by G. E. Nolly
“What the fuck!” he shouted to no one in particular. He immediately thought he must have taken a hit with something big. Really big. But there was something different about the sound the engines were producing. It was the sound of propellers in Beta. The engines were producing reverse thrust!
Spike quickly pushed the throttles half-way up the throttle quadrant as he shoved the stick forward and jammed in full right rudder. The propellers came out of Beta.
“Two more turns and I'm bailing out of this fucker!”
He saw the horizon spin around one more time, then the spinning stopped, and the airplane stabilized on a heading of South. His altimeter read 4700 feet, only 100 feet above the terrain.
But his aircraft was still headed downhill, and it was obvious to Spike that he was going to hit the trees. He pulled his lower ejection handle and tensed his body.
“I sure as shit hope this zero-altitude ejection seat works as advertised,” he grunted.
Triad watched the Cam Ranh flight line and smiled with satisfaction when OV-10 tail number 726 did not return from it’s mission. He hadn’t been sure if his “maintenance” on the Propeller Control System circuit boards would be successful. He knew that repositioning a jumper wire from one terminal to another on each board would cause the propellers to go into reverse when the throttles were retarded to Idle, rather than when they were selected into Reverse. He just hadn’t been sure whether it would cause the loss of the aircraft in flight.
Now he knew he had done his duty for Thien.
17
1226L, May 30, 1969
Danang Air Base, South Vietnam
The Chinook helicopter set down on the hospital heliport and a young lady in a miniskirt disembarked and entered the facility. Then the helicopter took off and flew the short distance to the staging area at Freedom Hill. It landed, the sliding door opened, and singer Nick Landis stepped out, carrying his signature golf club, followed by the rest of The Gingersnaps.
A cheering crowd of GIs had already formed, and the celebrities greeted the group with unbridled enthusiasm, stopping to shake hands and give high-fives, on their way to the backstage dressing area. As they reached their destination, Nick Landis performed some slow-motion swings of his golf club, and then doffed his baseball cap to the roar of the crowd.
In the hospital, Dr. Ryder summoned Kelly Hunter to his office.
“Doctor, you wanted to see me? Today's my day off, and I had planned to see the USO show over at Freedom Hill.”
“Don't worry, Nurse Hunter, you'll get to see the show. I just need you here for a short time. I'd like you to escort a visitor to Ward Three. She'd like to meet with some of our wounded soldiers. Kelly, I'd like you to meet...”
Kelly had turned to follow his gaze, and saw the visitor.
“Julie Lomax!” Kelly gushed, holding out her hand, “Oh my god! It's such a pleasure to meet you. It will be a real honor to escort you.” Kelly had been a fan of the entertainer ever since she was a teenager. Her room at her parents' house still had a Julie Lomax poster on the wall.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Julie answered. “I'm so anxious to meet my guys.”
Kelly took her into Ward Three and the room erupted in cheers and whistles. Julie Lomax stopped by each bed to visit, and leaned forward and kissed each GI on his forehead. Then she stood at the front of the ward.
“Boys,” she said, “I'm really sorry you're not able to attend our show today.” She paused. “So,” she said with a flourish, “I'm bringing the show to you.”
She proceeded to belt out a dozen songs, a cappella, starting with Do You Know The Way To San Jose and finishing up with The Look Of Love. She spent over two hours at the hospital, and the mood in the ward was electric. As she left, the cheers echoed down the halls for fifteen minutes.
1541L, May 30, 1969
DaNang Air Base, South Vietnam
As soon as he got off the phone, David called the Air Force and Marine Information Offices, telling them to spread the word that the USO Show was delayed until further notice. Fifteen minutes later, Air Force Radio and Television Network made an emergency announcement that the show at the amphitheater had been cancelled, and continued to rebroadcast the message every half hour. David had alerted the commanders of the Air Police and Military Police squadrons, and they were all out in force, searching the amphitheater. At this point, David hoped to God that he was right about the venue of the attack. The lives of everyone on base depended on David’s team stopping the attack. If David had guessed wrong about the location being the amphitheater, thousands could die.
David had assembled a team of every law enforcement person either squadron could spare, plus every available enlisted troop from the Field Maintenance Squadron.
“We don’t know what we’re looking for,” David announced, talking slowly and distinctly through his megaphone, “Keep your eyes peeled for anything that looks out of the ordinary. If you see something, call me.”
As the group got under way, David went to the phone in the amphitheater dressing room to call Kelly. He had to make sure she got the news about the amphitheater and was not on her way there.
He was relieved when she answered the phone right away.
“Honey,” David said, “Good. You’re still there. I wanted to make sure you weren’t on your way to the amphitheater.”
“Of course not,” she said, “I got your note.”
“What note?” David asked. He hadn’t sent her a note.
“The note that came with the doll. It’s absolutely adorable.”
“What the hell -”
“I love the cute little hat. It’s…” Then she stopped abruptly and let out a muffled scream.
“Kelly!” David yelled.
The line had gone dead. The doll! It had to be Triad. But how did Triad find him and how did he know about Kelly? David hung up the phone and sprinted to the Air Police NCOIC.
