Targets of Opportunity (1993) (37 page)

Austin studied the detailed map while Spencer briefed the group. "Cap, I'm going to have to be fairly close to the field if I'm going to catch them on the ground."

"That's true," Spencer replied, tracing a short line across the map. "The navy is going to have a four-plane F-4 TARCAP about ten to fifteen miles north of Bai Thuong, along with some F-8s northwest of Thanh Hoa, so I suggest that you stay right on the deck and orbit about seven miles south of the field."

The three fighter pilots scrutinized the terrain features south of Bai Thuong and selected a spot where they all agreed Brad should loiter.

"You'll be monitoring the strike frequency," Spencer explained quietly, "so if you hear the bomber group call feet dry before you hear from us; press the attack and get the hell out of there before the navy pilots see you strafe the field."

"Okay."

Brad noted that the runway was oriented southeast to northwest. He could increase his speed while he made a sweeping left turn, strafe the MiGs, then continue straight out toward Alpha-29.

"Duck soup," Lex Blackwell stated.

Brad and Nick let their glances slide to the Texan.

"You haven't been on one of these fire drills," Palmer said dryly. "It's not exactly a walk in the park."

A sudden burst of automatic-weapons fire stunned the group. Seconds later, two loud explosions forced Brad to react.

"Get down!" Austin shouted while he scrambled across the floor to his M-16. "Nick, follow me!"

Palmer lunged for his rifle as a steady volume of fire erupted. He snatched the M-16 from the edge of a chair and stumbled out the door on the heels of Austin.

They crouched and ran a few yards, then spread-eagled on the ground in a firing position.

Total confusion reigned, with people screaming and yelling over the blazing gunfire. Brad and Nick were unsure where to direct their fire until Austin spotted a number of Communist soldiers high on the hill across the runway.

"Up there!" Brad pointed, and began squeezing off rounds.

The soldiers threw grenades while Nick fumbled with the safety on his M-16. The Chicoms penetrated the trees and exploded near one of the perimeter foxholes.

Chase Mitchell and Rudy Jimenez raced toward the helicopter, yelling at Elvin Crowder to man the M-60 machine gun.

In the middle of the maelstrom, Cap Spencer tumbled out of the doorway with his M-16 and sprawled on the ground. "Where are they?"

"Halfway up the hill," Brad shouted above the hail of gunfire. "Just above the trees--past the perimeter line!"

Someone was yelling for a medic as Mitchell cranked the blades of the UH-34.

Brandishing his .38 revolver, Lex Blackwell followed Spencer out of the Quonset hut, dropped to his knees, then rolled onto his good arm. Although the handgun was basically ineffective at the distant targets, Blackwell selectively aimed and fired until he was out of bullets.

Palmer and Austin poured fire into the area where the soldiers had disappeared moments before. Brad swore when he ran out of ammunition. He frantically belly-crawled toward his tent, cursing himself for not carrying the extra magazine clip with him.

Reaching the bullet-shrouded tent, Brad slapped a new clip in place as Chase Mitchell yanked the helicopter off the ground. Elvin Crowder was firing his machine gun as Mitchell climbed for altitude and maneuvered the UH-34 to give the crew chief the best firing position.

Brad rolled out of the tent and began firing where he thought the enemy might be dug in. He heard the whine of high-powered rounds, then a solid crack as a bullet slammed into one of the supporting posts for the hangar.

Brad stole a look around the perimeter of the field. Everyone was pinned down by the heavy fire. He had a lump in his throat as he crawled back into the tent and grabbed Palmer's extra magazine. The thought that the security forces might be overrun was foremost in his mind.

After jamming the second clip into the breast pocket of his flight suit, Brad thought about Allison. Was she okay?

He rapidly crawled back to where Palmer and Spencer were sprawled. Brad was sighting in on a fleeing soldier when Allison spilled out of the Quonset but with her own M-16. Austin paused in amazement while she methodically selected targets and calmly fired at the attackers.

