Targets of Opportunity (1993) (43 page)

Momentarily disoriented, Austin frantically scanned the terrain to the northwest. In the continuing chaos of SAM launches and fierce antiaircraft fire, he had lost sight of Phuc Yen. The sky was ablaze with flak and missile plumes in all quadrants.

"God . . . don't leave me now."

He maintained a shallow bank to the left and witnessed a bright orange-and-black explosion mushroom high overhead. The trail of smoke leading to the ball of flames meant a surface-to-air missile had found its target.

Brad searched for his last target while he listened to a frantic voice yell for someone to eject. He gave in to curiosity and looked up. H
e s
aw a number of MiGs in the vicinity, then froze when he recognized two sections of Phantoms diving toward the enemy fighters.

The runway at Phuc Yen suddenly appeared off to his left. Brad racked the airplane into a tighter turn and focused his concentration on the aircraft that were waiting to get airborne.

Steady. Hold what you've got.

Ahead, on the perimeter of the airfield, a gun battery opened up with a continuous burst of fire. The deadly tracers approached in a flat arc and swept over the canopy. The shells slowly corrected and slammed into the tail of the MiG, blasting a gaping hole in the vertical stabilizer.

Brad felt the stick tremble before he squeezed the trigger. He fired a long burst into the closest fighter and gradually walked the rounds through the remaining aircraft.

The cannon shells ripped through the planes like a buzz saw, tearing off chunks of metal and rupturing fuel cells. In awe, Brad saw a taxiing MiG careen into a drainage ditch and erupt in towering flames.

He released the trigger and made a sharp feint to the right, then yanked the airplane over into a punishing left turn.

Austin could feel a constant vibration in the control stick as the damaged fighter screamed low over a highway. Just stay together a few more minutes.

Two MiGs suddenly appeared from the left, ascending in a shallow, high-speed climb. Brad instinctively tweaked his nose up and fired the last of his ammunition in a sweeping arc. He cursed himself when the tracers went under the two planes.

Both pilots broke hard into Austin, prompting him to reef the fighter around to pass under them nose-to-nose. Seconds later, the two MiGs pulled up in a steep, climbing turn and Brad craned his neck to watch them. What he saw pumped a new surge of adrenaline through his veins. A pair of Phantoms had spotted the MiGs, and two other F-4s had obviously seen Brad's airplane. The second section of fighters were about to engage him in combat.

"Chicago One has a tally--two at eleven o'clock and climbing!" "Three has one on the nose! We're going down to get him!" -Roger-- The acknowledgment was garbled and followed by
, " 'areful."

Brad decided to use his transmitter while he still had the capability to communicate with the UH-34. He needed to give Mitchell and Jimenez his current location and direction. Turning the radio to th e r escue helicopter's frequency, Austin lowered the nose and dove for the deck. Hugging the ground in a last-ditch effort to escape, Brad ventured a quick look over his shoulders.

Like prehistoric predators stalking their prey, the Phantoms were rapidly closing on the crippled MiG.

Austin twisted his head around to face a wall of fire and flak bursts. He was so low that the gun crews on opposite hills were raking themselves in a cross fire.

"Sleepy Two Five, Safari!"

No answer.

A missile from one of his pursuers streaked over the right wing and detonated in front of the MiG. Brad glanced rearward as the airplane buffeted from the missile concussion.

"Oh, shit!"

He started to toggle the smoke canister when a tremendous explosion rocked the MiG. The right wing dropped and Brad desperately tried to raise it.

"Come on, don't lose it now!"

Austin simultaneously muscled the stick to the left and pulled it back. The flight controls were sluggish, and the wounded fighter trembled under his inputs. Slowly, the wings leveled while he kept the stick pressed to the left and shoved on the rudder to correct the yaw.

Terrorgripped Brad as he turned to look behind him. One Phantom had disintegrated in a huge fireball and the other F-4 was executing a vertical reverse. Two men, who had no idea that they were chasing another American, had died instantly in the explosion.

Gulping air, Austin raised the nose a few degrees and then felt the engine surge. The MiG was dying a slow, agonizing death. He had to climb as high as possible as quickly as possible.

"Stay together . . . just a little longer," he said as he unconsciously clinched the stick grip.

Brad faced the nightmare he had often thought about. He would have to abandon the aircraft in the heart of enemy territory. Could he maintain the guise of being a Soviet instructor pilot until Mitchell and Jimenez located him?

Climbing for altitude, Austin relied on his instincts and ignored everything but his plan for ejecting. He would stay with the airplane as long as the engine was running.

Locating his position on his chart, Brad checked to make certain tha
t h
is primary radio was tuned to the frequency of the rescue helicopter. Praying that the transmitter would work, he gingerly keyed the mike. "Sleepy Two Five, Safari," Austin said excitedly.

"Safari, Sleepy copies." It was Mitchell's voice.

The turbojet surged, and Brad felt a severe vibration in the airframe. He knew that he was about to lose the struggle.

"Sleepy, I've got an emergency."

Brad's headset was silent for a long moment.

"Say again."

"I'm going to have to eject," Austin shot back as his mind raced to verify his position. "I'm west of Dong Sang--approximately six miles east of the Black River."

"Roger. We're on our way." Mitchell's voice had a definite trace of caution. He and his crew had never penetrated so far into North Vietnam without a backup rescue helicopter. "Give me your position before you jump out."

Brad strained to see as far ahead as possible. "Wilco." He tipped the right wing down and saw a narrow river that flowed into a small lake. Then he spied the point where the Black River joined the Red River. "I'll be over the Black River--seven to eight miles south of where it meets the Red--in about a minute and--"

A muffled explosion jolted the airplane. Austin took a deep breath and banked the MiG into a shallow turn, then cast a wary glance behind him. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the telltale sign of an engine fire. Fed by raw fuel, the conflagration in the turbojet pumped volumes of black smoke into the sky.

