by Tom Wilson
Gregarian worried not only about losing Xuan Nha as his key supporter for the Wisdom complex, but also about damage that Xuan might cause because of his mental state.
"What is the earliest the installation can be completed?" snapped Xuan to Nguy.
Gregarian interrupted. "Let us not hurry so much that we make mistakes."
Xuan erupted. "In two weeks the commanders must return to their units."
The outburst had come in the midst of quieter discussion and was startling. Xuan Nha's pleasant mask was stripped away, replaced by a drawn and anxious look.
The Tiger of Dien Bien Phu was gone, taken away by General-Polkovnik Dung, the man who had given the nickname so long ago. Gregarian wasn't surprised at the turn of events, for little the strange Asians did surprised him, yet he had not been prepared for this. Xuan's face worked with ugly emotions, fought to calm itself, then grimaced horribly again, like some alien flesh with no human owner.
"We must have results," Xuan repeated in the strained voice.
Quang Hanh came in, saw Nha's face working, and stood quietly. Xuan had kept the young communications officer running since Gregarian had arrived, and many of the tasks had been frivolous ones.
Xuan Nha turned to the window and stood for a moment. Gregarian thought he heard a muffled choke.
"Comrade Colonel?" addressed Quang Hanh, very quietly.
They heard a grunt of recognition.
"We have official confirmation that the Americans have agreed to extend the bombing halt for at least a week, I was told."
"What office told you?" asked Xuan Nha, still turned to the window.
"Your wife's office in the Ministry of External Affairs, sir."
Silence.
"It was what we wished for," said Gregarian, testing the water.
"One week? I must have more. I told her that I - must - have - more - time."
"That would be ideal," agreed Gregarian.
They all waited for what seemed an eternity. Then, abruptly, Xuan Nha turned from the window back to them, his mask back in place. A smile, the sad eyes, the look of friendship.
"I am sure my wife and her people are doing everything possible to gain us more time. Now, is there anything else we can be doing? I will find more people if you feel they are necessary, Major Nguy."
"There will be nearly three hundred engineering experts working with three thousand laborers, comrade Colonel. That will certainly be enough. If there are more their efforts may be counterproductive."
"Colonel Nha, there is something else," said young Quang Hanh.
"Does it concern this effort?"
The leytenant looked at the others in the room. "Yes, sir."
"I have no secrets about the Wisdom complex from these two," said Xuan Nha, so serene and calm that it seemed impossible that he could have been so upset a few moments before. "Proceed."
"A complaint was forwarded from the Ministry of Internal Affairs."
"Complaint?"
"They say our people at Bac Can have conscripted craftsmen and government workers and are using them as common laborers."
"Are we doing that?" Xuan asked Mayor Nguy.
Nguy looked discomfited. "Your order was to get to work immediately, comrade Colonel. You said to get laborers from the cities, the farms, anywhere. I relayed that word to our engineering personnel there and they did as you said."
Again the mask lifted, but this time only for a flash of an instant did they see the horror. What are we seeing? Gregarian asked himself.
"We do not need complaints just now," whispered Xuan Nha. "Not from any source."
"Yes, comrade Colonel," said Mayor Nguy in his correct tone.
"Fix it for me when you get to Bac Can, old friend."
Nguy nodded.
The mood swung once more. Xuan Nha began to pace the floor, glancing periodically at the map. "So little time," he muttered.
Gregarian tried again, pointing at the map. "Wisdom is a good idea. We have a very good plan. We will have results very shortly."
Xuan Nha was incited by the words. He turned to Nguy. "Fourteen days! I will give you two weeks to complete the Wisdom complex."
Both Gregarian and Nguy stared. Even with swarms of laborers working relentlessly, ten days of work lay ahead just to place, bore-site, and calibrate the several permanent radar installations, and then at least another week to tie everything together. The commanders could return to their units then, but yet another week would be required to test the sensitive monitoring and communications equipment. Dummy transmitters had to be installed and harmonized with the P-50 so they could electronically mask its presence.
"Be reasonable!" blurted Gregarian.
