Viper Strike

CHAPTER 23

Tombstone dropped into his ejection seat and accepted his helmet from Chief Smith. The plane captain grinned at him as he went through the motions of strapping on his airplane, and gave him a jaunty thumbs up. "How about bagging another six kills, Commander? For us."

"I'll see what I can do, Chief," Tombstone said, laughing. He settled the helmet over his head and adjusted the lip mike. "I'll see what I can do."

He finished pulling the arming pins for the ejection seat and checking the other necessary preflight details ― leg restraints, oxygen and G-suit hoses connected and locked, radio cord snapped into his helmet.

Smith gave his helmet a friendly pat. "Luck! Canopy coming down."

Tombstone could hear Dixie's harsh breathing over the Tomcat's ICS as the RIO went through his own checklist. "Firing up," Tombstone said, and he switched on the powerful Pratt & Whitney turbofans.

"All set back here, Tombstone," Dixie told him.

Outside, the plane captain gave the Tomcat a final quick visual inspection, then signaled his approval. A small army of green shirts began breaking down the aircraft, removing the chocks and chains which had kept it pinned in place on the starboard side of the carrier, just forward of the island. A man in yellow jersey and cranial backed ahead of the F-14, signaling with his hands. Tombstone released the brakes and set the aircraft trundling slowly forward after him.

The launch for the alpha strike code-named Operation Bright Lightning was well under way. Jefferson had been hurling aircraft into the sky for the past hour, beginning with the VA-84's A-6 Intruders and VFA-176's Hornets for close support missions over Bangkok.

But the real show today would be in the far north of Thailand, over the airfield at U Feng.

"Eagle Leader, this is Homeplate," a voice crackled in his helmet phones.

"Eagle" was the call sign for VF-95 on this strike.

"Homeplate, this is Eagle Leader," Tombstone replied. "I copy. Go ahead."

"Stoney? This is CAG. How are you feeling?"

Tombstone was surprised. CAG did not normally chat with pilots during a launch… and he never asked after their health.

Still, he understood. CAG had gone to bat for him with the senior medical officer. Marusko had put his own neck on the line, so that Tombstone could risk his.

"Livin' on the edge, CAG," he said. "No problem."

"Take care of yourself, Stoney. Oh… and the admiral says, 'Good flying.""

This last was even more surprising. Admiral Magruder was usually scrupulously careful not to show favoritism for his aviator nephew. A personal message from the CO of the battle group broadcast over the tactical com net could hardly be kept secret.

But Tombstone didn't mind, not anymore. And a little last-second nervousness from CAG over his decision to intervene with the doctors was justifiable, Tombstone decided.

Had he made the right decision? Strange. Tombstone hadn't thought much about it. The hours since his escape had been a mix of frantic activity and exhausted sleep. Was he the same man, with the same reflexes, the same edge?

He shook his head, pushing the question aside.

More than anything else in the world right now, he wanted, needed to strike back at the man who had kidnapped and tortured him, who had threatened Pamela Drake, who had mutilated and killed three of his shipmates and attacked the Jefferson herself, all for the sake of some unknown, twisted power game of his own. For now, that was all that mattered, that and the fact that he was again at the controls of an F14, ready to ride the cat shuttle into the sky.

Next in line. The water-cooled plate of the Jet Blast Deflector behind Cat One rose in front of him, protecting his aircraft from the engine exhaust of the plane ahead. The color-coded deck crew performed their ritual movements and dances, checking the KA-6D tanker, readying it for launch. The other tanker was already up. Jefferson's Air Ops would have a fine time juggling those two planes today, keeping them aloft with enough fuel to service the entire wing. Later, perhaps, some aircraft could land and refuel at various That bases, but that wouldn't be until their safety on the ground could be assured. In the meantime, fuel would be a carefully hoarded resource.

The engines on the KA-6 thundered to full throttle. The cat officer gave his signal, and the tanker thundered forward off the flight deck, leaving a billowing cloud of steam in its wake. Heavily loaded, it dipped beyond the carrier's bow, then rose, sluggish but climbing, its anticollision light strobing brilliantly in the crystal half-light of the early morning.

Tombstone checked his watch. Sunrise was still a few minutes away, but the sky was already day-brilliant, while the surface of the ocean and the carrier herself remained in shadow. The JBD slowly dropped back to the deck, and the yellow shirt guiding his plane motioned him forward. Tombstone eased the Tomcat ahead, bringing the front wheel onto the slot for the catapult's shuttle. Around the aircraft, dozens of deck crewmen hurried about the plane, making their final checks.

