by Tom Wilson
"I told you he was good."
Benny turned east, then shook the control stick. "Fly the airplane," he said, pawing around in his canvas bag, "while I look at my map."
"I've got it," said the Bear, taking the controls.
Before taking off, Benny had looked at a photo of what could possibly be a camouflaged, mobile SAM site set up in a crook of the Ca River fifteen miles west of Vinh. The photo interpreters at Udorn had not been sure, but had annotated and illegally bootlegged a glossy print to Takhli for their possible interest at the same time they'd forwarded the film to Saigon. Lieutenant DeWalt had hurried over with the photo before the mission briefing and had shown it to the Bear, who'd growled and told him to suck wind with his old photos. Ignoring the Bear's grumbling, Benny had studied the photo and copied the coordinates onto his map.
He stared longer at the map, glancing out at patchy clouds. "Let's take a look at that crook in the river."
"Waste of gas, Benny. If anything was there, it's moved. The guy's just too good to let one of his sites get caught like that."
Benny shook the stick and took back control. "DeWalt said this one was photographed yesterday."
The Bear was quiet for a moment before grudgingly giving DeWalt a compliment. "Well that's the least incompetent he's ever been."
They flew up the Ca for another minute before Benny called out the bend in the river. "We got any signals on the air?"
"Just the one gun north of Vinh. If there's a SAM site over here, he's got his radar shut down."
Benny flew down to 4,000 feet and started a run toward the bend in the river.
As they passed, the Bear whooped. "Trucks!"
"Yeah."
"Red Dog lead, I saw a bunch of trucks down there next to the bend in the river," radioed Pudge Holden.
Benny pulled the aircraft up and around to his right. "Roger, Red Dog three. I counted ten or more trucks and that's where the SAM site was supposed to be."
"Trucks, big cannisters, and a couple vans down there," said the Bear on intercom. "He's loaded up and getting ready to move."
Benny didn't hesitate. "Red Dogs, it's a SAM site preparing to vacate the premises. Let's take 'em out, Red Dogs!" They were carrying hard bombs rather than CBUs for the flight, since headquarters hadn't though they'd find defenses to bomb down here. Benny wished they had the CBUs.
He led the flight up and around, to attack from the east so the morning sun would be in the gomer gunners' eyes. The others dropped into trail, one behind the other, like ducklings.
"Red Dog lead, I didn't notice any shooting as we went by," called Pudge Holden.
"Don't believe it, three. They'll shoot," called Benny, his voice positive.
He set up a shallow, thirty-degree dive-bomb pattern to give the pilots longer to sort out the target. As they approached, the loaded trucks and vans grew more distinct. At 5,000 feet the Bear called out small-arms fire, which Benny saw from a corner of his eye. He concentrated on the largest van, which was crawling toward a group of trees. He saw 37mm bursts. Ignoring them, he pressed on straight and level to 3,500 feet before pickling the six bombs off. He felt the familiar lurch as they released, and pulled back on the stick to jink away from the target.
They both grunted, pulling g's, then Benny rolled the aircraft over so they could see the target area.
Explosions rent the ground as their eyes focused. The truck was thrown straight up into the air, and the van tumbled end over end. Another smaller van rolled several times.
"Whooo-eee!" yelled the Bear.
Tiny Bechler's bombs impacted, bursting the larger van and making the smaller one roll several times more. The Bear whooped again, and then again when Pudge Holden's and number four's bombs exploded into the pile of missile cannisters. Large, bright-orange secondary explosions erupted, followed by several fireballs. One missile escaped, blown free from its cannister, and slithered and spewed smoke as it snaked across the ground.
The 37mm and 14.5mm small-arms fire continued, but when Benny checked, no one had been scathed.
"What do you think?" he asked the Bear as they were climbing out and the others were joining up.
"I think," the Bear said, "I owe DeWalt a fucking beer. That was the cleanest, easiest SAM site kill in the history of the Weasels."
"Yeah," Benny said with deep satisfaction.
Pudge Holden radioed, excitement in his voice, "Red Dog lead, I thought you said killing SAM sites was difficult."
