by T I WADE
Both men had estimated that this major thoroughfare, I-45, would be the one used to head north, if north was the direction the rebels wanted to go. The colonels had 5,000 men, mortars, heavy machine guns and two howitzers within range of this intersection. Also, Highway 242 was closed off by several more mortar and machine gun locations 200 yards off each side of the intersection in case the rebels decided to change direction.
They knew 5,000 wasn’t much against the 30,000 to 50,000 rebels they estimated to be coming their way, but, Marines versus rebels, then add ambush and air support to the mix, and the odds should be evened a bit. There were three AC-130s ready and circling a mile or two north at 8,000 feet for air support. They hadn’t seen the end of the vanguard army; their position and weather wasn’t high or clear enough to see much further than a mile past the mall.
“Mike Two, Alpha, Bravo or Charlie, this is Mike Three; we have rebel movements one mile to our south. Have you seen any movement on your 1314 road? Over.”
“Mike Two Alpha here, Negative Mike Three.”
Colonel Garrote checked the command points of the other three roads heading north and got the same answer.
“Mike Two Bravo, leave Alpha and Charlie and head towards my direction. I count large numbers of enemy, and we might need some backup. All Mike teams, I need immediate warning of any enemy movement. All Mike teams and all aircraft, we will have “friendlies” mobile from east to west on Highway 242. Over.” Several radios responded, acknowledging the information.
Colonel Garrote had just ordered a major and a thousand men to head westwards towards him along Needham Road.
“That will give the men in the western barricade a little backup if they need it,” he stated to Colonel Mathews.
“Mike One here, extractions one and two are out of here. We have picked up their channel frequency and we are monitoring it. Over,” stated Colonel Clarke at the railway depot, and who was fluent in Spanish.
“Mike Three to Mike One, they have halted their progress north. Any ideas? Over.”
“Roger that, Mike Three. I think Extraction Three is looking for his brothers. We overheard him call a halt and give his brothers ten minutes to surface. Hold on; he is shouting verbal abuse to others we believe are still at the airport. I think he is getting ready to move out. Charlie Six and Paul Six will be back at Bush in 30 minutes. Over.”
“Two, zero minutes!” interrupted Charlie Six heading back. “We are ahead of schedule.”
“Easy Girl here, Charlie and Paul, estimate aircraft attack on airport terminals beginning in two to five minutes,” added the radio operator in Easy Girl, two miles north. “We are waiting for a few friends. Mike Three, do you want us to take out your intersection at the same time? Over.”
“Only when I ask for assistance, Easy Girl; I think you could give us a hand on your way out of here. We want first blood. Over,” smiled Colonel Garrote into his headset.
* * *
“Alberto, Pedro!” Manuel shouted into his radio. “I’m moving out. Get your armies on the road now. I mean now! Army Two and Army Three, get your men moving, forget my brothers. The weather is clearing fast, and I want your men out of the airfield in 30 minutes. Comprehend?” He got a dozen acknowledgements and he waved his hand to start engines. “Get this jeep moving!” he ordered his driver angrily.
* * *
Information moved fast from Colonel Clarke listening in to all the patiently waiting U.S. troops. Colonel Garrote ordered the four jeeps forward; it would take his vehicles 20 seconds to reach the intersection, at least 800 yards in front of the approaching rebels.
“Easy Girl here, our two girlfriends have arrived; Blue Moon is five minutes behind and four fixed-wing bad boys five minutes behind her. We are starting our approach into Bush. We are coming in five minutes early to catch the exit rush, and will be approaching from the east across the northern perimeter of the airfield.”
“Charlie Six, Roger that. Leave our lone M35 alone. It’s a block north of the northern perimeter fence. We’ll be there in fifteen. Out.”
* * *
Manuel Calderón didn’t know that the enemy now knew what he was doing. He was too angry to care, and he desperately wanted to shoot something! He was going to beat the living daylights out of his brothers when he saw them again, and he really wanted to shoot something! He grabbed for his M-16 and looked towards the intersection.
