Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  He was silent for a moment. Then he looked across at me. “Don’t sweat it, Hoffman, my men know what to do,” he said. “They’d better, Captain,” I replied.

  He gave me a nasty look and then focused his binoculars on the path. We waited there for two hours, the sun was high in the sky and we were as much worried about peasants coming past as we were about the arrival of the Vietnamese troops with Paul. Cady and I looked at each other, they’d fired the Ju52 to make sure we didn’t ever use it again. It wouldn’t be long. Another hour passed and we heard the sounds of Vietnamese voices chattering and grumbling as they finally arrived. Soon they were in view, a lieutenant, a sergeant and ten men, with Paul in the middle of them, looking bruised and bloody. They approached the checkpoint carefully, I could see their faces clearly, they were puzzled that there were no guards outside the post but not unduly worried. This was North Vietnam, party officials giving unexpected orders was by no means unusual and they doubtless assumed that the guards had been moved elsewhere. We peered through the slits, I had my M2 carbine trained on the officer, Cady was looking through the other slit with his M16 pointed at the enemy. They were almost abreast of us when I heard the soft ‘pop’ and the lieutenant crumpled into the dust. The sergeant ran forward to pick him up, undoubtedly assuming he was ill and was thrown to one side by the second of Woltz’s bullets. There was no question now, they were under attack and they hurriedly unslung their rifles and worked the bolts to begin firing.

  The need for stealth was over, we hit them with everything we had. Woltz kept firing, Beckerman joined in with his assault rifle firing single shots and I saw Paul dive off the track in the confusion and crouch down in the undergrowth. Cady was firing single, well spaced shots into the panicking crowd of men when Russo and Bond stepped out, with Paul under cover they hosed them down with sub-machine gun fire. It was over, I went out of the door and began checking the bodies, one twitched slightly and I put a round through his head from the M2. I heard another shot crack out. Then there was silence, abruptly broken by the sound of Paul’s voice calling cheerfully as he ran towards us. “Christ, am I glad to see you guys. Jurgen, I knew you wouldn’t abandon me.”

  “I was tempted,” I replied, “but you still owe me money, Paul, so I didn’t have a choice.” He laughed and we hugged each other. In truth, we both knew it had been a near thing. He went and shook hands with the Americans and Bao.

  “You know about the Junkers?” he asked. I nodded. “We saw the smoke, but we couldn’t have used it anyway, they’d be on to us before we’d gone a hundred miles.”

  “Shit, we’re stuck. What do we do?” I smiled at him. “We’re going to steal another aircraft, the Viets have got plenty, they won’t miss one. Besides, they owe us one for destroying the Junkers.” He grinned. “You’re serious?” I nodded. “We’re heading for Bach Mai. Bao says they have transport aircraft on the ground there and not too much security. Bao,” I said, turning to the Vietnamese, “what kind of aircraft have you seen on the ground, could you describe them to me?”

  He thought for a few moments, then spoke rapidly and described what could only be the Ilyushin Il-14. Codenamed ‘The Crate’ by NATO, it was a Soviet twin-engine commercial and military personnel and cargo transport aircraft that first flew in 1950, and entered service in 1954. The Soviet equivalent for the Douglas C-47 it seated up to twenty four passengers and would be perfect for our uses. Provided that we could steal one, of course, and provided it had enough fuel, and provided that they didn’t shoot us out of the sky before we crossed the DMZ. I looked around, Cady’s men were dragging the corpses away from the checkpoint and into the jungle. Then I made a last sweep of the checkpoint to hide any evidence of our being there.

  Finally, we were ready to move out. Bao agreed to come with us as far as the airfield. Cady came over to where Paul, Bao and myself were checking our packs. “I estimate we can reach Bach Mai in three or four hours, Hoffman. Let’s move.” I smiled. “Captain, travelling to Bach Mai during daylight would be suicidal. We need to get clear of here and find somewhere to rest up until nightfall.”

  He was obviously annoyed at having his orders questioned yet again. “Look, we came here in daylight with no problem, why would getting to Bach Mai be any different?”