A red-shirted ordie stepped close to the cockpit and held up a bundle of wires with red tags on them. Tombstone checked the count and nodded approval.

The wires had been pulled from the safety locks on the four AIM-9L Sidewinder and four AIM-7 Sparrow air-to-air missiles under his wings. The decision had been made during the previous day's planning that the far larger and longer-ranged Phoenix missiles would not be used. A Phoenix could lock in and kill an enemy plane over a hundred miles away, but the skies over northern Thailand were going to be a confused swirl of aircraft ― That, American, and enemy ― and it would be necessary to get close enough to see the targets to avoid scoring own goals.

A purple shirt held up a board with 66,000 on it, letting Tombstone verify the Tomcat's launch weight. Green shirts completed hooking the F-14's nose wheel to the cat shuttle.

"Eagle Leader, Homeplate," a voice said. Tombstone recognized it as Commander Dick Wheeler, Jefferson's Air Boss. "Trapdoor is now airborne over Don Muang. Victor Four Bravo will give you your vector once you're in the air."

"Eagle copies," Tombstone said. He was feeling tight… excitement a living thing twisting in his gut. Victor Four Bravo was the Hawkeye which would coordinate Operation Bright Lightning. Trapdoor was the call sign for an alpha strike of That aircraft, F-5s, mostly, and a few of their F-16 Falcons. According to Intelligence, the That air force had been badly hurt by bomb-throwing guerrillas at nearly every one of their air bases, and well over half of their modern interceptors and attack planes had been destroyed or damaged. General Duong and other members of the That Military Command Staff had been convinced, however, to put their remaining planes in the air, part of a massive air and ground push against U Feng which was already under way.

With so many planes in the air, it was hoped that the presence of Jefferson's air wing could be kept a surprise until the last moment.

Tombstone wiped his Tomcat's controls, using the aviator's mnemonic of "Father, Son, Holy Ghost" as he moved the stick back, forward, left, and right. He moved the foot pedals controlling the rudders for the "Amen."

"Eagle Leader, this is Eagle Two. Tombstone, m' man, how're you reading me?"

"Loud and clear, Batman," Tombstone replied. He checked over his left shoulder and saw Tomcat 216 behind him, preparing for a simultaneous launch.

Batman had a new RIO in his backseat. Lieutenant Commander Aaron "Ramrod" Kingsly normally flew a Tomcat, but his F-14 had been one of those down-checked after the fire, so he was filling in as RIO this time around.

Tombstone glanced back over his right shoulder at the ready light on the carrier island. It showed green. He could see shadowy figures behind the windscreens, both on the bridge and on the flag bridge. He thought he saw one of the figures salute.

A yellow shirt signaled. Time to crank her up. He eased the throttles forward, bringing the F-14's engines to full power. The plane trembled, yearning to be free of the deck once more.

The squad safety inspector, in green cranial and white jersey, completed his final check and gave a thumbs-up. The Catapult Officer, identified by his yellow jersey and green helmet, looked up at the cockpit. Tombstone saluted.

Ready…

With a graceful twist, the Cat Officer turned, pointed forward, and touched the deck. There was a surge of motion, of power, and Tombstone was flattened into his ejection seat. The acceleration clamped down on his lungs, squeezed his eyeballs back into his head, pressed his spine against the chair as the Tomcat hurtled off the catapult ramp.

"Good shot! Good shot!" he called.

"Tomcat Two-oh-one airborne," Pried-Fly's voice answered in his earphones.

"Tomcat Two-one-six airborne." There was a pause. "Good Luck, Stoney. Good hunting!"

"Copy that, Homeplate. Thanks."

Sunlight exploded over the rim of the ocean as he grabbed for altitude.

The burst of noise and speed and golden light seemed to break a dam inside Tombstone's soul. He was alive… and in command of a thirty-three-ton, high-tech fighting machine drilling into the clean, endless blue depths of the sky.

It felt like coming home.

Admiral Magruder was leaning over a table on which maps of Thailand and TENCAP photos were piled in seeming disorder. TENCAP ― the acronym stood for Tactical Exploitation of National CAPabilities ― was one of the most dramatic advances in battlefield management history. For the first time, commanders in the field could call down up-to-the-minute reconnaissance photos from American spy satellites in orbit. Until recently, such high-resolution photos were processed first at the National Photographic Interpretation Center in Washington, D.C., then distributed down the chain of command by the CIA. It had taken weeks, sometimes, for the men who needed the data to get it.

