Viper Strike c-2, page 30
part #2 of Carrier Series
The MiGs held their turn as the all-aspect heat-seeker arrowed toward the left-hand target. Both J-7s began popping flares, bright orange pinpoints of light which arced away from their hulls like Roman candles, trailing smoke.
"Two more bandits," Dixie warned. "Coming on our six. Range three miles."
"Let 'em come." Tombstone pulled the stick left, turning inside the MiGs ahead, hoping to line up a shot at the second plane. He saw the contrail brush the MiG. There was a flash, and the J-7's wings folded toward one another, the fuselage disintegrating in white flame. Secondary explosions ate their way through the burning wreckage as fuel and munitions exploded.
Burning debris scattered smoking trails into the jungle below.
"Splash one MiG!" Dixie called. "Chalk one for Tombstone!"
Tombstone began lining up for his second shot. The target was weaving and jinking now, aware that the American was closing fast inside his turn.
"Two bandits on our six," Dixie said. "Two miles. They're trying for a shot."
"Almost there," Tombstone said. "Almost there-"
A warbling tone sounded in his ear. "Stoney! They have lock! They have lock!"
"Damn!" Tombstone snapped the stick back to the right, throwing the Tomcat into a sudden split-S. The warble was the tone of an Atoll missile, the radar-guided Soviet and Chinese equivalent of the American Sparrow.
"They're still coming'," Dixie shouted. Tombstone could hear the RIO shifting back and forth in his seat, trying to keep his eyes on the approaching MiGs. "They're breaking right!"
"Hold your stomach, Dixie!"
"Launch! Launch!"
Tombstone hauled the Tomcat's nose up and rammed the throttles forward, past full military power to afterburner. His F-14 shrieked toward heaven.
0748 hours, 21 January
One mile south of U Feng
The That army column had deployed on either side of the trail and was well-hidden. The men were under orders not to fire, but the nearness of the enemy, the ear-piercing low pass by jet aircraft, the hiss and roar of launching SAMs had an unnerving effect. One soldier in particular, a private named Pang Rajathasithuk, found himself trembling as he lay in the jungle, watching a raggedly dressed column of troops walk south along the path.
It was a patrol, one of several sent out by the invaders to search for the leading elements of the Royal That Army, which was known to be in the area. Until this moment, Pang had not seen the enemy, had heard only stories and rumors about the coup, about the attack on U Feng, about pitched battles fought here and in Bangkok.
There were so many of them, some in Burmese uniforms, most in mismatched bits and pieces of uniform which suggested they were members of some private militia rather than an established army. Pang watched the line passing his position and wondered how large this invading army at U Feng really was.
Could General Vinjit match such a force?
One of the ragged-looking soldiers on the path broke away from the rest of the column, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his trousers as he searched for a place to relieve himself. Chance put him squarely in front of Pang, and only a little below the level of the slope on which the That private lay. He looked up…
Pang never knew whether the soldier saw him or not. To the That private, it seemed that the man was looking straight at him through the leaves. His finger closed on the trigger of his M-16, and the roar of the weapon on full auto echoed along the trail.
Burmese and rebel soldiers dove for cover. The other hidden That troops opened up, and the jungle trail became a bloody killing ground at the nexus of a deadly crossfire. Gunshots crashed and boomed among the leaves, and the steady, hammering thunder of an M-60 added to the racket. A Burmese soldier pitched to the ground, shrieking as he clutched his shattered knee. A rebel threw up his arms and toppled forward as bloody guts erupted from his side and back.
Long seconds passed before the ambushed troops recovered from their surprise enough to begin firing back, and by the time they did dozens of their number had crumpled to the ground or were already fleeing north as fast as their legs could carry them. The heavy crump of grenades and 40-mm explosive rounds joined in.
And from the control tower of U Feng, less than a mile to the north, Hsiao heard the gunfire and knew the base was under attack.
0748 hours, 21 January
Near U Feng
Shit! Lieutenant Miller's fist hit the ground in front of him with frustration. He'd heard the sudden eruption of gunfire to the south, knew the element of surprise was gone before the first of the ambush survivors began streaming out of the forest and onto the airstrip. From his hiding place, he could see their wild gestures, hear their shouted warnings as they spread the alarm.
