Wild Bill unbuckled his shoulder harness and headed to the auxiliary crew cabin to see if everyone had gotten out yet. The pitch of the plane increased. There was little that Hap could do to control its fall.
Durance strapped himself into one of the downward firing ejection seats and pulled the handle. He shot out of the bottom of the plane and immediately felt a sharp pain as his arm hit a jagged piece of metal on the way out. He was falling through the air as the huge B-52 passed overhead. Just as his chute deployed a fireball erupted and the plane disintegrated. He could feel the heat in the cold air. A large chuck of metal, the size of a baseball, slammed into his shoulder and he was knocked unconscious. He remembered thinking that this was not going to be one of his best Christmas Days.
* * *
A searing pain was shooting through his arm as he woke up. Everything was wrong. He couldn’t figure out what was happening to him. He opened his eyes but nothing made sense. He should be looking at the sky but his arms and legs were tied to a pole and he was upside down. This was crazy. It had to be a part of a hallucination. Slowly he regained his wits and realized that he was being carried by the Viet Cong. They must have captured him and now they were taking him someplace. The pain in his left arm and shoulder were unbearable and he slipped back into unconsciousness. It was the best thing that could have happened to him at that moment.
When he awoke he was lying on an earthen floor in a straw hut. He could hear the high pitched voices of his captors all around him. He opened his eyes the rest of the way and could make out a guard with his back to him, standing in the doorway. He tried to move his arm but the pain was excruciating. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out how he was going to escape.
It was soon apparent that he wasn’t going to get out of this right away. He was taken by truck for many miles and transferred several times before they eventually brought him to the edge of Hanoi. He could still see fires burning from the devastation of the Linebacker II raid.
Buildings were crumbling and bodies were being laid out in the streets. One of the guards looking out of the truck at the carnage, looked down at the captured, murdering pilot and kicked him viciously in the face. Durance was out cold and never felt the other blows aimed at the various parts of his body.
When he awoke, every inch of his body hurt. It was damp and dark and it took several minutes for his eyes to adjust. He could finally make out several other bodies in the room. He tried to sit up but couldn’t.
“Stay still,” a voice whispered across the room in the darkness.
“Who is that?”
“Shut up. Just lay there. The natives are in a foul mood and are looking for any excuse to come in here and kill us,” came the hushed reply.
He did as he was told but the pain was starting to return and he didn’t know how long he could hold out without moaning. It was obvious that his life, and maybe the lives of the others, depended on them all staying quiet. He screamed mentally until he mercifully passed out once again.
The next two years were a blur of intermittent torture and pain. He was being held at the infamous Hanoi Hilton. It was twenty long months before he was released in a secret exchange program arranged by the CIA. He returned home to a world that did not honor those who had fought to defend the ways of this once great country. His flying days were over due to his extensive arm and shoulder damage but he continued on with his military career.
It was a ‘no win’ war and he was sickened by the lack of leadership in the White House. He was tired of Commanders-in-Chief with no military history or sense of duty. How could they give command decisions without understanding the military process? It was a national disgrace.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- General Peterson US ARMY-
(Earlier)
“Lt. Peterson, you will deploy your Special Forces team in the tree line just to the north of the Buron Brieng village. We know an attack is eminent and intelligence indicates that they will be staging from that area.”
“How fresh is the intel?”
“Spikerbuoys were deployed from CH-3E choppers just yesterday. PSIDs left by yesterday’s patrols picked up movement last night.”
The Patrol Seismic Intrusion Detectors had to be deployed by hand and could be better hidden than the ADSID type, deployed by air. They were called Air Delivered Seismic Intrusion Detectors.
“We will want to move out at 1700 hours if that’s okay with you sir,” Peterson said.
“That’s fine. We will start the outgoing fire support mission at 1630 hours. Have your men ready.”
“Will do Captain.”
“Oh, and we have some of our snipers in the area. They know you’re coming. Don’t shoot any of them by mistake.”
