitan Aleks Ivanovic

  The distant sirens continued to wail, yet there was still nothing from the operations building.

  "Come," said Aleks to Thanh, "let us walk over toward the hangarettes."

  The early-morning sky was spectacular. Dark in the west. Vivid blue, with alternating streaks of orange and smoky haze in the east, where the sun's form was not yet visible.

  "It will be a good flying day," said Aleks.

  "You are right, comrade Captain. Today will be a day of mourning for Mee families."

  Aleks studied the wind banner, flapping high over the camouflage net covering the operations building. "Notice the wind direction? We shall take off to the south."

  "That is where the Mee will be bombing. My father said the bridges of Hanoi and Haiphong will be next. He warns to expect a great campaign from the Mee, like we saw at Thai Nguyen. I am anxious for it to start."

  The fool, thought Aleks.

  The siren at the operations building wailed, picking up decibels until the sound was very loud. "Finally they come," yelled Thanh.

  They watched the remaining maintenance personnel, the ones who hadn't already gone out to their aircraft, hurrying from their sleeping quarters.

  "Hai yaaa," Thanh yelled playfully as the crew for his aircraft hurried by.

  The lieutenant seemed more at ease than he'd been before Aleks had flown with him on other occasions. His words had instilled even more confidence than he'd imagined.

  Aleks settled his eyes toward the northwestern horizon and tried to focus upon something there. A puff of smoke? A contrail?

  "I wonder how long they will be," said Thanh as they walked.

  The contrail arced quickly across the sky toward them, then began its descent.

  "A terror missile!" yelled someone, meaning the guided rockets the Americans fired at radars, and Aleks thought of the SON-9 he'd seen the night before.

  A muffled explosion in the direction of the artillery-directing radar.

  The American radar-hunters. They were soaring now, sweeping around the base in a great circle. Not far behind would be the attack aircraft.

  It was then, as he watched the birds up there circling their prey, that Aleks realized they were the target. There would be insufficient time to take off.

  His mind raced.

  "Quickly," he cried to Thanh, motioning toward the hangarettes where the MiGs were parked. "Start engines and taxi at your first opportunity. Do not wait for another siren," he yelled. "Today is your day of destiny, Thanh. I will meet you at the end of the runway, and together we will take off and hunt the enemy."

  Thanh looked at him and a smile crept onto his face. "Good hunting!" he shouted, then began to lope purposefully toward his interceptor.

  Yes, thought Aleks, his heart thumping wildly as he hurried toward his own hangarette, the leytenant may have the stuff of heroes after all.

  Aleks looked up as he hurried. High in the western sky were a group of small specks. Two were already detaching themselves an
d plummeting earthward.

  He began to worry then about his own survival.

  0637 Local—Route Pack Six, North Vietnam

  Major Lucky Anderson

  The Wild Weasels up ahead called back that they'd silenced a Firecan, which was the only threat radar they'd found in the target area.

  The strike proceeded as briefed, and the bombing of the base went even more smoothly than they'd thought it might. As Lucky had suspected, it was easier bombing a big, apparent target when you didn't have to pop up to delivery altitude.

  It started with an eruption of gunfire from around the perimeter of the airfield, obviously meant to discourage them when they were still several miles away. The bursts were fuzed wrong, and mostly went off far beneath them. The gunners were having a difficult time judging their altitude without the assistance of the Firecan radar.

  Colonel Mack's Tuna flight peeled off from the gaggle and did creditable work silencing the guns ringing the base. Next came the flights with their hard bombs, all in rapid succession. They blasted a series of craters along the length of the runway, then gouged such a redundancy of holes at either end that Turk Tatro marveled over the radio that "not even a blimp could take off on that thang."

  When the final two flights dropped their CBUs and Lucky pulled out and started to climb toward the west, he felt the CBUs had been dropped in vain, that there'd been nothing there to destroy. Then he heard the call from Lieutenant Billy Bowes, who'd been last to drop. As the last man in the last flight, Bowes could afford to take a more leisurely look and not worry that someone might drop bombs or CBUs on him.

  "Shark lead. Shark four's got an aircraft in sight down there, taxiing."

  Incredible, thought Lucky, but as he turned back and circled, staring at the area of netting they'd blown down with the CBU-29's, he saw a single delta-winged MiG-21 hurrying down a taxiway, dodging craters and trying to make it to the end of the runway. He strained to look out to his nine o'clock and could see Lieutenant Bowes's Thud in a tight turn, precisely as if he were flying a visual overhead pattern and preparing to land.

  "Shark four's turning back for a low-angle strafe pass," called Bowes, his voice muffled by the G-forces. He was setting up for a standard ten-degree strafe run, which would take him dangerously close to the ground.