“Sarge,” he said, flashing his badge, “get somebody over to Building 3422 immediately for a hostage situation. The perp is armed and dangerous.”
“Right away, sir,” the Sergeant replied, “I’ll send my best man.” He paused and quickly looked around at his assembled troops. “Johnson, we need you to get over to 3422 right now for a Code 207.”
David really wanted to go to Kelly’s rescue himself but he was need there, because an attack was imminent. As he was searching, he overheard Nick Landis loudly demanding to speak to someone in charge.
“Mr. Landis, I’m Agent Rice,” he said, flashing his badge, “I’m sorry we had to cancel your show, but we have a serious security threat at this location and can’t take any chances. It would be safer for you if you could move your entourage away from here.”
“Fine. It would have sounded like crap anyway. There was no place to plug in our amps,” he said, walking over to the floor outlet on the left side of the stage, “Your spots are occupying all the three-prong outlets.”
The stage tech that had been helping them pack up overheard from three feet away. He scratched his head.
“That’s not right,” he said, pointing to the outlet. “The spots are supposed to be plugged in over there.” He pointed across the stage. “They only need two-prong outlets.”
David followed his gaze to the three spotlights, then looked down at the outlet, where the closest spotlight was plugged in.
“Unplug the spotlights!” he yelled to the nearby troops Then he looked up at the spotlights. “How the hell do I get up there?”
They immediately unplugged the three spotlights, and the stage technician explained how to climb up into the catwalk. David ascended the shaky aluminum drop-down ladder, his feet creating a disconcerting rattling sound with each step. He carefully edged over to the closest spotlight, and craned his neck to look closely at the socket.
“Can somebody get me a flashlight?”
The technician scrambled up the ladder and handed him a Ray-O-Vac.
David saw a piece of white masking tape w
rapped around the spotlight bulb.
“Is there supposed to be tape on the spotlight?” he asked.
“No way, sir.”
David carefully peeled back the masking tape and saw the vial that had been secured to the bulb. Something was written on the vial: O-ethyl S-[2-ethyl]methylphosphonothioate. A biohazard symbol graced the other side of the vial along with the letters VX.
“My God!” David exclaimed, “vx! All nonessential personnel need to clear the area. Now!”
The technician started back towards the ladder.
“Not you,” David instructed, “I need you to find me a tool case. The kind with foam padding.”
“But, sir...”
“If I drop this, we’re all dead anyway. I need a secure way to get this down, and who knows how many more of these there are up here.”
After several minutes, the technician returned at the base of the ladder with a metal tool box.
“Empty all the tools out, but leave the foam in, and bring it up here, quick!” David shouted.
The technician climbed the ladder with the tool box, and tried to hand it to David.
“Open it, and hold it steady,” David instructed.
He carefully placed the vial into the foam cutout labeled “32mm socket,” and closed the tool case.
“One down, two to go,” he said, as he motioned toward the other two spotlights. The technician reluctantly followed.
The second spotlight revealed another vial taped to the bulb in the same manner as the first. David removed the vial and placed it into the foam cutout in the tool box. The technician’s hands started to shake.
“Take it easy. We still have one more spotlight to check.”
The third spotlight had been rigged in a similar fashion as the previous two. As David was unfastening the vial it slipped from his fingers. As it began to roll down the spotlight reflector, it made a clanging sound that sent a chill through everyone. Just as it was falling from the lip of the reflector, the technician reached out his hand and caught the vial. He carefully placed it into a foam cutout in the tool box.
“I play shortstop on the base team,” he grinned.
David and the technician slowly descended the shaky ladder. He handed the tool case to the EOD specialist. He saw that Sergeant Johnson had returned from Kelly’s quarters, and waved him over.
“Where’s Kelly? Did you get her some place safe?”
“I went to 3422, sir, and it was empty. There was no one there. I checked the entire premises.”
“Was there any sign of a struggle?”
“Nothing I could see, sir. Maybe she just went out.”
“No! She was taken!”
He realized the only reason that Triad would go after Kelly was because he was targeting David. “Sarge,” he looked at the NCOIC, “I need to use your jeep. It’s urgent!”
The NCOIC handed him the keys to the Air Police jeep and David jumped into the vehicle and left a trail of rubber on the road as he drove away.
18
28 December, 1967
Chu Lai Air Base, South Vietnam
FNG Kevin Walters wasn’t sure what to expect as an Air Force Sergeant on a Marine base. He just knew it would be better than the assignments he'd had in the Air Force, where he’d never fit in. In fact, he hadn’t ever fit in anywhere, alienated from everyone he’d ever met. Walters was extremely intelligent but had a hard time working with others. Perhaps because of his high intelligence, he didn’t like to take orders. He had worked in various Air Force Specialty Codes, from Electronics to Aircraft Maintenance, and had avoided forming friendships in any of his assignments.
Walters was assigned as the Supervisor of the Air Force Aerial Port facility. The title Supervisor was a bit of a stretch since he was the only person at the entire Aerial Port. There were only two Military Airlift Command flights a day through Chu Lai. Most of the traffic went through the larger facility at DaNang, and he wouldn’t need to deal with co-workers, so this would be an assignment ideally suited for Walters.