Benny laughed. "You complaining, Red Dog three?"
"Not a bit, lead."
The banter continued as the flight patrolled the Vinh area for another fifteen minutes before leaving for the tanker.
The Bear was quiet.
"Something wrong back there?" Benny asked.
"Not wrong, just different. We killed the bastard and I loved it, but it doesn't add up. The gomer commander here is too smart to let that happen. It's like he's left someone else in charge."
"From what you say about him, I just hope he stays on leave or R and R or wherever he is."
25/1300L—People's Army HQ, Hanoi, DRV
Nicolaj Gregarian
Gregarian sat quietly in the rear of the meeting room, observing the twenty Vietnamese officers sent to help set up Wisdom complex. These were the best. Controllers from the P-1 command-and-control radar at Phuc Yen credited with two or more aircraft kills. Key area, battalion, and rocket battery commanders who had proven themselves by shooting down large numbers of Americans. The most knowledgeable electronics and missile technicians.
Their tactics and abilities were proven, and today they would begin sharing their practical knowledge with the twenty Soviet advisers who had arrived in Hanoi the day before. Of course, the Russian leytenants and kapitans waiting in the adjacent room would be even better than the Vietnamese, for Gregarian knew that Russians were technically superior to Asians in any endeavor.
His superiors at PVO Strany Headquarters had tempted the finest and brightest young radar controllers, engagement commanders, and electronics and rocket technicians by promising preferential treatment and assignments after the six-month tours at Wisdom site. They did not really have to offer so much, for the men were enthused with the idea of engaging an enemy in mortal combat on a daily basis and teaching the Vietnamese to win against their American oppressors. They would return to Russia as combat-proven experts in their fields.
Nicolaj was overjoyed that it was finally beginning. From this two-day meeting would emerge an outline of exactly how Wisdom complex should operate, the procedures they would use, and the communications structure they would need. From the outline they would develop a detailed plan for Wisdom complex, and also the seeds of syllabi for classes and practical exercises to train future commanders. In five days they would travel to the site to share more insights and supervise, so that everything would be optimal when the equipment arrived for installation.
He looked about again at the Vietnamese in the room.
A combat controller from the Phuc Yen command-and-control radar was there, cocky, with five American aircraft kills to his credit. He would share insights with the four Soviet controllers, and together they would supervise the installation of the new P-50 radar's control center north of Bac Can.
Two lean MiG pilots sat quietly in a corner, periodically surveying the room with the steady looks that fighter pilots like to give to non-fighter pilots. Both had killed two aircraft. One had been introduced by his nickname of "Captain Doom."
The area commander from Vinh, a quiet, unassuming podpolkovnik, was speaking with his counterparts from Haiphong and Hanoi. Xuan Nha disliked his caution, but his record spoke for itself. Eighteen kills, eleven of them with rockets, and no losses of rocket sites or radars until yesterday when he'd been en route to this meeting. A mobile rocket battery had been bombed and destroyed while preparing to move to another site.
The commander was anxious to return to Vinh, but Gregarian was too interested in what he had to offer to perm
it it. He spoke of ways to identify radar-hunters by observing their distinctive tactics, and could tell when targets were most vulnerable by observing their profiles. Those were things to be shared, regardless of Xuan Nha's new information that the two-seat Thunder planes posed no real threat and his continuing desire to have his commanders attack, attack, always attack.
Two battalion commanders were there, Mayor Tran Van Ngo from Tiger, ambition glittering from his eyes, and a meticulous mayor from the permanently sited rocket battalion on the north side of Hanoi. They were, Xuan Nha had said with pride, his best.
Three rocket battery commanders attended, both young, bright kapitans.
There was an antiaircraft artillery mayor entrusted with more than 700 big guns dispersed throughout the Haiphong area, and a kapitan from Hanoi. Although Nicolaj considered artillery an archaic method of engaging supersonic jet fighters, their success continued to exceed that of the more modern defenses, at least in number of aircraft destroyed. Gregarian knew that ratio would change when the success rates for both MiG's and guided rockets were enhanced by the Wisdom complex.
