by Tom Wilson
"There is also another development. We have heard of new weapons carried by Mee fighter aircraft, with such great accuracy that a single bomb will destroy the most heavily defended, difficult target. We believe that was how the Mee did such heavy damage to the Canales bridge this morning. There was only one bomb, released from very high, yet the weapon struck precisely in the middle of the bridge's central span."
General Dung turned to Xuan Nha, by far the most technically minded member of the general staff. Xuan gave him a small, private nod, confirming that had indeed happened.
The intelligence colonel continued. "The Mee have always avoided bombing Hanoi proper, for fear they will kill civilians and foreign visitors. If they have such an accurate weapon, and decide to use them here in Hanoi . . ."
Visions of the selective destruction of city power stations and warehouses—of Ho Chi Minh's residence—of the People's Army headquarters buildings situated beside civilian housing—even of truck convoys forming in the streets—immediately came to mind.
General Giap spoke for the first time during the briefing. "This cannot be allowed to happen," he said quietly.
Grave looks darted across the room.
Giap turned to his aide. "Call the Minister for External Affairs"—he paused thoughtfully—"and Deputy Minister Li Binh. Tell them we have a matter of urgency to discuss."
Half an hour later the intelligence colonel presented the same disastrous scenario to the two senior members of the Ministry of External Affairs.
The minister shook his head gravely, but was not quick to provide a solution.
Li Binh wore a neutral expression, seated at the minister's right hand. She waited dutifully until she was called upon by a look from the minister.
Her voice was matter-of-fact. "I received the briefing from the Russians about this Zhack-pot plan," she said, "and my office has begun to react. We have sent message to several groups in the United States, trying to find out more. They will also begin to spread fears there that the President is considering expanding the war, which would surely bring disaster for the Mee."
Giap brooded. "Will it work?"
"The Americans are at the very beginning of an election to choose their new political leaders. This includes their President. Their politicians are most vulnerable to criticism just now."
Giap fluttered an impatient hand. "Continue."
"For the past three weeks Western newspapers have printed reports about our massive attacks throughout the South—how we have met our objectives in all areas—how the corrupt Saigon puppets are on the brink of falling. Critics within the American government are calling for explanations from their military. Americans are demonstrating. It is becoming as it was when we did the same thing in Paris in 1953. There the French listened to us and distrusted their political leaders. Now the same is happening in America. Where are the Western newspapers receiving their information?" Li Binh smiled. "We write it for them in my Office of Truth. Their news agencies cannot get enough of our truth."
Giap mused thoughtfully.
"We will do the same thing with this Zhack-pot plan as we did with their plan to bring more American soldiers to the South. We will discover their secrets and then provide them to the press. Western newspapers delight in embarrassing their politicians."
Giap spoke a simple sentence. "This plan cannot be allowed, comrade Madam Binh."
Li Binh nodded firmly. "It will not."
1615L—Pave Dagger Test Headquarters, Ubon RTAFB, Thailand
Major Benny Lewis
The others were gone, some of them tipsy from alcohol, all of them inebriated with success.
Before he'd left with the others, Moods had cornered Benny and told him he'd received a letter from his live-in girlfriend, Pam, who'd run into Julie Stewart while shopping at the base exchange. Julie was worried because she'd not heard from Benny. When Pam told her he was okay, she'd been relieved.
"You oughta write her," Moods had told him.
So here he was, sitting at the small desk and staring at the piece of paper before him like some kind of robot, trying to decide what to write.
He'd penned an introduction of sorts, apologizing for not having written before, and asking about the baby, little Patty, and her mother. And Julie herself, of course.
But as he wrote, he felt odd. He'd written other letters to loved ones—those when he'd been flying combat during the most dangerous time of the war—to his wife and kids.
He'd found that his wife had been cheating on him almost from the time of his departure.
That heartache was past, but not the reluctance to share his inner thoughts. His ex-wife had stung him very thoroughly and destroyed something he'd felt was inviolable.
With Julie, of course, his feelings were entirely different. He felt comfortable in her presence, enjoyed just being around her and laughing at her corny jokes, liked just to sit and watch her do things sometimes.