A round hit directly in front of Brad, snapping him back to the present as dirt and grass showered his face.

Elvin Crowder poured a barrage of machine-gun fire into the
Communist soldiers, causing them to begin retreating. Two powerful explosions marked the spots where the withdrawing attackers stepped on mines.

Horrible screams punctuated the gunfire as the Communist forces stumbled over mines in their hasty retreat. They had carefully marked the Claymore antipersonnel mines during their stealthy advance, but overlooked them in the panic of withdrawing from the firefight.

An incredibly long burst of gunfire accompanied the uphill charge of two perimeter security squads. They routed the attackers, decimating them with a hail of small-arms fire and hand grenades.

Brad heard another call for a corpsman as the fighting slowly dissipated. He watched the helicopter circle low overhead while Crowder kept up a relentless stream of fire.

As quickly as the direct assault had begun, the fighting decreased to sporadic exchanges of gunfire. The attack had been sudden and brutal, leaving everyone feeling numb and vulnerable.

Expecting the worst, Spencer followed Brad and Nick toward the security command post. The commanding officer, who had taken a round through his right forearm, was sitting on the ground in a state of shock. A corpsman was treating the CO's wound while the acting executive officer, former gunnery sergeant Salvador Rodriguez, was on the company net talking to the outlying posts.

Rodriguez barked an order into his handset and spun around to face Cap Spencer.

"Get the one-twenty-three fired up," he ordered, stepping over the CO. "We've got three casualties and five wounded to medevac."

Wordlessly, Spencer turned and ran toward the Quonset hut.

Brad reached into his pocket, then snapped Palmer's spare magazine into his rifle. "Gunny, where's the M-16 ammo?"

Rodriguez glared at the pilot. "I don't have time to fuck with you right now. "

"Goddamnit!" Austin flared as he snatched Rodriguez by his utility collar, "where's the ammo?"

"You," the gunnery sergeant pointed to one of the men. "Get the captain some ammo--on the double."

Preparing for another possible onslaught, Rodriguez ignored the pilots and continued shouting orders to the men in the field.

Nick and Brad grabbed the extra magazines and trotted toward the compound. When they reached the Quonset hut, the C-123 crew had the engines running. Chase Mitchell brought the helicopter to a quick hover, then dumped it onto the grass next to the Provider.

Palmer and Austin hurried to the transport and helped load the wounded on board, then assisted the CO into the airplane. There was a moment of confusion when the pilots started to taxi, then abruptly stopped when three bodies wrapped in poncho liners were carried out of the treeline.

After the casualties were placed aboard, the pilots taxied rapidly to the end of the field, swung the Provider around, and roared down the runway. The propwash blew the camouflage off the macadam, spinning the matted foliage in a violently destructive whirlwind. The aircraft banked toward Vientiane before the landing gear was completely retracted.

The sudden stillness seemed foreboding to Brad. Was the eerie quiet a calm before another storm? Would the Communist forces regroup and assault the field again? Now was the opportune time for them to attack, Austin told himself, with part of the men on R & R, and eight others either dead or wounded.

Nick and Brad walked to the Quonset but in a daze. Rudy Jimenez was overseeing the refueling of the helicopter, while Mitchell and Crowder loaded the UH-34 with fresh rounds of 7.62-millimeter ammo for the machine gun.

"I'm going to find an E-tool," Brad declared as they entered their ops building, "and we're going to dig us two deep foxholes." E-tool was the nickname for a short shovel called an entrenching tool.

"I may not stop digging," Palmer said flatly, "until I surface in Kansas."

Chapter
THIRTY-FOUR

The atmosphere in the Quonset but was strained when Hollis Spencer stepped out of the communications compartment and approached the briefing table.

Outside, evening was settling over the airfield as Hank Murray and his disgruntled men prepared the MiG for the upcoming mission. The aircraft technicians, who had been shaken by the frightening Communist assault, were losing confidence in the CIA security forces.