The others in the room were bright, technically canny communications experts, siting engineers, radar technicians, and rocket personnel.
Nicolaj liked what he saw here, but he was more concerned with the men in the other room. His military future would be imperiled if harm should come to the young officers from the Soviet air defense system. One was the son of a Soviet general, another a grandnephew of Leonid Ilich Brezhnev, first secretary of the party. Such was the importance PVO Strany had placed in the success of the Wisdom project that they had entrusted him with the future. There was no room for failure.
Mayor Nguy, Xuan's hardworking executive officer, came to the back of the room and sat beside Gregarian. Nicolaj nodded and voiced his greeting.
His grasp of the Vietnamese language had improved with the assignment of the stout British woman as his private tutor. He smiled, remembering the previous evening's lesson, then hastily returned his thoughts to the room and matters at hand. He was growing anxious for the meeting to begin.
"I believe," he said in his child's Vietnamese, "it is time to bring in my people."
"In a few more minutes," said Mayor Nguy. "Colonel Nha wishes to speak with each of our officers to express the importance of the Wisdom complex. He will demand full cooperation with your people." Nguy paused. "Then the great Tiger of Dien Bien Phu will threaten them to gain their cooperation."
Nicolaj heard something new in the voice. Suppressed anger? He withdrew the thought, for the staff officers were all direly afraid of Xuan Nha. Yet there was something different in the way Nguy spoke of his colonel.
"It's an exciting day," said Nicolaj.
"Yes, I suppose it is," replied Nguy, and Nicolaj knew something was indeed amiss.
They were joined by Kapitan Nguyen Pho, the logistics officer. "I have the final equipment lists for Wisdom. I will provide copies to you both."
Nguy said something to Nguyen Pho in a low voice. They both looked at Xuan Nha as he spoke quietly with the controller from Phuc Yen, the friendly smile playing across his sparrow's features. Nguyen Pho quickly looked away, but Nguy's eyes lingered.
Something is happening that I don't understand, Nicolaj thought. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Nguy gave him a feeble grin. "What could possibly be wrong? You have your experts, and now your equipment is approved and will be arriving very shortly. All that remains is to make it all work, and I'm sure you can do that."
Nicolaj was concerned, for the success of their endeavor depended greatly on the cooperation of Xuan Nha's team. "We, comrade. I cannot do it alone. We must work together to make Wisdom succeed."
Nguy nodded, still distracted. Nguyen Pho gave him a nudge, and they turned toward the doorway.
"Here's Lieutenant Colonel Wu," Nguy said, his expression flat as he spat out the new rank.
Nicolaj watched the intelligence officer enter the room. The man was preening like a rooster, he thought, and he then understood the dismal tone of Nguy's voice.
The week before Polkovnik Nha had told Gregarian that he had authority to promote one of his men, and that he intended it to be Mayor Nguy, his second-in-command. He had indicated as much to his men, for they had joked about it with Nguy.
Gregarian sympathized with the executive officer's jealousy, but the man should not be surprised. As it was in Russia it was here. The party favorites were considered first. When he looked again, now with wiser eyes, Mayor Nguy's expression was glum, and Nicolaj wondered if the schism that was forming would hurt his project. He decided to speak to Xuan Nha about the matter later, then changed his mind. He respected Nguy's abilities and the stability he lent to the others on the team. Xuan might overreact as he had done in the past, which would make matters even worse.
Xuan Nha motioned to him from the front of the room, and Nicolaj Gregarian went out to bring in the Russian experts. He forgot about Nguy and concentrated on the challenge of taking the Wisdom complex from the planning table to actuality.
28/0610L—Ponderosa, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
Bear Stewart
He came awake slowly, looked out from under his blanket, and blinked sleepy eyes. He wanted to go back to sleep.
"Wake up, Bear." Benny shook his shoulder again.
The Bear sighed. He'd been dreaming of the two Filipinas, and things were going great with both of them. Then Julie Wright had showed up and screwed everything up because he'd dropped the two others and was chasing her. You're too late, she'd said, walking away. He'd pleaded with her, but she'd kept going, saying she didn't have time for him now. She was just walking and he was running, but he couldn't catch up.