  “No problem? We had to kill the troops at the checkpoint and ambush and kill the troops that were holding Schuster. Are you planning to kill every single person in this part of North Vietnam? Why not telephone party headquarters in Hanoi and tell them we’re here, it would be just as quick?” He gave a huge sigh. “Yeah, ok, we’ll do it your way. Ok, men, we’ll head out and when we’re clear of here find somewhere to rest up for the day.”

  Woltz and Beckerman took the point, we moved off with Jack Bond guarding our rear. Burr and Russo helped Goldberg along, Paul and I lent our shoulders to helping Anderson. Cady strode out in front as if to give a demonstration of how Special Forces officers led from the front. With his head up, his back ramrod straight and his gaze looking unwavering ahead, he was the very model of a military commander. Look out George Patton, I thought, you’ve got a potential rival. Paul and I smiled at each other and swallowed the laughter that tried to leave our throats.

  *****

  ‘By 1964, the CIA's clandestine service was consuming close to two-thirds of its budget and 90% of the director's time. The Agency gathered under one roof Wall Street brokers, Ivy League professors, soldiers of fortune, ad men, newsmen, stunt men, second-story men, and con men. They never learned to work together - the ultimate result being a series of failures in both intelligence and covert operations. In January 1961, on leaving office after two terms, President Eisenhower had already grasped the situation fully. "Nothing has changed since Pearl Harbor," he told his director of central intelligence, Allen Dulles. "I leave a legacy of ashes to my successor." ’

  Tim Weiner - Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA

  General Paul Harkins glanced across at the two men who with himself made the crucial decisions about who would live and who would die in Vietnam. A West Point graduate, he instinctively distrusted the CIA Chief of Far East Division, William Colby, the Princeton boy who had previously served for a period as station chief in Saigon. He distrusted the Ivy League man, disliked the numerous unsanctioned missions that he knew the CIA had launched both north and south of the DMZ and found it difficult to believe much of the so-called intelligence that his office received from the CIA Chief. Colby’s boss, Director of Central Intelligence John McCone gazed coldly into the distance, it was difficult to fathom his thinking.

  “General, have you had communication with your people on the ground in the North?” Colby was asking about Cady’s mission, Harkins realised.

  “No, we’re still waiting but it’s early days yet, they’ve only just arrived. We understand unofficially that the prisoners have been broken out and we assume that Cady will get them back to the South very soon.” McCone cleared his throat. The other two looked up at the man who had the ear of the President. “You are quite correct that the two officers, Anderson and Goldberg, have been sprung from a North Vietnamese prison. You are incorrect when you say that they will be back in the South very soon.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Harkins asked.

  “Let’s just say that we have aerial intelligence to that fact,” McCone replied.

  The U2 spyplane overflights, it could only be that. The Lockheed U-2, nicknamed "Dragon Lady", was a single-engine, very high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft operated by the United States Air Force and flown by the Central Intelligence Agency. It provided day and night, very high-altitude all-weather surveillance.

  “Do you have photos on which to base your assumption?” Harkins asked him. Without replying, McCone took a packet of photos out of his briefcase, they showed a burnt out aircraft in a field.

  “That’s the aircraft they were using, Hoffman’s JU52. It looks as if the Viets destroyed it.”

  They studied the images. “Casualties?�
� Harkins asked. McCone shook his head. “Not on site, anyway. No sign of any bodies.”

  “Look, I’m working on the plans for an extended programme of infiltration,” Colby interrupted. “I’m talking about sending teams into the North to disrupt their leadership, demolition, that kind of thing. Can we liaise on this Cady operation, General, maybe we can even assist?” “I thought you were already sending people into the North, William?” Harkins said wryly.

  Colby shrugged his elegant shoulders. McCone interrupted. “General, William is working at putting together a new operation that could change the course of the war. It’s important that he has access to the Cady operation at all levels, can you sanction it?”

  “I’ll ask my people in Saigon to put something together,” he said grudgingly. The CIA men knew they had gone as far as they could.