To his utter amazement, he saw four jeeps coming towards him three quarters of a mile away and he immediately knew they were Americans. As the shapes rose up the intersection’s slight incline and above the line of asphalt stretching north he saw a rear rocket launcher and a machine gunner. The light contrast was now perfect to see American camouflage, and he shouted into his radio that there was enemy in front and to charge forward as fast as possible. “Kill! Kill the gringos in front!” he shouted to the three radios of his forward vehicles on both sides of the wide highway, and the “dogs” leapt forward after the “rabbit”.”
* * *
The Americans saw and heard the rev of vehicles on the highway to their south and, as planned, stopped. They sat there and waited for nearly 30 seconds before Colonel Garotte gave the order to fire.
“Mutts on Highway only, remember to leave the front jeeps alone. Open fire with everything you have, now!”
Four machine guns began their clattering and four rockets headed out of the launchers seconds later. The Mutts still looked down at the surging army now less than a quarter of a mile in front of them, and they easily fired into vehicles three to four rows behind the front jeeps which were gaining ground and speeding forward faster than the troop transporters. Several civilian trucks of all types were behind the jeeps and three took direct hits as the rockets slammed into them. A troop transporter on Manuel’s side and a hundred yards behind him took a direct hit, which made him even angrier upon hearing the explosion, and he slapped his driver over the head to get his chariot moving faster.
It took the launchers thirty seconds to reload and fire off four more rockets. The machine guns had already emptied a case each of 7.62 rounds and were reloading. They hit several more vehicles, one of which exploded causing a second one to stop, cause a small pileup and then explode as well. One went up in smoke. The rockets this time went into four troop transporters three hundred yards behind Manuel’s position, two trucks on each side of the highway, which made the headlong frontal push slow down slightly.
Manuel was oblivious to what was happening behind him as he saw the jeeps, now 200 yards in front of him begin taking fire themselves and head back the way they had come. With his momentum he would get close behind them.
It was interesting to watch the proceedings from the top of the hospital as Colonel Garrote gave orders for several mortars placed on roofs around the area to begin to bomb the highway. The lead rebel vehicles, a couple of dozen of them, were too close now for the mortars, and the bombs popped out of the tubes to drop into the positions where the later vehicles had to slow down to get around the burning debris.
“Manuel! Manuel! We are being hit by mortars, It is an ambush!” shouted somebody over his radio, and he looked behind for the first time and saw explosions riddling his vehicles half a mile behind his position.
“Retreat! Retreat! Take cover! Use the exit ramps. Turn down the exit ramps, get underneath the intersection. There are Americans all around us!” he shouted over his radio as his jeep continued. Several vehicles immediately took the exit ramps off the highway. There were already rebel vehicles on these side roads and as usual, exiting traffic had to slow down. He and several men continued after the jeeps, and he was away from the ambush. He was gaining on the American jeeps in front of him and began firing at the enemy now only a hundred yards in front of him.
* * *
As if in a ballet routine, the four jeeps screamed to a stop and spun around to face the oncoming rush. They were now abreast of the ramps north of the intersection, and a couple of armored vehicles drove out of the
ramps to join the jeeps. All at once they began firing at the oncoming rebels.
* * *
“Turn, turn around! Get out of here, It’s another ambush!” screamed Manuel over the radio as his vehicles now a dozen on both sides of the highway screeched into turns, the drivers spinning the wheels as hard as they could. One vehicle behind literally toppled over and began somersaulting down the highway missing Manuel’s skidding jeep by inches. He fired at the enemy and emptied his banana magazine of thirty rounds, pulled it out and fitted the second magazine strapped to the empty one and began firing; his driver slammed the jeep into first and nearly threw his passengers out, as he smoked the tires and turned to retreat. Manuel and the radio man held on for dear life as the panicked driver did his best to push the accelerator through the steel floor.
