Termite Hill (Vietnam Air War Book 1)

by Tom Wilson

  Xuan ignored him and walked away, out of the oversized command van to pace the grounds of the rocket site. A short time later, Quang Hanh came out to find him, and Xuan had denied him permission to go to sleep.

  "Keep me informed of what is happening," he growled. "That is why you are here, Lieutenant."

  At 0100 he was still awake, prowling around in the command van, when Quang Hanh told him that Intruder aircraft were attacking the steel mill once again. He went out, watched guided rockets soaring in the distant sky, then went back inside and listened carefully to reports of the attack.

  Tomorrow the summons would surely come for him to proceed to Hanoi.

  Although footsore and weary, he continued to pace, once walking completely around the four-kilometer perimeter of the site, and when the sun peeked over the eastern horizon he stood staring at the glowing sky and knew what he must do.

  Gregarian was away in his small sequestered villa five kilometers south, and his Russian rocket team were in the adjacent barracks he'd had built for them there. Only the Vietnamese rocket team was in place at the special site. Good.

  One last kill! He would go to Hanoi to face his tormentors with the dignity of knowing that he was still the best.

  The radar-hunters had attacked his rocket battalions so relentlessly the past weeks that the men of the rocket batteries were beginning to think them invincible. He would show them that they could win. That they could destroy the Americans, even the radar-hunters, and be untouched themselves. When he had done that, Xuan would go to Hanoi and dutifully face the wrath of the Enlightened One, the generals, and the people.

  He strode into the double-sized command van and haughtily looked about, hands upon his hips, feeling the old satisfaction of being in control of both himself and his surroundings.

  Lieutenant Hanh came to his feet, blinking sleep from his eyes.

  "A warrior must remain alert at all times," Xuan growled. He wished he had promoted Quang Hanh to senior lieutenant. Perhaps there would be time before he was called.

  "Where are the Americans this morning?" he demanded.

  Quang Hanh sat back down to work with his radios.

  Xuan motioned to the captain in the engagement commander's seat. "Move. I will take over."

  He sat, tried to get the feel of it. He examined the familiar radar apparatus, then peered at the optical system. "I may need some help with that," he said to the captain.

  The captain sat beside him in an instructor's seat, eager to please.

  Xuan donned the headset and flipped up all the toggle switches on the communications panel.

  "Change of command," he announced into the microphone. "Engagement commander is now Colonel Xuan Nha. All positions will check in and give their operational status."

  The four rocket launcher team commanders reported, one at a time. Rockets were loaded and checked. The radar technician reported from the adjacent antenna van, which housed the electronics and supported the two massive antennas. Radar system checked. Optical system bore-sited and checked.

  Quang Hanh reported over the intercom. "Thirty-six Thunder planes have crossed the Hong River and are proceeding across the valley. The anticipated target is the Thai Nguyen area. Target area commander has been alerted. Eight minutes, twelve seconds until they arrive at Thai Nguyen, comrade Colonel."

  Xuan selected ENGAGEMENT RADAR WARM-UP. That would take five minutes. He should have done that when he first took the seat, he chided himself. He turned to one side and looked at the P-2 acquisition radar's auxiliary scope.

  The anticipation of impending action excited him, got his juices flowing as they had not in months.

  Nothing yet on the auxiliary scope. The aged P-2 radars were cantankerous, but he thought they would likely be able to discern the attacking aircraft as they came over the ridge.

  He sat back and waited.

  The captain he had replaced looked uneasy. "Since we are prohibited from turning the engagement radar on, comrade Colonel, I usually just warm up the optics and the beacons."

  "Today we shall shoot down some American aircraft, and we may wish to use the radar as well as optics."

  The captain's jaw drooped. "Shoot them down? But—"

  "That is why we are living and breathing, Captain. To fight the enemy and shoot down their airplanes. Would you prefer to be in the south, fighting our weak cousins and the Americans on the ground?"

  Xuan Nha reached for the red cover, lifted it, and turned the wafer switch to FULL ALERT. He activated the siren system by pushing an adjacent button. Loud Klaxon horns sounded outside, alerting the men of impending action.

