by Tom Wilson
"Captain!" sputtered Lyons.
"I shall return the lady in fine repair, Colonel," Manny said, and steered her toward the door.
Jackie Bell laughed from deep in her throat, then looked back toward Lyons. "Sorry to run so quickly, Colonel, but I've wanted to see what the village is really like since I got here, and I just can't turn down the captain's offer."
Most of the men in the room had noticed, and were grinning and whispering, telling the others.
A few minutes later No Hab arrived with the two hamburgers and glanced around for Manny. Then she looked over at the "Reserved for Colonels" table and smiled knowingly. By then the room was abuzz with low voices, and a couple of times Bob heard a loud laugh.
Liebermann could eat only half of one hamburger, and he decided to give Manny hell about having to pay for both of them.
Colonel Tom Lyons ate his own meal quietly, periodically glaring at the captains and lieutenants in the room, who looked away with great innocence. Bob couldn't tell if Lyons was angry, embarrassed, or both.
CHAPTER NINE
Friday, April 28th, 0545 Local—Bach Mai Hospital, Hanoi, DRV
Colonel Xuan Nha
Xuan Nha came instantly awake. Someone had cracked the door open and was peering inside. He felt at his side and grasped the familiar handle of the Tokarev pistol.
"Colonel Nha?"
"Enter," Xuan croaked warily.
Quon switched on the dim light and led Tran Van Ngo inside. The pilot seemed happier than on the previous trip, but, of course, then he'd just come from delivering his son's body.
"It is good to see you, comrade Colonel," said Tran, staring. More bandages had been removed from Xuan's body to allow it to heal better, and his protégé's eyes were drawn by the scarlet hues of his chest.
"The matter with Colonel Wu is done," said Quon, "so as you asked, I brought Lieutenant Colonel Van Ngo from Thai Nguyen."
"Nguyen Wu was relieved of duty?" asked Xuan. He was surprised it had happened so quickly.
Quon gave a lift of an eyebrow. "Off to the South to plan the air defenses there. I hope he is not taken seriously, or all may be lost."
Xuan thought, and worried. The action was not nearly final enough. He wondered if Quon realized the threat Wu would pose so long as he lived and was supported by Li Binh? He'd been doubly cautious since Quon's previous visit when he'd learned of the power struggle, for his assassination might somehow serve his nephew. With Nguyen Wu still alive, he would rest no easier.
"Tran Van Ngo will be placed in charge of the radars and rocket defenses until you return to full duty," announced Quon. He looked at Tran. "I expect you will coordinate all matters with Colonel Nha."
"I have always listened to the Tiger of Dien Bien Phu," Tran replied.
Xuan Nha had once been called that, and the sound of it was tonic to his ears.
"And, of course, you will keep me informed." Quon stared at the younger man.
"Of course."
Xuan watched the interchange, then motioned Tran closer. "You must locate the pilot controllers trained at the Wisdom complex," he told him, "and immediately place them in the P-1 radars at Phuc Yen and Kien An."
Quon interrupted. "I have already contacted them at their units. They are waiting at Phuc Yen for instructions."
"Very good," said Xuan Nha, still eyeing Tran Van Ngo. "Now we will discuss what must be done. Time is our enemy. You will have to act quickly to repair the damage to both the interceptors and the guided rocket forces."
Tran nodded briskly, eyes pinned upon his leader, ears tuned to the rasping voice.
Xuan continued to voice instructions and ideas.
Quon listened for a while, then nodded toward the door. "There are too many confusing things being discussed. I must leave for Phuc Yen and things I understand, like pilots and aircraft."
Xuan Nha regarded him evenly with his remaining eye. He felt gratitude of such depth that he could not fully express it. He'd been provided with a second chance, something he had thought was impossible only three days earlier.
Tran Van Ngo voiced his words. "We shall provide your pilots with the best possible control, comrade Quon."
"That," said Quon evenly, "is what I expect." He paused for yet another moment, to stare at the men before leaving.
Tran turned to Xuan Nha and shuddered. "I would not want him angry with me."