Well, it couldn't have lasted long, not with several thousand men wandering around loose in these woods. He gestured for the radio, took the handset from the commo operator.
"Green Throne, Green Throne," he said. "This is Alligator. Do you read, over?"
"Alligator, Green Throne. We read you. Go ahead."
"No joy on primary," he said. The words hurt as he said them. But there was no way now to find any American prisoners in that camp. "Repeat, no joy.
Crocodile is engaging." Crocodile referred to the That contingent, and he wanted Green Throne to know that it was the locals who'd screwed the pooch.
"Understood, Alligator," the voice on the handset said. "Green Throne" was Colonel John Caruso, monitoring the action from his CIC back on board the Chosin. Communications were being relayed through a circling Navy Hawkeye somewhere over central Thailand. "Revert to original op plan. We will direct Chickenhawk and Thunderbird to move in."
"Roger that, Green Throne. Wilco. Alligator, out." He handed the radio handset back to the commo operator. "Okay, Sciaparelli. Hohum. Break out the GLDs. Move it! Move it! We don't have all day." In fact, he knew, they had very little time now at all.
It was too damned bad about those Western prisoners the Karens had reported seeing. But there was nothing more that could be done for them now.
0748 hours, 21 January
U Feng
Hsiao was gathering his maps and papers when an aide entered his office.
Hua! Get my pilot. Have him ready my helicopter. And send some men to get the Americans and bring them here."
"You are leaving, General?"
Hsiao nodded. "It is perhaps best if I take the Americans to Mong-koi."
"It could be dangerous. The air battle-"
"I shall be traveling at treetop level, and the border is only a few minutes away. The Americans will not pursue me into Burma."
"Yes, sir."
"A precautionary measure only, Hua. I think it best that I and my prisoners stay out of the line of fire until after the Q-5s destroy the That forces."
"As you command, General."
The aide hurried out, and Hsiao began gathering his maps and papers.
This was more than precaution, he admitted to himself. The arrival of the American carrier planes had been a complete surprise. Wu might be holding them at bay, but at last word he'd lost five aircraft doing it, with no American kills reported yet. The Yankees' technology and their skill might yet turn the battle against his forces. If Wu was defeated, Dao's Q-5s, now on the way across the border from Burma, would be easy prey. And if the Q-5 attack was stopped, the That assault would come, possibly within minutes.
He did not wish to be in the area if that happened.
From Burma, Hsiao could retain control of his forces whatever happened, and the American prisoners would give him considerable bargaining power, both with the Thais and the Burmese. He might even be able to make a deal with the Americans, if they thought highly enough of their female news reporter.
He collected the last of his papers and strode unhurriedly from the room.
CHAPTER 27
0748 hours, 21 January
U Feng
"Made It!" Pamela said. "What's that? Shooting?"
She'd heard the sound before in the streets of Bangkok, a distant rattling sound. It was hard to associate that fireworks snapping with gunfire and death.
"Sure as hell is," Bayerly said, listening. "We'd better get ready to didi."
"Pardon?"
"Di di mau. Move out!"
"Move?" she asked, confused. "Where?"
Bayerly jerked his head toward the door. "Gunfire means someone's closing in. Probably a pretty big op if it's supported by Tomcats off the Jeff. These bozos here can't afford to let us go or get rescued. They'll either move us, maybe try to use us for bargaining later… or they'll shoot us."
"Oh, God…"
He gave her a tight-lipped smile. He seemed calmer now than he had earlier, calmer and more self-possessed. "Something tells me our friend Hsiao isn't going to want witnesses around talking about his part in things. Like kidnapping, torture, and murder for a start. Or revolution." He stood next to the shed's door, stooped slightly as though listening. "Okay. Stand back."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He didn't answer but took several steps back to the far end of the shed, then threw himself at the door, smashing against the wood with his shoulder.
There was a loud crash, but the door held. "Made It! What are you doing?