The stubby fighter, which was in the process of being repainted in camouflage colors, had weathered the attack with minimal damage. The blast-protection plate between the cannons and the engine-air intake had been dented, and the leading edge of the right wing had a scratch from a ricocheting shell.

Cap Spencer shared the anxiety expressed on the faces at the table. Allison and the three fighter pilots looked numb and shaken from the stress. The prospect of being killed or maimed was now a reality.

Chase Mitchell and Rudy Jimenez, along with their crew chief, were manning their idling helicopter. They had hurriedly stockpiled more ammunition, patched four bullet holes in the fuselage of the UH-34, and were prepared to launch at the first sign of another assault.

Brad could not erase the gut-wrenching feeling of watching the dead and wounded being evacuated. One minute the men were alive; the next minute they were either dead or scarred and disfigured for life.

Austin looked at Spencer while he relived some of the same viscera
l s
cenes of the dead and wounded being flown out of Da Nang Air Base. "Cap, where do we stand?"

Spencer sat down with a forlorn look on his face. "The Pathet Lao forces range far and wide in this part of the country. We've obviously got their attention, and this landing strip would be prime real estate for them--especially since the site is so close to their stronghold at San Neua."

"Cap, I know there's an explanation," Brad began slowly in an attempt to conceal his growing concern, "but would you mind explaining why Alpha-29 was developed in the middle of an area crawling with thousands of Pathet Lao soldiers?" Christ, they know we're Americans and we've got a MiG-17. It won't take long for Hanoi to figure out where the phantom MiG is based.

Spencer nodded and rubbed his good eye. "The decisions were made at Langley, and they were based on the distance from Hanoi to the nearest suitable landing site in northeastern Laos. They--actually the director of the Agency--thought the risk to us was outweighed by the risk of trying to stretch the range of the MiG and exposing it to possible observation for extended periods of time."

Brad exchanged a look of uneasiness with Palmer. "Well, that certainly answers my question, but what do we do to solve our immediate problem?"

"We're going to have replacements flown in in the morning . . . , " Spencer answered flatly, "as soon as an airplane can get in here."

"Is there any chance," Austin asked in a respectful tone, "that you could get some marines or army troops to augment our security forces?"

Spencer shook his head. "No. We have to use our own people, because of the secret nature of this operation."

"Brad," Allison explained in a hushed voice, "our people have top-secret clearances, and they are well paid. They keep their mouths shut to protect their jobs. We can't control what anyone else might say when they leave here."

Austin grudgingly accepted the explanation. Was the covert operation worth risking the lives of so many people? "My guess is that they're going to be back," he said without showing any emotion, "and in greater force next time."

"Gunny Rodriguez," Spencer replied lamely, "is leaving their bodies out there as a reminder for anyone who might want to try it again. He's also stringing more trip-wire, and I've requested a large supply of flares."

Brad refrained from responding and turned his mind to what had to be accomplished in the next few hours. The first thing he planned to do was borrow an E-tool and dig a fighting hole.

"We had better get some rest," Palmer suggested, and reached for his M-16.

"You're right," Spencer agreed, trying to maintain a show of optimism. The facade did not convince anyone.

A ray of moonlight occasionally penetrated the luminous clouds while Austin labored in their foxhole. The parapets around the deepening hole steadily grew larger as Brad continuously shoveled dirt over the lip of the shelter.

Nick Palmer, who had been helping Brad dig, rested on his back next to their bullet-perforated tent. He rolled onto his side and rested his head in his hand. "What do you think is going to happen?"

Brad paused and dropped the shovel, then flopped against the side of the hole. "As I said before, my guess is that the Pathet Lao--or whoever they are--will be back. They're patient little assholes, and they've got us right where they want us."

"When?"

"Who knows?" Brad shrugged and took a deep breath. "A week .. . two weeks--three at the outside." He looked up at the few stars shining through the clouds. "As soon as they get their shit together."