Tango Uniform (Vietnam Air War Book 3)

by Tom Wilson

Major Benny Lewis

  Benny had been busy since he'd been appointed to the JACKPOT program by the message from the CSAF. He'd gone to Strategic Air Command in Omaha twice, established contact with the four-star SAC commander, Colonel Wes Snider, and both project officers there, and gained their inputs on what they'd need from the tactical fighters for the strategic-bomber part of the all-out attack scenario. They spoke of F-4 MiG-CAP providing protection from interceptors, F-105 Wild Weasels keeping the SAM operators preoccupied, EB-66 ECM birds jamming the acquisition radars—and agreed to loan chaff dispensers and chaff bombs for fighters to use to mask the big bombers.

  At the Armament Lab at Eglin AFB in northern Florida, he'd discussed new cluster bombs, as well as a very large antiradar missile being adapted from the Navy's shipboard Standard missile series. Both of those would be carried by F-105 Wild Weasels and could be available in four months' time if they were assigned appropriate R and D priority. A single call to a project officer at the Pentagon had made the priority happen.

  Benny was amazed at the smooth way the JACKPOT people worked together, as well as the emphasis and clout they could garner for a request. They were all movers and shakers—and all were tired of treading water in Vietnam. They wanted to win.

  Most of the time, though, was spent at his desk in the basement at Nellis AFB, improving the methodology of command-and-control, devising ways to mesh the timing and coordinate targets for around-the-clock attacks by hundreds of diverse aircraft in a relatively small area. Benny initiated a stream of three-way messages between himself, his contact at the National Military Command Center in the basement of the Pentagon, and Lieutenant Colonel Pearly Gates at Seventh Air Force.

  He used the CSAF's program element number (PEN) for initial funding of Moods Diller's smart bomb project, then a quick reaction PEN for the upcoming combat test. The more he considered the anticipated large numbers of targets and the probable losses of aircraft, the more he became convinced that smart weapons might indeed make a difference. Instead of a force of thirty-two aircraft going after a single difficult target, with only a fifty-fifty chance of hitting it, the same number could conceivably go after sixteen targets and—if Moods's calculations were valid—destroy at least ten of them.

  If they worked as advertised, smart bombs could increase effectiveness thirtyfold or more and sharply reduce peripheral damage. Benny, and even General White, were now in agreement with Moods that they could cut more corners and gain more mileage from an actual combat test than from so-called realistic tests on stateside weapons ranges. Once they showed the generals how they'd knocked out a real and dangerous target with a single bomb, there'd be no way to deny that the smart bombs worked.

  Now, three weeks before the scheduled deployment for Moods Diller's Pave Dagger combat test, things looked to be on track. According to Moods the new transducer materials for the bomb kits and new lasers for the illuminators were working spectacularly.

  "They're just what we'd needed!" Moods had exulted when he'd returned from his latest visit to the Texas team's laboratories. Then he'd gone into technical explanations that had given Benny another severe headache.

  Lewis left the Center building and trudged to his car, his mind on the several projects he and his people worked on. Those were heavy enough, but as he opened the vehicle's door, he was reminded that his personal life had also become complex. There was yet another responsibility.

  Three weeks earlier he'd met Julie Stewart as she'd deplaned from the San Francisco flight. She'd brought little Patty, the infant produced by the union between Julie and his backseater, and he'd grinned and made a general fool of himself. Then they'd waited in the McCarren terminal for another hour and met her mother when she arrived from her home in New Jersey.

  Mom Wright had descended from the crowded Boeing jet as tight-jawed as the first time he'd seen her—which had been at Patty's birth six weeks earlier. When she'd gotten to the bottom of the stairs of the 707, she'd eyed him distastefully and thereafter simply ignored his presence.

  She'd hugged Julie, brusquely taken the baby from him and looked her over carefully to ensure he'd done no damage, and spoke only with her daughter as Benny led the way to the baggage area. Once there Julie had interrupted her mother's conversation about how awful the trip had been long enough to tell Benny not to even think about lifting the luggage and had waved for a porter. While Benny led the procession out to his old Dodge sedan, Mom Wright harped about the heat and lack of humidity, and wondered about the baby's health in such an awful place. As Benny drove to the partially furnished apartment he'd rented for Julie, Mom Wright made her first pitch for her daughter to give up this foolishness and come to New Jersey, where she had a perfectly good house that would be a much more suitable place to rear a young lady like Patty.

