by Tom Wilson
Red Dog, a Wild Weasel flight flying several miles out in front, called that two SAM sites were active near the coast-in point.
Yank leveled the force at 15,000 feet, higher than they'd normally be this close in.
They were at the coastline. Too high, Manny thought. It would be difficult to see the target.
"THIS IS DAGWOOD. SPOTLIGHT AT BULLSEYE ONE-SIX-ZERO FOR FORTY." The EB-66 electronic countermeasures bird had called a SAM launch near the target area.
"This is Red Dog leader. Disregard the launch. No threat to the force."
Yank Donovan didn't respond to either call. The sixteen-ship strike force continued. The Korat formation passed them, outbound, headed back to the tankers.
Manny felt a tingle of apprehension sweep through him. He fought the rising fears by busying his mind, thinking of how he would sight the target from their high altitude.
As they approached Nam Dinh, black bursts erupted in clusters as batteries of 57mm guns welcomed them to town. White puffs of smaller popcorn flak puffed above the city, growing thicker as they approached.
"Bear three, assume the lead," Donovan said in an easy voice.
"Bear three," Manny acknowledged, wondering that his own tone was so calm. As his last word was uttered, Donovan abruptly rolled inverted and disappeared from view.
Then Manny knew. Yank was going to bomb the target alone.
Dammit! Manny raged to himself. The gomer gunners would have a single target to concentrate upon. He rolled ever so slightly, but Donovan's Thud was out of sight.
He continued ahead for another minute, then ordered the turn. Halfway through he saw an enormous explosion below. The warehouse? The dark shape of a lone aircraft jinked southward. Donovan, surrounded by thickets of fierce flak bursts. Scores of guns tracked the single target.
"This is Bear Force leader," came the radio call. "The target is destroyed. Proceed outbound. I repeat pro—" The radio transmission was abruptly cut off.
More flak bursts tracked the Thud. Manny eyed the target area, so far below. Another, smaller explosion there created another column of back smoke. Donovan had indeed taken out the target.
The single bird belched a dark puff. An engine compressor stall? A hit? The Thud continued to climb, issuing a dark trail.
"Bear lead," Manny radioed, "you're hit!" and immediately began to descend toward the coastline, followed by the rest of the formation, so Donovan's stricken bird could rejoin more quickly. He got no response from his radio call.
The lone aircraft continued toward the coast, still trailing smoke but now free from the reach of the big antiaircraft guns. Bear Force continued to descend, and to accelerate; Manny hoped to catch up as quickly as possible.
The coast was not far ahead.
Donovan's Thud torched brightly aft of the cockpit.
"Eject, Bear leader," he called. "Your main fuel tank's on fire!"
The aircraft torched brighter, then exploded. The wingless fuselage slewed and began to tumble.
"This is Bear three," he radioed to the others. "Anyone see a chute?"
There was no response.
1555L—Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
Colonel Leska attended the debriefing.
Manny went over the sequence of events carefully, supported by Captain Billy Bowes, who had led Wildcat flight on the mission.
At the end of Manny's recital a captain said it was one of the most heroic things he'd ever witnessed, and wondered if Yank Donovan shouldn't be put in for an Air Force Cross or even a Medal of Honor. He deserved it, he said.
"No." Leska emphasized his remark with a single curt shake of his head and left the room.
The captain looked after the departed wing commander with a reddening face. "Colonel Donovan did it for us," he said. "Why doesn't he deserve a medal?"
"The whole idea," Billy Bowes said as he carefully marked another line onto the brim of his hat, "is to kill the other guy. You don't get medals for committing suicide."
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Tuesday, March 19th 0704 Local—HQ Seventh Air Force, Tan Son Nhut AB, Saigon, South Vietnam
Lieutenant General Richard J. Moss
Moss and Pearly sat in the commander's office, sipping coffee and talking over the back-channel message which had just arrived from the Chief of Staff of the Air Force.
1.(S) MET WITH J THIS A.M. HIS MOOD WAS DOWNBEAT & IT WAS A SHORT MTG SQUEEZED INTO TIGHT SCHEDULE. J ASKED IF WE ARE READY TO PROCEED. I ASSURED HIM ALL PLANNING HAS BEEN COMPLETED & WE ARE PREPARED FOR KICKOFF. I ALSO CONFIRMED THE CAMPAIGN WOULD BE SHORT, SWIFT, & SURE.
