Termite Hill (Vietnam Air War Book 1)

by Tom Wilson

  Mack looked over to Lewis. "I'll be right on your tail, Benny. Make a radio call when you start your pop-up for the dive-bomb, and again when you roll in. I'll begin my roll-in about fifteen seconds after your second call. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir, I'll call on squadron common when we go into the pop and as we roll in." Squadron common frequency was 357.0 megacycles, the same as their squadron number, easy to remember in the excitement of combat.

  "Sam, you go into your dive fifteen seconds after me."

  "Yes, sir. I'd like to come in from west of the target and pull off to the northeast."

  "Okay, Sam."

  Sam continued. "Our flight will regroup and make a quick swing by Kep, if you don't mind." MiG-17's were sometimes based at Kep airfield, forty nautical miles northeast of Hanoi.

  Colonel Mack thought for a moment. "I dunno. You'd be out of mutual protection. Your fight'd be all alone there, with no one to call on for help."

  Sam Hall said, "And no one to watch."

  "You know the rules, Sam. You can't shoot MiG's on the ground."

  "I know, but we've gotta go where they are if we want to shoot 'em down. I saw two, three MiG's last time we were in that area, just milling around up there like they had nothing better to do."

  "Okay, you can fly over there and give them something to worry about, but watch your fuel. Don't engage if you're low on gas, and sure as hell don't let them drag you into China."

  "We'll play it safe, sir."

  "Jimbo, you're third on the target. I want your flight on the target fifteen seconds after Sam's flight."

  "Roger, sir," responded Jimbo Smith. He was a steady and reliable flight leader.

  "And finally you, Mike." Colonel Mack was speaking to Mike Murphy, the redheaded captain who hung around with Jimbo Smith and the Bear.

  "Start your pop-up fifteen seconds after Jimbo."

  "Yes sir."

  "Both of you tail-end-Charlies are going to have to contend with a lot of smoke and dust from the bombs of the first flights. Get your pilots to study offsets from major landmarks that aren't likely to become obscured by the smoke, like the Doumer bridge or a turn in the Red River. Just make goddam good and certain you don't overfly the city in the confusion. And if you aren't sure of your position, don't drop."

  Mack scanned the room with a sweeping gaze. "I just got this job and I'd like to keep it for a while."

  Murmurs of "yes, sir" filled the room.

  "Good. Now, EB-66's? Who's the lead aircraft commander?"

  A major stood. "Major Rickert, sir."

  "Your two aircraft will be orbiting forty-five miles north of the target area, in a racetrack formation, concentrating on jamming the acquisition radar frequencies and calling out SAM launches. That right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Mack glanced at a sheet of paper he held. "Says here that F-4's from Ubon Air Base will rendezvous with you at TACAN channel ninety-seven at fourteen-hundred hours local, oh-seven-hundred zulu time." He indicated the EB-66 aircrews in the corner of the room. "You guys help keep the SAMs off our backs, okay?"

  He then swung his gaze back to the fighter jocks. "We've got enough operational ECM jamming pods for three of the four strike flights, and for the flak suppression flight. Sorry Jimbo, not enough pods are working to go around. I picked your flight to go without since you're sort of in the midst of the confusion."

  "Don't like the damn things anyway," Jimbo Smith said, echoing the sentiment of many others in the room. "I can't see anything on the radar warning scope when the jamming pod's on, and I like to know when a SAM's coming my way."

  Colonel Mack turned to Glenn Phillips. "And what about our Wild Weasels?"

  Phillips stood slowly and approached the map. "Just as you directed, we'll fly twenty miles out in front of the strike force to check on the weather. I'll make two radio calls to confirm the weather, one when we reach the Red River, here at the dog pecker"—he pointed to a curl in the river that indeed appeared on the map like its namesake—"and the other one here"—he indicated a point north of Hanoi—"after we've crossed over Thud Ridge. The Bear will be monitoring the defenses, so I'll add any heavy SAM activity to our reports."

  Phillips's Bear was contemplating the map. Suddenly he stood up, raised a finger, and jabbed at the defenses marked in red on the big map. He spoke in an irritated baritone rumble.