  There'd been constant discord in the weeks following Mom Wright's arrival. At first Benny had visited the apartment daily, just to be there—as he'd felt at first anyway—when Julie needed him.

  Now he went there every second day, sometimes every third.

  He loved Julie intensely—there was never a doubt that the short and well-endowed young woman was the one he wanted to share his life with—but he was fast tiring of the conversations Mom Wright conducted exclusively with her daughter and the way she'd wait for his arrival to come up with projects to take Julie's attention from him. She was conducting an obvious crusade to shield her daughter from him and was increasingly successful—not so much because Julie listened to her, but because Benny was growing weary of her intrusions.

  Today Julie had called and asked him to drop over for dinner. "Seven sharp," she'd said in the husky voice she used when they spoke. He'd agreed, of course, although he'd not felt nearly as happy about it as he should have. But Benny would be there for her. He always was.

  He drove to one of the squared-off wooden BOQ buildings—constructed in the early days of World War II in a semicircle about the periphery of the ramshackle Officers' Club—parked, and hurried upstairs to his room. There he showered, groomed, and strapped on the back brace, because hurrying up the stairs had created a new twinge. Next he pulled on chinos and a cotton shirt and, finally and most carefully, a pair of socks. The rest of dressing was not difficult, but bending down to pull on socks was an exercise in care. Once he'd been too quick about it and had spent the next two days in the hospital on the torture bed they kept for back patients.

  Satisfied that he was presentable, and with an hour to spare, Benny walked to the club, turned left as he entered the door, and went into the stag bar.

  Nellis Air Force Base was not only the largest fighter base in the free world, it was also a crossroads where fighter jocks from the corners of the earth gathered to conduct business. Weapons systems, some exotic, others mundane, were operationally tested. Fighter-tactics symposiums were convened to decide the future of tactical aviation. Top pilots from the various services and different countries of the free world were trained to be even better. Specially selected pilots attended Fighter Weapons Instructor Courses in F-100 Super Sabres, F-105 Thunderchiefs, and F-4 Phantoms. Just down the ramp from the FWIC buildings, pilots and electronic-warfare officers formed into Wild Weasel crews and trained, flying against electronic emitters that emulated enemy SAM and AAA radars. Pilots also came to Nellis to compete mercilessly for a variety of dive-bombing and gunnery trophies.

  At all times there were two or three large-scale meetings ongoing, held on a variety of subjects. They said that if you dropped by the Nellis O' Club stag bar every Friday night for six months and stayed to watch the strippers imported from downtown Vegas, you'd likely see every fighter jack in the Air Force who was worth his salt. Strippers were the only females normally found in the stag bar, except for the occasional fun-seeking secretary or WAF officer who entered the forbidden ground to see what it was really like. Each was quickly ushered out and briefed on what they might expect, like being bitten on her buttocks by a snorting fighter pilot on all fours, or propositioned by a
horde of guys with grins and wandering hands. Forewarned, they entered the male domain at their own peril. A number of truly adventuresome females persisted and even enjoyed it, for they could give as well as they received, and were remembered with awe and discussed in fighter circles throughout the free world.

  The Nellis O' Club stag bar was the crossroads for fighter pilots. Tonight there was Lieutenant Colonel Sam Hall, up from Luke Air Force Base where he commanded an F-4 fighter training squadron, and when Benny entered the bar, the huge black pilot clapped him on the shoulder with enough weight to stagger a bull elephant. Then he did an aw shit when Benny crumpled. "Damn!" he roared, as he clutched him and kept him upright. "Forgot about the back."

  Benny bit his lower lip for a moment, then grinned. "Buy me a drink and you're forgiven."

  They shouted memories over the loud music and roar of the crowd, dodged a captain being chased by a sputtering major he'd just doused with a drink, and hoisted a couple of beers.

  Sam filled him in on what was happening at Luke, and about their mutual friends who were coming there following Southeast Asia combat tours, to check out in F-4 Phantoms.