Then, the only time they'd been intimate, he'd utterly blown the whole thing. He'd felt he was violating a trust between himself and his friend who had married her.
The same thing was happening now. It was as if he were writing to another man's wife.
He's dead, dammit. She's free!
And then he knew what it was—what it had been when he'd made love to her and felt the chilling presence. He was happy she was free. Did that mean he was also happy that his best friend had been killed?
That's absurd!
The outrageous question remained with him, and he couldn't make it go away. He forced a tortured breath, wondering what he should write. Julie was worrying, Moods had said.
An airman first class came through the outer door, looking around and carrying a red-covered message.
"Major Lewis?"
"Yes."
The airman said he was from the comm distribution center and had him sign for a classified message.
Benny waited until the courier had departed to open the cover. There was no one else to share it with, since the others had departed for the NCO and Officers' Open Messes to continue their celebration.
SECRET—IMMEDIATE
DTG: 15/1400ZFEB68
FM: CINCPACAF/IG, HICKAM AFB, HI
TO: HQ 7 AF/CC/DO/DP, TAN SON NHUT AB, SVN
8 TFW/CC/DO, UBON AB, THAI PAVE DAGGER OPNS/UBON AB, THAI
INFO: HQ USAF AF XO/IG, WASH D.C. TFWC/CC NELLIS AFB, NV
SUBJECT: COMBAT TEST ACTIVITY/PAVE DAGGER
REF 1: (S) HQ USAF/XO MSG DTD
10/0800ZJUL66, PARA 2B AUTHORIZES TERMINATION OF INESSENTIAL ACTIVITIES WHICH THIS HQ DEEMS MAY INTERFERE WITH COMBAT OPERATIONS. REF 2: (U) 15 FEB 68 TELECON CINCPACAF IG CV TO USAF XOO CONFIRMED PACAF AUTHORITY.
1. (S) PACAF/IG INCIDENTAL INSPECTION REPORT, DTD 14 NOV 67, FINDS THAT PROJECT PAVE DAGGER TESTS ARE CREATING COMBAT AIRCRAFT SCHEDULING PROBLEMS, AND ARE JEOPARDIZING CRITICAL ASSETS.
2. (S) FOR 8TFW/CC: TERMINATE ALL SUPPORT FOR SUBJECT TEST PROGRAM. MK-84 BOMBS DESIGNATED FOR TEST WILL BE DEMODIFIED AND RETURNED TO GENERAL WEAPONS UTILIZATION. PAVE DAGGER ILLUMINATOR PODS AND TEST EQUIPMENT WILL BE RETURNED TO POINT OF ORIGIN VIA PRI-5 SFC SHIPMENT.
3. (S) FOR 8TFW/DO: FORWARD COPIES OF ALL PAVE DAGGER MESSAGE TRAFFIC AND TEST DATA TO THIS HQ, ATTN. PACAF/IG, FOR DETERMINATION OF POSSIBLE VIOLATION OF SECURITY PROCEDURES AND PRUDENT SAFETY PRACTICES.
4. (C) FOR TFWC/CC: REQUEST YOU RECALL PAVE DAGGER TEST PERSONNEL TRAVELING WITHIN THE PACIFIC AREA OF OPERATIONS NLT 28 FEB 68. FUTURE DEPLOYMENTS MUST BE AUTH BY CINCPACAF/XO. .
SECRET—IMMEDIATE
The message was so ridiculous that at first Benny wondered if it might be a joke. After reading it twice more, Benny replaced the red cover and put the message into the safe.
The telephone rang. It was the Ubon wing commander, asking if he'd received his copy.
He said he had.
What the hell was going on?
Benny said, quite truthfully, that he had no earthly idea. He said he planned to fly to Saigon to discuss
the matter with General Moss.
The wingco said he thought that was a good idea.
For the next ten minutes Benny tried to think of a way to lessen the shock for the Pave Dagger team. He decided to wait until the next morning, after they'd celebrated their success.
He secured the safe and left, leaving the unfinished letter on the desktop.
