Termite Hill (Vietnam Air War Book 1)

by Tom Wilson

  He looked on his kneepad. Eagle three was Shaky Anderson and his bear. Eagle four was Capt Joe Meyer, an exceptionally sharp young fighter pilot. Both down, and the mission was still young.

  "Crossfire three, move out another couple hundred feet. Keep a good lookout at our six o'clock." Max's flight was tail-end-Charlie, last in the strike, and most vulnerable.

  "Crossfire three, roger!" called his second element leader.

  There was chatter on the radio as other flight leads followed his example.

  The radio talk about the loss of the two aircraft was also continuing. Did anyone see chutes? No reason to set up a Res-CAP effort since it's past the Red. What's the nearest landmark?

  Max tuned them out and concentrated on looking for MiG's. He didn't think it was over. He scanned the sky constantly, scarcely glancing inside his cockpit at all.

  He turned the Guard channel back on. All three emergency beepers had been shut off. That meant that all three were likely alive and well enough to turn them off.

  Out over the flat now. They crossed the Red River. The radar warning receiver was still silent, except for the periodic beep. A Firecan AAA radar came on the air, warbled, then began to track. No big deal, because his flight was jinking and weaving.

  There was a long break in the clouds and he could see the next flight, Rifle, three miles in front of them. He also saw a pair of MiG's, low and at Rifle flight's six o'clock.

  "Rifle flight, you've got MiG's at your six o'clock!" he quickly called.

  "Say again for Rifle," someone said in a calm voice, but he could see that two of the Thuds broke to their left.

  A flash of light winked from the first MiG-17's wing, then another from the second MiG.

  "Atoll! Atoll!" he yelled "Break, Rifles!" Atoll was the Soviet-built copy of the American Sidewinder missile.

  Rifle lead broke hard left, as his second element had done, but his wingman had already torched brightly and was immediately nosing into a dive.

  The MiG's were diving for the deck.

  "Crossfire flight, burners now!" Max called.

  He dropped the nose of his Thud toward the MiG's.

  Les Ries

  They were approaching Thud Ridge now, and Les tried to tune out the confusing radio babble as the strike force engaged and were engaged by MiG's.

  Another Thud, Rifle two, had been lost. If they could only locate the Barlock radar and take out the eyes that were steering the MiG's, he could stop the carnage.

  "Eagle four, let's go to button six," Les called, and they changed to a private frequency. He didn't want distractions as they concentrated on trying to find the Barlock.

  "I got him dead ahead at twelve o'clock," muttered Dan from the backseat.

  As they drew closer to Thud Ridge, Les turned fifteen degrees right and started a shallow dive. He intended to skim over the ridge-top, then hug close and follow it north. Their aircraft would be impossible to discern from the mass of the ridge on a radar scope. Then, when they were abeam the radar, they would turn east to home in and attack it. They would only be vulnerable as they dashed from the ridge to the radar.

  Les studied the terrain at eleven o'clock, beyond Thud Ridge. Flat, with interspersed patches of trees and farmland. It was there somewhere. He glanced out toward Tiny Bechler.

  "Drop back into trail, Eagle four. I'm pushing it up and we'll steepen our dive."

  "Four!"

  Les eased the throttle forward. The tape climbed until it indicated they were traveling at more than 600 knots.

  26/1354L—People's Army HQ, Hanoi

  Xuan Nha

  Xuan had listened hard to the reports relayed by Lt Quang Hanh and twice had been on the telephone with Major Nguy.

  Once again he spoke with his commandant at Wisdom.

  They had not yet had time to assess it all, but so far they had confirmed three Thunder planes shot down by the MiG interceptors. It was definitely going well, except . . .

  "Two aircraft have continued to fly in our direction since crossing the Hong River, Colonel."

  "Radar-hunters?"

  "I believe so. They are separated from the other aircraft, and we have no MiG's in position to intercept them."

  "How far away are they from you?"

  "Eighty kilometers and closing, still flying directly toward us. They have increased their airspeed and are descending."

  Xuan cursed, wishing he had the dummy transmitters working.