  The captain looked appalled. "But, comrade Colonel. We are told not to turn anything on unless so ordered by Control. We are to remain covert."

  "Captain, it is I who tells Wisdom what to do."

  The captain nodded, very slowly. Was it fear Xuan saw there?

  "Let's just sit back and wait now, until we find a suitable target."

  "Aircraft are two and a half minutes away from the target," Quang Hanh relayed.

  "Optical sensor is ready," said the dubious captain. "Radar is warmed and ready, in dummy load."

  The rocket control officer, a senior lieutenant, was beside them now, having heard about the possibility of action. The captain motioned for him to take his position at the rocket control panel. The senior lieutenant looked eager, and Xuan Nha felt instant kinship.

  "Control reports two aircraft north of the target area and two to the south, comrade Colonel." said Quang Hanh.

  Xuan Nha felt alive. The radar-hunters had arrived.

  He watched the acquisition scope carefully, found the targets, then took the target tracking handles and slewed the engagement antennas southward, looking closely at the television monitor.

  "Here, sir," said the captain. He reached over and selected X2 magnification, and they had a panoramic view of the distant mountains. Then he picked X5 for a closer view.

  They could see two specks with wings moving smoothly in the distance, just above the mountains.

  "Hello," said Xuan Nha.

  "More magnification, sir?"

  "Not quite yet."

  The aircraft grew closer, climbing.

  One of the batteries had launched rockets. They saw the rockets enter their field of view, moving upward at the radar-hunters.

  The two aircraft waited, poised upside down. Then, when the first rocket seemed impossibly close, maneuvered violently toward it. The rocket could not match the maneuver and skidded past.

  Xuan Nha watched closely then as the radar-hunters easily avoided the second and third rockets. He vowed they would not as easily escape the ones he launched.

  "Control says that Steel two is under attack," said Quang Hanh.

  The two distant aircraft reversed one more time and went swooping downward to bomb a target.

  "When they turn back this way," Xuan muttered to the captain, "we shall turn on the radar and try to draw them closer. Then we shall shut down the radar and shoot them down with the optics. That way the radar-hunters cannot attack us, for they will not know where we are."

  The captain nodded, getting caught up in the game, as Xuan had intended. "But if they turn south instead?"

  "I feel it," said Xuan Nha, tapping his barrel chest, "in here. They will turn north. I also feel that we are about to create some American widows." His mouth curled into a grin.

  The Thunder planes released their weapons, then disappeared from view for a moment. Xuan watched the first of the two reappear. Finally they saw the second one. The Thunder planes had turned north, toward Wisdom.

  "More magnification," ordered Xuan Nha, and the two aircraft grew in size on the monitor. "More. Good. Now, get ready to turn on the radar. I'll want full power. We will entice them, and then kill them."

  Nicolaj Gregarian

  The pudgy French girl had awakened him, asking in a fearful voice what the noise was about. He'd staggered to his feet and gone to the window, peering out
at the morning and listening to the distant Klaxon horns.

  The horns sounded three times, paused, then sounded three times again. Over and over they sounded. Prepare for attack!

  He scrambled into his clothing, wondering if the Americans had somehow found the site.

  He needed a radio to call the rocket command van and find out what was happening. Colonel Nha had kept the utility vehicle with the VHF radio. He remembered then that one of the trucks used by the Soviet rocket team, barracked next door, had a radio.

  He hurried outside, still pulling on his shirt, then ran at a trot toward the Soviet advisers' barracks.

  A kapitan and a starshiy leytenant were already in the cab of the truck with the radio, warming the engine. Nicolaj scrambled up and crawled in the passenger's seat beside the kapitan.

  "Comrade Mayor, what is happening?" asked the kapitan.

  Noncommissioned and warrant officers were emerging from the barracks, yawning and looking off in the direction of the rocket site.

  "Tell the men to get aboard, then put me onto the frequency with the rocket battery command van!" demanded Nicolaj, ignoring their questions. "We shall go to the site and find out what the Vietnamese are up to. I just hope the fools are doing nothing to jeopardize the site."