2. (S) AFTER MTG WITH J, I SPOKE WITH A MEMBER OF PRES STAFF FOR FURTHER BACKGROUND:
A. RFK'S ENTRY INTO DEM RACE ON AN "END THE WAR" THEME FIRMED J'S RESOLVE TO WIN S.E.A. CONFLICT AS EXPEDITIOUSLY AS POSSIBLE & CERTAINLY BEFORE NOVEMBER ELECTIONS.
B. TWO RECENT POLLS SHOW THAT ESCALATION OF BOMBING TO END THE WAR IS FAVORED (63 & 66 PERCENT) BY U.S. PUBLIC.
3. (S) HE BRIEFED THE FOLLOWING "FIRM" SCHEDULE:
A. 31 MAR: J WILL HOLD PRESS CONFERENCE & "SPEAK TO THE NATION." HE WILL ANNOUNCE (1) A BUILDUP OF AIR FORCES, (2) NO MORE GROUND FORCES WILL BE SENT TO WAR ZONE EXCEPT THOSE REQUIRED TO ENSURE PROTECTION OF U.S. FORCES. (3) HE WILL "STRONGLY SUGGEST" THAT NVN IMMEDIATELY WITHDRAW ALL GND FORCES FM SVN OR FACE "PROBABILITY" OF "HEAVY BOMBARDMENT." (4) HE WILL SUGGEST TO USSR & PRC TO REMOVE ALL PERSONNEL FM NVN.
B. 30 APR: J WILL TELL THE NATION THAT A MASSIVE BOMBING CAMPAIGN HAS BEGUN SINCE NVN HAS NOT RESPONDED TO REASON. HE WILL TELL NVN THAT TALKING IS NO LONGER ENOUGH, THAT THE BOMBING WILL CONTINUE UNTIL THERE ARE VISIBLE SIGNS THAT NVN TROOPS HAVE CEASED OFFENSIVE OPERATION & ARE BEING WITHDRAWN.
4. (S) DEPLOYMENT UNITS HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED TO INSPECT AND UPGRADE MOBILITY KITS AS REQUIRED. MILITARY AIRLIFT COMMAND IS PREPARING FOR DEPLOYMENT AS PER AF OPLAN LINE BACKER JACKPOT, BEGINNING 1 APR 68. CIVIL CARRIERS WILL BE ADVISED AS OF KICKOFF DATE.
"Short, swift, and sure," Moss muttered. "Those were the words we used when we wrote the original ROLLING THUNDER campaign. Now it's going to happen. Got a nice ring to 'em, don't they?"
"Yes, sir."
"Contact the wing commanders on the scrambler and give 'em the kickoff date."
0820L—355th TFW Commander's Office, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
Colonel Buster Leska
Buster had been reading his latest letter from home when he was summoned to the command post to take a classified phone call.
Carolyn was still troubled by everything that had transpired with their son, but was becoming resigned. Marcus had made his way to Canada. He'd called her from there, exuberant about a new circle of friends. His pal was a U.S. Army deserter who'd received orders for Nam and decided that dying in a foreign civil war was ridiculous. He had no complaint with North Vietnam's desire to reunite their country and bring efficient government to South Vietnam. Ho Chi Minh wasn't a communist, but a patriot who should be compared to George Washington. Marcus said they might head for Sweden and ask for sanctuary, since they'd heard it was a nice place.
As Buster walked the short way to the command post, he realized how dramatically his personal life had been altered since he'd left the Washington scene. And just as his family had been divided and weakened, Buster believed, so had America.
He did not understand everything that was happening, but he knew the wounds of both would take a long time to heal.
The scrambled telephone call was from Lieutenant Colonel Pearly Gates, and was a short one.
Before leaving to return to his office, Buster told a duty sergeant to notify Lieutenant Colonel Anderson and Captain DeVera and have them meet with him. As he walked back, he could see both men emerge from their respective buildings and hurry his way.
Penny Dwight served coffee as they spoke of inconsequential things, then closed the door to leave them to their privacy.
Buster didn't delay. "LINE BACKER JACKPOT's ready to go, with a kickoff date of April first. That's when the other units wil
l begin deploying over here. Thirty days later we'll initiate the around-the-clock bombing campaign."
