Targets of Opportunity (1993)

by Joe Weber

  ACKNOWLEDGE STRAFING AUTHORIZATION. EVERY PRECAUTION BEING TAKEN. CONFIDENT THAT INTEGRITY OF OPERATION WILL NOT BE COMPROMISED. ANTICIPATE RESUMPTION OF MISSION WITHIN 48 HOURS. ACHILLES OPS SENDS.

  His emotions, after drinking until shortly before dawn, had changed to fear at what would happen to him if the operation collapsed in an international embarrassment.

  Should he resign and protect his many years of exemplary service to the Agency, or roll the dice and hope to retire from a senior position at Langley?

  If he left now, with his reputation intact, Spencer was sure that he could land a secure job of equivalent pay and prestige in the private sector. His alternative was to stay the course and pray that he emerged unscathed from the highly explosive MiG operation.

  After anguishing over what course he should pursue, Cap Spencer had finally decided to stick with the Agency and take his chances. If Austin and Palmer, who both believed and trusted in him, were willing to risk their lives, he certainly could put his career on the line.

  He wadded the handwritten draft into a ball and threw it into the trash. "Screw the bastards. . . ."

  The door was ajar when Brad reached his room. Nick Palmer was closing his overnight bag when Austin entered the cramped quarters.

  "Well," Nick grinned mischievously, "the wandering Lothario has returned to his lair."

  Brad ignored the remark and quickly tossed his belongings into his bag. He glanced at his watch, then stepped into the tiny bathroom and splashed water on his face.

  "You can go ahead," Palmer said with a beguiling smile, "and make out an allotment to me--half your paycheck will suffice."

  "What are you talking about?" Brad muttered while he dried his face.

  "Half your money," Nick teased, "or there's going to be hell to pay when I tell Leigh Ann about this."

  Brad gave him a warning look. "Are we checked out?"

  "As soon as you're ready."

  Lex Blackwell knocked on the door and stepped inside. He glanced at Brad and laughed. "You look like you've been rode hard and put up wet.

  Austin heaved his bag off the bed. "Let's go."

  When the trio reached the front desk, the general manager approached Brad.

  "Mister Austin, I must apologize," Lo Van Phuong said with a trace of embarrassment. "I saw your name on the guest register this morning, and . . ."

  The courtly man handed Brad a letter. "Miss Chieu was not aware that I was keeping your mail in my office." He bowed politely. "My apologies, sir."

  Brad flushed when he saw Leigh Ann's handwriting on the envelope. He darted a quick glance at Palmer, who gave him an I told you so look.

  "That's okay. No need to apologize." He stuffed the letter into his shirt pocket. "Thanks for keeping it safe."

  The manager turned to greet Allison as she entered the crowded lobby.

  "Good morning, Lo Van," she replied cheerfully. "It's good to see you again."

  Austin quietly slipped out of the hotel and walked to the waiting Air America van.

  "Brad, my boy, you're in deep shit," he said under his breath while the driver tossed his bag into the back of the rickety van.

  The steady roar of the big Pratt & Whitney radial engines lulled Brad into closing his eyes. He was anxious to read Leigh Ann's letter, but did not want to open it in front of Allison. She sat across the aisle from him, talking to the technicians about the nose strut.

  Brad thought about going to the cockpit to read the letter, but dismissed the idea. He would wait until he could open it in the privacy of his tent. Brad opened his eyes and glanced at Allison, then closed them again. He was not proud of himself Palmer and Blackwell had had the good sense, at least in Allison's presence, to act as if nothing had happened. Their apparent innocence made the situation easier, but a nagging guilt weighed heavily on Brad's mind.

  His thoughts drifted as the Provider neared Alpha-29. You're a real son of a bitch.

  After the C-123 had landed and parked, Brad smiled at Allison and quietly went to his tent.

  Palmer followed Austin into their quarters and dropped his bag. "I'm going to take Lex over to see Cap, then give him a tour of the ville."

  Brad appreciated Nick's consideration. "Thanks. I need a few minutes of privacy."

  Palmer grinned good-naturedly and walked out.