Xuan Nha's jaw twitched and he stared at Gregarian with hate pouring from eyes no longer soft. Gregarian grew quiet, even fearful. The man was capable of anything.
"Fourteen days, Major Nguy. This is the time you have to build the system. Then the commanders and men must return to their units, and Wisdom must be activated."
Nguy looked to Gregarian, then his colonel. It was a near-impossible task.
I will hold you responsible, Major Nguy. You . . . ah . . . you know of certain irregularities in your recent behavior we have discussed."
Then Gregarian saw what Xuan had already seen. Podpolkovnik Wu stood outside the doorway, looking in somberly, his wraith-thin figure resplendent in his crisp field uniform.
Mayor Nguy saw him also and openly flinched. He nodded his head dutifully to Wu, then turned back to Xuan Nha. "I must go now and begin, comrade Colonel."
"Results," breathed Xuan Nha, glancing at Wu in the doorway. "We must have results."
"You shall have them." Mayor Nguy's face was drawn.
Xuan Nha spoke in his low voice, and they listened hard. "Remember, traitors can be found anywhere."
His words captured everyone's attention.
04/1300L—Command Post, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
Benny Lewis
Les Ries and Dan Janssen came into the command-post briefing room and nodded curtly to Benny and the Bear, who had just recently returned.
"You guys wanted to talk?" asked Les.
"The Bear had a meeting with a friend of his at Bangkok, and he says it's important we share what he learned," said Benny.
Les looked evenly at Bear Stewart, his stare showing little warmth. He was obviously still holding the old grudge. He and Dan Janssen sat down and waited.
The Bear was acting odd upon his return from Bangkok, quieter and looking like something weighed heavily on his mind. Benny supposed it had something to do with Julie and kept out of it.
"I met with an old friend named Pearly Gates at the Bangkok embassy," said the Bear. "He's a lieutenant colonel stationed at the headquarters in Saigon."
"I met him at our briefing," said Dan Janssen.
"Yeah, he told me about it. Said you guys gave a good pitch."
"General Moss liked it," boasted Janssen.
"What have you got?" Les asked impatiently.
"Pearly said the gomers shipped in some new equipment of some kind, and wants us to keep a lookout for anything new up there."
"They don't know what it was?" asked Les.
"He says it was offloaded at night at Haiphong and secretly trucked out. He said the highway to Hanoi was smoothed, like they might be carrying something delicate."
"So what do they think it is?"
"They didn't know. That's what's bothering them at Seventh Air Force. Pearly wants us to keep our eyes open for new radar signals, anything that seems different."
"So whatever this thing is, is in Hanoi?"
"They're not sure of that, either. He said the photos of the roads north of Hanoi look like they were smoothed out, too."
"How far north of Hanoi?"
Les Ries was barking his questions impatiently, and Benny could tell the Bear didn't appreciate his tone.
"They're not sure of that either," answered the Bear. "The road was smoothed over all the wa
y up into the Chinese buffer zone."
"So we're supposed to look for they-don't-know-what, and it's they-don't-know-where? Sounds like a bunch of crap."
"Colonel Gates wouldn't have wanted to meet me like that if he didn't think it was something important."
"Why the hell isn't he back in Saigon working on our plan like General Moss told him to do," asked Les, "instead of boondoggling off to Bangkok to see some captain and tell him a bunch of horsecrap?"
"And how come he told you, and didn't tell us when we were there in Saigon?" asked Dan Janssen.
"He was in Bangkok on other business, and I'm someone he knows," said the Bear, heating up. "He can trust me to get the word out."
"This is clearly a waste of our time," said Les Ries, getting to his feet.
Ries and Janssen left without further word.
Bear Stewart shook his head in disgust. "Hard to tell those guys anything," he said.
Benny agreed, but didn't say it. "What do you think it might be?" he asked the Bear.
"Got me, but if Seventh Air Force is concerned, don't you think we ought to be?"
Colonel Mack came into the briefing room with Sam Hall in tow, carrying several classified messages. They sat down at a table and Mack began to leaf through them.
"How come you two came back from R and R early?" asked Sam.
Benny answered. "I heard about the MiG sweep, and thought they might call off the bombing halt."
