Viper Strike c-2, page 24
part #2 of Carrier Series
"What do you mean, Tombstone?" Neil asked.
"Bayerly and I were captured and interrogated by this Hsiao character.
It only just now occurred to me… how did he know where to find me?"
Neil frowned. "You told us during your debriefing that you were with the news correspondent, Pamela Drake. In her hotel room…"
"And the only other person who knew I was there was Colonel Kriangsak, our liaison with the That military command."
There was stunned silence in the room for several seconds.
"You're sure of this, Tombstone?" Admiral Magruder asked. He was standing to one side of the room, his arms folded across his chest. "I think we've been assuming you were picked up at random. Anybody at that hotel could have been an agent for Hsiao."
"Positive, sir. Kriangsak called me, after I'd been getting a bureaucratic run-around from his office all day. He had me meet him at the Americana." Tombstone felt embarrassment coloring his face, not so much from the admission of where he'd spent the night, but from the realization of how easily he'd been trapped. He'd been as trusting as a sailor on first-time liberty getting rolled for the change in his pocket. "I told him I would be at the Dusit Thani, but I didn't tell anyone else. Later I called him to cancel a car he was sending for me."
Tombstone shook his head. "Now that I think about it, he could have picked up Commander Bayerly at the same time. Some of his people helped the commander out of the Americana. And Colonel Kriangsak was the only person who knew where I was… who knew I was staying at the Dusit Thani in… a certain hotel room." He glanced at Neil. "Sorry, Commander. It just now came together for me ― But the pieces fit. It's too much of a coincidence that both Commander Bayerly and I were grabbed at random."
Neil appeared to be digesting the information. "If that's true, Hsiao is playing both sides of the game, helping the rebels and organizing the coup.
He's also behind the attack on Jefferson, since he could have put that together through Kriangsak, who in turn could have been in on the coup."
"What's the point of organizing both a communist rebellion and a coup which wants to take more effective measures against that rebellion?" Admiral Magruder asked.
"Confusion," Master Chief Buckley volunteered. "Maybe they figure the United States won't intervene if we don't know what's going on."
"That never stopped us before," someone else added, and there was a round of subdued chuckles. The tension in the room seemed to have been broken.
Neil looked hard at Tombstone. "My guess would be that the Burmese incidents, the communist insurrection, the attack at U Feng, all of those were engineered by General Hsiao to create the proper conditions for a military coup. Kriangsak and any other traitors Hsiao was able to recruit with promises of money or power were brought in to organize the coup, to get it rolling. If he could start a war with Burma too, that would just add to Thailand's instability. Now, if Hsiao is behind Kriangsak, it could mean he's planning on toppling the present That government and replacing it with one of his own.
"Of course, U.S. intervention would be a problem. Hsiao couldn't afford to have us get involved too deeply helping the legitimate government. By attacking Jefferson, he either leaves us in doubt about who the enemy is ― and therefore out of the game ― or he convinces us that our carrier is vulnerable and forces us to back off. Same result. By God, it fits!"
"Okay," Admiral Magruder said. He stepped to the front of the room and took Neil's place. "Thank you, Commander." He waited while Neil took his seat, then addressed the entire group. "Very well, gentlemen. The question is, what can we do about it? Intelligence sharing ought to be our first step.
Tell the legitimate rulers what we know… help them clean house themselves.
We'll need to establish communication directly with the That military, bypassing Kriangsak. My impression was that Duong was honest, even if his chief aide wasn't. Commander Neil, check into that, please."
"Aye, sir.
"What else?"
CAG Marusko spoke up. "Admiral, it seems to me if our orders are to support the legitimate That government, we could help a lot by flying close support with them. Commander Neil said the Thais had lost a lot of their air force already."
"Close support against what target?" Barnes asked.
"U Feng, for one," CAG replied. "We know it's held by rebel forces. The Thais are going to want to take it back, if only to prove they're strong enough to do so. We could fly close air for them, keep those J-7s grounded while they send in their ground forces."