  Listening to the sounds and voices coming from the hangar, Brad stretched out on his cot and opened Leigh Ann's letter.

  Dear Brad, I was thrilled to receive your letter today. There are so many things I want to tell you, but I don't know where to begin. The thoughts an d f eelings are there, but it is so difficult to translate them into words on a page.

  Let me begin by telling you that I'm sorry I missed your calls. After our last telephone conversation, I received a call from my parents. My uncle in Atlanta passed away. We left on Saturday morning to attend his funeral. I tried to call you from Atlanta, but the operator said your phone had been disconnected.

  Speaking of our last telephone conversation--I behaved like a spoiled, jealous brat. You have never done anything to make me doubt your loyalty. That was very unfair to you, and I hope you will accept my apology.

  Brad placed the letter on his chest and closed his eyes. Yeah, I've been a real prince. A sense of shame consumed him as he thought about the previous night. He imagined Allison's face smiling at him. He opened his eyes and continued reading.

  Brad, I miss you so much, and I've been thinking about our relationship. I could fill pages pouring out my deep feelings of love for you, but I suppose the best way to describe my thoughts is to say that I'm miserable without you.

  I want to go to Vientiane. I don't know how far it is from where you are, but if your mail goes to the hotel, you must pick it up occasionally. When you do, I want to be there and feel your arms around me.

  I have applied for a visa and expect it to be granted by the end of the week. As far as I'm concerned, graduate school can wait. What is most important to me, at this stage of my life, is being with you and experiencing your world.

  Since I haven't made travel arrangements yet, perhaps you could give me some pointers about the best way to get there.

  Brad, I am so anxious to see you. Please write soon.

  With all my love,

  Leigh Ann

  Brad carefully folded the letter and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He was relieved to know that Leigh Ann considered their relationship to be on solid footing, but he was concerned about her desire to join him.

  He thought about the feasibility of having Leigh Ann reside at the Constellation Hotel. Vientiane was safe enough, and there were a number of American wives living in the city. He was sure that sh e w ould adapt to the environment and make friends. That is, he thought at length, if Allison did not interfere.

  For a half hour, Brad weighed the positives and negatives of having Leigh Ann come to Vientiane. The more he thought about the idea, the more appealing it sounded. He was growing more frustrated by having to conduct their relationship via correspondence, and who knew how long he would be in Laos?

  "I'm going to invite her to Vientiane," he said to himselfand reached under his cot for the legal pad that he and Nick used to take notes. He would ask the C-123 pilots to mail the letter for him when they returned to Vientiane. Leigh Ann could contact the hotel's general manager to make reservations.

  In the heat of the afternoon, Hank Murray's technicians replaced the nosewheel strut while Hollis Spencer and the five pilots discussed the upcoming strafing missions. The project officer had informed them that the Agency thoroughly endorsed the strafing campaign, but he had kept the actual contents of the message to himself Allison manned the radios and compiled the detailed information about the air strikes planned for the following day. The final Route Pack information concerning the strike groups would be transmitted to her two hours prior to the scheduled attacks.

  Spencer had told Lex Blackwell that he could return to Vientiane until his wrist healed. Characteristica
lly, the gritty fighter pilot turned down the offer and volunteered to help in any way he could. Spencer, grateful to have additional administrative assistance, assigned Blackwell to oversee all supplies for Alpha-29.

  "Brad," Cap Spencer said while he drew a circle on the map spread on the table, "from the information we have received today, the navy is going to clobber the Ham Rong bridge at Thanh Hoa late tomorrow afternoon."

  The fabled bridge was eighteen nautical miles southeast of a major MiG airfield at Bai Thuong.

  "When the Warning Star or Red Crown," Spencer went on, "confirms that the MiGs at Bai Thuong have gone to strip alert--when they've fired up and they're ready to taxi for takeoff--we'll pass the word to you."

  The reason for waiting until the MiGs were manned was twofold.

  The CIA wanted to destroy the Communist fighter planes on the ground and kill the pilots at the same time.

  Austin studied the detailed map while Spencer briefed the group. "Cap, I'm going to have to be fairly close to the field if I'm going to catch them on the ground."

