Tango Uniform (Vietnam Air War Book 3)

by Tom Wilson

Whump-whump-whump-whump. Much louder. The building rattled ominously.

  "What the fuck?"

  "Jesus!"

  Pearly was hotfooting it with the others toward the south end of the building, heart still thumping, urging the guys in front of him to move faster when he remembered . . .

  She said she slept like the dead. A bigger fear crawled into his stomach. He broke off at the next exit and began to take the stairs three and four at a time. The loose right boot crumpled and he sprawled, yelled hoarsely, fell hard against a wall before he steadied himself. Pain shot through his right ankle.

  He hobbled on, wincing with each step but not delaying.

  Sirens and another Klaxon horn joined the initial hubbub. Whump-whump-whump. Distant again. The lights in the stairwell flickered on and off.

  Out the door into the morning gloom, then to his right. He lurched along faster, past the end of the field-grade officers' BOQ.

  A voice yelled for him to get into a fucking shelter. He ignored it and continued, heart pounding wildly. He'd talked with her until midnight, sipping Grand Marnier and sharing small thoughts. Today was supposed to be an easy one, with the Tet truce and suspension of all bombing. And she'd said she slept like . . .

  A tremendous boom resonated, and he could see dark smoke billow beyond he next BOQ building. Jesus it was close!

  He saw a line of people crowding into a sandbagged bunker and slowed. She'd more likely be in the next one, but he paused at the bunker entrance and yelled her name.

  "Come on inside, dammit!" someone bellowed.

  "Lieutenant Dortmeier!" he called again.

  A distant explosion sounded like rumbling thunder.

  "Get out of the way!" someone yelled.

  No response from Lucy.

  Pearly stepped back, and three guys pushed past him into the bunker. Ignoring the bolts of fiery pain that shot through the ankle, he hobbled on past the length of her building and to the next bunker. A captain stood just inside its mouth with his M-16 ready, looking scared. He peered hard at Gates before deciding he wasn't a Cong. Pearly shoved by him and bellowed her name.

  "Here!"

  A shape came from the black depths of the bunker. "Colonel?"

  "Yeah," said Pearly, huffing with the exertion. "You okay?"

  "Yes, sir." She was fully clothed and not nearly as disheveled as he was.

  Pearly took a painful step, and she told a captain to move over for her colonel, then asked him to sit down. He did. When the pressure left the ankle, it felt wonderful.

  "Sprained the damned thing," he told her.

  Another series of explosions.

  She knelt before him, pulled off the loose boot, and gingerly felt his ankle. "It's swollen twice its normal size."

  Pearly slowly regained his wind, then released a long breath and stared at the entrance. "Gotta go."

  "That's crazy," she said. "We're under attack, Colonel."

  "It's a major one," he agreed. "Never been in one this big." He didn't want to go back outside.

  "I thought we were in some kinda truce," someone nearby said.

  "Tell that to the Cong," someone else answered.

  "Lace up the boot, would you?" Pearly asked Lucy.

  She slipped the boot over the swollen ankle and began to gingerly pull on the laces. "Where are you going?"

  "Tactical Air Control Center. They'll be busy as hell if this thing's big as I think. MAC-V's been picking up enemy movement all around the country, but they thought the attacks would come later." He grunted at the pressure on the ankle. "Lace it tighter."

  She did, and he grimaced as dull pain pulsed with his heartbeat.

  He blew a couple of breaths. "Yeah, like that."

  Whooosh. Whump-whump-whump. Pearly felt the earth shake.

  She tied the knot and began to secure the other boot. "I'm coming along," she said.

  "I don't think so. They're only supposed to have key staff there. Anyway, I don't want you out in the open."

  "I'm coming," Lucy said stubbornly. "I'll help you walk."

  Fifteen minutes after they left the bunker, they approached another, much larger underground facility. The snout of an M-60 .30-caliber machine gun protruded from sandbags piled about the entrance. The steel-helmeted security-police weapons crew eyed them warily as they approached in the sparse light. Another SP waved them forward.

  Inside the TACC Pearly hobbled toward the fighter-duty station, where General Moss was speaking to a captain and his full-bull chief of staff.