Ban Sao Si, Laos
GS-15 Linda Lopes
The degradations had been complete. When they'd forced her the first day—so many men, she'd not tried to count them—she'd lost the last vestige of her will to live. When it was over, when the last man had used her, and the soldiers and even Thin Man had left, Sergeant Gross had taken her a second time, then had stood above where she lay curled and silent on the dirt floor. He'd spoken slowly, told her she was a whore and should become accustomed to pleasing men. He'd demanded that she look at him, and she'd painfully done so. Then he'd pulled out his familiar stubby penis and urinated on her, moving the yellow stream up and down her body. He'd left, laughing.
Linda had slept, awakened to the stench of semen and urine, and had searched for something to kill herself with. They'd taken the rope. There was nothing else. There had been no food that night, only a single cup of water.
The next morning Sergeant Gross returned with two soldiers, had her remove the semen-encrusted, ragged clothing she'd somehow struggled into, and they took her outside and dumped water over her. After that they returned her to the hut, and the sergeant shooed the others out. He offered her a tiny bowl of rice, and she salivated for it. He told her how she was to earn it, then beat her with his fists and mounted her from the rear.
When the sergeant had finished he puffed for a bit and said she'd earned her new name. Whore, he called her, and made Linda repeat the word aloud.
She ate greedily. It hadn't mattered how she'd gotten the food. As soon as she'd finished the bowl, the sergeant tossed her the noose and led her, still nude and stumbling from weakness, into Thin Man's office.
She was pushed into the cage. Paper-Shuffler seemed embarrassed as he went on about his business and ignored her presence. An hour passed before Thin Man came into the office, closely followed by Sergeant Gross, who carried a greasy paper packet.
Thin Man went to his desk and sat, then turned to eye her. It was a neutral look, as he might give to an inanimate object.
Sergeant Gross spoke to Thin Man in Viet, and she understood only the word "whore."
Thin Man tried the sound of it, looking at her as he spoke the word. The sergeant cuffed her and told her to answer to her name, so the next time Thin Man uttered the word, she responded.
Sergeant Gross asked a question about the cell of confidential informants she'd established near Korat Air Base. Linda remained quiet and stock-still. The sergeant unfolded the packet and displayed rice laced with dark chunks of meat.
"Do you wan', whore?"
"Yes," Linda breathed.
"Rike before, you mus' earn it."
She didn't speak, just eyed the food and took in the rich aroma.
Sergeant Gross asked her again about the cell of agents at Korat. She licked her lips but didn't answer.
Thin Man spoke again, and she was taken out and returned to the hut, where another line of bantering, curious soldiers waited.
Linda wasn't able to count them that time either as they mounted her, one after the next. When the last one was done, she was washed down and returned to Thin Man's office. Then Sergeant Gross beat her relentlessly with the length of bamboo.
She'd thought herself drained of all energy and caring, but Linda screamed her agony until there was no sound left in her. It wasn't at all like before. Sergeant Gross used all of his strength and knew precisely where to concentrate his blows. Her breasts, her face, and her feet. He continued even after she had no more screams in her—even after her teeth were broken and her nose moved about on her face as if it were made of liquid—even after her breasts felt like boils, and the soles of her feet were on fire.
When he asked his questions that time, she answered, and Paper-Shuffler diligently wrote down each of Sergeant Gross's interpretations. The questions and answers continued for a long while, until she was drained of knowledge about the intelligence community. Names, locations, everything she knew—went onto Paper-Shuffler's notepad.
She'd broken, but the fact didn't seem important, only that the awful beatings had stopped. There was food afterward, but only a tiny portion.
She was not returned to the hut, but deposited in the small cage and left there. She came to sleep, urinate, and defecate as she crouched animal-like. A small trench was dug into the dirt floor. Soldiers came in the morning and afternoon to dump buckets of water over her and flush outside the urine, feces, and the acrid smells of her.
Sunday, February 18th, 0850L
How long ago had that been? How many days? How many beatings, questions, and responses? How many times had the sergeant come into the office in the night and dragged her from the cage to use her in whatever way he wished?
There was no more left in her to give for her country. She prayed only for death.
There was never enough food. Linda was scarecrow thin, and her thoughts were seldom lucid. She could scarcely distinguish between fantasy and reality, but somehow through the fog of her existence she remembered something Paul had told her.