"According to the message traffic we've been getting," said Mack, "it'll be a week or more before we go back to pack six. We'll be supporting a joint ground operation called Cedar Falls, going on around Saigon."
"You guys could have taken more time," said Sam.
"I was ready to come back," Benny said, grinning at Sam, "but the Bear got in an extra day."
"Take every bit you can, Bear," said Sam.
Benny noticed that Mal Stewart didn't smile.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Friday, January 13th—0830 Local, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
Col. B. J. Parker
The weekly message from Seventh Air Force was the long, chatty kind Lieutenant General Moss liked to send. Often they directed a new strategy or imposed a new restriction. Seldom were old strategies or restrictions scrapped. New strategies were explained as being "in the context of" or "to meet the exigencies of" existing ones. Restrictions were added to the top of the existing list.
B. J. Parker, wing commander of the 355th TFW, examined the message.
Paragraph 1 was a structure breakdown of air combat forces, subparagraph 1b covering forces based in Thailand. The Thai government had authorized B-52 bombers to be stationed at U Tapao when construction was completed there. Another F-4 squadron was slated for Ubon Air Base. RF-4C's were to replace the old RF-101 Voodoos at Udorn.
Paragraph 2 discussed the current status of Operation Cedar Falls, an Army sweep near Saigon. Allied ground forces were encountering stiff enemy opposition, but were expected to wrap things up within the week. B-52's would fly Arc Light missions to destroy enemy strongholds and troop concentrations. IN-COUNTRY AIR FORCES (meaning the guys stationed in South Vietnam) WILL CONTINUE TO PROVIDE CLOSE AIR SUPPORT FOR THE OPERATION. OUT-OF-COUNTRY FORCES (meaning Thailand-based aircraft) WILL CONTINUE TO ATTACK SUPPLY ROUTES TO ISOLATE THE NVA AND VIET CONG IN THE IRON TRIANGLE, AND KEEP THEM FROM REINFORCEMENT AND RESUPPLY.
Paragraph 3 stated IT IS ANTICIPATED THAT TACTICAL FORCES WILL RESUME ROLLING THUNDER COMBAT STRIKES ON 15 JAN 67 AS OPERATION CEDAR FALLS WINDS DOWN. MULTIPLE, PREVIOUSLY SELECTED JCS TARGETS ARE ANTICIPATED, AS ARE MAXIMUM EFFORT STRIKES.
Subparagraph 3c discussed and reinforced the numerous restrictions.
Subparagraph 3d was directed toward the Iron Hand flights. "Iron Hand" was the headquarters' code name for Wild Weasels. It was brief, and referred to a second message, from PACAF Headquarters, which had been forwarded to Takhli and Korat, where the Weasels were based. The subparagraph ended by saying ADDRESSEES WILL ENSURE COMPLIANCE TO GUIDANCE CONTAINED IN THE HIGHER HEADQUARTERS MESSAGE.
B. J. noted down the date-time-group of the second message. He called to the master sergeant sitting at the admin desk in the outer office to locate and advise Maj. Les Ries that he wished to speak with him right away. He turned his attention back to the message.
Subparagraph 3e intrigued him, if only by its ambiguity. AUTHORITY IS BEING SOUGHT TO ATTACK SEVERAL NEW JCS TARGETS, DESIGNED TO CRIPPLE THE NORTH VIETNAMESE INDUSTRIAL BASE, AND WHICH MIGHT BE VIEWED AS ESCALATIONS TO THE WAR EFFORT. MORE INFORMATION WILL BE FORTHCOMING.
The last paragraph discussed the allocations of funds authorized for the various units and referred to yet another message.
B. J. called out again to the master sergeant and told him to get him the two referenced messages. He waited and read through General Moss's message once more while the sergeant contacted the communications center.
He then called the base commander, said the authorization of funds message was in, and suggested that they get together at 1000 hours to talk over the dollar amounts they had been authorized for various projects.
The base commander controlled the facilities, the air police, food services, personnel center, chaplains, lawyers and medical people, services people, the civil engineers, even the control tower, base support aircraft, and noncombat pilots. Other colonels, called deputy commanders, supervised logistics, maintenance, and fighter operations.