Both men became subdued.
He turned to Anderson. "I checked the books, Lucky. You'll have ninety missions when you land this afternoon. Only ten to go. Yet I haven't seen orders come in reassigning you."
"I've been talking to the Personnel Center in the States, sir, and I finally got an answer. If you'll concur, they've agreed to let me stay in place for another couple of months."
"A hundred missions is enough stress for any human."
"I'd like to see the thing through, Colonel. No use to break in another new squadron commander in the most critical phase of the bombing campaign. I was hoping it might be started before this, but since it didn't . . ." He shrugged.
Buster pondered his answer. What Lucky said made sense. He decided to agree. "The second you decide you want out, I'll approve the orders. And the first sign I see of strain, I'll do the same. Is that fair?"
Anderson nodded.
"How about you, Manny? You've only got thirteen missions to go."
DeVera didn't hesitate. "I'd like to extend my tour until JACKPOT's over."
Manny's position would also be critical. Things would go smoother if both men were aboard when the campaign began. "Same deal as for Lucky. If I see signs of fatigue, you go home."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, now there's nothing left to do except wait, gentlemen."
"When will it be releasable?" Lucky asked. "I'd like to brief my flight commanders."
"It remains close hold until after the President makes his announcement."
Anderson rose to leave. Manny DeVera asked to have a few words in private.
Captain Manny DeVera
The door closed quietly behind Lucky Anderson.
Buster Leska's eyes betrayed his amusement, and DeVera knew the answer to his question.
"You're looking good, Manny."
"I feel a lot better, sir."
"You needed the rest. You were intense for too long."
"When I came to see you last time, I was going to tell you I wanted to quit."
"I was working you too hard. I tend to do that with my best men."
"I chickened out for a while there."
"That's too harsh. You drove yourself until you were so tired and confused you ran out of answers."
Manny thought about that, then slowly nodded. "That's a nice way to put it. I could have gotten someone killed, though, and I apologize for that."
"Don't be hard on yourself. We all have our fears. Any man who faces what we do up there and isn't apprehensive is a damned fool. We just learn to control it. Next time you'll know the symptoms. You start getting too nervous when you're flying hot and heavy, slack off some, and when you can, take an R and R."
"I'll remember, sir."
"How about your flying?"
"I'm handling it just fine now."
"You're a good combat leader, Manny." Leska paused with his sermon and softened his voice. "How are things between you and Penny?"
"She doesn't understand."
"Or maybe she does and we're wrong. It doesn't really matter, does it?"
"No, sir."
"There'll be someone else out there you'll cherish just as much."
This time Manny knew the colonel was wrong. He'd never feel the same toward another woman . . . but as he'd said, it didn't matter. He could cope with the heartache. He couldn't live with the alternative. Manny got to his feet. "That was all I wanted to say, sir. That I'm okay now and thanks for the help."
"You're going to be in my shoes someday, Manny. At least I hope they pick people like you. And you'll have a young person come before you who's about to make the worst mistake of his or her life."
"Send 'em to Hawaii, sir?"
"Yeah. Then kick yourself in the butt like I did, because you didn't see it coming and fix the problem before it went that far."
Manny closed the office door and started toward the entrance, thinking the colonel was just as astute as he'd always thought him to be. Then he stopped and looked at Penny Dwight.
Their eyes met. Since he'd made his decision she'd carefully avoided him. She appeared in command of herself. Not at all like the wide-eyed girl they'd first seen come to Takhli. It had been easy to shun other women in Hawaii; he knew they couldn't compare with what he already had. Emotion surged, but he summoned courage and quelled it. He was locked into his role, and that would not change.
Penny believed fighter jocks were uncaring. He wanted to explain that they felt just as intensely as anyone—that they formed bonds that were more love than camaraderie—that they wanted very badly to mourn when those friends were lost, but the numbness they forced upon themselves was the only way to avoid being consumed by grief. Taking death in stride was the only way to remain rational. A touch of madness was the only way to avoid insanity.
He turned and walked out. As the colonel had said, it didn't really matter. A flight of Thunderchiefs flew overhead, then one by one pitched out to land. He watched.