  17/0637L—North of Thai Nguyen, Route Pack Six, North Vietnam

  Bear Stewart

  They came off the target hot and fast, knowing they'd hit with the CBUs.

  Tracers were tracking them, moving like hoses through the sky, but always behind them or beside them, for they were an elusive target.

  They left the worst of it and turned up on a wing to watch the site being pummeled by their CBUs, dancing and glittering about the site's periphery, torching off two missiles and causing them to slither wildly about. An explosion at one side of the site. A fireball where the bomblets had hit a stack of missile boosters.

  Tiny Bechler had gone down the chute off to one side, and was now raising hell on the radio because his bombs hadn't released. He'd screwed up by not having his master arm switch in the proper position.

  "Red Dog two is going back up for reattack, lead," called Tiny, wanting to atone for his error by going back into the maelstrom.

  "Negative!" ordered Benny. "We're at your nine o'clock. Join up, two."

  "Not bright," growled the Bear.

  "A dumb mistake," concurred Benny. "Situation?"

  "SAMs at four and six. Lots of gun radars."

  "Ah roger," breathed Benny into his mike.

  They were soaring higher, waiting for Tiny to catch up.

  "I'll dedicate my part of that site to Mike Murphy," said the Bear. "It's Saint Patty's day."

  "We'll turn back inbound toward the target area," said Benny, "and launch a Shrike."

  They were at the northern portion of rugged Thud Ridge, close to the ridge now so they would be masked from radars by the mountain.

  A new SAM radar erupted onto the air, powerful and close by.

  "Hold your course," said the Bear. "I've got something new. A Fansong at two o'clock, Benny." He tuned the receiver. "Looks like it may be in the Chinese buffer zone, but it's too powerful to be far. Crazy, but I think the thing is tracking us."

  "We're too close to the ridge for him to be tracking," said Benny. "Maybe he just he has his antenna pointed this direction."

  "Nope. He's keeping us centered, like he's slewing his antennas." The Bear continued to work with the dual beams of the radar. "We're centered in both beams."

  "Either he's awfully lucky," said Benny, "or they've got something new. Neither one gives me a warm feeling."

  "Hot damn. The signal just went off. Bang, like that." The Bear was puzzled, for the ACTIVITY light had illuminated on his warning panel, indicating a SAM missile guidance beam had been turned on.

  Which was crazy, because there was no Fansong tracking radar signal, which meant that this was not an ordinary situation at all.

  "Something's going on out there, Benny. Watch out for this one."

  "Roger." Suddenly Benny soared up, away from the protection the ridge normally offered. They were well north of the target area now.

  Tiny was tucked in at their right wing, close.

  "Red Dog two, drop back and cross over on our port wing. I want you well clear, so you can help me look out at our two o'clock."

  "Roger, Red Dog lead." Tiny dropped back out of the Bear's view.

  "I just saw a missile launch," said Benny, breathing hard into the mask in anticipation. "There's a second one."

  They waited for a third, but none was forthcoming.

  The firings had come from a forested area several miles distant.

  "SAMs at two o'clock, Red Dog lead," called Tiny.

  "Ah roger, two. Keep dropping back and try to keep an eye on the site while I dodge the missiles."

  "Red Dog two."

  The missiles had picked up a head of steam and were charging toward them. They had soared up to 10,000 feet. Benny waited, kept the throttle pushed up, and tipped the Thud up slightly on the right wing.

  The Bear watched the missiles coming, his mind racing, eyes darting back inside the cockpit periodically to see if the signal would reappear on the analysis scope. The scope was working normally with all the other radars. Why not this one?

  Things moved in slow motion.

  The missiles were still relatively distant when Benny sharply nosed over, selected afterburner, and shoved the throttle full forward.

  The Bear was thrown against the canopy, glued there until they had settled into a steep dive. He fumbled around to find the seat-belt straps and pulled himself snugly into the ejection seat, eyes still glued on the two SAMs. The missiles had adjusted their tracks smoothly. The maneuver had done nothing to create error in either one.