  "Those SAM site locations are bullshit. I checked the photos of the Lead nine SAM site they're talking about this morning, and it's two weeks fuckin' old, so we don't know what to expect from there." He shook his head in disgust. "And Lead nineteen SAM site isn't fuckin' occupied, at least it wasn't yesterday afternoon, because we were near there and took a quick look to check out the photos.

  "There's an active SAM site over on the west fuckin' side of the ridge that we reported but isn't shown there. You guys can mark it on your maps about ten miles east of the dog pecker."

  He changed the direction of his jabbing finger toward the youthful lieutenant intelligence officer, who was increasingly red-faced.

  "I told you all that yesterday at the fuckin' intelligence debriefing. You gotta learn to listen, Lieutenant."

  DeWalt mumbled something about lack of confirmation, looked to MacLendon for support, then stared miserably at the map with its red markings.

  The finger continued its accusation. "And you're also fucked up if you think the defenses are anything like medium around Hanoi. They're heavier than we've ever fuckin' seen. So much radar activity there yesterday we could hardly believe it."

  He emphasized his point by angrily pulling on his sunglasses and slouching back down into his chair, eyes and emotions masked.

  The pilots were thoughtful. Phillips's volatile bear was normally quiet during the mission briefing. Whenever he did speak up, whether to question tactics or explain intricate details of enemy triple-A or SAM systems, his degree of agitation was measured by the number of misplaced familiar adjectives in his speech. It was apparent the Bear was less than happy with the target intelligence.

  Glenn Phillips flashed his confident smile at the assembled pilots and broke the silence. "If the site west of Thud Ridge has his radar turned on, the Bear will line us up with his electronic gear and we'll make a Shrike radar-homing missile attack. Then I'll go into a climb and fire another Shrike at Lead nine, if its indeed there, presenting a very fat, broadside target to another site we think may be immediately north of the rail siding. I plan to present the SAM battery commander with such an obvious target that he would feel derelict in his duty if he did not come on the air and fire at us."

  Glenn erased the existing Lead 19 mark from the board, then drew a new red X at a spot not far north of the target. "That look about right?"

  The Bear almost imperceptibly nodded.

  "Once he's fired his SAMs, we'll dodge them, roll in from the south so we'll remain clear of the restricted area, and bomb the real Yen Vien SAM site."

  Phillips looked thoughtfully at the pilots who would be flying as numbers two, three, and four in the Wild Weasel flight, then slowly smiled. "You guys try to hang on, because it's going to be a hell of a ride."

  Tiny Bechler glared at Phillips's theatrics.

  Mike Ralston knew that Phillips had personally gone to MacLendon and asked for Tiny to be his wingman. It was obvious that Tiny didn't like it.

  Mack MacLendon was also looking at Tiny, taking it all in without comment. He shifted his gaze and looked quietly about the room. "Any questions?"

  The pilots were silent.

  "If not, let's break it up and attend our individual flight briefings. Let's have good radio discipline up there for a change. Stay off Navy common unless you have an emergency. "

  He was referring to the habit attributed to Navy aviators of using 243.0 megacycles, the radio frequency reserved for emergencies, for routine calls.

  The room slowly emptied as the pilots made their way toward smaller rooms for the flight briefings.

  27/1120L—People's Army HQ, H
anoi, DRV

  Xuan Nha

  Xuan Nha and Major Gregarian were in the Army of National Defense's command center in the basement of the headquarters building, hovering over a large table with its glass-covered map of the area. Nha explained the current dispositions of the rocket batteries, easily switching between speaking Russian to Gregarian and Vietnamese to his staff.

  "The three rocket batteries of Happiness battalion are presently operational at these fixed locations in the northern suburbs of Hanoi." He pointed to three positions marked on the map. "Happiness one, Happiness two, and . . . Happiness three."

  Gregarian asked, "Communications between the sites and the headquarters?"

  "The Hanoi batteries use telephone lines as well as radio communications, but all the others use only radio and are not secure, so periodically we change their code names. All except one, which I will explain later.

  "Truth battalion protects the southern side of the city. There are presently two permanent firing batteries, and another is being added, which will give us six permanent rocket batteries. Those two battalions are responsible only for the protection of Hanoi. Six batteries, with rocket launchers in each battery."