“We will try not to, sir.”
Lt. Peterson rounded up his men and went over the mission details. They would link up with the Montagnard patrol as soon as they entered the tree line. At precisely 1630 hours the first rounds of M21 81mm mortar fire crossed the tree line to the north of the village. A few minutes later the first howitzer artillery barrage of 105mm XM546 beehive rounds were heading out over the clearing towards the suspected 22d NAV regiment staging point. 8,000 steel dart shaped flechettes rained down on the forest below killing everything within a 50 foot path.
The final stage of softening up the suspected jump off area was the coordinated attack by six Huey gunships. Four would be equipped with the 24 side mounted, 2.75mm rocket launchers and front mounted 40mm grenade launchers that could drop 300 rounds. The other two UH-1’s would deliver a one-two punch of 7.62mm Gatling Gun rounds and a barrage of seven shot rockets. Peterson and his men lifted off just as the last rounds went out from the artillery guns.
They swooped in low over the clearing and started raking the LZ. The Special Forces took advantage of the Huey’s gun fire and made a quick dash to the tree line. It was a cold LZ. Within minutes they linked up with the Montagnard patrol. They had been watching with amusement as the Special Forces and Hueys wasted thousands of rounds on shadows. The plan called for them to move further into the tree line and set up a crossfire ambush.
Peterson set up the post and ensured that everyone was combat ready. He had just finished his rounds when the first drops of rain started to fall.
* * *
“Damn.”
“What is it?”
“We just received word that the PSID’s have picked up massive troop movements. They are headed directly toward Bravo-two.”
“Good. That’s just what we want.”
“No sir. According to the report the movement is estimated to be over 500 men.”
“Oh hell,” the Captain said, “Those reports are never right. I’ll bet it isn’t more than a hundred. We would have detected other signals if there were that many VC in the area. Don’t worry about it. Bravo-two will be just fine.”
“Do you want me to report this to them?”
“What for? It would just get them spooked. Peterson is a pretty good leader. He knows how to take care of his men. No need to get them all worked up and start shooting at nothing,” the Captain said.
“But sir...”
“Knock it off. I said let it go. It’s nothing.”
* * *
Peterson’s men were settled in as well as could be expected. The rain was coming down in buckets now as he looked at his watch. It was hard to tell the time. His crystal had been cracked and moisture was collecting on the face of the watch. He thought it said 0100 hours. He crawled out from under his poncho and went down the line to be sure that all the watches were still awake and alert.
“Hi LT. What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep. How are you doing?”
“Five by five,” he said, sticking his face up in the air to let the water splash over his skin.
“Keep a sharp lookout. As soon as this rain stops, I think we are going to get very busy,” he said and continued on down the line.
He found only one man nodding off. He thr
eatened to shoot him on the spot if he went back to sleep again.
Nothing set Peterson off more than someone not living up to the military standards. War or no war, the standards had to be maintained. As he was making his way back to his original position the rain started to let up. By the time he arrived at his poncho it had stopped. Steam and mist immediately replaced the rain and along with it came thousands of mosquitoes. He splashed the bug repellent on his face and hands but found that he had been bitten five or six times in the few seconds since the rain stopped. He settled down to try to get some sleep but he was too keyed up. Finally he gave up and decided to relieve Snoddgrass on the M60.
“LT. What’s up?”
“Just me. I can’t sleep. It’s silly for us both to be awake. I’ll take the 60 for now. You get some rest.”
“Thanks LT. I was really getting sleepy. I was doing all I could to stay awake. I know how pissed you get when we nod off,” he said, settling in and closing his eyes.
Peterson looked at his watch again. He figured it to be around 0230. He picked up his M-16 with the AN/TVS-2 starlight scope and checked out the surrounding area. He made a sweep of the area and was just about to set it down when the thought he caught movement. He focused in and found that he was looking at a VC carrying an AK-47.
