Termite Hill (Vietnam Air War Book 1)

by Tom Wilson

  Cas smiled. "Don't question, sir. I'll have a couple bottles sent over to your trailer. Cost you four-fifty apiece."

  Parker sighed. "Nary a question will be asked, Chief."

  They were quiet, staring at the amber liquid and relaxing. Cas Roberts finally glanced at his watch.

  "Sorry, gentlemen, but I've got to check how things are going at the avionics maintenance shop. We've got two birds with weapons release system problems."

  MacLendon followed Chief Roberts to the door, spoke for a few moments about aircraft problems, then let him go. As he returned to the table where Parker sat, he wondered about the visit. The wing commander made few unofficial calls.

  "How's it going with your squadron, Mack?"

  "Losing too many good men. Sometimes I wonder, what with our losing so many of our really fine officers, what's going to become of the Air Force in a few years."

  "That's when the ones who are staying out of the shooting war will show up to take over. Who do you think's going to be promoted first, a guy with a master's degree who was stationed at the Pentagon, or a fighter jock with a combat tour?"

  They were silent. B. J. Parker finally raised his glass. "Here's to the silly bastards who dare to fight."

  Mack muttered, "The dumb shits," and tipped his glass forward to toast.

  They drank.

  As Parker was leaving, he paused. "Just wanted you to know I think you're doing a hell of a job," he said. "Don't get discouraged because of the losses. With these threats, that's going to happen. You've welded together a good group of fighting men. When the flag goes up, I'm confident your squadron will be ready."

  "When do you think that might be, sir?"

  "Just as soon as someone up there gets as serious about the war as we are."

  When Parker was gone, Mack pulled out the roster Sergeant Hill had typed for him before he'd left the squadron. A month ago he'd thought he needed two weeks. Now, due to the additional SAMs and MiG's, his men were having to learn all over again, and adjust.

  He went down the list of names.

  He'd never seen, or even imagined, defenses as dangerous as they faced after the enemy had increased the numbers of defensive systems. But they were learning to cope in spite of them. His Weasels were beginning to knock out SAM sites, his pilots killed the occasional MiG that dared to engage them, and his men were putting their bombs on the target.

  The only thing that could stop them now was the remote possibility that the North Vietnamese had something else up their sleeve.

  17/1800L—People's Army HQ, Hanoi, DRV

  Xuan Nha

  Xuan was sick with concern over the losses of two rocket batteries. One had been bombed on the fifteenth, another just that morning. Tiger two, the second battery of Maj Tran Van Ngo's mobile battalion, had been pulverized. One hundred and thirty-three technicians and support people killed. All of this despite the fact they had reported, upon setting up the previous night, that their camouflage had been flawless. Today Happiness one, a permanent rocket battery just seven kilometers from the People's Army headquarters, had been hit by a Shrike homing missile and then bombed. Destruction of Happiness one had not been as complete as that of Tiger two, for the hundreds of guns in the area had driven the attackers away, but more than thirty men had been killed and two launchers destroyed. Both attacks had obviously been the work of the radar-hunters, whom Xuan was growing to hate.

  If they had only waited a precious few days, neither attack could have happened.

  During the extended bombing halt, Wisdom complex had been frantically driven toward completion. Major Nguy had worked the battalion and battery commanders, the Soviet advisers, the civil engineers, the soldiers, and the thousands of workers to the verge of exhaustion. Today the commanders were en route back to their battalions and batteries. All defenses would be placed under the control of Wisdom at midnight.

  Communications were completed. For the three primary MiG interceptor bases, a land-line was strung to Kep, and highly directional microwave towers relayed voice transmissions to Phuc Yen and Kien An. Remote transmitter towers had been erected, and radio directions spoken by the controllers at Wisdom would never be broadcast from Wisdom complex, but instead from those distant towers. When the Americans used their sensitive receiver installation at Da Nang to triangulate the source of transmitter power, their equipment would be confused by dual, simultaneous transmissions, and they would never suspect the Wisdom location. The method had been used by the Russians before to baffle the Americans.