  "Jesus!" yelled Benny into the mike. He normally could outfox the first missile with the dive maneuver, then yank up on the stick to evade the others.

  The fuzzy bubble appeared. They were still in afterburner, and, slipping through the Mach, continued to accelerate.

  Benny abruptly pulled ten degrees up, and the aircraft slid wildly through the air, stubby wings grasping for lift.

  The missiles adjusted smoothly.

  "Oh, shit!" yelled Benny.

  The first missile was close. Benny yanked the stick toward it.

  It slid by, exploding just beyond.

  Benny pulled harder.

  The second missile narrowly missed, exploding just as it passed them.

  Benny recovered the airplane in a long arc, breathing hard into his mask, and soared upward for altitude. Heading toward the Chinese border.

  The Bear realized something was amiss.

  "Benny?"

  Silence. He could hear the strike force talking on the radio.

  "Benny!" he yelled.

  "Yeah." His voice was small.

  "Aren't we gonna kill the bastard?"

  Silence, then a long, shuddering sigh. Benny slowly turned the aircraft back southward.

  They both realized that Red Dog two had said something. Something about losing the visual he'd had on the site.

  "We already dropped our bombs, Bear," said Benny, his voice strange.

  "Yeah."

  "Of course we got our gun, and Tiny's still got his bombs."

  "Kill that bastard, Benny. I'm fuckin' fearless and he scared the shit outta me."

  "Red Dog two, I think I see him," called Benny then. His voice was regaining its steady tone.

  "I lost him," admitted Tiny.

  "We're in the Chinese buffer zone," said the Bear. They were orbiting above the wooded area at 6,000 feet.

  "Roger," replied Benny.

  "Turn off your IFF, Benny." The Identification, Friend or Foe system could give away the fact that they were flying in the restricted zone, and that would undoubtedly piss off the brass.

  "It's off."

  "What are you squawking, Red Dog two?" Benny radioed.

  "I think my IFF is broken, lead, so
I turned it off."

  The Bear grinned to himself, muttering, "Yeah!" No one would know. Except, of course, the asshole commies down there.

  They continued to circle in a wide arc as Benny pointed out a light haze of smoke he saw lingering in the trees.

  "I think that fog down in the trees," called Benny to Tiny, "is from the SAM launch."

  The Bear was peering at his equipment, wishing to hell the enemy would switch on their radar so he could use his electronics and make sure. He wanted this one, bad.

  17/0641L—Wisdom Rocket Site, DRV

  Xuan Nha

  Using the electro-optical system they watched the aircraft circling up above, helplessly waiting for them to get outside the ten-kilometer circle. The rocket boosters would not drop off until they had pushed the rocket out eight kilometers. The rocket would not fully stabilize until ten kilometers. Only then could they guide the rockets with their data-link signal.

  They waited.

  "I just received a very excited call from Major Gregarian," said Quang Hanh. "He is on his way here, and asks why we are firing rockets."

  "Do not answer him," said Xuan Nha disgustedly. He watched the two aircraft on the screen with narrowed eyes.

  "Major Gregarian says he will be here in less than five minutes."

  "He will get to see a rocket kill." Xuan smiled.

  "The radar-hunters are climbing," the captain hissed. He was biting at his lip and his eyes were growing wide. "I think they are preparing to attack!"

  Xuan Nha had a premonition that the captain might be about to bolt. "Stay in place," he said calmly. Keeping his movement from the captain's sight, he dropped his hand and released the leather cover that secured the Tokarev in its holster.

  The video picture showed the radar-hunters were still climbing and circling, periodically rolling one way, then the other.

  "What are they doing?" whispered the captain.

  Xuan laughed. It was the first time he'd done that in days, and it felt good. "Why, they are searching for us. Radar-hunters hunt. That is their duty. And rocket batteries shoot them down. That is our duty."

  The radar-hunters stabilized, poising themselves. He peered closer at the screen, wishing he could look into the cockpit and examine the pilots. He took a deep breath and held it.