  Moss spotted him. "Where the hell have you been?"

  "Had to check on Lucy to make sure she was okay."

  "Yeah," Moss muttered as if that were a good excuse, then turned back to his conversation.

  Pearly interrupted. "They're holding her at the door. She's not on the access list."

  Moss turned to his chief of staff. "Straighten that out. Tell 'em to let

  "Yes, sir," the colonel said, and went toward the entrance.

  "How big is it, General?" Pearly asked.

  "Danang, Bien Hoa, and Cam Ranh are reporting artillery attacks, but we don't know how bad off they are. Lots of confusion. MAC-V command center's too busy to answer, so when things calm down, we'll send runners." MAC-V was also located on Tan Son Nhut, not far distant.

  "I'd better call the Thailand bases and have 'em load out and prepare to back up the in-country fighters, sir."

  "Yeah, you do that."

  "More status reports coming in from the units, General," said the captain.

  Pearly left them and went to his emergency station, where he took his seat and pulled a telephone closer. He opened the reference notebook he kept at the position and started to go over munitions stored at the various bases.

  Lucy Dortmeier came over and sat beside him. "How can I help, sir?"

  "Just sit there, watch, and learn," he said. Pearly nodded out toward the large room, with the multiple Plexiglas status boards and maps. Emergency action officers were continuing to arrive, but they knew their duties, and the place looked less and less like a center of confusion.

  "This is where they run the air war," Pearly told her.

  At one status board the air bases under attack were being listed. Five were shown, then a sixth. "We're going to be busy," said Pearly.

  He telephoned the command post at the first Thailand base on his list.

  1500L—Command Post, Ubon RTAFB, Thailand

  Major Benny Lewis

  The Ubon Command and Control Center was crowded with key personnel, who listened raptly as each new report came out of Saigon.

  The varying accounts were confusing, the best analysis offered in a running dialogue by an intelligence officer, a lieutenant who seemed able to put it all together in some perspective. NVA and Viet Cong were attacking ARVN and U.S. Forces bases throughout South Vietnam, but the majority of enemy successes were being reported in the provincial capitals. Every provincial capital. They were already calling it the Tet offensive, for it was the first day of the Buddhist holiday season.

  Benny pushed his way through to the forefront of the room, then paused as the wing commander was briefed on the status of his F-4's. He had forty-four Phantoms airborne, on their way to and from targets in South Vietnam. New targets were being called in over nonsecure lines, as happens only with emergency tasking.

  A break came in the activity.

  "Colonel?" Benny asked.

  The wing commander nodded in recognition.

  "I'd like to offer our support, sir. We can give you accuracy on the tough targets."

  The wingco grunted. "Couldn't do that, Lewis, even if we wanted to. You're not listed in the tasking orders coming out of Saigon, and neither are your munitions."

  "Yes, sir, I know. I was wondering if you could get us added to the ATOs."

  "Everything's immediate tasking right now. If Seventh tells us to use you, we will, but I don't have time to screw with the system. We'd just confuse things worse than they are."

  A
duty officer yelled out that Seventh was asking for a diversion of two flights of fighters. An airborne FAC had multiple targets near Hue. Tanks.

  Perfect for the smart bombs, Benny thought. They could pinpoint-bomb the tanks and stop them cold. "Sir—" Benny began, but the wing commander waved him away.

  "Dammit," Benny muttered. There had to be some way to get Pave Dagger included in the ATO.

  He went to the rear of the room, found a free telephone, and tried to raise the TACC in Saigon. With the emergency situation the duty officers were discussing classified subjects in the clear. He'd have to do the same. The scrambler phone was in constant use.

  He tried to get through a total of thirteen times, but was repeatedly cut off. Finally the TACC answered.

  Benny asked to speak with Lieutenant Colonel Gates. Another wait.

  Pearly came onto the phone, speaking crisply. "Gates here."

  "This is Major Lewis, Pearly. Benny Lewis."

  "Shoot."

  "We've got twenty smart bombs ready to go, Pearly, and we can build ten more. Give us a tasking. We can bomb their eyes out."

