Several long-tail boats exited the mouth of the river. Redesigned for fishing, carrying passengers or supplies, many traveled between Thailand's islands. The boats were powered by noisy automobile engines, and built with lightweight, long, canoe-type hulls.
Passengers leaned out from under canopies, hearing the sound, and finally spotting the approaching chopper. The Huey was on its approach to the helipad after it's second flight from Saigon in three days.
While the pilot and co-pilot began the after-flight checklist, four others exited from the cargo bay. One carried a briefcase, two unloaded several cardboard boxes, one secured the aircraft with tie-downs. They gave the area along the dock a quick once-over. Nothing out of the ordinary caused them concern.
After unlocking the wheelhouse door, they quickly entered, flipped a light switch on, and went to the lower deck. A quick inspection proved nothing had been disturbed. But experience dictated they continue wearing the brown leather side holsters, with their M-1911 pistols. Single action, semi-automatic, recoil-operated, chambered for the .45 ACP cartridge, the weapons were bought from the black market in Saigon.
The next task was to set up the antenna outside the wheelhouse, which was just a matter of feeding the pole through U-shaped metal fasteners.
The men were members of the PNA (Peoples National Army), an armed wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP). The Maoist group conducted its armed guerrilla tactics based on the principles of Marx, Lenin, and Mao Zedong.
Its leader was Danilo Artadi, who headquartered the group in Olongapo. When the U.S. pulled out of Vietnam, billions of dollars worth of large and small arms, aircraft, choppers, gunboats, medical supplies were left behind in the South, scattered throughout the countryside.
Artadi recognized an opportunity to strengthen the group's ability to rid the U.S. from the Philippines. After collecting enough money from revolutionary taxes, he sent six of his top men to take up residence temporarily in Ho Chi Min City (Saigon): Rodel Mendoza, Bayani Salazar, Reynaldo Flores, Crisanto Mercado, Mindo Bolivar, and Carlo Reyes.
They were to circulate through the country, and start buying American weapons and equipment. The more they bought, the more contacts were made, and they were being trained at the same time. Once the arms and equipment were on Philippine soil, the PNA could then step up its guerilla activities, especially against the Americans.
In the midst of this, the drug yaba got Artadi's attention, presenting him with a more immediate way to begin his quest, and increase the group's cash reserves.
Mendoza and Salazar had only needed one week in Bangkok to start the operation. They roamed around the inner city, staying within the area of Soi Patpong, the heart of the red-light district, where most of the raunchy and unruly night spots had sprung up over the years. Within the first day, they bought a rundown building, purchased pill-making machines through the black market, and hired workers right off the streets. Simple modifications were made to the building. The operation was up and running.
With rooms available on the second floor, an initial plan was to use the space whenever the group came to check on the operation. But Bangkok authorities were always searching for "underground" drug factories around the city. If the operation was located, a new operation could be set up quickly and easily, but the men themselves couldn't afford to be discovered or identified. The idea was discarded, once the barge and Huey became part of the equation. If the apartment was discovered, the barge could become a "floating factory," always ready for departure.
Rodel Mendoza had taken flights from Bangkok to Subic Bay, transporting the pills, delivering them to his contact. The group already had buyers of yaba in Saigon, and most of those buyers were ready to begin their own distribution businesses. The PNA's coffers were growing dramatically.
Mendoza set his briefcase on top of the wooden table next to a short wave radio. The only light came from a single light bulb hanging overhead. He looked over his shoulder at the five men. All were in their early 30s, of Spanish descent, and dedicated to the PNA.
He motioned for Salazar, his second in command. "Bayani, drive to the facility. Check that production hasn't slowed, and be sure to bring me the latest records. I want you to specifically verify that the ingredients were changed."
Salazar pointed at two of the men. "Carlo. Mindo. You two stand watch outside. Reynaldo, Crisanto, come with me."
