Targets of Opportunity (1993) (41 page)

The steady rain of rifle and machine-gun fire slowly subsided when Gunny Rodriguez passed the word to cease fire.

Moments later, as the UH-34 became airborne, another loud bang announced a second incoming mortar round.

"Get down!" Austin shouted as he huddled in the corner with Allison and Nick.

The ground shook from the explosion next to the MiG hangar. A tremendous volume of machine-gun fire erupted as dirt and debris shot over the tents and foxholes.

"Come on, Crowder," Brad encouraged as he cautiously
. P
eeked over the dirt mound. He saw a steady stream of muzzle flashes coming from the open hatch of the helicopter. "Pour it on 'em!"

The crew chief raked the trees on the hillside with a devastating volume of fire. After three passes, Mitchell maneuvered the UH-34 to a position over the end of the runway and waited for the mortar to fire again.

Alpha-29 had come under intermittent sniper fire for days, but this was the first time a mortar attack had been launched at the compound.

The temporary lull in the action was shattered by a sudden burst of automatic-weapons fire halfway up the hill. Two explosions reverberated across the narrow valley as the security forces fired M-79 grenade launchers at the mortar position. The seasoned men, led by a former platoon sergeant, had worked their way to a forward position in hopes of catching the Pathet Lao off guard.

After four minutes passed without any further shelling, Chase Mitchell gently sat the helicopter down and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief

"Allison," Spencer said as he crawled out of his shelter, "you stay there until it's completely dark."

"No argument from me," she responded boldly.

Spencer went to the Quonset but while Lex Blackwell made his way to the other foxhole.

"I love it," Nick grumbled while he brushed the loose dirt from his hair.

Lex squatted on the parapet. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd say it's past time to close shop and get back to civilization."

"I agree with you," Brad replied evenly, "because I've got a feeling they're preparing for a full-blown frontal assault."

Palmer cast Brad a worried glance. "Great."

Brad turned to see Hank Murray rush by with one of his men. The technician was holding the side of his head and muttering unintelligibly.

"Oh, Jesus," Blackwell exclaimed, "he's bleedin' like a stuck hog." They watched the two men approach the damaged building while Murray yelled for a corpsman.

Nick hesitated for a moment, then turned with a false calm to face Austin. "Well, your last prediction was right. When do you think they'll hit us again?"

Brad gave his dressing a cursory inspection. "If I were thei
r h
oncho," he glanced at the crest of the opposing mountain, "I'd wait until the helo and the MiG were gone."

Blackwell swung his legs over the side of the hole and adjusted his arm sling. "Yeah, 'cause they've been watchin' us, and they know that when they're both gone . . . we're a bunch of satin' ducks."

Hollis Spencer hurried out of the Quonset but as the corpsman rushed around the corner of the building.

"I think it's time to talk with Spencer," Palmer suggested, and looked at Allison. "What do you think?"

She shrugged and cast a look at her boss. "You know that I'm very loyal to him, but I have to agree with you."

The security forces were still jogging from post to post around the field when Spencer knelt by the foxhole. He had a piece of paper rolled in his hand and he looked pensive.

"The director for ops is on his way here," he declared with a pained expression. "The word just came in."

"Dennis Tipton," Allison tilted her head, "is coming to Alpha-29?" "That's what the message says."

Brad studied Spencer with a curious interest. "Would you mind filling us in?"

He looked at Austin and spoke in a subdued voice. "You know as much as I do, but it's highly unusual for a director to go to the field."

Searching for the right words, Brad decided to form his thoughts into a question. "Cap, do you think we're pushing our luck beyond a reasonable limit?"

Spencer sighed heavily and examined the MiG for a long moment. "Probably. "

"You're the boss," Austin said warily, "but I think it would be in everyone's best interest to consider the gain from this operation . . . for the risk involved."

Spencer suddenly felt the built-up pressure and unending tension. Had his personal ambition to make Operation Achilles a success clouded his decision making? Was Dennis Tipton on his way to Alpha-29 to relieve him of command?

"For the moment," Spencer replied in an effort to convince himself as well as the others, "we'll go ahead with tomorrow's mission, then we'll stand down until the director for ops gets here."

Brad and Allison exchanged a cautious glance, but kept their thoughts to themselves.

*

The C-123 Provider had been used to transport the seriously wounded aircraft technician to Vientiane. The airplane was due back at sunrise with supplies and ammunition.

After darkness had enveloped the airfield, Allison returned to the Quonset but while Nick, Brad, and Lex slipped into the hangar to inspect the MiG. The fighter had sustained only superficial damage from the mortar-shell explosion. After leaving the blacked-out hangar, the three pilots selected a variety of C-rations and then congregated in front of their foxholes.

When the trio had finished their unappetizing meals, Spencer approached and asked them to join him inside, then walked to the helicopter to get Mitchell and Jimenez.

"I know you're tired," Spencer said patiently as the pilots entered the building and slumped into their chairs, "so I won't keep you long.

"Allison just received our preliminary ops instructions for the strikes tomorrow." He tugged on his eye patch and scanned the wrinkled document. "The air force has been tasked to hit a number of targets in Route Pack Six . . . around the Thai Nguyen area near Thud Ridge."

Spencer paused to point to the target area on the wall-mounted chart.

"And the carrier groups are launching an Alpha Strike aimed at targets around Haiphong." A weary smile creased the corner of his mouth. "Their primary target is the airfield at Kien An, so we can expect a lot of MiG activity."

Brad rested his chin on the top of his knuckles and examined the map with a critical eye. The enemy air base was located five miles southwest of the bustling port city of Haiphong. "Who's scheduled for tomorrow?"