"I've got to get out! I'm on fire!"

"Understand," Mitchell said above the beating rotor blades, "that you're on fire and ejecting at this time?"

"Affirmative!"

Brad glanced blankly at the instrument panel and braced himself for the ejection. He closed his eyes and pulled the ejection handle. Nothing happened.

With strength born from a sudden, overpowering fear, he again yanked on the handle, then yanked once more.

Panic momentarily swept over him as he realized that he was trapped in the burning airplane. The seat was not going to fire. He could not simply jettison the canopy and bail out manually. His parachute was not capable of opening without going through the ejection sequence.

"Chase," Brad said as his mind struggled to find a means of escape, "my seat won't work--I can't get out!"

"You can't eject?" Mitchell blurted in amazement.

"That's affirm!" Austin's voice was harsh as he fought to remain calm. "I'm trapped in the cockpit . . . and I'm on fire."

Chapter
THIRTY-NINE

ALPHA-29

Everyone in the room sat in stunned silence when they heard Chase Mitchell's radio call to the MiG. Lex Blackwell rose from his chair and followed Allison to the edge of the door to the communications room. Nick Palmer and Hank Murray remained seated at the briefing table.

Cap Spencer turned the volume up on the radio and exchanged an uneasy glance with Allison. Her face reflected a deep alarm, but she kept her thoughts to herself and silently prayed for Brad's safe return.

Spencer swallowed and keyed his mike. "Sleepy, Blue Devil," he said without waiting for a response. "Confirm that he cannot eject."

"That's affirmative, and he's on fire. Stand by one."

Hollis Spencer stared at the radio for a moment and then turned to Murray.

"Hank, is there a way he can . . ." Spencer's words trailed off when he saw the strain on Murray's face. The blood had drained from his skin, turning his complexion pale and pasty. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

A synapse flashed in Spencer's mind. He felt as if he had been hit in the forehead with a baseball bat. "Hank--"

"Cap, I did it to protect the operation," Murray uttered defensively. "We had to have insurance . . . and I didn't think it would ever be detected."

With a combination of disbelief and mounting rage, Palmer turned and faced the heavyset officer. "You disarmed the ejection seat?"

Murray's eyes gave him away. He had deactivated the seat's firing mechanism to help ensure that the North Vietnamese would not get their hands on a live pilot. Murray had bet that no one would have known if the MiG had been shot down. He had been confident that a pilot could not transmit his plight if the airplane was blown apart or was spinning out of control.

Facing the shocking reality that Murray had allowed Brad to take off with an inert escape system, Palmer leaped to his feet and exploded across the table.

Murray was only halfway out of his chair when Nick swung wildly, smashing Murray straight in the face. The two men tumbled backward over the chair and slammed into the wall.

"Did I fly with a bogus seat?" Palmer said venomously, and slugged him with a staggering blow.

Murray's eyes bulged in pain when his broken and bleeding nose was again flattened.

"You low-life son of a bitch!" Palmer yelled as he repeatedly pounded Murray's pulpy face. "I'm going to kill you, you worthless bastard!"

Reeling from shock, Blackwell and Spencer lurched across the room to separate the men. Allison stared in horror and tried to restrain her anger. Brad was trapped in a burning airplane that had been sabotaged by the chief of maintenance. She could see that Palmer was literally trying to kill Murray.

"Goddamnit, Nick," Lex shouted as he attempted to grab Palmer around the neck. "Get aholt of yourselfl"

"Back off!" Nick warned as he pummeled Murray's bleeding face. "I'm gonna kill this chickenshit!"

Spencer straddled Palmer's back while Blackwell tried to pin his friend's arms. Nick tossed Spencer off and fell sideways when Lex leaped on top of him.

"He's almost unconscious!" Blackwell gasped as he held Palmer in a headlock. Nick continued to shake from anger, but looked at Lex.

"Okay." He breathed heavily, trying to calm himself His hand felt like it was broken. "Let me go . .

After Brad had lowered the flaps and secured the blazing engine, he turned off the fuel valve and dove for the ground. The tail pipe of the MiG continued to burn while he fought off his rising fear and searched for a place to crash-land the stricken fighter.

He scanned the area toward the river and spotted a long section of rice paddies. Immediately, Austin calculated the distance to the landing site and set up for a steep descent to align himself with the first row of paddies.

He thumbed his mike and heard a side-tone. The battery was still powering the radios.

"Chase," he exclaimed firmly, "I've got to stuff it in a rice paddy on the east side of the river."

"Copy," Mitchell responded while Brad twisted the last bit of horsepower from the screaming engine.

Rudy Jimenez transmitted a call a few seconds later. "Understand you are going to land seven to eight miles south of where the rivers intersect?"

Brad jabbed the mike button. "That's affirm--east side of the river in the rice paddies."

"Keep the faith," Jimenez encouraged, then added, "We're moving as fast as we can.
"

Austin clicked his mike twice.

Feeling an increase in the intense heat, Brad quelled his panic and concentrated on his approach. He would leave the landing gear retracted and belly the airplane into one of the flooded fields. He gradually raised the nose to arrest his swift descent.

He could feel the airspeed bleeding off rapidly as the powerless MiG became a silent glider. Realizing that he did not have enough altitude to execute a standard flameout approach, Brad entered a modified base leg.

Darting a look at the small village next to the irrigated fields, he decided to stretch his glide as far as possible. In the distance, toward the bridge where the two rivers joined, he could see a convoy of military trucks.

Austin kept the control column jammed to the left and maintained a steady pressure on the rudder. The MiG continued to descend in a relatively stabilized manner, but it was settling much faster than he had anticipated.