Taking a notebook from the briefcase, Mendoza scanned a report for the last several months. The production supervisor at the factory, Nimuel Quibin, had been a member of the PNA since its inception in 1969. For the last eight years he'd been in control of the PNA's collection of revolutionary taxes from businesses within the provinces where the group operated. The principle reason Mendoza selected him to run the operation in Bangkok was his remarkable skill with numbers.
Those skills didn't prevent Mendoza from worrying about the accuracy of records kept, but was merely all the more reason to be vigilant. Once his men brought back the latest figures, he'd have the tedious task in making comparisons.
But a different train of thought began interrupting his concentration. He threw the book on the table, then angrily shoved the straight-back chair away from him as he stood. Anyone on the carrier, especially longtime users, had to have been affected. Was it possible the ingredients in the last batch of drugs had never been altered? Without any announcement being broadcast on television or in newspapers, without any word from the Americans, what other explanation could there be?
*
Two hours later, the wheelhouse door opened. Salazar was the first one down the stairs. He walked toward Mendoza and handed him a faded blue notebook, but Mendoza slapped it aside. "What did you learn?!"
"Everything was running smoothly."
"I meant the ingredients! What about the change of ingredients?! And was that delivery made to Subic?!"
"He confirmed ingredients were changed to your specifications, and delivery was made on schedule."
Mendoza rubbed a hand back and forth in frustration over the top of his dark brown hair. "I don't understand why nothing has been reported by the Americans!"
Salazar sat on the edge of the table. "Maybe I'm wrong, Rodel, but I'm getting suspicious of Nimuel."
Mendoza's brow wrinkled. "What makes you say that?"
"You know he's usually confident in the way he runs the operation. And we've never had reason to doubt his ability. But he acted very different today, especially after we found a few pills on the floor near the back of the room."
"What about them?"
"They were red."
Mendoza pounded a fist on the table. "He's making money on the side."
"It looks that way. What should we do?"
"What should you do?! You go back! You squeeze every bit of information from him! I want to know who he's selling to, locations, how much he's made, and where he's hiding that money!" Mendoza motioned Salazar closer, then poked a finger against his chest. "Above all, Bayani, you confirm again that he made that change!"
What Mendoza was asking, the way he was ordering, Salazar had to be sure. "He's one of us. How far do you want me to go?"
"If he's done what we suspect, Bayani, he's no longer one of us."
Salazar nodded. The men started to leave, when Salazar asked, "Do you want Carlo and Mindo to stay on deck?"
"Yes. Now, go," Mendoza motioned with a backward flick of his hand.
Chapter 9
USS Preston
Flight Deck
2130 Hours
Fuel crewmen, wearing purple long-sleeve shirts under life vests, hauled a heavy fuel hose away from the Sea Knight. Even with the fuel tank and two auxiliary tanks being "topped off," the chopper would require in-flight refueling on its return trip.
Sitting in the cockpit of the Sea Knight, Lieutenant Ethan Gore and Lieutenant.(j.g.) Rich Feith were preparing for takeoff. A plane director, using lighted wands, gave them the all clear signal. Gore turned on the battery switch, rolling t
he throttle to idle detent. He pulled the start trigger switch at the end of the collective, used to increase the pitch of the rotor blades by the same amount. Once the engine reached forty percent, he released the switch. Within 15 seconds, the engine was at idle.
Team A.T. stepped out from the island's WTD, then ran across the flight deck. Straps of their submachine guns were slung over their shoulders. SIGs were holstered. Rucksacks were in one hand, as the other held down wide-brimmed jungle hats. Boots pounded on metal as the men ran up the ramp and into the cargo bay.
Petty Officer 2nd Class Blake Milton, crew chief, stood at the top of the ramp. "Welcome aboard!"
"Thanks," Grant responded, as he put his rucksack on the deck.
Milton handed him a helmet with wire mike. "Here you go, sir. It'll be easier for us to communicate once we're airborne." As Grant adjusted the wire mouthpiece, he looked toward the cockpit, noticing a .50 cal machine gun near the port side window just behind the cockpit. A gunner stood behind it, repositioning the link-belt to the right side, before he adjusted a Starlighter scope.