  The radio transmitters and receivers at the various radars, interceptor bases, rocket batteries, and antiaircraft artillery centers were also special, using the same L-frequency band as used by the Western world for different types of maritime and aircraft navigation systems. The transmitted signals were powerful, and the pulse recurrence rate of the carrier wave was jittered across a hundred-pulse-per-second spectrum. The received signals were decoded using a key that was electronically reestablished every thirty seconds.

  The communications system, manufactured in the German Democratic Republic, worked flawlessly. The directions of the Wisdom controllers sounded crystalline clear, from Vinh to Haiphong to Dien Bien Phu, with only a high ping every half-minute to signal the code change. Two other channels of the same triple-tiered signal carried encoded target intelligence. The East German installers of the system were understandably proud of their work.

  The well-camouflaged command-and-control center, with its two-meter-thick concrete walls, was located in a small clearing in a forest thicket under a maze of camouflage nets. It was of modest size, some fifty meters square, but inside there was room for twelve men working at consoles. There were adjacent barracks where Russian, East German, Czech, and North Korean specialists would stay until the Vietnamese were well trained in the idiosyncrasies of modern air defense control. Other barracks were hidden farther from the center.

  Near the control center was the P-50 long-range radar, radiating in S-frequency band, its two huge, stacked antennas slowly turning, the six powerful beams picking up every aircraft, even large birds, from as far away as the western border. It observed the fleet defense fighters patrolling about the three American aircraft carriers in the Gulf of Tonkin, the COD utility aircraft shuttling back and forth toward Saigon, even the helicopters hovering about the carriers when aircraft were launched or recovered.

  Dummy transmitters were being put into place, which would radiate synchronized, false signal patterns from locations to the northwest and east to confuse spy planes. They were the only link of the operation not yet completed. Xuan had ordered that final effort to be delayed, so they could concentrate on the rest of Wisdom. When operational in another two weeks, the dummy transmitters would make all efforts to electronically triangulate the position of the P-50 radar utterly impossible.

  Fifteen kilometers west of the command-and-control building were the highly advanced defenses: the experimental rocket site, with electro-optic tracking devices slaved to the radar antennae, and new rockets with larger control fins and canards. The system was to be used in defense of the Wisdom complex and to train North Vietnamese engagement commanders and radar operators. The rocket system's oversized command van had dual positions and controls for hands-on training by advanced students. Here they would be taught to work through enemy jamming, and most importantly, to interpret the instructions of the Wisdom site controller.

  The special rocket site was considered so deadly in the hands of the Russian instructors, the technical cream of the Soviet PVO Strany rocket forces, that the elite force at Wisdom felt invulnerable. That, combined with the fact that they were in the no-flying area adjacent to the Chinese border, gave them a sense of security they could have nowhere else in the North Vietnamese countryside.

  Two SON-9a antiaircraft artillery radars were located near the rocket site, but they were there for training purposes only. No firing batteries were colocated with the SON-9a's. The Russians felt that antiaircraft artiller
y was archaic stuff that should have long ago been discarded in favor of rockets.

  Wisdom would be placed in operation tomorrow, and would take control of the air battle from its single, all-seeing vantage point. That was none too soon for Xuan Nha. He was out of time, for his superiors were about to pull their support, completely and utterly. The harbinger of the bad news was his old superior, Colonel Trung, who would be the one to benefit most if he failed.

  He had received the ominous call that morning, soon after the attack on Happiness one battery. Trung had said that General Luc had heard the bombs going off at Happiness one, the closest rocket site to the headquarters, which General Dung had enjoyed showing off to visiting dignitaries as a model of North Vietnamese technical skills. The general demanded to know when Xuan would provide the results ordered by Colonel-General Dung.

  Xuan Nha had reverted to a careful attitude of obeisance, for Trung's proven, cautious ways were rapidly regaining credence with the general staff.

  "Tonight Wisdom is completed, comrade Colonel," he'd said.

  "Results. That is all the general is after, Xuan Nha. For the past three days the Americans have bombed and only two aircraft have been shot down. General Dung is beginning to think of it much as I do, as a Russian game, and sometimes wonders why you are so eager to turn our defenses over to the Russian controllers."

