Viper Strike c-2, page 23
part #2 of Carrier Series
Wouldn't do to have a former CO get taken down a peg. But it was damn clear I wasn't going anywhere anymore.
"I suppose the real revelation came during the Wonsan crisis. My whole squadron was held in reserve, while VF-95 went in to tangle with MiGs. You… you've got to understand, Miss Drake. A Navy aviator spends his whole life training for the moment when he can strap on an airplane and go up against MiGs, one on one. Most men never have that chance.
"And I didn't either."
"You think Admiral Magruder has it in for you? That he chose his own nephew instead of you?"
There was a long silence. "I don't know. Maybe not. It seemed like it at the time. And something… something happened on a flight a few days ago.
Up by the Burmese border. I did something stupid, see. Something I shouldn't have done. CAG came down on me like a ton of laser-guided ordnance, and I got relieved. It felt… it felt just like the bastards had been waiting all that time just to see me busted." He looked at her. "Like I said, pretty cruddy, right?
"The worst of it is, it looks like they were right. All of them. I broke. Maybe endangered my boat, my shipmates. I lost it." He looked away towards the woods beyond the cage. "Maybe I never had it."
She didn't answer for a long moment. "Made It? Back in that warehouse.
When they were questioning you. Was that why you told them you'd talk?"
"What do you mean?"
She couldn't help feeling that Bayerly must have been reacting on some level to what was happening to her, comparing it with what had happened to Sharyl Fitzroy. But he looked so shaken now. Maybe it was best not to dig too deeply.
"Never mind," she said. "Made It?" She pressed herself closer. "Hold me?"
Gently, almost reluctantly, he put his arm around her shoulders.
She'd thought they were going to stay there at the rebel camp all day, but less than an hour later, uniformed men arrived in jeeps and began shouting orders. Soldiers kicked out fires, others gathered weapons.
And then Pamela and Bayerly were again on their way north.
1012 hours, 20 January
Fantail, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Tombstone leaned against the guardrail and looked out to sea. The wake foamed out beneath his feet, spreading astern all the way to the horizon. The sky overhead was a clear and piercing blue, but there was still a dirty, oily tang to the air, the smell of burned rubber, plastic, and paint. He had the fantail to himself. The entire crew, it seemed, had turned to in the cleanup, making Jefferson shipshape again after the attack and fire. He could hear the thump and bang of repair crews working in the hangar bay, the sounds echoing down the open machine shop passageway at his back.
His debriefing, the preliminary part of it anyway, was over. It had been routine and automatic, a recounting of what had happened at the hotel, and afterwards, at the Kiong Toey warehouse. Made It Bayerly's betrayal had been duly recorded. And it was a betrayal… whether the information which had led to the attack on Jefferson had come from him or from the three sailors butchered by Hsiao earlier. At the very least, Bayerly had provided Hsiao with the confirmation he'd needed, and quite possibly he'd provided details the sailors could not have known.
They were going to nail Made It if they ever found the guy again. Nail him… and why? He'd tried to stop them from hurting Pamela. The thought of what might be happening to the two of them at that moment made him shudder.
It felt as though he'd just reached a new low. He'd abandoned Pamela and Bayerly. And while he'd run in order to warn the carrier, the fact was that he'd run… leaving Pamela and a brother aviator behind. Hardly the behavior expected of a hero.
Slowly, he reached up and unzipped the breast pocket of his flight suit, where a small lump of metal pressed against his chest. He pulled out the medal which he had retrieved from its case in his cabin only minutes earlier.
The Navy Cross. It lay in his palm, catching the afternoon sun, the blue and white ribbon bright and clean in the light. His fingers closed over it.
He was no hero. Tombstone knew that, knew it to his very bones, and all of the medals, all of the television interviews on Earth would not make things different. Heroes were men like his father who had laid their lives on the line trying to drop a bridge in downtown Hanoi.