The scene was becoming all too familiar for Team A.T. Adler leaned toward Grant. "It's déjàvu all over again!"
The men lowered a continuous row of fold-down jump seats, snapped seat belts in place, then signaled with a thumb's up. They were ready. "Looks like we're good to go," Grant said to the crew chief.
A motor whined, raising the steel ramp. Milton hurried toward the cockpit. Giving final word to the cockpit crew, he got last minute instructions. He took his position just behind the cockpit near a 3x3 open window, opposite the gunner. He adjusted the leather holster with his .45, then swiveled his M16 around to his back. With NVGs in place, he leaned an arm on the window frame.
Gore opened the throttle completely, increasing the speed of the tandem rotors. He pulled up slowly on the collective, effectively changing the pitch of all rotor blades by the same amount simultaneously. Depressing the left foot pedal, he kept pulling up on the collective. The chopper got lighter on its wheels, slowly left the angle deck, then transitioned from hover to forward flight, making a slow bank to port.
*
The Sea Knight flew on a northeast heading over the Andaman Sea. As it approached Zadetkyi Island, Gore pushed the stick forward, sending the chopper even lower. Heading more north now, it flew along the channel separating the island from Burma's West Coast. Seawater swirled violently beneath the chopper, kicked up by rotor wash. It was flying at max speed, and would remain on its present course another 15 miles before turning east. A satellite image had showed a small clearing, one klick north of the target. If the chopper couldn't land, the Team had an alternate plan: fast rope.
Sitting on the jump seats in the 7'3" wide cargo bay, A.T. was dressed out in camies, with green and black paint streaking their faces. Jungle ops were nothing new. They took extra precautions, protecting themselves from spiders, ticks, snakes, or anything that could crawl up their pants. Using strands of paracord, they tied the bottom of their pant legs securely around the outside of jungle boots. Shirts were tucked in, sleeve cuffs buttoned. Inside their chest vests they carried extra ammo, vials of tear gas, M67 frag grenades, lock picks, signal flares, signal mirrors, two tourniquets, passports and "haul ass" money. Adler and Diaz had small blocks of C-4, det cord, and chemical pencils.
Weapons were ready. HK MP5SDs (9mm), a full-time suppressed variant of the MP5 submachine gun, with a wet-technology, stainless steel sound suppressor.
Their new SIG Sauer P226s, with silencers, operated by the locked breech short-recoil method. The barrel and slide were locked together using an enlarged breech section of the barrel locking into the ejection port. The hammer could be manually cocked at any time to fire in single action mode.
Novak had his sniper rifle, with an AN/PVS high-powered scope, specifically for night ops. The scope could detect at 650 yards, with a range of recognition of 437 yards. The rifle's GPS system would be practically useless because of the jungle's thick overhead cover. But one significant capability it retained: rapid fire.
Slade and James each carried an additional piece of gear -- a razor-sharp machete. Sat images and maps indicated the terrain they'd be crossing was heavily treed, and if it were anything like Vietnam, they expected hanging vines and vegetation in places too thick to walk through.
Adler tapped Grant's shoulder, then leaned toward him. "Lieutenant Gore's got the pedal to the metal! He must think we're on a bombing run!" Grant responded with a grin and nod. No sooner had Adler said it, when the chopper banked starboard.
Grant heard Milton in his earpiece: "We're getting ready to start flying NOE! I'll advise when we're close to LZ!"
Grant gave a thumb's up, then looked at his men, signaling with a hand motion. They were going lower.
Gore and Feith, adjusting their NVGs one last time, were ready for the risky maneuver: flying NOE (Nap-of-the-Earth). All navigation lights had been switched off. Small lights inside remained red.
Remaining at the same speed, Gore adjusted the altitude, skimming over treetops. With a clearing ahead, he dropped even lower, flying with the wheels a few feet above the ground, leaving a whirlwind of brown dust and dirt in the chopper's wake.