  Benny said he'd read that Colonel Mack, who'd been their squadron commander at Takhli, had made the full colonel's list. Sam told him Mack was being sent to the Pentagon. They agreed that the place might finally get organized. Then Sam said that Colonel B. J. Parker had also been sent there, so they decided it might not be that easy a task for Mack after all.

  Sam said he'd heard from Tiny Bechler, another squadron mate from Takhli. He'd made captain and been sent to Hurlburt Field in Florida as an instructor in the forward air controller course. Benny told him that Max Foley had passed through a few weeks earlier, headed for an assignment at TAC headquarters in Virginia. Also, Pudge Holden and his bear, Sloppy Watson, had arrived at Nellis as instructors in the Wild Weasel course.

  Wild Weasel backseaters were called bears. Speaking of them, Sam asked him about Julie Stewart, his backseater's widow. Benny told him she'd moved to Vegas, and he was going over to see her in half an hour or so. Sam said that was good—and regarded him with a slow grin.

  "Nothing's going on, Sam," Benny said quickly, and a flutter grew in the pit of his gut.

  "Well," said Sam Hall in his southern drawl, "that's too bad, Benny."

  Benny was ten minutes late for dinner, and Mom Wright's lips were pursed tightly when he entered the apartment. Julie greeted him with her normal enthusiastic-but-careful hug.

  "I just saw Sam Hall," Benny told her. "You remember Sam?"

  "I never met him, but Mal Bear wrote about him in his letters. How's he doing?"

  Benny started to tell her the news he'd learned.

  "Julie," Mom Wright interrupted, with a sharp bite in her voice, "I think you'd better check on Patty. She'll need changing, since we're already so late for dinner."

  "Sure, Mom," Julie said brightly, and Benny was left with stark, cold silence in the small living room.

  After they'd eaten and were relaxing in the living room, Julie announced that she'd be returning to Pan Am, working out at McCarren Field. Benny tried to discuss it, and as usual, found himself frustrated. Every time he tried to bring up a subject, Mom Wright would interrupt with something else. Then the ladies went to the kitchen to clean up, leaving him with an after-dinner brandy in the living room. He tried to tiptoe into the bedroom to get a peek at the baby, but Mom Wright hurried in, her face pinched and stern, and closed the door. Patty needed her sleep, she said.

  Thinking about yet another spoiled evening, Benny sat and sipped brandy and wondered if the hassle was worth it. So far in their three weeks, there'd scarcely been a moment alone with the woman he knew he loved, yet did not dare show it.

  The ladies came in to join him, Mom Wright arguing vehemently against Julie's returning to work. It wasn't right that she do that to the baby—she wouldn't be around to help forever, Julie knew.

  "There are nurseries, Mom."

  "Yes, but . . ."

  "What do you think about my going back to work, Benny?"

  He started to say he thought it would be great, since she missed Pan Am so much, but Mom Wright interrupted and said that babies who were cast off into nurseries too early or too often developed problems.

  Benny listened to her harangue as he finished his drink, then stood.

  "You're leaving so early?" Julie asked, rising from the sofa.

  "I told Sam Hall I'd be back and we'd talk some more," Benny fibbed. Sam had been on his way downtown to gamble away a few dollars and see the lights.

  Mom Wright kept her seat and her stern expression.

  "Good night, Mrs. Wright," he said, then smiled and nodded to Julie.

  "I'll come out with you," Julie said.

  Mom Wright frowned. "Don't be gone too—"

  "Be right back, Mom," Julie said as she closed the door. She walked close at Benny's side down the sidewalk toward his car.

  He started to open the door, but she touched his arm. He liked the feel of her hand. She kept it there, looking up at him under the dim glow of the street lamps. "You're so dear to me," she said.

  "Ah . . . you too." He felt awkward. He wanted to hold her.

  "Take care of yourself, Benny." She dropped her hand and started toward the house.

  He was about to open the car door when he heard a small cry, and the sound of her returning. He'd turned halfway when she rushed into his arms, uttering a whimper. He held her. She raised her head and they kissed. Not a brotherly peck, but a long, deep, and very wet kiss.

  They broke and she whispered something. He bent lower. "I love you," she repeated.

  He blew a long breath and slowly nodded.