No more. These photos had been taken only hours before. They were in infrared, penetrating the darkness. Individual people were clearly visible.

Magruder found himself looking down on two men in ragged uniforms with AK-47s across their shoulders; the glowing tips of their cigarettes registered like tiny, diamond-brilliant stars.

In two hours, Bright Lightning would hit U Feng like a whirlwind. That soldiers were already moving into position. They would go in when the bombs stopped falling. The victory had to be clearly theirs, proof to the dissidents and a panicky population that the Royal Army had things well in hand.

Washington had agreed with his assessment. Nothing would discourage the army mutineers or strengthen the legitimate government's resolve faster than a quick, sharp victory at U Feng.

"Admiral Magruder?"

He looked up. His Chief of Staff stood in the door. "Come in, Brad.

What do you have?"

"Eagle is airborne, sir. Thunderbird is over the coast now, on course, on time. Pried-Fly reports that Chickenhawk is ready for launch."

"Thanks, Brad."

Eagle ― six aircraft of VF-95 ― would escort Thunderbird ― the Intruders of VA-84 ― into U Feng. Chickenhawk was the code name for the F/A-18 Hornets of VFA-161. Their job would be flack- and SAM-suppression over the target.

Faster, but with smaller fuel reserves, they were being launched last. VF-97, once again, was being held in reserve, providing CAP for the Jefferson… and reinforcements, should the need arise over Bangkok.

"Uh… there's something else, Admiral. Something kind of screwy."

"What is it?"

"This just came through from Bangkok, sir." Gilmore handed the admiral a teletype sheet. "Just been decoded."

He read the message.

UNCONFIRMED REPORT TWO WESTERN PRISONERS, ONE MALE, ONE FEMALE, ARRIVED U FENG MIDDAY YESTERDAY. HELD IN BUILDING NEAR FUEL DUMP.

REPORT BROUGHT TO DOI CHIANG DAO BY KAREN GIRL NAMED PHYA NIN. WOULD DISCOUNT, BUT MESSENGER CLAIMS KNOWLEDGE OF SOMEONE NAMED BATMAN, U.S.S.

JEFFERSON, PLEASE ADVISE.

Two prisoners! Magruder knew immediately that it was Bayerly and Pamela Drake.

He felt cold as he scanned the message a second time. Held near the fuel dump… and the fuel storage tanks on the east side of the U Feng perimeter would be among the first targets hit by Thunderbird.

Magruder felt as though he were balanced on a knife's edge. Jefferson had almost thirty planes in the air or ready for launch, aircraft with a destination five hundred miles north and with fuel in short supply. The alpha strike could not be kept waiting, not for two people who might or might not be Westerners, hostages of General Hsiao.

On the other hand, one of those hostages was a civilian, a well-known American news correspondent.

The other was an officer under his command, Lieutenant Commander Bayerly.

Magruder had heard the stories about Bayerly, about the tragic death of Admiral Fitzroy's daughter and the scandal surrounding the aviator who had been with her when she died. He knew that when a cloud like that attached itself to a Naval officer, that man's career was all but finished.

But Bayerly was a member of Jefferson's air wing, CO of VF-97. More than once in the past, Admiral Magruder had been forced to make difficult decisions regarding Jefferson personnel. Not going in to rescue Batman and Malibu the week before had been such a decision, one forced on him by the politics of the situation.

Here was a situation where carrying on with the mission meant killing one of Jefferson's own.

Damn it all! Bright Lightning could not be aborted. The Thais had already been brought in, and to back out now would leave them hanging. To go on…

"First," Magruder snapped. "Raise Colonel Caruso on the Chosin. I want to get in touch with the Marine Recon team heading for U Feng. Second, get me General Duong, That Military Staff Command. Third, I want confirmation on this from Batman Wayne. See if he trusts this woman. Fourth…" He hesitated. "Fourth, get down to CIC and have CAG make a signal to ninety-nine aircraft. Bright Lightning is on hold until we get this resolved. Got it?"

"Got it, sir!"

"Then get on it!"

"Aye, aye, sir." Gilmore whirled and rushed out the door.

Magruder couldn't cancel Bright Lightning, but he could delay it… a very little. It would mean diverting the alpha strike aircraft to bingo fields in Thailand rather than recovering them aboard the carrier, but that possibility had been considered from the beginning since fuel was such a critical factor.

And the delay might give them a chance to get the Marines in. A twenty-man Marine Recon force was already en route toward U Feng aboard one of Chosin's transport helos. Slower than the aircraft of the alpha strike, the Marine Super Stallion had taken off almost two hours earlier and was over central Thailand by now. The force's mission was to support That ground operations and to provide ground spotting and laser designation for the Navy attack aircraft.