  "Seventy kilometers at two-twenty degrees and still closing, Colonel. Should we shut down the P-50?"

  The P-50 was critical for the MiG's, both to direct their attacks and so they could elude the Thunder planes, yet its survival was also crucial. He must decide.

  "Is the special rocket site tracking them?" Xuan asked.

  "Major Gregarian is at the rocket site, Colonel. They are still well out of optics range, but he has them on his P-2 acquisition radar. He is reluctant to use the special rocket site and asks that we shut off the P-50 radar."

  "No!" Xuan Nha had decided. He must not fail today and he needed Wisdom on the air to ensure success. "Tell him the P-50 will remain on the air, and that he must engage the radar-hunters with the special rocket site to protect it."

  "The radar-hunters have turned due east and are now diving toward the mountains, Colonel. Perhaps they are not attacking after all."

  Xuan thought of the terrain and the location of the fighters. "They will try to hide in the mountains as they find your location. Tell Gregarian that he must use his rockets, and he must operate in optical mode only."

  "Yes, comrade Colonel."

  "And quickly."

  26/1358L—Route Pack Six, North Vietnam

  Tiny Bechler

  Tiny watched Major Ries's aircraft, now a couple of hundred yards in front of him, as they leveled from their dive and flew close beside the ridge. Thud Ridge was not as high or rugged as it was farther south, he noted.

  They were getting close to the Chinese buffer zone.

  "Uh . . . Eagle two, how's your IFF transponder?" Ries called.

  The Identification, Friend or Foe system would tattletale on them when they passed into the restricted area thirty miles from the Chinese border.

  "It's broke, lead." Tiny called, shutting it off.

  "Roger," said Ries, a happier note to his voice.

  Tiny heard a shrill sound, and a glance showed the ACTIVITY light was illuminated on his radar warning receiver. That meant a SAM guidance beam had been activated. There was no rattlesnake sound or flickering strobe to show the direction.

  "Disregard the SAM, three. False alarm," said Major Ries.

  "Roger, Eagle lead," he responded, feeling easier with the knowledge.

  Ries had briefed that when they hugged up to the mountains as they were doing, the SAM radars couldn't see them, but it helped to know that his bear confirmed they weren't being tracked.

  They flew closer yet to the mountainside, wingtips passing within yards of craggy outcroppings. Jesus we're close, he thought, eyes glued on Ries's bird. He dropped back farther until he was 500 feet behind, then stabilized and concentrated on his flying.

  This was what the Thud did best. It was the most stable aircraft in the world at low level. They were traveling at 650 knots, just under the speed of sound, and everything to the sides appeared as a blur.

  Ries called, "Eagle four, we'll be turning starboard in about—"

  Tiny's eyes were riveted on Ries's Thud when it exploded and crashed into the mountainside.

  Max Foley

  Max felt low. He'd gunned down the first MiG-17, his wingman the second. He still felt like hell.

  The gomers had shot down two more Thuds. Capt Tuck Jones, number three in B. J. Parker's flight, had not rejoined the colonel's flight when they'd come off the target. No one had seen him go down or heard a beeper. And then Tiny Bechler had called in a shaken voice that he was exiting across the valley alone and that Les Ries and his bear had been shot down by something, he didn't
know what, even though his eyes had been on their Thud when it happened. They had been shot down halfway between Thud Ridge and Kep airfield. No chutes or beepers.

  Capt Bob Maier had been the one Max had seen get shot down by the MiG. He'd landed in the valley, well beyond the Red River. He'd talked to him on his radio and Bob had been in good spirits down there. He knew they couldn't rescue him where he was, so he planned to escape and evade all the way to Laos if need be to get rescued. He'd said he was presently wallowing around in rice paddies.

  Next they talked to Eagle four, Capt Joe Meyer. It was a bit confusing in Max's mind, since Bob Maier and Joe Meyer had last names that sounded similar.

  Joe was matter-of-fact about it all. He said he was going to go off the air and run like hell to the west, and he'd see them the next day. Like Bob Maier, he was in good spirits.