  "The general will have to wait no longer for his results. Also, please advise him that one of my people, Major Nguy, will be in command of the controllers. The foreigners will be replaced in a very short period of time."

  "But how much longer, Xuan Nha, until we get the results you promised?"

  "Within the week you will have results so convincing that even you will be happy, comrade Colonel." Xuan's stomach was sour and he could not restrain a great belch, leaving the taste of puke in his mouth.

  "There is talk . . ." Trung left the words hanging when he hung up, and Xuan Nha knew that no more time would be given. His hand trembled, and he hurried down the hall to the latrine where he was able to vomit without being observed.

  Nicolaj Gregarian

  Xuan Nha had called for him, and they sat in his office. The Vietnamese polkovnik leaned forward in his seat, edgy, as if he were about to bolt.

  Leytenant Quang Hanh's report came from a rocket battery several miles southwest of Haiphong, where the Americans were again bombing. Steel two had been damaged by a Shrike radar homing missile launched from a U.S. Navy Intruder jet.

  "See," said Xuan Nha. The man was perspiring heavily. Gregarian had never before noticed the phenomenon, even when they'd been in the terrible heat of the jungle. He had wondered if Xuan ever sweated as he did. Now Xuan Nha's forehead was beaded and his uniform was soaked, although a fan circulated air in the room.

  "The Americans are successful again. No Thunder planes were shot down today, and they have attacked twice, destroying a barracks and warehouses at Viet Tri. Now carrier airplanes are attacking the petroleum reserves at Nam Dinh and none have been reported shot down."

  "Tomorrow you will be successful as never before," said Gregarian with glowing confidence and pleasure that the enemy was succeeding. It would show the vast difference when Wisdom became operational.

  "You are right, Major Gregarian. I have supported Wisdom from the beginning."

  Xuan Nha was obsequious in his attitude. Since his change, Nicolaj had lost his fear and respect for the man. Nha was on the verge of being purged for incompetence for things out of his control. Nicolaj even wondered how he would react under the same circumstance, yet he increasingly loathed the man.

  "Tomorrow your country will thank you, Polkovnik Nha."

  "Perhaps. But I must give the generals something spectacular, something more than just shooting down a Thunder plane or a Phantom."

  Gregarian knew what was coming. He had anticipated it and had worked the solution out with his superior officers.

  "I have already bowed to your demand to make the P-50 radar operational before the dummy transmitters are in place to mask it. No more, please."

  Nha looked at him, imploring. "We must shoot down the Pesky planes that orbit near the Wisdom complex."

  Gregarian had studied the aircraft thoroughly since they had discussed its orbit, so close to Wisdom. The Americans called it by different names—EB-66E, A-3, the Destroyer—and it was ponderously slow and underpowered. But the converted bombers did pose a problem for Wisdom and he was prepared to deal with them. First he toyed with Xuan Nha.

  "Their jamming is not so powerful, Polkovnik Nha. Your radars can see through it."

  "We must shoot at least one down. Another one if they continue to fly around the Wisdom area. We've never been able to do it before with our rocket sites, although we moved a rocket system up there and tried once."

  The Russian narrowed his eyes dramatically, then sighed in a display of reluctance. "You wish to use the rocket battery at Wisdom?"

  "Yes." Xuan Nha's voice was pleading. "Without the dummy transmitters in place, they could triangulate the radar emissions from the Wisdom P-50 and accurately locate it. Their orbits are very close to Wisdom. The best way to hide Wisdom is to shoot down a Pesky plane so they will no longer fly there."

  Gregarian raised an eyebrow, as if he did not know that to be true. The EB-66E's would be flying almost overhead, and posed a definite problem.

  Xuan Nha continued. "Since the Pesky planes jam the rocket site radars, it is difficult to shoot them down with our regular rocket batteries using radars. The electro-optic system of the special rocket battery would allow us to shoot them down without turning on the tracking radar."

  Gregarian nodded. Just as he and his superiors at PVO Strany had decided.

  "That is, if the system really works as you say it does."