Xuan Nha agreed. Yet he also wondered about Colonel Nguyen Wu. When Li Binh returned from Paris and heard what had been done with her nephew, things would surely change.
1415 Local—Route Pack Six, North Vietnam
Major Lucky Anderson
Friday's target was the Gia Lam rail-repair depot, close to the Doumer bridge they'd attacked with such awful results on Wednesday, but far enough away that they would be out of the coverage of at least some of the tremendous buildup of guns.
Lucky had been shaken by the visit from Linda. He had to admit that she'd left a warm, inexplicable glow in him, and somehow even the difficult letter to Turk Tatro's wife had been made easier, but he knew it would not last. During their dinner the next evening he'd reined in his emotions and kept things on an impersonal basis as she tried to drag them into nostalgic discussions of times past . . . but it had been hard not to join her.
Even in the air his mind sometimes betrayed him and reverted to warm thoughts of her, but then he would exercise an inner discipline and concentrate on the challenges of flying. Yet though his mind was preoccupied with details of flying and fighting as they approached the target, the pleasantness was somehow with him.
He looked out and around, making his visual check of things, and saw that the flight was properly spaced within the gaggle.
The loss of Turk Tatro had intensified his fierce protectiveness, for it reemphasized how vulnerable even the best of them were. Today Henry Horn flew in the number-two position. Manny DeVera, now the most-discussed stud bachelor at Takhli, flew as number three. Billy Bowes was last.
Henry had become even more steady and reliable, as if he'd picked up the mantle left by Turk Tatro. And Billy Bowes? Lucky did not believe he'd ever observed a better display of flying ability than he saw there. Something troubled Billy, but it was neither fear nor lack of skill. If Lucky was to worry about anyone in the group, it would be Manny, because the personable and outgoing captain was more nervous than Lucky had ever seen him.
If he didn't watch himself, Manny could lose his confidence and enter an even worse depression. Lucky had seen it before and recognized the initial symptoms. The solution was sometimes easy, like sending a pilot off to Bangkok or the Philippines on R and R. Sometimes the pilot should be scheduled on some easy counters down in the safer route packs for a while. Other times it was like being thrown from a horse, you just had to get them back in the thick of things so they could prove they could defy the defenses and hit the target.
He felt the latter was the best course. Manny was a good man, well worth whatever it took.
First Lieutenant Billy Bowes
Their Tiger flight was at the tail end of the gaggle, and by the time it was their turn, the guns were shooting furiously, and gray flak bursts blossomed in the sky below them.
As their leader Lucky was first to enter his dive toward the big railroad-repair depot. Billy watched him, admiring the sure way he handled his bird, snapping over on his back as he did, pulling the nose through until he was at a forty-five-degree angle and sharply rolling out wings level. He was good, and his bombs would likely be squarely on target, which was where Lucky usually put them.
Which meant it would be okay to do what he had planned.
Billy had spent a long time studying the map and photos, concentrating on areas adjacent to the rail yard. Then he'd found a group of warehouses beyond the repair depot, almost at the river's edge.
He was to be dead last to bomb the target. The last aircraft of the last flight.
If he destroyed his private, extracurricular target, he just might feel a li
ttle better the next time he thought about the gomers killing Mal and his little brother. He would have picked the big Gia Lam international airport and maybe a Soviet cargo plane parked there, but the repercussions would have been too great. The warehouses would have to do. He eyed them down there and saw the flash of a big gun coming from their midst.
Henry Horn was nose down in his dive-bomb maneuver, and it was Manny's turn to roll in, but for some reason DeVera was holding up.
They circled the target, and Billy watched Lucky's bombs hit squarely on a repair building, just as he'd thought they would.
Henry Horn had already released his bombs when Manny finally rolled over and entered his dive. A few seconds later Billy followed him down the chute, offsetting toward the warehouses but keeping an eye on DeVera's bird.
As he passed through 9,000 feet, a group of flour flak bursts went off not far from DeVera, and he jinked away hard, then corrected back toward the target. Four bursts surrounded Manny's airplane, and Billy saw it stagger and almost immediately afterward saw the bombs release. Manny must have flinched or been hit as they released, for they went flying in the direction of the airport.
