Copyright © 2017 by Marshall Ginevan.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
This is a work of fiction. The characters in this novel are fictitious. Any characters resembling actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. The names – except for historical figures -, dialogue, incidents, and opinions expressed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination and creativity. They should not be considered real.
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ISBN-13:
Softcover
978-1-64069-261-9
Hardcover
978-1-64069-262-6
Pdf
978-1-64069-263-3
ePub
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Kindle
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Rev. date: 09/27/2017
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
GLOSSARY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank Danny Deger for his input on the F-4 Phantom. He flew the F-4 in the Air Force and has an engineer’s eye for detail that adds accuracy and believability to this work of fiction. And he’s a good guy.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the men who served in the 6233rd Air Base Squadron at Ubon RTAFB, Thailand, in 1974 and 1975. They were the base closure team. They worked hard, played hard, and got the job done.
CHAPTER ONE
UBON ROYAL THAI AIR FORCE BASE
UBON, THAILAND
August 1974
An OD green International Six-Pack pickup truck pulled to a stop in front of the 8th TAC Fighter Wing headquarters building. Eight officers dressed in green flight suits climbed from the truck - a major and two captains from inside and five lieutenants from the bed. The sun had been down for hours, but the humid ninety-degree night air left their flight suits damp with sweat.
They entered the small air conditioned theater and took their seats in the cushion chairs. The wing commander, wearing his blue uniform, stood next to another man in civilian clothes. There was a lone captain in a flight suit already seated in the front row.
“Good…” the colonel paused to look at his watch. It was 12:02 a.m. “. . . morning, gentlemen,” he said. “You volunteers were accepted for this mission because you were the only crews I could find on a Saturday night who weren’t already drunk.” There was a ripple of laughter from the crews. “This is…” he looked over at the civilian and shrugged “. . . Don. He’s a federal narcotics agent. He’ll be briefing you on the mission.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Don said. “That will be all.”
The wing commander looked at Don for a second before he realized that he had been dismissed. The room was silent as they watched him walk to the door and leave.
Don turned and stepped to the large wall map that showed all of Viet Nam, Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand. The flight crews saw an automatic pistol stuffed into the back of his dress pants. He pointed to a spot on the map and then turned back around and said, “Here, north of Vientiane, about five miles from the border of China, lies the largest collection point for brick opium coming out of China that we’ve been able to find. It’s scheduled to move south sometime in the morning. You’re going to take it out at first light, before they can get it off that hilltop.”
The crews silently looked at each other. Finally, the major said, “That’s just a little outside our normal operating range. Besides, we can’t fly within ten miles of the Chinese border.”
“You can fly right up to the border on this mission. If you stray over, don’t worry. There’s nothing there to challenge you, and this is a fully deniable mission.”
There were murmurs from the crews before a lieutenant called out, “What’s this place got protecting it?”
“And what’s there besides dope?” another called out.
“Some rotting wooden shacks on a remote hilltop. It’s protected by small arms, two mortars, and one old 20-mm AA gun left over from the Second World War.” He looked around and then continued, “Weather is overcast, light rain over the target, ceiling is 1,200 feet over the hilltop.”
“That’s close,” one of the captains said.
The man ignored the comment. “The 0-2 will mark four corners around the summit with smoke. Each of your aircraft will drop napalm from the smoke to the summit on all four sides. You’ll wall them in and burn them up, dope and all.”
“Great plan, but how current is your intel on this?” one of the lieutenants asked, as he threw his leg over the back of the seat in front of him.
“It was updated twenty minutes ago.”
There was stunned silence. Finally, someone said, “You’ve got someone on that hill!”
The man finally smiled, but said nothing.
At 5:00 a.m. the first two F-4 Phantom jet fighters pulled onto the active runway. The control tower called, “Maple One and Two, cleared for takeoff.”
The two J79-GE-17S engines in each Phantom thundered with 17,900 pounds of thrust, pushing blue and orange flame out their exhausts. The heavily ladened planes quickly rolled down the concrete runway and lifted off into the night sky.
The other two Phantoms pulled onto the runway. “Maple Three and Four, cleared for takeoff,” the tower called.
As First Lieutenant Eddie Donevant pushed the throttles forward and the engines began to thunder. In his helmet he could hear the sound of guitars. He smiled as he recognized the song. Second Lieutenant Ralph Purdy, the backseat weapons systems officer, had been warned repeatedly not to play his Simon and Garfunkel tape over the intercom during a mission. But with every night time takeoff Lieutenant Donevant would hear the guitars of The Sound of Silence start as he pushed the throttles forward. By the time he pulled the nose off the runway and was looking into the black sky their soft voices flooded his helmet.