They reached the top of the intersection and Manuel ordered his men to take side roads and head west, directly west. His driver screeched the brakes again as he approached the southern exit ramp and sped around the corner and down the ramp northwards. There were several men in front. It looked like they had fallen, or had jumped out of the rear of a truck and were right in the way of the fast moving jeep. The driver didn’t flinch as he applied full brakes and turned the jeep left and scythed through the half dozen men, throwing bodies and guns in all directions. He expertly got the jeep facing west; there was a break in the line of turning vehicles, and he sped through a hole and down a side street.
Many of the men in the forward vehicles had done this often in Colombia to escape Colombian forces, and managed to escape the ambushes. Like Manuel’s driver, they exited the intersection and headed onto side roads for a block and then were forced southwards by enemy fire. Some headed a block too far and straight into a Marine barricade which made them quickly turn and head through alleyways and even broken doors of buildings. The enemy vehicles all ended up moving in a southward direction.
* * *
It was the colonel’s plan to leave three blocks of escape routes open for the enemy to lure them into believing they were escaping, right into the hands of the U.S. Army five miles south.
“Keep firing until all moving vehicles are out of the kill zones,” Colonel Garrote ordered as he heard Easy Girl stating that she was going in.
The killing zones now stretched a mile south of the intersection; the mortars with him on top of the hospital had the furthest sight to the south, and kept firing. Mortars are reasonably quiet weapons and his hearing was still in one piece. Colonel Garrote hated to be near loud guns like artillery, which deafened people around them and halted the delivery of orders. His three mortars were fifty feet away from him and aiming southwards along the highway.
The highway south of the intersection had hundreds of burning vehicles and thousands of men running south on foot. There were fires for over a mile, and he looked down both sides of 242 to see the same thing. Slowly the rebel force, five times larger than the total number of his troops, were being routed southward, thousands already dead, and the living were heading into the arms of an even more powerful force to the south.
* * *
“Easy Girl here, we are beginning our attack,” Preston heard over his radio as he saw plumes of smoke rising into the air from a highway twenty miles in front of him, Carlos, Martie and Colonel Wright, the P-38 pilot. ”Pave Pronto and Pave Spectre, keep 300 yards distance between aircraft and stay above 500 feet. I want howitzer fire into the rear terminal buildings and cannon fire into visual enemy rebels leaving the airport. There is a long line of vehicles heading out through the northwestern corner, I want those taken out. Do not fire on any lone trucks! I repeat do not fire on any single vehicles, could be friendlies. We will do two passes and then let in Blue Moon and, after her, the fixed-wing guys. Boys, the fixed-wing have heat and it will burn. Here we go. Good hunting.”
Preston was commander of his flight of four aircraft and knew what to do. They had all studied a map of the airport during their briefing and knew which buildings to hit. So did Blue Moon and, even Charlie Six had asked her nicely to destroy a single fuel depot building, a small refueling building he had stated was already full of dead bodies.
Seconds later he heard more orders from Easy Girl’s weapons operator. She only carried three powerful 20-mm cannons and Easy Girl worked her way down the two northern terminals before causing havoc to the army trying to get out of the airport.
“OK, guys, Pronto and Spectre, a change of pattern on second run,” heard Preston as his wing lost altitude and was getting nearer to the battle below. He could see smoke rising from the airport as well now. “Pronto and Spectre, head north behind me. There is a mass of vehicles heading southwards on the highway south of the airport. It’s called JFK Boulevard I believe. The enemy vehicles already extend all the way down to the Sam Houston Parkway and there are hundreds of trucks already on the Parkway itself heading west. Blue Moon, once you are done with your first run follow us; we are heading south. Over.”
“Roger that,” Preston heard Blue Moon’s pilot.