Billy watched DeVera begin his pullout through the middle of a layer of barrage flak. Then he concentrated on his own sight picture and the warehouses that were creeping up toward the pipper. Several bundles of 57mm flak went off close by, but he ignored them and pressed. Perfect. He pickled, felt the 750-pound bombs release, then pulled off, jinking hard and looking back.
The bombs flew true and detonated into one of the warehouses, sending up a shower of wood and debris. Then a much larger explosion reached out in a giant fireball as something volatile exploded in the next warehouse. The concussion swatted his Thud, and yet another explosion buffeted him.
Shit hot! he told himself as he fought the controls.
"Damn," someone radioed. "Look at that baby blow."
Billy felt smug about what he'd done, but realized it hadn't been very damned covert. He decided to tell them he'd jinked to avoid a flak burst just as he'd pickled, and that his bombs had been thrown wide. As he eyeballed around for the rest of the flight, he wondered about Manny DeVera.
Billy watched as Henry Horn throttled back and slid in beside Major Lucky, then spotted Manny to the north of them. A trace of black trailed behind his Thud.
The smoke grew more pronounced as Billy keyed his mike. "Tiger three, this is four. You're trailing smoke," he called. He knew better than to mention the word "fire" unless an aircraft was obviously burning.
"This is Tiger lead, Manny. I'm confirming the smoke," called Major Lucky.
The dark trail grew more pronounced, and Billy saw a bright spot near the center of the Thud's fuselage.
"Tiger three, you're burning," he called.
"I'm going to try to blow it out," came Manny DeVera's high and frightened voice.
A couple of seconds later Billy watched as the Thud's afterburner lit and spouted blue flame, then as Manny accelerated sharply and began to climb northward. He would be going high, to thinner air, trying to blow out the fire.
"Tiger three, this is Tiger lead," radioed Major Lucky in his calmest tone. "Turn thirty degrees port and fly northwest. "
There was no response, but Manny's bird altered course.
"Tigers, let's keep up with him," said Lucky, and they all lit their burners.
Captain Manny DeVera
I'm about to die! thought Manny as he looked wildly about, sucking hard on 100 percent oxygen. Oh, God, please don't let me die here.
His calibrated airspeed was . . . 520 knots? Yeah. Altitude was . . . passing through . . .
The awful fear washed over and consumed him. It was the worst thing he'd ever felt, invading his mind with unreason. A couple of minutes ago they'd been trying to kill him. Now he was on fire and would have to eject. His head hurt and he was shaking all over. He tried to calm himself, succeeded for a second, then shook again.
Get control of yourself.
He was soaring higher, still in burner, with the nose of his jet held up at . . . fifteen degrees climb angle? The altimeter showed 26,000, then 27,000 feet.
Can't let them kill me, he thought, and wondered if he should be jinking. Stupid thought. Just get the fucking fire out!
Lead was calling someone, and he wondered who. His chest rose and fell mightily, and the hissing and sucking sound was loud to his ears.
He remembered that the air-turbine motor pumped a lot of hydraulic fluid around the airplane, and he started to shut it down because hydraulic fluid burned just as well as jet fuel if it got hot enough. He stopped, remembering that he'd lose a lot of critical systems if he lost the ATM, including gauges and hydraulics.
I can't think straight, he wailed to himself. God, but he was scared.
Altitude? Thirty-something. Thirty-four thousand? It was hard to see.
He felt numb, and his vision left him except for gray spots dancing before his eyes.
I'm dying. Oh, God, I'm dying!
He breathed even more harshly.
Lucky Anderson was calling again, this time more stridently. Calling for three to respond.
I'm three, he remembered. What's happening to me?
In a lucid moment he realized that he was hyperventilating and in the process of passing out. He slowed his breathing and pawed at the oxygen panel. He switched off the pure oxygen, then remembered he was flying damned high and was unpressurized and had better keep it there. He switched back, wondering why he was having trouble with simple thoughts.
Slow down the breathing, he told himself.
He regained his eyesight and the numbness went away.