The guards will hear!"
"Shit," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "It always works in the movies!"
He backed up again, paused, then took another run at the door. The crash was so loud that Pamela thought the sound must be carrying all over the base.
"They'll hear…!"
"I think our guards took off the first time those Tomcats buzzed us," Bayerly said. He slammed his shoulder against the door again… and again.
"By now they're halfway back to Burma."
He hit the door once more, this time with a splintering crash which tore the door from its hinges. Bayerly plunged through, landing on his hands and knees on the wreckage of the door.
Bayerly grinned. "Let's get out of here."
"Yin kin! Yin kin!" The soldier appeared out of nowhere, an AK-47 raised to his shoulder, the muzzle thrusting at Bayerly's face. Pamela didn't know if he'd been there all along or had just arrived to investigate the noise. His face twisted in fury. "Reho kaho!"
"Okay, okay!" Bayerly said, holding up one hand. He started to rise.
"Keep your shirt on-"
He sprang forward and up, getting under the soldier's AK and knocking its muzzle toward the sky just as the man's finger jerked at the trigger. A burst of full-auto fire rattled the walls of the shed.
The rebel soldier went down on his back, Bayerly on top of him, both men wrestling for the AK between them. The American outweighed his opponent by at least fifty pounds and had the advantage of having one knee on the man's chest. Bayerly tugged hard at the weapon… then changed tactics and pushed down as hard as he could. Caught off guard, the enemy soldier took the full force of the blow across his chest. Bayerly pulled again, and this time broke the AK free of the soldier's grasp. Pamela saw the assault rifle rise in the air, butt down… then descend sharply. There was a crack, and the guard lay motionless on the ground, his forehead oddly misshapen.
Bayerly racked back the bolt on the AK, checking the chamber. A gold cartridge spun through the air. "Let's go."
They hurried around the corner of the shed, then sprinted for the fuel tanks.
Beyond, a hundred-yard clear stretch separated them from the jungle.
0750 hours, 21 January
Tomcat 201
Tombstone kept the Tomcat in a vertical climb, afterburners howling. At thirty-five thousand feet he put the aircraft into a half-twist, then cut the burners and let the plane fall on its back, canopy down, as his fingers stabbed at the chaff-release button. Looking "up," Tombstone could see the dark green folds of mountains and valleys, the silver twistings of the Taeng River.
The contrail of the Atoll AAM arrowed toward him from the Earth.
Still pumping chaff, Tombstone let the Tomcat slide into an inverted dive. The trick was to create a large enough radar target for the oncoming missile that its microchip brain would believe that the target's center lay somewhere behind the aircraft… instead of squarely between the stabilizers and the cockpit.
He held his breath as the missile closed…
… and flashed past the tail of his aircraft just as he cut in the afterburners once more.
The Atoll exploded somewhere astern, and the Tomcat shuddered with the blast. Tombstone heard a loud ping, metal striking metal, but the lights on his warning panel remained blissfully unlit.
Falling now, Tombstone righted the F-14 and throttled down to eighty percent. His eyes went to his fuel gauge. Not good. They'd been in the dogfight for less than three minutes, but using the afterburner had burned a hell of a lot of fuel.
He was on top of the dogfight now. Looking down, he could see aircraft and contrails everywhere he looked, spread out between him and the jungle, silvery specks moving against dark green. South he could see the scar of U Feng; west the sun flashed from the Taeng River.
"Eagle Three, this is Eagle Six! I've got two on my tail! Get 'em off!
Shit, they're going for lock! They've got lock!"
"Hold on, Nightmare!" Garrison's voice called. "I'm on them!"
Still diving, Tombstone plunged back into the aerial melee. Pulling up, he saw a Tomcat in a hard turn a mile ahead, closely pursued by a MiG, which in turn was being pursued by another F-14. He was too far to read the numbers, but he knew the Tomcats were Nightmare Marinaro and Army Garrison.
"Break right, Nightmare!" Army called. "Break right!"
The lead Tomcat cut hard to the right just as Garrison fired. "Fox two!
Fox two!"