But perhaps their mission could be changed to include a rescue.

Magruder hoped so. It was damned chancy tampering with the mission planning at this late hour, but none of the alternatives was attractive.

General Hsiao stood at the window of his office, hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the jungle as his aide delivered the report. "Go on."

"All radio contact has been lost with Colonel Kriangsak, sir, both with his headquarters at the Americana Hotel and with the troop column tasked with seizing the government complex in Bangkok. There are wild rumors that the Yankees are bombing Bangkok, that their Marines are landing in the city, but nothing confirmed…"

Hsiao's fingers tightened their grip behind him. "What else?"

"General Kol is waiting outside. He wishes to see you most urgently."

Hsiao turned and smiled. "That I can believe."

"Radar reports unusual air activity between here and Bangkok. There are also rumors of troop movements on the road north of Chiang Mai. Colonel Wu believes that an attack may be imminent and requests a meeting with you at your earliest convenience."

Hsiao sighed. "Very well. Tell Colonel Wu I will see him in ten minutes. At his office."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell that pig of a Burmese general to come in. I will deal with him now."

The aide made a wai and backed out of the room. A moment later, General Kol entered, his chubby face flushed with anger. "I have heard rumors, General," Kol began. "Rumors that the Americans are attacking."

"That is nonsense, Kol."

"You said that there would be no direct confrontation with the Americans.

You claimed the damage done to their ship would drive them away." He shook his head stubbornly. "Our agreement never called for armed conflict with the Yankees. I am returning to Burma with my men. Now."

Hsiao laughed. "It is a little late for that now, don't you think, General Kol? Haven't you heard the reports? That army forces are closing in on U Feng even as we speak! Your pathetic little army would be trapped and cut down before it got within five kilometers of the border!"

Kol swallowed. "Nonetheless," he said. "My men will not fight the Americans. What do we have to gain from such a confrontation?"

"I'm paying you enough, General. Your men will do what I demand of them."

"We'll see about that." He turned away.

"Have you forgotten General Xiang?" He drew his Type 62 pistol and pointed it at Kol's head. "That, my fat friend, is the price of crossing me!"

Kol turned again, and his eyes bugged out at the sight of the gun. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then he licked his lips. "I didn't mean, General, that…"

"The situation is under control, General kol," Hsiao said. "As planned, the Thais have committed themselves to an attack on our forces here at U Feng.

Our aircraft and anti-air missiles will sweep their planes from the sky. When the skies belong to us, we shall rain destruction upon the That forces and crush them. You, General Kol, can be a part of the victory, or a casualty.

Which shall it be?"

"I–I support you, of course, General," Kol said. His eyes were wide as he stared down the pistol's muzzle. "I simply wish to provide counsel… to advise caution. Provoking the Americans is a terrible risk."

"I will handle the Americans, if it comes to that," Hsiao said. "You do what I tell you to do."

"Yes, sir."

"Get out of my sight. You make me sick."

The general bobbed his head and departed. Hsiao reholstered the pistol.

Kol would have to be killed, of course, and quickly. It would have been foolish to trust the man fully before. Now, afraid and insulted, he was far more dangerous. But the execution would have to be handled carefully, to avoid alienating the expatriate Burmese troops in his command.

Too, the defeat of the That assault on U Feng would generate yet more impetus for the mutiny, perhaps even convince the King and his ministers in Bangkok to support the dissident officers' faction. The body of a Burmese general would be a fine, added touch, proof that Burma had been behind the communist rising in the north and the capture of U Feng. That might satisfy the Americans as well, who would still be wondering about the loss of one of their planes in the area and smarting from the attack on their carrier.

Burmese involvement would explain so much.

If Kriangsak were still alive, he would pull the whole thing together in Bangkok. Hsiao frowned. Loss of contact with Kriangsak was worrisome. It was possible that the attack in the capital had gone badly, that Colonel Kriangsak was captured or dead.

No matter, really. Hsiao had other contacts among the dissident officers, and the important thing was the destabilization of the That government. When the government fell, Hsiao's men would step in. One way or another, Hsiao Kuoping would rule this country before the month was out.

All that remained was to defeat the That military forces now closing on this remote and otherwise insignificant air base.

Hsiao picked up a briefcase containing maps and reports and left the office. He had some further surprises to discuss with Colonel Wu.

The Thais thought they had him in a trap. Soon he would show them that it was possible for the trappers themselves to be trapped.