Tiger three, Tiger lead. What's your altitude, Manny?"
He found his voice, but heard himself spitting words in shrill bursts. "Thirty-eight thousand feet, going to thirty-nine," he blurted.
That's real good, Tiger three. Better come out of burner pretty quick now. You're using too much gas. The fire's out. No visible smoke now."
Manny's hand shook hard as he pulled the throttle out of burner and leveled off. Then he blew a couple more breaths and looked about the sky. God, but he was scared. He was so fucking scared! His stomach began to flip-flop wildly, and something was squealing loudly in his headset. A man doesn't do this, he thought, but then his gorge rose and he could not help himself. He fumbled off a glove, then leaned forward and puked into it. He gushed vomit, groaned, and heaved again.
Lucky Anderson called, and Manny realized it was for the second or third time, and that Lucky was excited, but it was hard to hear over the squealing sound. He answered.
"Repeat for three, Tiger lead," he radioed.
You've got a SAM, three! Break left and down!"
It took a second to digest it, and as he did, his eyes rested on the solid red telelite before him that read LAUNCH.
He slammed the stick hard left, and pulled, and his Thud entered a steep dive. A missile flashed by his cockpit, so close he could see the canard fins moving.
"Oh shit!" Manny screamed to himself, and continued his descent.
"Tiger three, Tiger lead here," Anderson radioed in his casual tone. "You're clear of the missiles."
But Manny continued through the split-S maneuver, and when he leveled at 11,000 feet he sped at full throttle toward the western hills. As he did so, shivering and feeling awful, flying at more than 700 knots, he puked into his glove and stifled sobs.
When they landed, Manny told Lucky about hyperventilating, joking about his still being green at this stuff and concentrating on the target so much, he'd forgot and let his breathing get away from him. Lucky told him that was an easy thing to do, but to control his breathing better and watch for the symptoms. You black out at the wrong time and it's fatal, he said. He also told him he'd been damned fortunate to be able to blow out the fire.
His bombs had been thrown into an open field beside Gia Lam airport, and he told the debriefers he'd jinked to evade a flak burst and just flat missed. Billy
Bowes said he'd done the same thing. Then everyone began talking about the spectacular secondary explosions from Bowes's errant bombs and about Manny's fire, and forget about the rest of it.
Manny never mentioned that he'd puked. Nor did he reveal how terrified he'd been or how very afraid he was to fly up there again.
That evening the awful remembrance of fear was hard to shake. Manny tried to drink it away, had put away half a dozen MiG-15's when Bob Liebermann came into the stag bar looking for him. He said Jackie Bell was in the outer "gentlemen's" bar, asking for him and complaining that he'd missed their six o'clock dinner date.
Manny blurted, "Oh shit, I forgot," and hurried to the other bar, where he found her being sweet-talked by another pilot, who was very willing to fill in for him. Manny cut her away from him and patiently listened to her bitch about his tardiness as he bought them both another drink. She stared and asked if something was the matter.
Jackie Bell was perceptive.
"Yeah," he said, but he couldn't and wouldn't tell her what it was. It was shitty enough trying to accept what he'd learned about himself.
She looked at him with her little-kid eyes, asked in a small voice if he'd walk her to her trailer, and then watched closely as he blinked and slowly nodded.
2030 Local—Guest Trailer 9B, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
When they arrived at her trailer, Manny stumbled and had to put out his hand to the side of the trailer to steady himself
"You drank too much, hon," said Jackie, inserting the key and jiggling it until it turned. She opened the door. "Watch your step."
"Sorry," he muttered. He wondered if she had the same thing in mind that he did and let his excitement grow. Forget the fucking mission, Manny, he tried to tell himself, and let's see the old pro in action. He stepped up and tripped again, and when he fell against the metal of the trailer, it made a loud, clanging sound.
"Shhh," she said. "Someone's going to hear you."
"Then let me in," he reasoned.
She led him inside and pushed the door closed so they were in the dark. She kissed him soundly, then more coquettishly as she took more time and parted her lips, held them slightly away from his and caressed his tongue with hers. She was very good at it.