  "That's true," Spencer replied, tracing a short line across the map. "The navy is going to have a four-plane F-4 TARCAP about ten to fifteen miles north of Bai Thuong, along with some F-8s northwest of Thanh Hoa, so I suggest that you stay right on the deck and orbit about seven miles south of the field."

  The three fighter pilots scrutinized the terrain features south of Bai Thuong and selected a spot where they all agreed Brad should loiter.

  "You'll be monitoring the strike frequency," Spencer explained quietly, "so if you hear the bomber group call feet dry before you hear from us; press the attack and get the hell out of there before the navy pilots see you strafe the field."

  "Okay."

  Brad noted that the runway was oriented southeast to northwest. He could increase his speed while he made a sweeping left turn, strafe the MiGs, then continue straight out toward Alpha-29.

  "Duck soup," Lex Blackwell stated.

  Brad and Nick let their glances slide to the Texan.

  "You haven't been on one of these fire drills," Palmer said dryly. "It's not exactly a walk in the park."

  A sudden burst of automatic-weapons fire stunned the group. Seconds later, two loud explosions forced Brad to react.

  "Get down!" Austin shouted while he scrambled across the floor to his M-16. "Nick, follow me!"

  Palmer lunged for his rifle as a steady volume of fire erupted. He snatched the M-16 from the edge of a chair and stumbled out the door on the heels of Austin.

  They crouched and ran a few yards, then spread-eagled on the ground in a firing position.

  Total confusion reigned, with people screaming and yelling over the blazing gunfire. Brad and Nick were unsure where to direct their fire until Austin spotted a number of Communist soldiers high on the hill across the runway.

  "Up there!" Brad pointed, and began squeezing off rounds.

  The soldiers threw grenades while Nick fumbled with the safety on his M-16. The Chicoms penetrated the trees and exploded near one of the perimeter foxholes.

  Chase Mitchell and Rudy Jimenez raced toward the helicopter, yelling at Elvin Crowder to man the M-60 machine gun.

  In the middle of the maelstrom, Cap Spencer tumbled out of the doorway with his M-16 and sprawled on the ground. "Where are they?"

  "Halfway up the hill," Brad shouted above the hail of gunfire. "Just above the trees--past the perimeter line!"

  Someone was yelling for a medic as Mitchell cranked the blades of the UH-34.

  Brandishing his .38 revolver, Lex Blackwell followed Spencer out of the Quonset hut, dropped to his knees, then rolled onto his good arm. Although the handgun was basically ineffective at the distant targets, Blackwell selectively aimed and fired until he was out of bullets.

  Palmer and Austin poured fire into the area where the soldiers had disappeared moments before. Brad swore when he ran out of ammunition. He frantically belly-crawled toward his tent, cursing himself for not carrying the extra magazine clip with him.

  Reaching the bullet-shrouded tent, Brad slapped a new clip in place as Chase Mitchell yanked the helicopter off the ground. Elvin Crowder was firing his machine gun as Mitchell climbed for altitude and maneuvered the UH-34 to give the crew chief the best firing position.

  Brad rolled out of the tent and began firing where he thought the enemy might be dug in. He heard the whine of high-powered rounds, then a solid crack as a bullet slammed into one of the supporting posts for the hangar.

  Brad stole a look around the perimeter of the field. Everyone was pinned down by the heavy fire. He had a lump in his throat as he crawled back into the tent and grabbed Palmer's extra magazine. The thought that the security forces might be overrun was foremost in his mind.

  After jamming the second clip into the breast pocket of his flight suit, Brad thought about Allison. Was she okay?

  He rapidly crawled back to where Palmer and Spencer were sprawled. Brad was sighting in on a fleeing soldier when Allison spilled out of the Quonset but with her own M-16. Austin paused in amazement while she methodically selected targets and calmly fired at the attackers.

  A round hit directly in front of Brad, snapping him back to the present as dirt and grass showered his face.

  Elvin Crowder poured a barrage of machine-gun fire into the Communist soldiers, causing them to begin retreating. Two powerful explosions marked the spots where the withdrawing attackers stepped on mines.