Tombstone remembered his feelings during the Wonsan op. Half the time he'd been too busy to think, riding on pure training and instinct, and the rest of the time he'd been scared to death. Landing a damaged Tomcat on the carrier with his RIO wounded in the backseat… hell, what else could he have done?
He looked at the medal again. If it hadn't been for the hero nonsense, maybe none of this would have happened. Tombstone would have been flying the recon out of U Feng, not Batman. It would have been him in the jungle… and maybe Pamela would never have been involved.
He opened his fingers and looked at the medal again. Almost… almost he cocked his arm to hurl the bit of metal and cloth out into the pale blue wake.
Something held him back. Throwing away the medal would change nothing, accomplish nothing.
That, he realized, was what was gnawing at him more even than anything else. Pamela and Bayerly were gone and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. Tracking the captives through Bangkok's teeming streets was a job for the hard-pressed That National Police, not the U.S. Navy.
With a start, he glanced at his watch. Almost a quarter past… and an all-departments meeting had been called for 1030 hours. He just had time to make it up to CVIC. He pocketed the medal, then turned away from the railing and plunged back into the machine shop passageway.
CHAPTER 21
1045 hours, 20 January
CVIC, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
"Gentlemen," Admiral Magruder said. "I'm treating this as an act of war.
Forces unknown, but possibly operating together with the communist insurrection in Thailand, have attacked this command."
It was silent within the Carrier Intelligence Center, save for the isolated creaks of men moving in the metal folding chairs which had been set up in rows. The chairs gave the large room the feel of an elementary school auditorium. Tension was high, an almost electric sharpness in the air. Every department head, squadron CO, and senior staff officer on the carrier was present. Admiral Magruder leaned against the podium, a large-scale color map of Thailand at his back. There were no TV cameras, but a VCR camcorder was being used to tape the meeting, for the record.
Tombstone leaned back in his chair and considered his uncle. The man had aged. Perhaps he was feeling the strain of his responsibilities, strains that had been on his shoulders since Wonsan. Then and now, it was largely his decisions which would determine peace or war, life or death for the men under his command.
The commanding admiral of CBG-14 surveyed the officers in front of him before speaking again. "The Captain, the Exec, CAG, and the Damage Control Officer gave me their assessment a few minutes ago. In brief, damage to the flight deck is minimal." He pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket and consulted it. "Repairs to the arresting-gear mechanism are being completed now. Full flight-deck operations should be possible within two hours. El Three will probably be out of service until we can return to port, but we can maintain full service on the remaining three elevators.
"Our total losses during the attack and fire amounted to three aircraft destroyed, plus a further five aircraft down-checked by the plane captains for repairs. The most serious losses were two of our KA-6D tankers, one destroyed, one damaged. This leaves us with only two tankers functional for air-to-air refueling ops should we need them.
"Casualties, thank God, were light. Six known dead, four more missing and presumed lost overboard. Eighteen men are in sick bay, most from smoke inhalation."
He closed the notebook and looked up. "This is not a formal briefing, gentlemen. It's a brainstorming session. We've been hit. Hard. I want ideas, recommendations about what we should do about it. All of you feel free to chip in. We'll kick this off with a rundown on the situation from Commander Neil."
Commander Richard Patrick Neil was an Irish Bostonian, the Carrier Group Intelligence Officer for Magruder's staff. He stood and walked to the front of the room, where he took the admiral's place behind the podium. "Thank you, Admiral, gentlemen. Well, to start with, our options appear to be strictly limited." Neil's New England twang was sharply evident in the way he said "appeah." He looked ill at ease. "After all that has happened, we still don't know who the enemy really is. We have a communist insurgency in the north with possible Burmese involvement, student demonstrators and rioters in Bangkok, and a military coup breaking out all over the country. It is tempting to see these separate incidents as somehow linked, but we cannot yet prove that. As yet, we do not know who attacked the Jefferson last night."
"Shit," someone in the audience muttered. "I thought that was obvious.