Within minutes Lieutenant Donevant and his wingman joined the flight leader and his wing
man. All four aircraft switched off their navigation lights and flew north-northwest across Thailand toward a hill near the Chinese border in northwestern Laos.
Just after 6:00 a.m. the F-4’s were flying in a large circle ten miles south of the target. The sun was just above the eastern horizon and reflected off a thick carpet of puffy white clouds.
“Smoky to Maple,” a voice came over the radio.
“Maple, Smoky. Go,” the major answered.
“I’ve got the ground signal. I’m going in.”
“Roger… Maple Leader, Maple flights. Go to your corners.”
“Maple Two.” “Three.” “Four,” came the replies.
The four F-4’s each moved to a designated holding pattern on four sides of the hilltop.
Captain Hank Renwick pushed the nose of his 0-2 observation plane down and began his dive through the clouds. He broke through the cloud base near the hilltop, picked a spot near the top of the hill below the buildings, and fired his first smoke rocket. As soon as it was launched he swung the nose over to the right, fired his second rocket, and then pulled up and raced back into the clouds. “Two away,” he radioed. “The cloud base is just 1,200 feet above the target.”
“That’s too close, Jim,” the major’s WIZZO called over the intercom.
“It’s daylight. Let’s try it,” he answered and then radioed, “Smoky, give us the direction of your next pass.”
“I’ll be coming out of the east.”
“Roger. Maple Three, lead in.”
“Maple Three, roger,” Lieutenant Donevant radioed.
“Maple Four, Maple Two, then Lead,” the major gave the order of the attack. Each acknowledged in turn.
Within sixty seconds the 0-2 came back out of the clouds and launched two more smoke rockets. Below, among the buildings on the hilltop, Captain Renwick could see people beginning to run. His smoke marked the hilltop like four corners of a box. He pulled up and radioed, “Smoky’s away.” Within seconds he reentered the clouds.
Lieutenant Donevant rolled his F-4 over and dove through the clouds. He would have less than five seconds to center his sights on the hillside just below the top, release his racks of napalm, and pull up or he would fly into the hilltop. His muscles were tight as he blasted along in the soft white light. Suddenly it appeared in front of his face. The dull green hill came rushing up at him, closer than he had ever practiced. He picked out the red smoke, corrected to the right with his rudder, and then tapped the pickle button a fraction of a second before he snapped the nose up. He passed the hill so close he could see the surprised looks on the faces of the people as he shot by them at nearly 500 miles per hour. The nose rose sharply and Lieutenant Purdy squirmed in his seat to see the hit. The flames climbed up at their plane, but the plane out distanced the flames and quickly reentered the cloud base. “Bull’s-eye. Bull’s-eye,” Lieutenant Purdy radioed.
As soon as they heard the report from Maple Three, Maple Four rolled over to start his dive to the hilltop. He was the least experienced of the aircrews and his napalm struck several yards above and to one side of the box. This side of the box would be a little lopsided. The pilot reported his hit and sounded relieved that he was able to pull up before he hit the hilltop.
Maple Two hit the center, but a little high on the hillside. He was the first to be fired on, but none of the rounds hit his fast-moving plane.
“Maple Leader, going in.” By this time three sides were on the box and the flames were reaching the top of the hill. People were fleeing down the hill toward the only opening that had not yet been set afire. As Maple Leader broke through the cloud base he came under immediate intense small arms and 20-mm anti-aircraft fire. He centered on his target, released the load, and pulled up sharply. Several rounds hit the plane causing some shaking and clanking sounds, but the napalm quickly engulfed most of the ground fire, including the anti-aircraft gun.
As Maple Leader formed up with the other F-4’s above the clouds, a fire warning light lit up on the instrument panel.
“Maple Leader, Maple Two. Look me over. I’ve got a fire warning light on the right engine, oil pressure is down, and it’s vibrating.”
“You took a lot of hits on the right wing, engine, and tail. Mostly trailing edge and tail, but you’re leaking oil bad. Better shut it down.”
“Roger. Maple Three and Four, go on in. Two will stay with me.”
The wing commander’s car quickly pulled to a stop next to the flight operations officer on the flight line. “What’s his status, Joe?” the wing commander called out as he walked up to the lieutenant colonel.
The lieutenant colonel stood with a pair of binoculars pointed toward the end of the runway and did not move. “He’s configured for landing, but losing hydraulic pressure. Still four minutes out.”