As he was unpacking his A-4 bag in his hootch on his first day at Chu Lai, he heard the first explosion. Then the siren started wailing. Suddenly, the door to his room burst open, and a Vietnamese woman who looked to be in her early twenties rushed in and reached out her hand.
“You come. Now. This way. Rocket attack! Come!”
He followed her to the small shelter underneath the building, and crawled into the narrow opening. As he sat there in the darkness, terrified, she reached over, grabbed his hand, and gave it a squeeze.
“You no worry. You be okay.”
And then it ended as quickly as it began. The explosions stopped and the siren went silent. They crawled out of the shelter, and he could see that, even covered with dirt, she looked beautiful. She was one of the maids assigned to the barracks, and over the next few weeks Walters got to know her well. Her name was Linh. She had a small son, Thien.
The first thing Walters noticed when he spoke to her was that she hung on his every word. She made him feel important. She accepted him as he was, and he became a better man for it. He started to think that there really were good people in the world, people who didn’t constantly judge him and put him down. He found himself looking forward to spending time with Linh and Thien each day.
When the last MAC flight had departed Chu Lai each day, he would hop one of the cyclos, the three-wheeled open-air motorcycles that served as taxis, and travel the short distance to Linh’s humble home in nearby My Lai. The house wasn’t much to look at. It was constructed mostly of pieces of scrap, corrugated tin, canvas, and cardboard. Inside it wasn’t much better. To him it symbolized love. Linh’s brother Tranh came by the house often, and Walters and Tranh hit it off instantly. Even Tranh became significant to Walters, he was like the brother Walters never had.
Walters learned a few Vietnamese phrases, learned to eat with chopsticks, and even begrudgingly learned to tolerate Vietnamese food. He was bonding with Thien, and had fallen in love with both Linh and Thien. For the first time in his life, there were people he cared about more than himself. People who cared about him. He could understand, now, how it was possible for people to go to war to protect others, to fight for something bigger than just themselves. He knew he would certainly fight, and die if necessary, for Linh and Thien. He had discovered a side of himself he never knew existed.
In March, Linh told him she had a special dinner for him. Before he left for her house, he went to one of the small shops lining the street outside the base and bought a 10-inch-tall doll, the figure of a Vietnamese girl in a cone-shaped hat, wearing a blue ao dai, the traditional Vietnamese dress. The doll looked like it had been specifically crafted to look like Linh. He hid it behind his back as he entered her home.
“I have something special for you,” he said, as he embraced her. He brought the doll out with a flourish, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Thank you,” she squealed with delight, “and I have present for you.”
She grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly.
At first, Walters wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell him.
“You mean…” he asked, “baby?”
“Yes,”She nodded, “em bé.”
He held onto her and decided he would never let go. Finally, life for Sergeant Walters was good, very good.
19
1630L, May 30, 1969
DaNang Air Base, South Vietnam
Guns flew back to Danang at Mach 1.5. As soon as he pulled his aircraft into the revetment, he put the pins in his seat himself, shimmied down the ladder and immediately got on his brick.
“This is Gunfighter Two. Patch me through to the NCOIC of the Air Police.”
“Yes, sir. Coming right up.”
“This is Sergeant Wilson,”a voice crackled on the radio.
“Sergeant, this is Colonel Navarone. Are you at the amphitheater?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I need to speak t
o a Mr. David Rice. He’s supervising the effort there.”
“Yes, sir, he was here, but he left in a rush right after he found the hazardous materials, a few minutes ago.”
“Hazardous materials?”
“Yes, sir. They’re secured now.”
Guns figured that David had probably headed home, though he was surprised that David hadn’t waited to brief him first. He left his parachute harness planeside and still wearing his survival vest, sped over to David’s quarters to get a report of what had transpired.
Guns brought his jeep to a halt in front of David’s quarters and jumped out. He noticed the door jamb was broken. The wood of the frame was splintered and the door was slightly ajar.. He reached into the holster that was sewn into the left side of his survival vest and drew out his .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver. He rapped on the door and called out for David. There was no response but he could hear the slight sound of motion inside.
Guns had a momentary flashback of another time, long ago, when he had entered a room with his weapon drawn. He and Arty Rhodes had both been shot down north of the Yalu, on what Guns considered the worst day of the war. Arty had broken his left arm, and was quickly captured. Guns had been hiding in some tall grass and saw the North Koreans take Arty into a guard shack. He could hear screams. He didn’t know how many North Koreans were in that shack, perhaps more than the six rounds in his Smith & Wesson. But he was going to save his comrade. Three dead North Korean soldiers later, he did.
Guns quietly pressed his ear up to the door of David’s quarters. He heard the floor creaking. It sounded like a large person moving around a few feet from the door. He pushed the door open with his foot as he entered with his pistol held out in front of him. As he slowly crept across the threshold and entered the room, he saw Kelly in the center of the apartment, tied to a chair and gagged. She appeared terrified, but unharmed. He looked around for signs of David, who was nowhere in sight and moved toward Kelly to untie her.