  "Very good," Gregarian said, examining Nha's selection of locations.

  "Now for our mobile battalions. Each has one mobile P-2 acquisition radar and three firing batteries, and each battery has one tracking radar and six launchers. The batteries of Steel, Cobra, and Dragon battalions deploy to various prepared locations north of Hanoi. Bamboo, Grass, and Gold are deployed south of the city. They are all relocated every eight to twelve days, unless we think a reconnaissance aircraft has photographed their position. Then, of course, they relocate immediately."

  Gregarian looked skeptical. "You move them that often?"

  "My men can tear down an entire battery and be ready to move within four hours. That includes defueling the rockets, loading rocket cannisters, launchers, the control van, communications truck, and the radar. We move to the next location, never more than two hours away. There we level the tracking radar and launchers, load and fuel the rockets, string communications wire, put up the camouflage nets and check out all systems in six hours."

  Nicolaj stared. "You can meet these times?"

  Xuan Nha said, "I insist the batteries make their entire move within twelve hours. If they do not, I replace the battery commander. If it is due to poor leadership, I also replace the battalion commander."

  Xuan watched as respect grew in Gregarian's expression. The Soviet army's mobile ground forces took much longer.

  "We move them at night or in bad weather, so they cannot be seen by reconnaissance aircraft. A mobile battalion moves only one of its batteries at a time, keeping the other two rocket batteries prepared to fire, protecting each other as well as the site that is moving."

  Xuan could tell Gregarian was excited. He was giving him information to report to his headquarters, who would disseminate it to the ground forces command. Rapid mobility was key to the Soviet army's war plans for Europe.

  "Much different than I expected," muttered Gregarian.

  Xuan went on. "I have one more rocket battalion, consisting of only two batteries, which I keep constantly moving to guard critical shipments, to protect troops concentrations preparing to move south, or to defend targets I believe will be attacked. Like the queen in a game of chess, I move Tiger about in bold strokes. Tiger one and Tiger two batteries have preemption authority on all railways and highways. One day I may tell them to set up on the Da River, far to the northwest, the next week they may be twenty kilometers south on the great Hong River, and perhaps three days later at Phuc Yen airfield, twenty kilometers north."

  Nicolaj Gregarian tried to digest it all. "You have the two battalions here at Hanoi, six rocket battalions that move short distances every ten days or so, and this Tiger battalion, which is moved about at random."

  "Let me explain the importance we place on defense of the Hanoi area. To date you have sent us systems to equip twenty-five battalions. Eleven batteries have either been destroyed in bombings or accidents, or were cannibalized for parts. Twenty-one battalions remain in the People's Army."

  "A large number to defend a country of such modest size," said Gregarian.

  "Here in my Hanoi area, we have concentrated half of all the defensive weapons in the country. Most of the remainder is used in the Haiphong area, around the ports of Haiphong, Nam Dinh, and Thanh Hoa. Less than one-tenth of our defenses are located elsewhere. In all of Zone Two, the entire southern region, there are only two rocket battalions and ten medium artillery companies, and half of those are located at Vinh. For the remainder, we provide modest numbers of small arms. Mobile small arms and some thirty-seven millimeter pieces are sent to protect troops and supply routes in Laos, Cambodia, and the south."

  "Why don't you provide them with guided rockets and heavy artillery?"

  "Priorities. Most of all we must protect the Hanoi area. Next we must protect Haiphong and the northern ports. If we lose those, the war effort is jeopardized. If we lose Dong Hoi, or even Vinh, we only lose people. Even if my request is approved and we receive more rocket systems, most would be deployed here in the north."

  Gregarian thought about that for a moment. The Russians felt much the same about Moscow as the North Vietnamese did about Hanoi.

  "In my area, we now have nine operational P-2 acquisition radars, twenty-six tracking radars and command vans, one hundred and fifty-six launchers, and some twelve hundred rockets in our inventory. For the seven mobile rocket battalions, we have sixty-seven locations, engineered and ready for use, and each month we add more."