He continued to watch and soon he caught the movement of other VC moving along the trail. He woke up Snoddgrass by placing his hand over his mouth and telling him that they had company. Snoddgrass took over the M60 and Peterson inched his way to the next man.
“Heads up. We have movement, he whispered, pointing to the area. The corporal acknowledged the movement. They passed the word slowly on down the line.
The third VC was carrying an RPK, the Viet Cong’s answer to the M60 machine gun. Its range was just under 900 meters compared to the 1,100 of the M60. It gave them a small advantage. He motioned to the radioman that he wanted the PRC-25. He was handed the receiver to the ‘prick-25’.
“Alpha-One. Bravo-two. Over.”
“Copy, Bravo-two.”
“We have movement. 1,000 meters, just north of our position.”
“Copy movement. Are you requesting fire support? Over.”
“Negative. We are in position to spring the trap. Have the fire base standing by. This looks like more than a standard regiment.”
“Copy. Be advised. The force in front of you may be in excess of 300 NAV.”
“Say again. Did you say 300?”
“Affirmative. Read back correct.”
“Roger,” he said and handed the phone back.
“Sir?”
“Just stay close by,” he said looking through the starlight scope.
He could see movement all along the tree line where he had spotted the first VC. The distance was closing slowly. His point man was just 600 meters from the lead Cong. He sent word down the line to let the first twenty or thirty gooks pass by before opening fire.
They were to wait for his word before letting lose. He heard a safety release in the still night air. The VC froze in place and looked around. He could see one of the VC lift a SVD Soviet made rifle, equipped with a PSO-1 sniper scope to his eye and sweep the area. It did not have night vision capability so he wasn’t too worried.
He continued to watch. They slowly started to move forward again. The first few cleared the point man and suddenly he let off a burst with his M16. The fire fight was on. AK-47 fire was exchanged with M16 and the heavier din of the M60 and RPK. Thousands of rounds were being exchanged. It was apparent that there were a lot more of them than suspected.
Red and green tracers filled the night air. He could hear the thump of the M79 grenade launcher from time to time. Screams fill the air as bullets found their mark. An RPG-7 Soviet made rocket landed within feet of where he and his radio man were returning fire. The explosion knocked them down and covered them with dirt.
Peterson rolled over just in time to roll out of the way of a VC that was trying to land on him. He swung his rifle up and fired. It caught the VC in the mouth and took off the top part of his head. He fell in a heap on top of the Lieutenant. He pushed the dead soldier off and resumed firing. Muzzle flashes were lighting up the night. The tracers told him that there were more than the reported force. They were taking a beating and he knew it. He grabbed the prick-25.
“Alpha-One. Bravo-two. We are under attack by a superior force. We need immediate fire support.”
“Bravo-two. Alpha-one. All units in the area are under attack. Wait one.”
“Wait one my ass. We will all be dead in one minute. We need support now.”
“Roger, Bravo-one. Mission ready. Call for effect.”
Peterson read off the coordinates and waited for the first rounds. He was still firing and listening to the headset. He dumped out an empty clip and slammed in another. He was firing on single shots to conserve ammo. He could hear the first round coming overhead. It smashed into the jungle floor.
He quickly relayed correction coordinates.
“Round out,” came the reply a few seconds later. The second shell shattered the air and the resulting percussion could be felt where he was laying.
“On target. Go, go, go,” he shouted into the phone as five VC headed for his position. He let loose with five quick rounds and three of the enemy went down. The other two kept coming. He was just driving another clip home when a VC popped up and smashed him across the face with his gun.
He could see the VC’s body suddenly forced back but it didn’t make much sense to him at the time. He was losing consciousness. He rolled over and looked up at the stars. The noise faded off. A shell exploded very nearby but he couldn’t tell what kind or who’s it was. A bullet tore through his right thigh at just about the same time. He blacked out.