"We certainly have to provide air support against hostile aircraft," Admiral Magruder said thoughtfully. "At least until we know how many MiGs there are at U Feng. I'm concerned, though, that Hsiao might be working for the Chinese. Washington is going to take a dim view of us starting a war with the PRC, especially these days, with all the friendly overtures toward Beijing. Dick? Any suggestions?"
Neil smiled. "Considering that the Chinese aren't even supposed to be in Thailand or Burma, I'd say we can take any action we feel is justified. If Beijing is in on this mess, they can't very well admit it, can they?"
"Agreed," the admiral said. "We'll wait for a definite word on that from Washington, but I tend to believe they'll go along with it. Anything else?"
"We've got the Marines coming in," Brad Gilmore, Magruder's chief of staff, pointed out. "We'll rendezvous with MEU-6 later today. They can beef up our position at the American embassy and be on hand to protect Americans in the city."
"Yeah. They'd be able to help if it turned out we had to evacuate American nationals," the Exec added.
"Right," CAG said. "And if they're having trouble with air, our helicopter assets aboard Chosin and Little Rock could help stretch things, at least until we got the word to move our people. If they need airmobile transport into Bangkok, say, the grunts could provide it."
Magruder pulled out his notebook again and wrote something in it. "Good point." He looked up. "Anyone else?"
The room was silent. "Very well. My recommendations to Washington will be as follows." He looked down at his notebook. "First, we share intelligence with the That Military staff. In particular, we tell them about Hsiao and Kriangsak and what we've uncovered or guessed about the coup.
"Second, we offer close air support to the Thais, filling in for the losses they've suffered to their air force." He looked up. "CAG, start putting together an operational plan for a full alpha strike against U Feng.
Catch those MiGs on the ground and leave nothing but debris for the That army to mop up. Commander Neil will be able to fill you in on what Lieutenant Wayne saw in the way of defenses up there." Several heads nodded, and there was a scratching of pens on paper as the COs of the carrier's attack squadrons made notes. "We will also look for ways we can help the Thais against rebel forces in Bangkok and Sattahip.
"Third, we'll coordinate with Admiral Simpson when Chosin and her consorts join us later today. We will recommend landing Marines in Bangkok to provide security for American citizens ashore. We will suggest providing helo transport for loyal That forces." He looked around the room. "Does that cover it all?" He waited for a response. There was none. "Very well. It is now 1110 hours. I want preliminary operational plans on my desk for approval by 1700 hours. That's when I'll pass all of this on to Washington.
Department heads, begin working with your people on the assumption that we'll get a go for an alpha strike… let's have it ready for 0500 tomorrow. I want all available planes armed and ready for launch at that time. I know this means working around the clock, but tell your crews that this is going to be our chance to fight back!" He searched the faces in front of him.
"Where's Commander Murcheson?"
"Here, sir!" A hand went up in the back of the room. Steve Murcheson was the CO for VA-84, the Blue Rangers, one of Jefferson's two A-6 squadrons.
"See me before you start your op plans. I want to talk to you about the mission parameters for a Skipper II strike." There was a surprised silence.
Then, "Aye, sir."
"That's all I have to say. Dismissed."
Tombstone rose and started for the door. He wanted to find Batman before half the air wing got the same idea.
An alpha strike against U Feng! And a Skipper drop as well. This was going to be one hell of an operation.
1430 hours, 20 January
U Feng
It was mid-afternoon when Pamela and Bayerly arrived at U Feng. They were herded off the truck and led to a small shed not far from the fuel storage tanks which were located near the eastern perimeter fence. Lunch was a bowl of rice and assorted bits of meat for them both, more than they'd had to eat in over thirty-six hours.
Pamela noticed that the entire base seemed to be on alert. There were many more soldiers here than there'd been at the rebel camp, and these troops seemed excited, animated, as they talked to one another with gestures and laughter. Through the shed's single small window, she could see the aircraft arrayed underneath the layers of camouflage netting, though she didn't now what kind of planes they were. She also saw something else, a large tracked vehicle of some kind, mounting three large missiles.