  "Be patient," she said. Then she pulled his head down and they hungrily kissed again. It was the most demonstrative they'd been, and it felt natural and right. They stood there for five minutes of warm silence, but there were unspoken words between them. She nestled as close as she could, and he felt the warmth of her. When she finally went down the sidewalk, looking back with every second step, he got into the car and started it, then sat there for a long moment after she went inside.

  He loved her with all his being. How long would it be? he wondered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Saturday, November 25th, 2145L—Trailer 5B, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand

  GS-7 Penny Dwight

  Penny was thrilled with her assignment to Takhli. There was the distinct possibility that she was falling for a lanky guy with freckles, a shuck of brown hair that refused to stay in place, an easy smile that would melt a witch's heart, and a lopsided way of joking and making fun of situations that kept her laughing. She'd seen Dusty Fields every day since she'd gotten off the plane—when was it? Three weeks ago? Time was passing so quickly. He'd pressed himself on her daily, and she hadn't discouraged him.

  Penny stood inside the door of the trailer, her back flat against the door, smiling and gazing at the interior of the trailer, thinking how close she'd come to inviting him in.

  Stop kidding yourself, she thought. You want him. Something tried to tell her to go slower, to make sure before she charged ahead with a full-blown affair, but she tried to push it aside. She found herself doodling his name during slack times at work and had mentioned, in a letter to her parents, that she'd met a very nice guy.

  She tried to envision Dusty as the settled-down father of their children—but it came out a bit garbled. See, said the distant something. Maybe so, she told the voice, but he sure is fun.

  Dusty had wanted to come inside when he'd dropped her off at the trailer door . . . again. Each night she came closer to relenting, although she knew it was too early, that she must play coy for at least a little while longer—despite the fact that she'd changed her mind about the promise she'd made to herself that she would fastidiously maintain her innocence at Takhli.

  Well . . . almost innocence. There'd been a fumbling time in the back of a family station wagon with a basketball player she'd adored i
n high school. He'd huffed and deftly broken through her barrier, and then finished and nervously zipped back up before she'd had time to decide if she liked it. And then there was the time, after she'd accepted an engagement ring from a charming, young, and inexperienced fellow civilian worker at Bolling Air Force Base, where she'd gotten her first government secretary job—when he'd convinced her he couldn't wait. She'd prepared carefully for that encounter—visited a doctor and had a diaphragm fitted, spent an afternoon making sure her bedroom was spotless, the music from her record player soothing, and the lighting just so—but the investments proved to be a waste. Two minutes after he'd entered her bedroom, her young fiancé had both of them half-disrobed, groped at her breasts for a few seconds of foreplay, then ejaculated prematurely over her abdomen. The second time, after he'd cajoled for the next two weeks, he'd played with her breasts a few seconds longer and made it down to her thighs before spouting his copious juice, groaning and blurting apologies. The third and final time, he'd erupted while he was still pulling off his trousers. After thinking things over, she'd decided the situation was regressing and judiciously called the relationship to a halt. So far her limited experience had taught her that men were a frantic, selfish gender who didn't—or couldn't—take nearly enough time with things.

  Penny hoped it would be different with Dusty when they did it. She couldn't hold out much longer. If she got sopping wet one more time and again felt the tingling down to her toes so she could hardly feel them . . .

  She went to the bathroom, where she pulled off her blouse and began to rinse away some of the dried perspiration with a washcloth. It was terribly hot and muggy outside, even though they called this the "cool" season. Thank God for air-conditioning. She couldn't imagine what it was like when pilots went out to fly. Dusty had told her that the heat rose to more than 130 unbearable degrees in the cockpits when they first lowered their canopies.

  A flicker of apprehension about his safety ran through her, but she quickly blanked her mind about the dangerous combat missions he flew. Manny DeVera said their losses were way down from what they'd been a year ago, because they'd learned a lot about flying combat over North Vietnam since then. But no matter what he said, they were losing men. One had not returned just the day before—a captain they all seemed to like, and who Manny DeVera said had a wife and three children. Yet they'd just mentioned how he'd been a nice guy and went on about their business of preparing to fly again the next day. Penny shuddered and drove the thoughts from her mind.