When he awoke it was just starting to get light. He could feel a tremendous weight on his body. He was too weak to get it off. His face was throbbing and his leg was on fire. He could hear birds in the forest but all the firing had stopped.
Was he dead? Too much pain for that he decided. He finally dislodged the weight on top of him and found it was the upper torso of his radioman. Everything from his stomach down was missing. He patted the dead boy’s face and slowly sat up. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Limbs and torsos littered the area. He could hear several moans now that his head was starting to clear.
He touched his face and realized that while it was all there, his nose and jaw were definitely broken. He tried to spit out the blood in his mouth but realized he couldn’t. His jaw was shattered too badly.
Hours later a patrol came by and rounded up the wounded. His patrol of twenty-three men and thirty Montagnard had managed to account for a body count of 189 confirmed dead VC.
He and three others were all that were left of his platoon. Peterson was given much of the credit for fighting off the main thrust of a major NAV offensive. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal and was promoted to Captain.
A few months later after recovering from his wounds he was again decorated for exceptional valor during the siege at Khe Sanh when he directed a group of men to extinguish and save much of the ammunition when a dump was hit with a communist mortar shell. His later actions on the wire, defending the base during the attempted overrun earned him the Bronze Star and a second Purple Heart. Captain Peterson was on his way through the military ranks.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- Admiral Zoren US NAVY -
(Earlier)
Lt. Lanny ‘Killjoy’ Zoren was running through the final check before being directed to the catapult. He throttled up the F-4B Phantom and took his place. He glanced over the gauges once more and indicated that he was ready. He saluted the deck officer and within seconds was hurled out over the sea. He immediately retracted his landing gear and pulled back on the stick. The Phantom started its climb into the bright blue sky. Zoren’s plane was one of ten aircraft off the Enterprise flying MIGCAP duty for the bombing run. They would meet up with four other aircraft from the carr
iers CVN 63 Kitty Hawk and several Thailand land bases. They were all part of Operation Bolo that was intended to wreak havoc on Haiphong Harbor’s shipping facility.
After staging, they started for the final waypoint that would take them directly to the heart of the bay. The flight was much like the other thirty-two missions he had flown. The first two-thirds of the flight was usually routine. They were constantly aware but in a more relaxed mood. The last third was usually tension filled. Adrenaline was being pumped nonstop through his system.
They were just over two-thirds of the way to the target when, “Bandits at 3 o’clock, low,’ came over his headset.
“Roger. I have them on the scope,” he told his wingman.
“Go combat tactical,” he added a few seconds later.
Within minutes the air was filled with other Mig interceptors and the battle for survival was on full force. ‘Killjoy’ broke right and went after one of the MiG-21’s. His wingman broke with him to cover his tail. Air to air fights were breaking out all over the place as the Mig’s and F-4’s tried to position themselves for the kill.
A Soviet Atoll missile flashed by his cockpit and he wondered where it had come from. It must have been from some other dogfight taking place around him. He maneuvered to get the proper AOA, angle of attack, on the MiG-21 he was stalking but the pilot was an even match for Zoren.
He continued to make small advances but every time he was close to getting a lock the other pilot would slip out of the envelop. At last he was able to shoot a radar beam at the Mig and obtain a lock-on for the radar guided AIM-7 Sparrow missile. The computer guided it to the proper lead on the aircraft being targeted. The Mig exploded in a giant flash as the 66 pound warhead exploded into 2,600 separate pieces. The Mig was ripped from the sky.
He was just starting to relax when a spike lit up on his TEWS display screen. A SAM had locked on to him as was showing up on the Tactical Electronic Warfare System display. He kicked in the afterburners and did a high-G roll, diving for the deck. The threat indicator continued to show a lock. He dropped three flares while pulling back on the stick. He shot chaff out the back at the top of the climb and immediately executed a sharp left turn, dropping two more flares. He rolled over and started down again. It was no use. The SAM had a solid lock and unless he could shake it, the missile would overtake him in short order.
THE BRINK - OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT Page 24