  Horrible screams punctuated the gunfire as the Communist forces stumbled over mines in their hasty retreat. They had carefully marked the Claymore antipersonnel mines during their stealthy advance, but overlooked them in the panic of withdrawing from the firefight.

  An incredibly long burst of gunfire accompanied the uphill charge of two perimeter security squads. They routed the attackers, decimating them with a hail of small-arms fire and hand grenades.

  Brad heard another call for a corpsman as the fighting slowly dissipated. He watched the helicopter circle low overhead while Crowder kept up a relentless stream of fire.

  As quickly as the direct assault had begun, the fighting decreased to sporadic exchanges of gunfire. The attack had been sudden and brutal, leaving everyone feeling numb and vulnerable.

  Expecting the worst, Spencer followed Brad and Nick toward the security command post. The commanding officer, who had taken a round through his right forearm, was sitting on the ground in a state of shock. A corpsman was treating the CO's wound while the acting executive officer, former gunnery sergeant Salvador Rodriguez, was on the company net talking to the outlying posts.

  Rodriguez barked an order into his handset and spun around to face Cap Spencer.

  "Get the one-twenty-three fired up," he ordered, stepping over the CO. "We've got three casualties and five wounded to medevac."

  Wordlessly, Spencer turned and ran toward the Quonset hut.

  Brad reached into his pocket, then snapped Palmer's spare magazine into his rifle. "Gunny, where's the M-16 ammo?"

  Rodriguez glared at the pilot. "I don't have time to fuck with you right now. "

  "Goddamnit!" Austin flared as he snatched Rodriguez by his utility collar, "where's the ammo?"

  "You," the gunnery sergeant pointed to one of the men. "Get the captain some ammo--on the double."

  Preparing for another possible onslaught, Rodriguez ignored the pilots and continued shouting orders to the men in the field.

  Nick and Brad grabbed the extra magazines and trotted toward the compound. When they reached the Quonset hut, the C-123 crew had the engines running. Chase Mitchell brought the helicopter to a quick hover, then dumped it onto the grass next to the Provider.

  Palmer and Austin hurried to the transport and helped load the wounded on board, then assisted the CO into the airplane. There was a moment of confusion when the pilots started to taxi, then abruptly stopped when three bodies wrapped in poncho liners were carried out of the treeline.

  After the casualties were placed aboard, the p
ilots taxied rapidly to the end of the field, swung the Provider around, and roared down the runway. The propwash blew the camouflage off the macadam, spinning the matted foliage in a violently destructive whirlwind. The aircraft banked toward Vientiane before the landing gear was completely retracted.

  The sudden stillness seemed foreboding to Brad. Was the eerie quiet a calm before another storm? Would the Communist forces regroup and assault the field again? Now was the opportune time for them to attack, Austin told himself, with part of the men on R & R, and eight others either dead or wounded.

  Nick and Brad walked to the Quonset but in a daze. Rudy Jimenez was overseeing the refueling of the helicopter, while Mitchell and Crowder loaded the UH-34 with fresh rounds of 7.62-millimeter ammo for the machine gun.

  "I'm going to find an E-tool," Brad declared as they entered their ops building, "and we're going to dig us two deep foxholes." E-tool was the nickname for a short shovel called an entrenching tool.

  "I may not stop digging," Palmer said flatly, "until I surface in Kansas."

  Chapter THIRTY-FOUR

  The atmosphere in the Quonset but was strained when Hollis Spencer stepped out of the communications compartment and approached the briefing table.

  Outside, evening was settling over the airfield as Hank Murray and his disgruntled men prepared the MiG for the upcoming mission. The aircraft technicians, who had been shaken by the frightening Communist assault, were losing confidence in the CIA security forces.

  The stubby fighter, which was in the process of being repainted in camouflage colors, had weathered the attack with minimal damage. The blast-protection plate between the cannons and the engine-air intake had been dented, and the leading edge of the right wing had a scratch from a ricocheting shell.

  Cap Spencer shared the anxiety expressed on the faces at the table. Allison and the three fighter pilots looked numb and shaken from the stress. The prospect of being killed or maimed was now a reality.