We know it was the gook rebels who piloted those helos-"
"No," Neil countered. "We don't. They were RTAF machines and they were based at Sattahip. They may have been piloted by dissident officers, but that doesn't square with what we know about the coup so far."
"What do we know about it?" Admiral Magruder asked.
"That its leaders appear to be That army and air force officers who feel that Bangkok is dealing too softly with the communist insurrection. And that is what makes it unlikely that the attack on Jefferson was ordered by coup leaders."
He took a step back and unfolded a telescoping metal pointer to indicate areas on the map. "Up here on the That-Burmese border, we have a major rebel insurrection… probably led by the Communist Party of Thailand." The pointer slid along the border. "We have two separate incidents in this area, encounters with unidentified MiGs, Chinese J-7s, actually. In one of these incidents, one of our aircraft is shot down. Burmese involvement is suspected… but the present Political situation does not support that theory. Burma had its first democratic elections in thirty years not long ago and is now making the transition from a military dictatorship to a Western-style democracy. There are certainly dissident elements within the Burmese military, but Rangoon denies involvement, and Washington accepts that statement at face value."
The pointer moved again. "Here is U Feng, a That military base captured three days ago by forces unknown. The Thais suspect the Burmese, working together with CPT rebels. Again, Rangoon denies involvement. Most of you know by now that two of our people are eyewitnesses to what's going on up there. According to Lieutenant Commander Wayne's debriefing report, there are a number of Shenyang J-7s currently based at U Feng. This solidly links the forces at U Feng with whoever is flying J-7s across the Burmese border but doesn't tell us anything more about who is responsible.
"Down here in Bangkok, and outside the base at Sattahip, we've had demonstrations, even riots, going on now for several weeks. That Central Intelligence believes these have been instigated by the CPT. That links them with the rebellion up north, of course… but not with the MiGs and the capture of U Feng.
"Finally, we have the military coup. It began at approximately 2100 hours on the 18th. It purportedly involves a number of high-ranking dissident officers who feel the government has been mismanaging the entire campaign against the rebellion in the north. The word is also out that U Feng would never have fallen if Bangkok had taken a stronger line against Burmese involvement in the north. Apparently, the coup leaders insist that the CPT rebellion is being sponsored by the Burmese… once again, something Rangoon categorically denies.
"So far, the coup has achieved limited success and appears now to be on the defensive. Apparently, only a few units have mutinied, and most army and air force regiments have remained loyal. According to reports, a large percentage of the Royal That Air Force has been crippled by sabotage on the ground, but fighting is light and somewhat sporadic. For the coup to be successful, it would have to win the approval of the King and his ministers.
This is a basic factor of That politics, and so far that approval seems most unlikely.
"The That government has asked for our support through their embassy in Washington. We ourselves have heard very little from the government directly, and we seem to be getting mixed signals here… help us on one hand, get out and leave us alone on the other. Part of this may be due to people high in the government who are actually in sympathy with the mutiny and are deliberately confusing things. I should point out, though, that the coup leaders should be trying to cultivate American support, not attacking us. The That government has maintained close relations with the United States for many years and is our strongest ally in the region. Washington feels it is unlikely that coup leaders would order an attack on the Jefferson, since that would alienate us and isolate them politically.
"So, gentlemen, when it comes to the question of who attacked us last night, we are faced with a contradiction. The leaders of the military coup had the opportunity, using helicopters from the base at Sattahip, but they certainly did not have the motive, at least, not one we understand. The communist rebels have the motive ― the anti-American theme of the demonstrations is rather evident ― but for the most part they are peasants who wouldn't be able to get access to RTAF helicopters or Chinese J-7s, much less fly them. Finally we have the Burmese, who might possibly acquire J-7s or have pilots who could fly RTAF helos, but who have neither motive nor opportunity. The Thais blame the Burmese, but Rangoon claims they do not want a war with Thailand and are moving away from their Marxist past. They certainly don't want a war with us!"