  "I'm too damned busy to even think about you guys right now. We've got people in deep shit all over the country. I'll get in touch when this is over."

  Benny rushed his words. "We can help, Colonel. Give us a couple tough ones and—"

  The line was dead.

  Lewis hung up, disgusted.

  The intell lieutenant was relaying new information. The U.S. embassy in Saigon had been attacked by Viet Cong, and they were inside the building. MAC-V reported that ARVN ground forces had been pushed out of Hué, Quang Tri, and Dalat. Fighting was also heavy in the delta.

  "We've gotta launch two more flights of Fox fours," announced a duty officer. "Waterboy control's saying they've got new targets."

  Benny listened a while longer, then left the command post and drove to the Pave Dagger building, where the team was busily preparing for action.

  He told them to slow down their efforts. Their modified birds were to be used to drop regular munitions by unit pilots.

  "I offered our services," he told them resignedly, "but we were turned down."

  Moods looked bleak.

  "How's it going in South Vietnam?" asked the senior Texas-team engineer.

  "The good guys are getting stung. NVA and Viet Cong attacking everywhere."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Wednesday, January 31st, 0915 Local—Western Mountains, DRV

  Assistant Commissioner Nguyen Wu

  As the big Russian helicopter churned westward over the high mountains, Wu felt not in the least threatened. Just as his beloved aunt had promised, the Mee had bigger concerns than a single helicopter. The news of the attacks was exhilarating; for the second day brave communist forces were challenging the Americans and the Saigon puppet army throughout South Vietnam. Hanoi radio announcers exulted that the people of the South were rising up to fight shoulder to shoulder with the heroic liberators of the People's Army, determined to throw out the hated Mee invaders and defeat their traitorous lackeys.

  The enemy was on the defensive. While Saigon teetered on the brink, provincial capitals throughout the country had fallen to the Viet People's Army and their Popular Front Liberation Army allies. In each city, traitors were being executed and provisional governments established.

  A glorious time for the Democratic Republic! A time of vindication for Nguyen Wu as well, he thought happily. His trip was secret, and only a handful knew what he was about. After he broke the Mee woman and returned with her information, he'd bring yet another victory for his country. Like victorious commanders in the South, he'd be extolled by Lao Dong party elders.

  His beloved aunt had provided this chance for redemption, and he'd not fail her. He had absolutely no doubt that the Mee woman would break and tell her secrets. He was a master at such things.

  As the flight droned on, Nguyen observed his strange new staff. No longer in favor at the Ministry of Internal Affairs, he'd been forced to search elsewhere for people, but no one had wanted to cooperate with the disgraced assistant commissioner. Li Binh had helped finally, asking her husband if Nguyen Wu could "borrow" a few of his officers.

  Xuan Nha had told her he too was pressed by shortages of personnel. There was talk of a retaliatory invasion by the Mee, he'd said, and if that happened, his militia would be the front line of defense. He'd finally offered these two, who were all he would spare.

  Wu had felt he'd been cheated by the selection of the men. After questioning them at some length, he'd confirmed that Xuan Nha had done him no favors.

  One was a bureaucratic administrative officer, a major who'd been relieved of his duties due to incompetence. The major would record the details of their mission—according to Nguyen Wu's interpretations, of course—and document what the woman said when she began to tell her secrets. He'd told him to write down everything. Now the man sat near the helicopter door, clutching his courier bag of pens and notepads as a combat soldier might his rifle.

  The other man was a grotesquely fat and ill-mannered sergeant who had blubbered with gratitude when offered the new option. He'd raped and murdered two peasant women in Haiphong who had scorned his advances. A third woman he'd attacked had lived to identify him, and he'd been on his way to join a People's Army convict battalion, to be used as a beast of burden, carrying great loads of dangerous munitions southward on the trails. Little food was wasted on the convicts, for as soon as they reached the war zone, they were plied with opium, strapped with explosives, and pushed toward enemy positions. The obese sergeant had been selected because he spoke English.