  The Russian refused to be baited. "I can assure you it does work."

  Xuan Nha lowered his voice. "Help me, comrade Gregarian. We are in danger of losing it all. Wisdom, our ideas, all of it."

  Xuan must realize that he was groveling, but he did not even attempt to restrain the catch in his voice. Gregarian allowed a moment of silence before he spoke. "We will do it, Xuan Nha. Only this once, but we will do it."

  "I will not ask you to endanger Wisdom again. Only to rid ourselves of the Pesky planes, and so I can show the general staff their results."

  "When do you want it done?" asked Gregarian.

  "As soon as possible. I have no more time. Wisdom has no more time, for Colonel-General Dung is out of patience. I believe he is about to dismantle the Wisdom complex, bring all rockets back under the area commanders, and put Colonel Trung back in charge."

  "We cannot have that," said Gregarian. "Tomorrow we will integrate the defenses for the first time and will undoubtedly find problems. I do not believe the Americans could find us in a single day."

  "We may have no longer than that. Colonel Trung is anxious to see us fail and he has the general's ear."

  Nicolaj nodded abruptly, as if those words convinced him. "We will do as you wish and shoot down an EB-66 as soon as they fly in the orbit near Wisdom. I will command the shootdown myself and assign my most expert Russian operators and technicians to assist me. Your men are not yet ready. It takes a great deal of skill and judgment on the part of the operators." He filled his words with disdain, so Xuan Nha would know that his Russians were superior.

  But Xuan Nha was listening to inner voices and did not recognize the slur. "Please keep this conversation confidential," he asked nervously, "until we are successful."

  Gregarian nodded. "When I succeed, I will leave the announcements to you and allow you to take full credit for the planning and execution." Except, of course, for the glowing report to his own hierarchy.

  That pleased Xuan Nha greatly. The North Vietnamese polkovnik smiled for the first time in days, but it was one of abject humility. "Is the Englishwoman pleasing you?"

  Nicolaj narrowed his eyes, wondering if Nha had somehow heard about the beating he had administered to q
uiet the woman's constant harping. "She is acceptable," he finally said.

  "There are other Tay women available. A certain one comes to mind. She was born here, the product of a French official's promiscuous daughter who was placed in an orphanage. She is young, perhaps fifteen, but fully developed."

  Nicolaj was interested. He was tiring of the Englishwoman with her sharp tongue. She was too reminiscent of his wife.

  "Do you want the French girl?"

  Nicolaj shrugged, enjoying his growing power over the squat Vietnamese. "Send her to me when we return to Hanoi," he said, as if it were a matter of puny consequence.

  They were to leave Hanoi at nightfall in a blacked-out convoy and would arrive at the command center north of Bac Can before midnight. They would be there when Wisdom took charge of the morning battle.

  "I can have her sent to a country villa we commandeered near the Russian barracks at Wisdom, if you wish," said Xuan Nha.

  Nicolaj nodded condescendingly. He liked his new relationship with Xuan Nha and had finally discovered something the Vietnamese were good at. They were acceptable procurers.

  "Tomorrow we will show the generals, Nicolaj Gregarian, and teach the American pilots a lesson they will never forget."

  Gregarian laughed. "There will be few of them left to either remember or forget. There has never been such a concentration of sophisticated defenses, anywhere, and now Wisdom will provide them with eyes and a brilliant brain."

  Xuan Nha stood, looking out at the growing darkness. "Shall we prepare to go?" He was eager to get started.

  BOOK III

  Today—Termite Hill, Democratic Republic of Vietnam

  Precisely ninety-three miles west of Hanoi, the Da River, which flows southeast to Thanh Hoa, is joined by a small tributary from the southwest. In the V of the union is a low mountain, barren and desolate and pocked with deep craters.

  American pilots once called it Termite Hill.

  Tribesmen travel from the mountainous region surrounding the Ma River in eastern Laos, down the old, untended road on the opposite side of the stream and ford the Da near the intersection of the stream and in full view of the mountain. They take their meager produce to market, as they have done for centuries, but they are wary as they pass by Dead Mountain, for it is inhabited by spirits.