  “The President has agreed to a preliminary study on a bombing campaign in the North to advance our campaign,” McCone added, “that alone could tip the balance in our favour. If we could synchronise it with William’s raids and your own conventional forces, it could hit them hard enough to finish them.”

  Harkins grimaced.

  “Director, you should read your history. They tried it in the First World War, in Spain they wiped out a whole town, every single building was destroyed, thousands dead. During the Second World War we bombed Nazi Germany with the British, as well as bombing the Japanese. The Germans bombed England too, it all had one result. Nothing. Except, of course, for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I assume the President isn’t contemplating a nuclear strike on Hanoi?”

  “No, nothing like that,” McCone said quickly, “our technology is different these days, General. We could hit them hard enough to really make a difference.” Harkins looked across at the CIA men. Hadn’t he heard them and their predecessors saying exactly the same thing last year and the year before that? He thought about Cady’s mission to the North. He wisely said nothing, this Vietnam business was difficult enough without upsetting men who had the ear of the President. He realised that Colby had been talking to him. “Sorry, William, what was that?”

  “The programme to convert the C-47 into a gunship is going well, we hope to have it operational next year.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. You realise that a cargo aircraft is totally unsuited to accurately aiming a rapid fire weapon at a single target?”

  “That’s the conventional wisdom,” Colby continued. Harkins noted his emphasis on the word ‘conventional’, of course he was the soldier with his boots firmly planted in the tactics of the previous war and the CIA man was the forward thinking planner who would amaze everyone with his new ideas. That was the theory, at least. He’d seen his share of theories during his career, most had one thing in common, they were either useless or downright dangerous.

  “So what’s the unconventional thinking, William, what does your military wisdom say on this one?”

  Colby smiled, acknowledging the swift riposte. “We’re perfecting the aiming systems so that the aircraft will circle the target while the Gatling gun is kept pointed at a single target.” Harkins grunted. “It sounds interesting, you’ll keep me informed about it?”

  “Of course, General.”

  McCone moved to wind up the meeting. It was a quid pro quo, the CIA would be more forthcoming about the gunship programme and the Army would cooperate on the Cady mission. “Are we all agreed, gentlemen?” They nodded and shook hands.

  Both knew that neither would fully keep the bargain, and each would do their best to give the very least in return for as much as they would get from the other.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  ‘We must face the fact that the United States is neither omnipotent nor omniscient, that we are only six percent of the world's population, that we cannot impose our will upon the other ninety-four percent of mankind, that we cannot right every wrong or reverse each adversity, and that therefore there cannot be an American solution to every world problem.’

  John F Kennedy 1961

  We rested up several miles away from the checkpoint, Paul, Bao and I grabbed some sleep while the sergeants looked after the rescued men and maintained a sharp watch. Cady was restless, patrolling around the area, giving unnecessary orders and generally making a nuisance of himself. As night fell we pushed on and were lucky to get all the way there without sighting a local. Electricity was almost non-existent in these rural areas and nightfall meant home to family and bed.

  The airfield at Bach Mai was in darkness. The only light came from a low building the other side of the field across from where we crouched at the edge of the jungle. We could see the glowing tips of the guards’ cigarettes as they ceaselessly patrolled the area. I doubted they’d heard about us, this country was a communist bureaucracy where no one made a decision or even a phone call without going up through the chain of command. But petty theft from the locals would be a problem, as well as larger scale raids from Vietnamese tribesmen who were still opposed to the communist regime, hence the guard presence.

  The airfield probably had landing and take-off lights, but they would only be switched on when necessary, the possibility of raids from the South was always a very real danger. Across the field I could see several aircraft, including a MIG that appeared to have crash landed, lying abandoned just off the main runway. Near the control tower was a light aircraft, difficult to make out in the dark but it was similar in size to a Cessna 170, quite possibly that’s what it was. The other side of the control tower two larger aircraft were parked near to each other. Ilyushin IL14s.