The Viets were fearful of insanity, and treated mad people with caution.
It was daytime. Paper-Shuffler and Sergeant Gross were working. She uttered a low howl and cast unfocused eyes about the room. They looked at her oddly, but she didn't care, just continued the low howling sounds.
When they questioned her that day, she didn't respond, simply continued to howl in the low and mournful way. Sergeant Gross beat her violently, and she screamed just as she always did, but when he asked his questions, she reverted to the low howls and blank stares.
Thin Man gave a direction. She was shoved back into the tiny bamboo cell, and a bowl of food was brought and placed near her. With the mightiest of efforts, she ignored the bowl.
Thin Man spoke again, his eyes narrowed, his face wearing a look of concern. Sergeant Gross pulled her from the cage and again offered the food. She ignored it. He pushed rice into her mouth and recoiled as he watched it falling from the sides of her mouth.
Thin Man had to speak sharply to get Sergeant Gross to continue, for he was suddenly very wary and seemed frightened of her.
After another effort Linda swallowed a small bit of food.
Thin Man looked pleased. Sergeant Gross fed her more. He asked her a question, and she responded with the low howl and vacant stare. Thin Man gave quiet instructions. Sergeant Gross guided her back into the cage, and they left her alone.
Linda Lopes felt a tiny flutter of gratification.
Madness. Feigning it had been easy, for she was close to that border, and at least part of it was real. How much? she wondered vaguely, and how long would her tiny victory last?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Monday, February 19th 0700 Local—Y-54, Northeastern Laos
Sergeant Black
The moose-sized FAC was lying flat on the rock outcropping, peering across at the mesa hilltop through a tripod-mounted spotting scope. Black watched him shift his view down toward the end of the dirt runway, then to other locations where the lieutenant and his men reported antiaircraft defenses and encampments of between 800 and 900 troops. He seemed to be very thorough in his examinations, referring to notes he'd made on a compact clipboard.
Two UHF survival radios were at his side on the rock. The PRC radio hadn't survived the jump, and although Air South had air-dropped another the previous night, God only knew where it had landed. Black was guessing some Laotian farmer was likely using it to dam up a rice paddy. Sergeant Young stood off to one side, frowning and feeling useless without the PRC to nurture. He was skeptical that the survival-radio batteries would last long enough to direct the strikes. Buffalo Soldier had relayed TOTs f
or twelve flights of fighters, and the numbers were growing. That meant they'd need to make a lot of transmissions.
Captain Bechler told the radio operator they'd operate with what they had, and if that meant using semaphore flags, they'd do it. The runway and the mesa would be obvious and fair game, but the fighters would first be directed to destroy the various air defenses and troop concentrations hidden in the jungle, and told precisely how to avoid the concentrations of civilians in Ban Sao Si and several smaller jungle villages. They had to have an FAC direct their fire if they were to be effective. If they bombed blind, they'd kill innocents and lay waste to a lot of empty jungle.
The first time over target was scheduled at 0720 hours. The scene below remained quiet when they heard the first distant rumblings of aircraft.
"Thuds," Bechler said.
Black guessed Tiny's ears must be tuned for the sounds of the various jet engines, as his were for different weapons fire. He followed Bechler's gaze and surveyed the western sky.
The hand-held radio sputtered with noise. "Bongo, this is Viper zero-one, transmitting in the blind."
Bechler smiled and raised the small radio to his lips. "Viper flight, this is Bongo, your FAC on this fine morning, and I've got targets for you, buddy."
0719L—Over Channel 97, Northeastern Laos
Lieutenant Colonel Lucky Anderson
"Bongo, Viper lead reads you three by three," Lucky answered, which meant he could hear the FAC's radio only marginally well. Five by five was optimum in both loudness and clarity. Anything below a three was considered definitely substandard and difficult to decipher.
"Ah roger, Viper lead. Give me your particulars."
"Viper flight is four Fox one-oh-fives, carrying CBU-24's and full twenty mike-mike. I've got three more flights of Thuds behind me with hard bombs, and we'll stick around for the next forty-five minutes."