  Colonel Parker had talked to Shaky Anderson, who was calmer on the ground than he had been in the air. His bear had landed smack in a small village not far from his own location. He said some people were coming out of the same village and heading his way. They didn't hear any more from Shaky, so Max figured he'd boogied in the opposite direction from the villagers.

  The strike force was unduly quiet all the way back to Takhli.

  The only one they heard from on the radio again was Bob Maier. He kept evading and trying to make it out across the heavily populated valley. For two long weeks Rifle two would call to the fighters passing overhead and say he was still making progress, still heading for the distant mountains. He had the entire wing rooting for him. The last time they talked to him he was almost to the Red River. They didn't hear from him again.

  26/1620L—People's Army HQ, Hanoi, DRV

  Xuan Nha

  The results were before him, yet he could hardly believe them. Three Thunder planes shot down by the MiG interceptors. One other shot down over the target by artillery. A fifth shot down by Gregarian at the special rocket battery. Fantastic results in the west! One Intruder and two Phantoms shot down in the east. Superb!

  That two MiG's had been shot down in the west and one in the east did not matter. They were expendable, so long as they got results.

  He was in his seat in the command center, numbed by the extent of Wisdom's and his success. General Luc sat beside him, smiling broadly at the results, acting as if he'd known all along that it would be like that.

  General Tho was on his way to the command center, a captain reported. He had relayed congratulations to Xuan Nha and said he wished to coordinate more days with his MiG interceptors taking the lead of things.

  As always, Xuan thought, the pilots felt they could do it without his rocket forces. But now he, Xuan Nha, also controlled the key to success for the MiG's, for he had Wisdom!

  He had met with Lieutenant Colonel Wu and reported Thao Phong's indiscretion. That report would be forgotten now, and things would even get back to normal with his old friend. Thao Phong had been credited by Wisdom with destroying two thunder planes. Like Xuan, Thao Phong was a hero.

  He wished to be among the first to congratulate him. He would start by saying something outlandish about his mother, or even better, his wife. A smile crept onto his face as he thought of what he might say.

  Thao had killed his Thunder planes. Xuan had again become indispensable, a hero of the Democratic Republic. It was likely that they would both receive another medal. Xuan felt he could expect a palm for his Red Star of Gallantry.

  Colonel-General Dung's office called General Luc. Dung and Giap, together, were asking for more information to include in the glowing reports they were preparing. General Luc handed the telephone to Xuan Nha, who answered the staff officer's queries in a calm and professional voice.

  When General Tho of the VPAAF arrived, Xuan was still on the telephone. Tho was told the purpose of the call and looked impressed. He took a seat at the table with them and remained quiet until Xuan hung up.

  They talked of more days for the MiG interceptors to show their true stuff.

  Another report arrived, handed this time to General Tho. He read it carefully, thought for a moment, then sadly shook his head. He looked at General Luc.

  "A hero is dead."

  Luc looked back at him questioningly.

  "Colonel Thao Phong was a credit to us all."

  The tightness returned to Xuan Nha's chest, the same feeling he'd had when he'd spoken so tersely to his friend.

  27/1215L—The Ponderosa, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand

  Bear Stewart

  The Bear sat in the dayroom, writing Julie a letter:

  I need your answer pronto so I can finish my planning from this end.

  Tiny Bechler came in carrying a helmet, furtively looked around the dayroom, then hurried back toward his bedroom. He'd only been at the Ponderosa for the past week, but Tiny made a difference wherever he went. Probably, thought the Bear, because of his size and unquenchable enthusiasm, as well as the constant intrigue he caused because everyone wondered which of his bigotries he would focus on next.

  Tiny had already tried to convince the Bear that he couldn't be a navigator because he disliked fucking navigators. He'd also tried to tell Silva he wasn't really Portuguese. Next thing you'd know he'd try to tell Sam Hall he wasn't black, thought the Bear.

  He went back to writing his letter. Things are going so hot and heavy here that I probably won't be able to get off for long, but I'll get off for long enough.

  Swede Swendler came into the dayroom from one of the back halls and got a beer from the refrigerator. He was opening it with a church key when Ken Maisey came in the door carrying his A-3 bag, the big canvas sack the Air Force provided to hold all the paraphernalia they issued to fliers. He plopped it down at the door and looked around at the room with an air of nostalgic excitement, like a kid about to go to camp.