  “Are those what we’re here for?” Cady asked me. His face was stretched with tension, I got the impression he wasn’t coping well with leading this mission into enemy territory. In contrast, his men were relaxed and quietly checking their equipment. I nodded. “Yes, exactly what we need. The question is which one will have enough fuel to get us south of the DMZ? We need to find out.”

  “I’ll get two of my guys to take a look. Tim, Jack, check out those two IL14s, Hoffman needs to know the fuel situation. Abe, cover them all the way, if they’re spotted by the Viets, we won’t get home.”

  They nodded, I gave instructions on what to look for and Beckerman and Bond disappeared into the shadows at the side of the airfield. Abe Woltz set up his sniper rifle with the silencer and waited while Joe Russo kept a constant watch on the field with a pair of night glasses. I kept checking my watch, we had to get off the ground before midnight to cross the DMZ before dawn. Any later and we would be ducks in a shooting gallery. They all knew that, there was no need to remind them. At one time a soldier came close, we could smell the smoke from his cigarette quite strongly. Mingled with the aromatic smells of the jungle edge it left a slightly sour smell. He didn’t see us and walked on, avoiding the two silenced pistols and three combat knives that were waiting to take him out if he came too close. Beckerman and Bond suddenly came out of the darkness.

  “The aircraft look good, Jurgen,” Bond said. “Both seem to be operational. As for fuel, we’ve no way of estimating what they have in the tanks. The gauges are broken.”

  “On both aircraft?”

  Beckerman nodded. “I checked out the second aircraft, no dice, the gauges are out.”

  I checked my watch again, it was five minutes to twelve, and we were already out of time.

  “Captain, we’ll have to take one aircraft and hope for the best, we need to move right now.”

  Cady nodded and signalled for his men to help Anderson and Goldberg to their feet. Beckerman and Bond led off, taking the point as they had already covered the ground. They crossed the perimeter and disappeared into the darkness. A Vietnamese voice called across to where they had gone to earth.

  “Ngung lai! Stop!”

  We hadn’t noticed the sentry walking back on his route, he’d seen the movement as the two men ran across the field, or thought he’d seen something.

  Cady opened his mouth to give an order, but Russo has already crawled away to g
et behind the sentry. Cady closed his mouth and we waited. There was a slight noise, the rustle of clothing, a muffled grunt that was quickly cut off and silence returned. Russo crawled back to us.

  “All done, Cap’n, I can’t see any more of them, we can go when you’re ready.”

  “Ok, Russo. You men all ready? Let’s go.”

  We darted across the field towards the waiting aircraft. Anderson and Goldberg were helped and five minutes later we were under the wing of the nearest Ilyushin. Beckerman and Bond were waiting for us, a metal ladder hung down from the cabin door to the ground. Woltz set up a sniper position to cover us as two men climbed into the aircraft and helped Anderson and Goldberg up the ladder. I turned to Bao.

  “I think this is goodbye, maybe we’ll see each other again. Thank you, Bao.”

  “Goodbye, Jurgen, Paul, you have a safe trip.”

  He disappeared into the blackness and we climbed the ladder and walked through to the cockpit, behind us we could hear the last of the soldiers boarding. The aircraft was the cargo variant so there were no seats in the cabin, just piles of straps and cargo nets strewn over the floor.

  The cockpit was depressingly Soviet era style, cheap red plastic upholstery and black plastic control wheels. Even in the semi-darkness everything was obviously much worn and badly maintained. Beckerman and Bond had said the fuel gauges were not working, what they hadn’t said, perhaps hadn’t even noticed, was that several other gauges were missing. They had been removed from the aircraft. The only good sign was the smell of aviation fuel, suggesting that it had been refuelled recently. Behind the pilots’ seats was a tiny radio cabin, barely large enough for one man to squeeze in and sit on the ripped upholstery to operate the radio, which I imagined was working. Paul and I checked the operation of the controls, the rudder, elevators and flaps all seemed to be ok. I went to get up and go back into the cabin to speak to Cady but when I glanced around he was standing in the doorway, waiting.