One of the MiGs exploded seconds later, a burst of jagged, flaming fragments spilling from the sky. Army's Tomcat overshot the second MiG before he could get a shot, however, and the enemy plane stuck to Nightmare's tail.
Tombstone saw that he was in a good position to cut across the arc of Nightmare's turn. He pushed the throttle to full military power, lining up his target pipper on the second MiG.
"Army!" Nightmare called. "Where are you, man?"
"Steady, Nightmare," Tombstone said. "I'm on him."
"He's still got lock!" Nightmare yelled. "Hurry, Stoney!"
The two planes were leading Tombstone now. The pipper on his HUD trailed the MiG, but he couldn't turn hard enough to catch up. "Nightmare!" he called. "When I tell you, break left. That'll give me a clear shot at his six!"
"Rog!"
"On my mark… three… two… one… break!"
Nightmare snapped left in a sharp split-S, and the MiG followed. This guy is good, Tombstone thought. But he'd known in advance where Nightmare would be going and had been able to anticipate the MiG's move and be ready.
His HUD showed a target lock and a tone growled in his ear. "Lock! Fox two!
Fox two!"
The missile sped from its rail, slipped up the J-7's tailpipe and exploded. The MiG's wings closed together like folding hands.
0750 hours, 21 January
MiG 612
Colonel Wu pulled his J-7 around in a hard, left-hand turn, following the F-5 toward the jungle. He watched as his Aphid heat-seeker AAM slammed into the That Freedom Fighter's tailpipe. A blossom of orange flame engulfed the target's tail, blasting away bits of whirling metal, and the F-5 began plummeting toward the jungle.
That made five kills scored against the enemy, two of them downed by Wu himself. The That aircraft were relatively easy targets. The American-made F-5s were as good as his squadron's J-7s, but the superiority of the Chinese pilots' training was making itself felt.
"Wu t'uan chang! Wu t'uan chang!" an excited voice yelled over his headset. In Chinese military usage he was "Regimental Commander Wu" rather than "Colonel."
"Who calls?" he snapped. The other pilot's voice betrayed growing panic, and Wu could not allow that to continue.
"The American planes, Regimental Commander! They are turning the battle against us!"
Wu looked up through his canopy. Contrails snarled and twisted above him. He saw the black streak of an aircraft burning as it fell and realized it was one of his own.
He'd lost track of the numbers on either side. There was no way to follow the battle in any detail now, not with so many combatants involved.
But the Thais seemed scattered… and between the onslaught from Wu's J-7s and the SAMs at U Feng and along the river, they'd taken heavy casualties.
There seemed to be six American aircraft… and he still had eighteen J-7s in his squadron. Discounting the Thais, that made the odds three to one in his favor.
Wu made a snap decision. "All Dragons," he called. "This is Dragon Leader. Ignore the Thais. Concentrate on the Americans! Repeat, concentrate on the Americans!"
It was the only way to stop the deadly attrition of his own forces.
0751 hours, 21 January
Tomcat 201
Airplanes fell from the sky. Tombstone watched another That F-5 explode, victim of a MiG-launched Aphid. Seconds later, Price Taggart loosed a radar-guided Sparrow from almost ten miles away, tracking a MiG which dove for the jungle. The Chinese pilot tried to lose the Mach 4 hunter by weaving in close among the forested ridges… and failed in a spectacularly blazing fireball.
Garrison and Marinaro both reported kills as well. The MiGs were frantic now, and Tombstone thought he detected a new pattern to their movements.
Though spread now across twenty miles of sky, all the way from U Feng to the green line, they appeared to be trying to close with the American planes, forcing them into close combat.
"This is Eagle Two, Eagle Two!" Batman called. "I've got two on my tail.
Correction… four on my tail! Four on me! Jeez, where're they coming from?"
Under that kind of pressure, the Americans' luck wouldn't hold for long.
There were at least eight That aircraft still in the area, but they were not understanding ― or responding ― to Victor Four Delta's calls, and the battle was quickly collapsing into a slugfest, eighteen MiG-21s ganging up on six Tomcats.