"Les Ries called. Wants us to come over to the 354th so he can show us their briefing. They're leaving at oh-eight-hundred for Saigon."
Ries and Janssen had been working day and night on it, but the Bear couldn't get excited about their grandstand briefing. He grumbled while he showered and dressed, wondering what Ries really wanted them for.
They arrived at the pig squadron at six-thirty, and the Bear poured a coffee for himself as Benny and Ries started going over the briefing. The Bear yawned, watching them.
Ries motioned him toward a spare copy. "Take a look. If you see any errors, let me know. Too late to change much content, but look for typos and such."
Ries was as gruff as ever.
The Bear thumbed through the document marked SECRET. The concept briefing was based on three phases, and stressed elimination of the entire radar net. It was his concept, refined and made better, combined with elements of Ries's roll-back plan.
"Do you like the basic theme?" asked Ries.
The Bear nodded silently.
"Thanks for the input," Ries said simply. He was no more friendly, but he said the words as if he meant them.
They found a few grammatical errors and Ries penned in the changes. Afterwards, Benny and the Bear left for breakfast.
"Where was Janssen?" asked the Bear as they trudged down the long boardwalk toward the club.
"Les said he worked most of the night on the briefing." Benny left it at that.
The Bear's mind was busy. "What the fuck's wrong with Ries? He acted like he hated my ass, disagreed with everything I said at the meeting the other day, and now he's gonna take my plan to Saigon and present it to the generals?"
"Not just yours. He combined all the ideas, like he said he was going to do, and came up with a damned good briefing."
The Bear was quiet.
"And as far as his being bitchy to you, he's been like that to everyone. It really got to him when Johnny T. got hammered while he was supposed to be protecting him."
"I suppose," muttered the Bear, "but I still think Ries screwed it up."
"Maybe, but it was the best he could do that day. Dan Janssen was having trouble with the new equipment and their flight coordination wasn't great, so he decided to change from briefed tactics. No one's good a
ll the time."
"The hell you say," mumbled the Bear under his breath.
They ate breakfast, then wandered down to see the Takhli delegation off. The total complement consisted of Col B. J. Parker, Ries, Janssen, and Capt Swede Swendler, who had been submitted for an Air Force Cross for nursing a flight of shot-up Thuds back to safety and killing a MiG trying to pick off a cripple. General Roman was going to be in Saigon for the last day of the meeting and would pin on the decoration, which ranked just below the Medal of Honor.
Parker got onto the T-39 Sabreliner last, tossing a salute toward a group of maintenance men. As the T-39 taxied toward the active runway, Benny and the Bear walked back to the 357th squadron. They were flying in the afternoon go.
28/1415—Route Pack Five, North Vietnam
That afternoon they flew an easy counter to pack five, the bulge of North Vietnam west of the Red River valley. The Weasels patrolled the area between the threats and the four strike flights on their road-recce mission, roaming about the mountain roads looking for supply convoys and other targets of opportunity.
Tiny Bechler had again volunteered to fly on their wing while Pudge Holden and Lyle Watson led the second element, learning as many secrets as possible before leading their own missions.
The Bear watched as Holden maneuvered his element up to fly line abreast of their first element.
"What's he doing?" he asked.
"Pudge likes to fly up forward like that. You get too many MiG's to handle, you split the flight into two independent elements. That's easier when you fly line abreast."
"Air-to-air tactics, huh?" The Bear thought it would be nice if he could get in on shooting down a MiG. Even more though, he wanted to roll in and bomb more SAM sites, like they'd done near Vinh on Christmas Eve. "Wish we could do something like that with SAM sites," he said.
Benny was quiet for a long while as they patrolled.
"You up there?" asked the Bear after a full minute of silence.
"You just said a mouthful, Bear."
"I just asked if you were still there. Thought you might've gone somewhere," he quipped.
"I'm thinking about what you said about using air-to-air tactics on SAM sites."