B. J. was the man in charge. As wing commander he was responsible for it all, the one who got ultimate credit or blame.
"Base CO at ten-hundred!" he called out to the admin sergeant, who acknowledged the time of the meeting.
Maj Les Ries arrived, saluted smartly, and B. J. had him take a seat.
"Happy Friday the thirteenth, sir," Les said cheerfully.
Parker knew Les Ries as a perfectionist. He did his utmost to make things go right, even to the point of disregarding his personal safety and career. He was at his happiest when things were going right. When things went wrong he grew testy and sharp and tended to look at problems as personal failures. Few in the wing knew that Ries was also a genuine, died-in-the-wool genius, with an astonishing memory and an IQ of immense proportion. Most saw only the egotist, unable to realize that the man was inhibited by a mind that saw a different picture than they did.
Colonel Parker had mixed emotions about the man's capabilities as the leader of his Wild Weasel contingent. He would have preferred someone more concerned about his career, who would make himself, the wing, and of course, B. J. Parker look good.
"We finally got the message you've been waiting for. They're bringing it over from the command post now."
Ries smiled in anticipation.
"You did a good job briefing in Saigon. General Moss was so impressed with the whole show that he says he wants to set up something like that on a regular basis."
Ries glowed with the compliment.
The master sergeant came in and handed the messages to Parker. B. J. put the allocations message aside, then studied the one titled IRON HAND FORCES UTILIZATION.
"They cover everything we wanted, sir?" Ries was fidgeting, like a high-strung child.
It was a half page of print, and to the point. He read it thoroughly before looking up, then wagged his head slowly from side to side.
"PACAF says the Weasel aircraft are expensive, critical assets, and must be conserved. They feel that losses to date have been far too high."
He looked down and read the message for another moment before continuing. "Iron Hand assets will be employed only against the highest priority targets." He looked up. "Only against JCS targets, I think they mean."
Les was growing pale.
"It also states that PACAF/CC . . . General Roman . . . is concerned with the ratio of SAM sites destroyed to losses of Iron Hand assets." He looked up again. "They want more sites killed and fewer losses."
Les sadly shook his head.
"In the last paragraph, they say that due to a
complaint received through diplomatic channels from the People's Republic of China—let's see—a strong protest of indiscriminate missile attacks—Iron Hand forces must have positive target identification before firing Shrike missiles."
"They can't do this," breathed Ries, his face flushed with color.
"It's not the first time we've gotten a message from headquarters we've disagreed with, and I can assure you it won't be the last."
B. J. was concerned that Ries was about to come unglued. He listened patiently for a moment as Ries began to ramble.
"They can tell our pilots to go out and hit two-bit targets with millions of dollars of airplanes and bombs. They can tell us to spend the lives of the best men in America, but make damned sure they tie our hands so we can't win. They can tell us to watch our friends get shot down by MiG's, but not to shoot MiG's on the ground because that would be cheating. They can tell the Weasels we're critical, so we only get to fly on the most dangerous missions. They can tell us we should kill more SAM sites, but we can't have a campaign to kill SAM sites. They can . . ."
"Snap out of it, Major!"
"What can't they tell us, sir?" Les whispered.
Parker glared at Ries, not because he was wrong, but because he was out of line.
"We read about how Congress is beginning to listen to a bunch of dirty, long-haired, doped-up anarchists. Who's listening to us? Who gives a damn, Colonel?"
There followed a silence so complete they could hear the admin sergeant's typewriter clacking out front. Finally, "You through?"
He was not. "I tried to tell them what we needed when we went to Saigon." Ries's voice caught. "I guess I didn't get my points across."
"This message isn't from General Moss's people," B. J. said. "It's from their higher headquarters."
"Still . . ." started Les.
B. J. sighed. "Call a meeting of all the Weasels and read them the PACAF message. Let them know the message was not specific. We'll comply with the intent for a couple of weeks and only let the Weasels fly on pack six missions. If we don't get clarification by then, we'll make our own judgment of what a priority mission means."