"Power poles," Feith reported.
"I see 'em," Gore responded, as he pulled back on the stick, opting to fly over the structures. Wires, strung between the poles, were nearly impossible to detect, and could snag a chopper in a heartbeat. Once clear, he aimed for the ground again.
Just as quickly as the maneuver began, a sudden change in engine noise and vibration throughout the cargo bay indicated it was decelerating.
Milton checked with Gore, then reported to Grant. "We're coming up on the LZ, sir! It's a go for landing! Ramp lowering in one," he added, holding up a finger. An automatic loading and unloading system could be operated even when the helicopter was in flight.
Grant gave a thumb's up, then looked at the Team. He pointed toward the ramp, help up one finger, then crossed his wrists in front of him, the signal for landing. A.T. pulled rucksacks closer.
A motor whined as the ramp started lowering. Wind and rotor noise increased dramatically throughout the cargo bay.
The crew chief requested, "Verify extraction time as 0730!"
"Affirmative!" Grant answered, before handing the helmet to Milton. He shook the crew chief's hand. Putting on his black watch cap and pulling it low on his forehead, he immediately picked up his NVGs, and rested them on top of his head.
Grabbing their rucksacks and hoisting them over their shoulders, the men adjusted mikes and earpieces. Slinging the MP5 straps over their heads, they lowered the NVGs. A recon of the target area was imperative, and well before sunrise at 0600.
The chopper came in low, hovered briefly, then descended. A.T. snapped open seat belts, then scooted near the edge of the seats, ready to haul ass.
Just as wheels touched earth, the seven men sprinted down the ramp. Within seconds they disappeared in the darkness.
Chapter 10
0215 Hours
Day 2
Shrill sounds from masses of insects, rustling branches, birds and monkeys, all sounds of the rainforest, continually filled the night. The humidity was nearly 90 percent, making pungent smells more intense.
The men moved stealthily, even as they crossed small bubbling creeks. Slade and James were in the lead with machetes in hand, ready to slice through dense underbrush that might block their path.
Sweat poured from their bodies, making replenishment critical. One full canteen wouldn't be enough. Iodine water purification tablets were secured inside chest vests.
Grant pressed the PTT, whispering, "Water break." He took a reading on the compass, then looked ahead into the dark, calculating time and distance. Team A.T. was ready to move again.
A quarter mile from their target, they heard Slade in their earpieces, "River ahead."
They cautiously advanced through the brush, until they reached the clearing. Kneeling together, t
hey drank from their canteens, trying to replenish their bodies.
Grant checked the map, then pointed south. "Target should be 200 yards, west side." He folded the plastic-coated map, and stashed it in his vest. "We'll take another look at the halfway point. Let's go."
*
Conversation between the men was non-existent, as they followed the waterway south. Even with noises from the jungle so familiar to each of them, they remained on high alert. Their eyes stayed focused on the surroundings, their minds and bodies prepared for the slightest, unusual sound or movement.
Finally, Grant pressed the PTT. "Hold it." Everyone gathered around him. "There's the hill," he whispered, as he pointed across the water, moving his hand in an arc toward the south. "Height's about 100 feet behind the target." He raised his NVGs and took a Starlighter scope from the rucksack. "Joe, get another scope."
He and Adler knelt just inside the tree line. Adler started moving the scope, beginning at the southern most point, while Grant started along the ridge, directly across the waterway.
"Anything?" Grant whispered.
"Negative."
"Still can't see target."
Adler motioned with his hand, "There's a bend in the waterway, curves right; must be on other side."
Grant tapped Adler's shoulder. They backed up, joining the Team.
"Anything?" Diaz whispered.
Grant shook his head. "We've gotta get on the other side of that curve up ahead, then take another look."
Ten minutes later, they stopped, finally able to see the pole houses. A rope bridge crossed the waterway.
"Everybody," Grant said, "start lookin'."
"Smoke, but can't see where it's coming from," Diaz whispered. "Possibly from inside number four."
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