  Beyond his duties as an interpreter, Wu had at first thought the piglike sergeant to be useless, but after reconsideration he wondered. He'd undoubtedly be loyal to the man who'd saved him from certain death, and his proclivity for violence might be . . . useful. There would be no change to Wu's formula for obtaining confessions: degradation, starvation, and intense pain. He doubted the sergeant would hesitate at any of those treatments on the Mee woman.

  After a miserable hour of flight they passed over the final high mountain chain of Vietnam, and the terrain quickly gave way to the green foothills of easternmost Laos. Nguyen moved up between the two pilots and stared ahead.

  The tiny village of Ban Sao Si was nestled in a valley between two foliage-clad mountains. The one on their right was tall, but not special. The other, south of the village, was dramatic, flat-topped and sheer on all sides, with deep ravines gouged into limestone by aeons of water runoff. This was the mountain where Xuan Nha's militia had relentlessly shot down Mee aircraft before scaling the steep cliffs and overrunning the enemy force.

  Wu noted the scorched earth and pockmarks left by artillery rounds and enemy bombs. The place of the militia's glorious victory, which would likely bring Xuan Nha another promotion. His own victory would take place in the tiny village in the mountain's shadow, and his reward would be as great as Xuan Nha's. His beloved aunt would see to it.

  The helicopter landed at one side of the earthen airstrip. The rotor blades were still clattering to a stop when Nguyen Wu stepped out the door and surveyed the area.

  There were two newly constructed wooden buildings nearby, a thatch village beyond.

  The fat sergeant huffed up behind him, groaning under the weight of both of their bags.

  The major joined them and stared about with wide eyes. He'd never been this far from the Hanoi headquarters, and had certainly never seen a rude encampment like the one before them.

  Militia soldiers wandered aimlessly about the open area.

  "Poor discipline," Nguyen Wu muttered. He began to think of how he should upbraid the senior officers, then remembered that he could no longer do that. His superiors were searching for excuses to rid themselves of him, delayed only by Li Binh's periodic interference. He no longer carried a letter of authority, describing limitless power over civilians and demanding cooperation by military commanders. There was only a note pro
vided by Xuan Nha at his aunt's encouragement, stating that Nguyen Wu was to be provided sustenance and the means to accomplish his task.

  His reduced authority was made apparent when he went to the headquarters building to meet with the camp commandant and was summarily shuffled off to an unsmiling captain, who acted as if he had more important duties than being nursemaid to an obscure Hanoi bureaucrat and his obviously inept staff. They were shown an unkempt office in the second building by the captain, who then pointed out locations of air-raid shelters, feeding and latrine facilities, and a nearby vacant area where they could set up camp. A gang of impressed local laborers would be available to build a sleeping hut and whatever else they might require.

  The major, still staring at the sandbagged bunkers, nervously asked about the air raids he'd mentioned. The captain said there'd been a few since their victory over the Americans, but none here. He motioned at the stark, flat-topped mountain with a look of satisfaction.

  After the captain left, Nguyen Wu looked over the open area, then turned to the two men. "Have the workers construct three huts. Two for sleeping, and another for interrogation." The major dutifully wrote down Nguyen's order.

  Wu motioned at the building housing their office. "Have them build a table at one side of the room, and a small cage in the corner for the woman," he told the sergeant.

  The obese sergeant looked about as the major scribbled.

  "At once!" Wu barked.

  The sergeant waddled away, wheezing with the effort.

  "Now," Nguyen Wu said to the major, "we await the woman's arrival."

  1100L—VPA Headquarters, Hanoi, DRV

  Colonel Xuan Nha

  Massive ground battles were continuing on schedule throughout the South. Since the Mee were using all their aircraft to avert disaster there, the Democratic Republic was free of air attack.

  Only for the present, Xuan Nha reminded himself. The Mee would soon come north in angry response, and his rocket-and-artillery forces must be prepared to greet them. He'd sent messages to battalion and area commanders, exhorting them to use the respite to prepare.

  But other matters also nibbled at Xuan Nha's mind. No one any longer questioned that Xuan Nha would be named as successor to General Luc. His position within the power structure was entrenched, more secure than ever before. He was not at all a political man, but he knew the time had come to deal with enemies.