Preston gave orders for his wing to turn east and head out for a minute or two and then slowly turn west for their first bombing run. That would give Blue Moon time to do her thing and get out of their way. He was close enough now to see the first three gunships turning north just above the ground. He was still at 5,000 feet and high above the carnage being dealt out below. He saw Blue Moon a mile west of the airport. It was now her turn.
There was clear visibility, the storm had completely disappeared and sunlight was covering Bush Intercontinental Airport, or what remained of it. The long northern terminal had several fires glowing through holes in the roof and there wasn’t much ground movement.
“All aircraft! Foxtrot Fours ten minutes out, Foxtrot Fives five minutes behind us and Tweets behind them. Suggestions and fresh information on best possible views for crowd control? Over.” Preston heard this as he was going in, so did the three aircraft behind him.
“Highway running east to west a couple miles south of airport is your best bet for a good show, Foxtrot Four,” replied the commander of Easy Girl. He was in charge of the battle below. “I believe the airport is now empty of enemy, and all munitions should now be directed towards open highways south of the airport. Remember, we have friendlies in all areas so don’t fire outside a three-mile area around the airport. Fixed Wing aircraft, I suggest you follow us; sweep left at the western edge of the terminal, head southeast, you will see a highway north of the main beltway; turn west over that highway and set up your runs. A mass of enemy has just turned down that road. Blue Moon, head west until you reach I-45. There are a large number of enemy heading southwards; that’s now your area. Foxtrot Fours, you have the east/west beltway which is full of targets. All aircraft including Foxtrot Fives, after your first runs, hold off until the air is clear for a second attack. Tweets, stay twenty miles north and wait for further instructions.”
The air got busy as Preston and the three aircraft followed him in. “Martie, Carlos, rockets only this pass. P-38 you are a go to drop hot sauce. All aircraft up to 1,500 feet and stagger your height a couple of hundred feet higher than the aircraft in front of you and remember our briefing; two miles distance between aircraft. I don’t want you to blow each other out of the sky.”
It wasn’t necessary to fire into the terminals as he sped past north of them at 800 feet and 350 miles an hour. He swept his aircraft left and climbed rapidly as he reached the end of the northern terminals and pulled her around hard to begin a “Z” movement which would bring him into line to turn westwards again over their new target. Preston loved this type of flying and his P-51 was like a wild Mustang at this speed and altitude.
He saw the western highway branch off from the southern road and he prepared his rockets for release. “Arming now!” Preston stated as he leveled out above the highway at 1,500 feet, saw a mass of trucks and people running in the same direction, pushed his joystick forward, and went in to fire all four of his rockets. He fired the fi
rst two at 900 feet, and counted two seconds before he fired the second set at 700 feet, before heading out of the area. As he flew over I-45 he noticed Blue Moon several hundred yards south of him and a few hundred feet below his altitude.
Preston suddenly saw the smoke trail of a rocket or missile rise quickly up from the ground to meet her, and take out her outer port engine. The engine literally blew up in the air and part of her outer right wing sailed down into the masses of people on the highway.
“I’m hit! I‘m hit! shouted Blue Moon’s pilot.
“Swing right and lazy, turn around to head over to the airport. You can make it with your height. Carlos, take over!” ordered Preston. “Blue Moon, I’ll cover you.”
“All aircraft stay away from the western area of the airport,” shouted Easy Girl’s commander over the radio.
Preston turned south in a 180 degree turn and curved around to follow the damaged aircraft now heading north directly in front of him. He knew that he still had a minute or so before the F-4s would arrive and he rose up to 2,000 feet to stay out of her way. He saw Blue Moon below him slowly curve to the east. He also saw Martie and Carlos flying in with explosions all the way down the mile and a half of highway they had just attacked. Suddenly the highway behind them lit up as a line of napalm followed the P-38 and spread in a rapid forward movement. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw a second rocket plume rise out from exactly where he had seen the first one come from, and his P-38, which had just dropped its two bombs, disappeared in a massive explosion.
Preston immediately felt numbness go through him as he forced his attention back to the crippled AC-130.