Neil closed his pointer with a snap. "Where this leaves us, gentlemen, is adrift. Someone attacked us last night, but we don't know who. There appears to be no link between the various factions of the fighting in Thailand, certainly nothing which would explain a rocket attack against the Jefferson."
No link, Tombstone thought… but there had to be one. He thought about the firefight in the alley in Kiong Toey. Those had been That soldiers joining Hsiao's men, and Hsiao's questions had been aimed at finding a weakness in Jefferson's defenses just hours before an attack was launched against her. There had to be a link between Hsiao and the coup!
Tombstone's debriefing that morning had been cursory, even rushed. He'd described to Neil and the other officers of the admiral's intelligence staff his capture and interrogation, with the emphasis on the man Hsiao and his questions. Tombstone wasn't sure that Neil even believed him, and he had to admit that a lot of what he thought about the Chinese officer was guesswork.
He only had Hsiao's word, for example, that several of the other men at the warehouse were Burmese. What if Hsiao had been trying to make it look like the Burmese were involved, for reasons of his own?
"What about the reasoning behind the attack, Commander?" Dick Barnes asked. "I mean, what was the point?"
Neil shook his head. "Unknown. There are possibilities. Someone might be trying to get us involved in a war with Burma. That is the DIA's guess, based on the attack made by the MiGs. Their theory is that the PRC is secretly ferrying J-7s to a remote base in Burma in order to provoke border incidents… and war."
"Maybe someone wants to frighten us off," a voice said.
"Another possibility," Neil agreed. "The ultimate in 'Yankee go home' signs. Point is, we don't know. And while it's damned tempting to see some vast, international conspiracy behind everything that's going on, the real world doesn't work that way."
"And what is your recommendation, Commander?" Admiral Magruder asked.
"That we pull back and take a longer look, sir. We shouldn't get involved until we know what the real target is."
"What about this… this Hsiao Kuoping?" Commander Dick Barnes, the senior CIC officer, said. He was reading a pocket notebook he'd been writing in earlier during Tombstone's debriefing. He looked up. "Mr. Magruder described him as Chinese… and definitely in control of certain Burmese elements. That says conspiracy, doesn't it?"
"With all due respect to Commander Magruder," Neil said slowly, "we just don't have enough to go on. Certainly, there is nothing to link this Hsiao character or his Burmese allies with the coup leaders. It is possible, possible that Hsiao has something to do with the Chinese MiGs. I've queried the DIA files in Washington, and they report that Hsiao is indeed a high-ranking member of the PRC Intelligence community. A general, in fact."
"My God," Captain Glover said softly. The ship's Exec looked stricken.
"Chinese Intelligence? Are you saying the enemy is China?"
"Possible, but unlikely." Neil did not sound sure of himself. "The DIA and the CIA are looking into it, but this could well be an independent operation. Hsiao setting up in business for himself."
That possibility had not occurred to Tombstone, but it felt right. If Hsiao was a high-ranking Chinese spy, what was he doing running things personally in Bangkok?
"It is possible," Neil continued, "again, only possible, that Hsiao was somehow connected with the attack on Jefferson last night. The questions he asked of our people point to that, certainly. But we cannot link Hsiao to the coup, except circumstantially."
Tombstone thought about that. He was certain that Hsiao was tied to the coup somehow because of the That soldiers he'd seen. There was a common factor, and it tied Hsiao in with both the communist rebellion and the That military coup. Some factor, some person…
Tombstone's eyes opened wide. The connection had been staring him in the face all along, and he'd not seen it. Neither had anyone else.
Tombstone raised his hand. Neil nodded toward him. "Commander?"
"This is a little embarrassing, sir," Tombstone said. "But I think I know what the link might be. Who the link might be."
There was a buzz of murmured conversation around the room. Tombstone waited for it to die down. He should have seen the link earlier, should have been able to pass it on to Neil and his people that morning. It was obvious, now that he thought about it.