  "Hi, Swede," Maisey said in a cheerful voice.

  Swendler took a swig of beer and looked at him coldly.

  "How're you doing, Bear?" Maisey asked.

  The Bear neither liked nor disliked Maisey. He just didn't trust him in the air. "I'm doing fine, Ken. How about you?"

  "For the first time in a long while, I feel great." He grinned mysteriously at the Bear and Swede and went back toward his room.

  "You don't want to even talk to that cowardly shit," said Swendler.

  "What do you mean?" asked the Bear half-attentively, trying to think of a way to put his next sentence to Julie. He wanted to get his words just right.

  "Maisey quit."

  The Bear looked up, puzzled. "What do you mean, quit?"

  "He went to Colonel Mack yesterday and told him he wouldn't fly any more."

  "He just . . . quit?"

  "Yeah. Colonel Mack told him to think it over. Said he'd take him off the schedule for a while, even give him a few easy missions, but Maisey said he just flat-assed wasn't going to fly any more. Said if he flew again, no matter where he flew, he'd get killed and he knew it."

  "You can't just quit."

  "Colonel Mack told him to sleep on it and report back in the morning."

  "And?"

  "This morning he told Colonel Mack the same thing as last night. Said if he flew combat again he'd get killed, so he wouldn't."

  "I'll be damned," said the Bear.

  Maisey came out of the back, hauling a duffel bag and a B-4 bag. He dropped them at the door beside the A-3 bag.

  "Where you headed, Ken?" asked the Bear. He still couldn't believe it. Maisey was a naval academy graduate, always acting gung-ho military.

  "Clark Air Base," came the response.

  Tiny Bechler came from the back hallway and looked at them all with a too-innocent expression. He went to the refrigerator, got a beer, and stood beside the scowling Swede.

  "What you going to do in the Philippines?" asked the Bear, still unable to believe it.

  "I told them I wouldn't fly combat anymore, so they're sending me to the Clark hospital for psychiatric evaluations."

  "What for?" aske
d the Bear.

  "Got me," said Maisey. He opened the door, awkwardly hefted all the bags, and put them outside.

  "See you," said the Bear, not knowing what else to say.

  "I don't think so," said Maisey. He wrinkled his brow, as if he had figured something out. "They're sending me for psychiatric tests, but know what?"

  They all looked at him.

  "You guys are the ones who're crazy."

  Maisey shut the door and they all just stared after him, then slowly looked around the room at one another.

  After a bit, Tiny went to the door and peered outside. He grinned. "You guys ever notice that Maisey's got a big head?"

  Swede glared at the door. "Got a fuckin' dick for a head, you ask me."

  "Show you something," Tiny said. He went back to his room, and returned with the helmet he had come in with before. "See this beauty. Made by Sierra Industries, and it fits perfectly." He tried it on. Tiny had bitched a lot about his issue flying helmet being too small.

  "I got his helmet," crowed Tiny.

  "You're awfully damned lucky, I'd say," said Swede, wearing a suspicious look.

  "No use it going to waste, is there? He won't need it unless he gets back to flying."

  "Cowards like him don't get back to flying," said Swede Swendler.

  "I didn't like what he said there at the last," said the Bear uneasily. "About us being the crazy ones."

  "I think he was looking at you when he said it, Bear," kidded Tiny.

  C. R. Clark, the captain who commanded B-Flight, came in from outside. "You guys see Ken leaving with all his bags?"

  "Yeah," said the Bear. "He quit."

  Swede told him the story.

  "Wish I'd kicked the bastard in the balls," growled Clark.

  "He don't have any balls to kick," said Swede.

  "You guys quit talking about my buddy," said Tiny, fondling the helmet.

  "You," said Swede, "probably talked him into quitting so you could get that helmet."

  "I did not," said Tiny. "I just knew he wasn't very happy up there flying. Son of a bitch has let us down a lot. You remember that time just before you and Glenn got shot down, Bear, and he ran away from the fight saying he had something wrong with his airplane?"