"You are," Spencer answered without hesitation, "if your arm isn't bothering you."

Brad looked at the small dressing he still wore. The wounds were not completely healed, but they would not prevent him from flying. "I'm fine, as long as I keep the dressing in place."

"Good, because we need to make this mission a big success."

Austin slowly rose and walked to the chart. "Cap, I have a suggestion--actually, it's an idea that I've been hashing around since my last flight."

"It's your mission, Brad," Spencer conceded with a slight nod, "so you'll be calling the shots."

"The air force is obviously going to have a number of Wild Weasels trolling around Thud Ridge," Austin explained while he surveyed the area north of Phuc Yen, "so there's going to be a lot of confusion between Phuc Yen and the target area."

Wild Weasels were F-4 Phantoms that had been highly modified to act as surface-to-air missile-suppression and electronic-countermeasure aircraft. They had the unenvied responsibility for jamming enemy search or fire control radar sites.

"In my estimation," Brad continued almost soothingly, "we might as well go for a grand slam . . . when we get up to bat."

No one said a word while they waited for his explanation. Blackwell and Palmer never blinked an eye.

Spencer reasoned that Austin sensed the mission would be their last one. "Brad, let's do the best we can, without unnecessarily endangering the operation."

Austin fell silent for a moment. Spencer noticed that Brad was absently flexing his fingers.

"Cap, let me throw my idea on the table," Brad countered in a low, even voice, "and if you don't agree with it, I'll be happy to listen to whatever you have in mind."

"You have the floor," Spencer replied with marked apprehension.

Austin caught Palmer's pained expression, but decided to say what he thought in spite of the subtle warning. If he was going to risk flying the mission, he might as well do as much damage as possible.

"What I have in mind is going in low and fast--as usual." He traced his proposed route on the chart. "Hit Hoa Lac, continue straight over downtown Hanoi, strafe Gia Lam, turn hard northwest to strike Phuc Yen, then pack it out of there down in the trees."

With the North Vietnamese ground units and air force alerted to watch for suspicious MiGs, Austin would be extremely lucky if he managed to attack all three airfields and survive.

Lex Blackwell let out a low whistle. "You're gonna give Uncle Ho's boys a bad case of the runs," he drawled with a straight face, "but they're liable to jump on you like buzzards on a gut wagon.

-Cap," Brad said in an impassioned plea, "if I can hit Hoa Lac seven minutes before the first air strikes, I'll be off the last target when they roll in. The gomers will be in shock, which should help keep our losses to a minimum."

Spencer thought about the proposal while the other pilots quietl
y t
alked among themselves. The odds were against Austin's being able to successfully strafe three airfields and get away clean.

"I'm not comfortable with your idea," Spencer said at last, "but I'll go along with it, if you feel confident that you can pull it of"

"Cap, I don't have any doubt. I know I can make it work." He hesitated, listening to Allison's faint voice as she talked on the radio. "I want to create an atmosphere of pure pandemonium . . . and let them think about it every time they crawl into their cockpits."

Spencer gazed thoughtfully at Brad, his eye questioning what the pilot was really thinking. There was an intense determination in Austin's stare.

"Okay, Brad," Spencer said at last, "we'll go over the details in the morning." He glanced at the other men. "Get some rest."

When the pilots had left, Spencer poured a coffee mug full of bourbon and sat in silence. He quietly prayed that the director for operations would arrive in the morning and call off the operation, before it was exposed, or someone died.

The air force Special Air Missions
. J
et cruised serenely at 39,000 feet over the tranquil Pacific Ocean. Dennis Tipton sat quietly, gazing vacantly out the window at the tops of the moonlit clouds. He had made an agonizing decision over the past few hours.

To hell with McCormick, Tipton thought bitterly, and to hell with the internal politics of the Agency, and his precious retirement. He had a documented medical problem; a peptic ulcer that could easily lead to perforation and peritonitis of his abdominal cavity.

"May I get you anything, sir?" the male air-force flight steward asked.

Startled, Tipton looked up at the smiling staff sergeant. "Sure. I'll have a Bloody Mary, and make it extra hot."

"A rocket Bloody Mary it is," the soft-spoken man replied, then added, "We'll be on the ground at Hickam in an hour and twenty minutes."

"Thank you," Tipton replied with a calming sense of relief

Having made his decision, Dennis Tipton looked forward to his first drink in weeks. The spicy concoction would certainly inflame his ulcer and exacerbate his already delicate medical condition. No one could possibly deny the seriousness of his stomach problem.

When the steward returned with his drink, Tipton took a small sip and finalized his plan. He would ask the pilot to contact Hickam Air
Force Base and demand that a physician be standing by when the VIP transport landed.

Tipton would explain his condition to the doctor and request immediate hospitalization. Someone else could deal with Operation Achilles while he was undergoing treatment for his ulcer.

Tipton raised his glass and drank half the contents in three quick swallows. He would cover his ass, and no one could question his actions. Especially after the doctors documented his condition.

Chapter
THIRTY-EIGHT

Brad examined the wall chart and jotted notes while Allison prepared the detailed mission brief for him. The final instructions for the massive air strike had arrived only minutes before.

Working at a feverish pace, Allison neatly printed call signs and radio frequencies on Brad's kneeboard cards. The weather, both en route and over the targets, looked good and was steadily improving.

Hollis Spencer and Lex Blackwell had walked to the hangar to inspect the MiG and talk with Hank Murray. The project officer wanted to make sure that the MiG was in perfect flying condition before Austin stepped into the cockpit.

Allison had maintained an air of casual friendliness with Brad, but there was an easily recognized aloofness about her. She was cautious in his presence and measured her words when they conversed.