She didn't know where they were, couldn't even be sure they were still in Thailand, but the purposeful activity told her this was the heart of Hsiao's plan. So much activity would be impossible to hide from the United States, though. Reconnaissance satellites could be taking pictures of that missile launcher right now.
She wondered what Washington was planning on doing about it.
And in the jungle beyond the U Feng fence, other eyes were noting the activity too, as well as the presence of two white-skinned Westerners.
CHAPTER 22
0110 hours, 21 January
VF-97 Ready Room, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Tombstone couldn't sleep. Just before midnight he'd gone aloft for some nighttime touch-and-goes on the carrier's flight deck. Every aviator was required to log a certain number of night flybys and traps.
Few enjoyed making deliberate bolters; as one Navy flyer Tombstone had once served with liked to put it, a touch-and-go was like kissing your sister, all the work and risk of setting up the shot, but without the reward of a good, solid trap at the end. For Tombstone, though, the repeated fly-arounds, the drop into the box, the low-speed approach with tailhook raised, the brief jolt as he kissed the deck followed by the full-throttle rush of takeoff were therapeutic. Until that afternoon, he'd not been certain that Jefferson's flight surgeon was going to find him fit for flight duty. The repeated fly-arounds were a way of convincing himself… yes, I'm back!
Afterward, he'd felt too keyed up for sleep, and despite the knowledge that reveille would be sounding early that morning, he made his way down to the VF-97 Ready Room. Chuck "Slick" Connelly had the Alert Fifteen and was using his time in the ready room to go over his rosters for the next day.
"Hello, Slick."
VF-97's Executive Officer looked up from the paperwork on his desk.
"Tombstone! How's it hanging'?"
"Fine. Mind if I come in?"
"Grab a chair. Java's hot."
"Thanks." Tombstone helped himself to the Ready Room's coffee mess.
Lieutenant Commander Connelly had not been formally named skipper of the War Eagles yet, but as the squadron's XO he'd been running VF-97 since CAG had grounded Bayerly a week before.
"So the Doc gave you a clean bill of health," Connelly said. "Glad to hear it."
"Me too." He sipped the strong, black coffee to cover what he was feeling. Both he and Batman had nearly been down-checked by Jefferson's senior flight surgeon. Batman because of his three-day bout in the jungle, Tombstone because of what the doctor had termed "possible psychological trauma." Tombstone had suffered no serious physical injury, but there was still a very real chance that he'd suffered mental damage, something that might not reveal itself until he was again put under stress.
Stress such as what he might endure during a dogfight in the seat of his F-14.
Well, sure. Go after a guy with a cattle prod and he was going to show definite signs of stress. But the cure wasn't to leave him at home when he had a chance of striking back. The burns still hurt, especially on his underarms, stomach, and groin where his flight suit chafed, but they wouldn't stop him from flying.
He was going on this mission. He owed it to Pamela.
And to Bayerly.
He'd argued the point with the doctor, demanding at last that CAG be brought into it. It had taken some doing, but in the end, and at CAG's urging, the doctor had agreed.
Batman would be flying today too. Malibu Blake had a down chit, of course, and would be in sick bay for another few days with his sprained ankle, but the rest of them would be going. Tombstone checked his watch. In less than four hours now.
"Look. Slick…" Tombstone hesitated, unsure how to proceed. "About the assignments for today…"
Connelly grinned. "Don't sweat it, hotdog. Sure, I'm jealous as hell… but no hard feelings. You've been point on an alpha strike before.
That's probably why they picked you."
Tombstone chuckled. "Well, they didn't choose me for my boyish good looks." He tried to make a joke of it. "I figure my uncle has it in for me, is all."
The final details for Bright Lightning had been posted only that evening.
VF-95 would be leading the way into U Feng, supporting the That air group called Trapdoor. VF-97 would fly CAP over the Jefferson… just as they had at Wonsan.