When he'd been in his fatigued fog, searching for truth, he'd written Sister Lucia, the elderly nun who had guided him through his youth. She was living her final years in a small convent in San Antonio, no longer the energetic dynamo he remembered so vividly. Her body was old and she moved slowly, but her mind was clear and her resolve steady.
He'd hinted how he might quit—refuse to fly combat any longer. Told her he'd met a woman he wanted more than anything in the world, who cared about him and despaired each time he flew into mortal danger.
He'd received her response that morning.
Not once did she mention Penny, although she'd often urged him to find a mate. Except for priests, bachelorhood was unnatural, she'd said.
She related a story told her in her childhood, about two men in a small village, one who dared, the other who did not. The one who dared was met with difficulty, pain, and sorrow, while the other led an untroubled life and was always warm and comfortable. When the two men lay dying, the man who had not dared had few visitors, for the townspeople were occupied with memories of the man who had done so much. They named the village for the man who dared. The name of the other man? No one could remember, for it had long been forgotten.
Some men would be remembered for their toil, triumphs, and tragedies.
Others were best forgotten.
A tough taskmaster, was Sister Lucia.
0915L—VPA HQ, Hanoi, DRV
General Xuan Nha
Captain Quang Hanh handed him the microphone. "The Yen Chau observation post. The operator there is very nervous, as you thought he would be."
Xuan Nha spoke into the radio, asking for Brave Hero.
Silence.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"I believe so," a tremulous voice responded.
"Does anyone else have my voice?" Xuan rasped.
"No, comrade General Nha."
"When did he depart?"
"Brave Hero ordered us to be silent, comrade General."
Xuan Nha's voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "When?"
After a final pause the soldier blurted out the information Xuan asked for.
"Good. Now tell me about the convoy."
Alone in the radio room, Xuan changed radio frequencies and called for Quon, who was visiting his MiG pilots at a base near the Chinese border.
"Brave Hero departed Yen Chau with the convoy, just as we planned, but a day earlier."
"When did he leave?"
"Yesterday at oh-six-thirty." Xuan enunciated as clearly as he possibly could. "He is in the second vehicle in the group." He described the convoy in minute detail.
"They will be vulnerable to air attack," Quon said slowly.
"Very vulnerable." Xuan Nha described the convoy's light defenses. "They are traveling very fast, in the daylight hours, and will not use normal precautions."
"It would be a terrible thing if the Americans discovered him, since
he is carrying their secrets."
"He is in the second vehicle." Xuan Nha reiterated. Then he described the precise route he knew they'd take.
0937L—Monkey Mountain, Danang AB, South Vietnam
The Army Security Agency Spec-5 linguist/operator removed the headset, rubbed his ears vigorously, then called over his immediate supervisor, another young NCO who was also his best friend.
His supervisor grew increasingly excited as he read what he'd written on the pad. "Shit. Rerun the tape and get a transcript."
"Don't have to." He pointed at the pad. "That's verbatim. Our buddies talked even slower than before, like they were dictating a letter. The guy with the frog's voice said Brave Hero's probably gone thirty klicks by now. Bad road all the way. Said it'll only take him two more days to get to Yen Bai if the convoy keeps up their speed. Three at the outside."
His boss mused. "MAC-V intell thought he'd go out by chopper."
"They screwed up again," he said happily. The Army Security Agency delighted at proving the bureaucrats at Tan Son Nhut wrong.
"Either way, they wanted an immediate message when we got word he was leaving."
"Message?" he despaired. He was an awful typist. "How about a secure phone call and then I send 'em the transcript?"
His supervisor rummaged in a cubbyhole, found a message form, and offered it. "They want a message, we send 'em a message."
"Folks in hell and Nam want ice water too." He grimaced, then awkwardly rolled the form into the typewriter and positioned it in the carriage. "They want it so fast, you better tell the major so he'll be ready to sign it out." He referred to the words on the pad and began to hunt and peck.
His supervisor departed. A few minutes later he returned and peered over his shoulder. "Major says to forward an info copy to the MAC-SOG liaison officer at Seventh Air Force."
"Think the Air Force will try to take this Brave Hero guy out?"
"Ours is not to reason, asshole. Just send the message."
The linguist/operator continued his laborious typing. "I got a buddy over at the base says the Air Force can't hit their butt with a hand towel. Betcha they miss him."
"You ever seen a fighter strafe a target?"