“If he’s going to punch out he’s going to have to do it now. He’ll be over the town in a few seconds.”
“That’s Jim Waters, the man who walks with his knuckles dragging on the ground. If anyone can bring that bird in, sir, he can.”
The wing commander stood thinking for a few seconds and then said, “Joe, if he can put that bird down safely I want everyone to stay away from it. He’s to taxi to the arming revetment and wait for me there.”
The lieutenant colonel turned and looked at him. “Sir?”
“He called in an in-flight with an engine out and hydraulic pressure dropping?” The lieutenant colonel nodded. “It’s battle damage. And I can’t have safety, maintenance, firemen, and sky cops asking a lot of questions.”
The lieutenant colonel nodded that he understood. He went back to watching the end of the runway without asking any further questions.
The F-4 passed over the town and settled quickly onto the runway. The lieutenant colonel picked up his walkie-talkie and ordered emergency equipment to hold their positions on the taxiways. The vehicles, which normally chase the aircraft down the runway and check it, did not move.
The wing commander’s car sped onto the runway behind the landing F-4. “Eagle One, Maple Leader,” he radioed.
“Maple One.”
“Taxi to the arming revetment. I’ll follow you over.”
“Roger. Controls are stiff, but the brakes are good.”
OPIUM SUPPLY BASE
HILLTOP IN LAOS
Two lone drug agents dressed in jungle fatigues walked among the still burning ruins of what had been a large opium supply base. Chinese military delivered the brick opium to the Laotians, who then moved the opium by mule train into Thailand. In Thailand it was shipped into Cambodia or Viet Nam for transport to the West. The nearly fifty charred remains found laying around the hilltop were so consumed that the two drug agents could not determine their nationalities. Carcasses of pack mules lay under still burning packs of brick opium. A light rain began to fall causing a sizzling sound where fires still burned.
One drug agent wrapped a dark colored handkerchief around his nose and mouth.
“I love the smell of napalm,” the other agent said, as he looked around. “It’s the stench of burnt flesh you just never get used to.”
“How can you stand it, John?”
John looked at him and shrugged. “Breathe the opium smoke. Doesn’t cover the smell, but after a few breaths you don’t give a shit anymore.”
The two men found all the opium bricks that were not burned and laid them out on the ground. The coming rain would finish the destruction of the dope. Soon green foliage would cover this carnage.
BANGKOK, THAILAND
Two Americans stepped off the Thai Airways flight that arrived in Bangkok from Vientiane and were met by a third American driving a powder blue M-151 jeep. Thai customs stamped their passports, but did not inspect the loosely packed GI duffel bags they were carrying.
“How’d our boys in blue do, John?” the driver asked.
“Only th
irty-six bricks survived. They’re washed away by now. Everything else is either rusting or fertilizing the new plant life. Any problems on your end?”
“Yea, a few,” the driver answered, as they threw the bags in the back of the jeep. “That last bird in got shot up. The wing commander over there is mad as hell over that.”
“Anybody hurt?” the other man asked, as he climbed into the back.
“Nah. Pilots all thought it was great fun. Say, John, we’ve got a problem over there with Air America and that CIA bunch. I think we’re gonna have to shut ‘em down.”
“They’ve been the untouchables until now. What happened?”
“Word is that Kissinger’s peace plan is going to see Russian tanks in Saigon in a few months. We’ve got to hit the entire drug route from pick-up by Air America through delivery in Saigon and have it shut down by Christmas. That includes the Projects Offices and the military connections.”
“When do I start and where?”
“Ubon, next month. We hit the Projects Office right after the wing deactivates. They’re pulling out all but a few hundred in a care-taker force.”
UBON RTAFB
October 1974
Four civilians, wearing blue jeans, safari shirts, and tennis shoes, carried flight bags into the old flight operations building. They stood looking up and down the hall when Sergeant Brown approached.
“Hi. You guys pilots?” he asked.
They glanced at each other and then one answered, “Yea, we’re pilots.”
“Flight Ops left last month when the Wing deactivated. Security Police have this building now.”
“Yea, we heard. We’re looking for the police admin office.”
“Oh, okay,” Sergeant Brown smiled. “They’re down the hall this way. Come on.” Brown led them to the Security Police Administration office.
The police administration office was a square room with filing cabinets and three desks. Two sergeants and an airman sat behind the desks, each in his own corner. Next to the copying machine was a wooden door. One of the civilians tried the door, but it was locked.
The Wrong Side of Honor Page 1