  "Impressive," said Gregarian. "That is more than we have in the Moscow district."

  "Yes, but we are at war. I wish we had twice as many."

  Wraith-thin Major Wu approached them and interrupted. In addition to being chief intelligence officer, Wu was also Xuan's political officer, with direct connections to the Lao Dong party headquarters. Xuan was lucky, for Wu was his wife's favorite nephew and his loyalty to her, and Xuan Nha, was unquestioned.

  "Colonel Nha, two reconnaissance aircraft have just completed their camera runs," he announced.

  Xuan Nha waited.

  Wu pointed at the map table. "Two Voodoos came from the west, flying just beneath the overcast. They crossed the Hong River here, south of Yen Bai, proceeded to the mountains north of us, and made their camera runs here, paralleling the Hong River."

  Xuan Nha narrowed his eyes, then ran his own finger along the flight path. "Get Major Nguy," he said to Lt Quang Hanh, his communications officer. The baby-faced lieutenant was seldom far from his side.

  "I'm here, Colonel," said Nha's calm and competent executive officer from behind them. He crowded in beside the others to stare at the glass-protected map.

  "It is to be a big one," said Major Wu, the intelligence chief. "At least fifty fighters from Thailand, coming in two waves from the two Thunder plane bases." He confidently tapped a pencil on the airfield symbol just across the river from them. "I believe they will attack Gia Lam."

  "Perhaps," said Major Nguy, who was less quick to make judgments. "Or perhaps it is the Doumer bridge or the rail yard at Yen Vien."

  "The weather?" snapped Nha.

  Major Nguy referred to a note. "Gia Lam advises the overcast will begin to lift within the hour. Broken clouds by thirteen-hundred. Scattered clouds by fourteen-hundred."

  Xuan held his breath for a moment, calculating, then turned to Quang Hanh. "Alert all rocket battalions to expect an attack in that area. After thirteen-hundred they will be authorized to fire rockets freely at all targets within fifty kilometers north, south, and west of Gia Lam."

  The lieutenant said, "Yes, sir."

  Xuan turned to Major Nguy. "Colonel Trung is still with the Russians, so alert General Luc's office of the probability of attack at that location. Advise the Gia Lam control tower that flight operations are to be suspended after thirteen-hundred. Then coordinate with
Lieutenant Colonel Thao Phong's staff that I have authorized indiscriminate firing of rockets west of Gia Lam after thirteen-hundred."

  "That will make him unhappy," Nguy said.

  "Just tell him." Thao Phong was one of Xuan Nha's few close friends.

  Major Nguy hurried away.

  Xuan turned to Gregarian, realizing that he had understood little of the conversation. "Podpolkovnik Thao Phong is my counterpart at the air regiment at Phuc Yen airfield," Xuan explained in Russian. "He feels our rockets and artillery just make his pilot's lives more dangerous, and that if we'd go away, his MiG's could take care of the Americans."

  Nicolaj concurred. "Pilots are like that."

  "Before each attack, we allocate some areas to rockets and artillery, and others to his MiG's. We make him nervous. Phong's pilots fly with their identification transponders turned on, so even if his MiG's stray into our area he believes we can easily sort out the radar returns before we shoot. He can't understand that those things take time and we must react quickly."

  "Pilots," Gregarian muttered.

  A sergeant rushed over and spoke with Major Wu, who caught Xuan Nha's attention. "No enemy activity at the border yet."

  Xuan Nha jabbed his finger at the western border with Laos. "The Americans predictably fly the same route when the target is near Hanoi. We have listening posts in Laos and along our border there, and they relay information by radio, from post to post. That way we have half an hour warning before each attack."

  "It will be better when we have the P-50 radar set up in the mountains there."

  Xuan agreed. "Yes, if we get the communications system you spoke of, but for now we must use the listening posts. I don't expect the Americans to attack before thirteen-hundred. The afternoon attacks from Thailand are often predictable, normally between thirteen- and fifteen-hundred."

  Major Nguy returned, a small grin on his face. "Lieutenant Colonel Phong ordered me to advise you that you must be fornicating with deranged monkeys. He wishes to send patrols to the western border, to engage the American fighters long before they attack."