Once, Tombstone would have been upset at that. He wasn't certain what had changed. Possibly, he reasoned, he had a more realistic image of himself since his capture and escape. If there was anything special about him, it wasn't who he was related to.
And Slick's reaction told him that the other men in the air wing weren't holding his relatives against him either. At this point, though, what the other people thought didn't concern Tombstone. He was going on the mission, and that was all that mattered.
That, and the fact that Hsiao still held Pamela and Bayerly out there somewhere.
He would lead the Vipers to U Feng. But God help Hsiao if Tombstone ever met with that bastard again.
0430 hours, 21 January
Americana Hotel, Bangkok
The 1st Special Forces Group (Airborne) of the Royal That Army was organized along the same lines as the American Green Berets, concerned primarily with anti-guerrilla ops, intelligence gathering, and missions behind the lines. They trained extensively with their American counterparts, as well as with the elite troops of other nations. Though they normally wore two-piece jungle camouflage uniforms in the field, for special operations they wore the all-black combat suits and balaclavas of other elite units.
The men who rappelled from the hovering That UH-1s, then, were almost invisible against the night. They dropped from the helos in teams of four, landed on the roof of the hotel, and made their way quickly to pre-selected vantage points, M-16s and combat shotguns at the ready. For the past several hours, government helicopters had been making low passes over the area, in the hope that the defenders of the hotel's upper floors would become accustomed to the noise. Two bodies lay on the roof, army mutineers on guard cut down by suppressed, nightscope-directed fire from a neighboring rooftop seconds before the Hueys made their final approach.
At the same time that the airmobile force landed on the roof, assault teams entered on the ground level, securing the elevators and stairwells.
As Master Chief Buckley had noted during his closed-circuit TV broadcast the week before, officers in the That army were permitted to own their own businesses completely apart from their military careers. A check of government records by the That CIA showed that Colonel Kriangsak Vajiravudh was the owner of record of the Americana Hotel in the Yommarat district of Bangkok, as well as the unusual fact that the top two floors of the twenty-story building and the entire basement level below the parking garage had all been reserved for his personal use.
Operating under the tactical principle that it is always better to attack down when clearing a building rather than up, the roof assault teams moved in, splintering the access door with shotgun blasts and bursting into the stairwells. Supported by teams moving up from the eighteenth floor, they broke into the hotel corridors and began breaking into the penthouse suites.
Gunfire stuttered and barked as Kriangsak's bodyguards fought and died.
Stun grenades were tossed into hotel rooms seconds before black-garbed Special Forces troops rolled through, M-16s and CAR-15s at the ready. The defenders fought back, but they were disorganized and surprised. One by one, they were cut down.
The survivors began surrendering less than three minutes after the first shotgun blast, and soon the prisoners, disarmed, their wrists secured in plastic restraints, were being led in groups of three to Hueys which waited, hovering, just above the roof.
Fifteen prisoners were taken. Seven army mutineers were killed, at a cost of one commando dead and two wounded. In the basement, the attackers discovered an enormous cache of weapons, including over fifteen hundred Chinese-manufactured AK-47s, thirty RPD machine guns, dozens of RPG rocket launchers, case upon case of apple-green RGD-5 hand grenades, and hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition, arms and ammo enough to start a small war… which, indeed, they already had. It also provided confirmation that one Kriangsak Vajiravudh was indeed a traitor.
In every way save one, then, Operation Dahm Baho, Black Light, was a complete success.
Unfortunately, Colonel Kriangsak was not in the hotel when the attack went down.
0520 hours, 21 January
New Phetchaburi Road, Bangkok
Colonel Kriangsak felt out of place in the commander's hatch of the Cadillac-Gage Stingray as it clattered up the four-lane highway toward Bangkok's central district. His place was on the staff of one of Thailand's senior generals, a world of desks and telephones, of briefing rooms and paperwork, not the clash of steel tracks on pavement or the stink of diesel fumes.
