CHAPTER 24

0636 hours, 21 January
Tomcat 216, over Central Thailand

"Eagle Two, this is Homeplate," CAG's voice said over Batman's headset.

"The brass has a question for you."

"Uh… roger, Homeplate," Batman replied. Now what in the world…?

"Do you know someone named Phya Nin?"

The question startled Batman. "That's affirmative, Homeplate." Hell, he'd told them all about her during his debriefing. What more did they want to know? And why?

"What do you know about her, Two-one-six?"

He thought a moment. "Uh… I'm not sure I understand the question, Homeplate. She's a sergeant in the Karen National Army of Liberation. The 12th KNLA Brigade." He'd told them that in his debriefing too.

"Roger that, Two-one-six. Can she be trusted? Over."

Trusted? "Absolutely, Homeplate. Are you in contact with her?"

"Two-one-six, stand by."

He listened to static for a long moment. What the hell was going on?

Below his Tomcat, the land spread out flat and green, a patchwork quilt of rice paddies and farmland. The squadron was about halfway to its destination. It looked peaceful down there. Indeed the fighting which had torn at Thailand's social fabric for the past weeks had not touched this, the real Thailand, where the smoggy sprawl of Bangkok was as alien as the surface of Mars. From ten thousand feet, Batman could see the six-laned intrusion of Route 1 following the Chao Phraya north from the capital, but the countryside itself looked as it must have looked for centuries, remote and untouched.

It reminded him of the jungle in the north and of the girl who claimed that the Karens with God outnumbered their enemies.

"What was that all about, Batman?" Kingsly asked from the back seat, his soft Tennessee drawl pronounced over the ICS.

"Beats me, Ramrod."

Kingsly laughed. "Sounds to me like they want to know more about your gook girlfriend."

"Can that 'gook' shit!" Batman snapped. His anger surprised him. He remembered his own references to gooks a few days before, and the memory burned.

"Well sure, man," Ramrod said, startled at Batman's reaction. "Anything you say."

"Ninety-nine aircraft, ninety-nine aircraft," another voice said over the radio. "This is Victor Four Delta traffic control. Proceed to Point Lima and orbit. Squadron commanders acknowledge, over."

There was a stunned silence, then Batman heard Tombstone responding for Eagle. Then the tactical channel crackled with questions and speculations by other men in the squadron.

"What's gotten into them back there, Nightmare?"

"Damfino, Shooter."

"Another crap-out, guys. Didn't I tell you? Another fuckin' crap-out."

"That's enough, people," Tombstone's voice came over the chatter. "Radio discipline. Keep the channel clear."

Batman couldn't help connecting the questions about Phya with the sudden change in orders, but what did it mean? In the Navy, the gods of Higher Authority rarely told the guys in the trenches what was going on.

He looked out the cockpit again. He could just barely make out the specks of vehicles crawling along the highway. More distinct were the toy-shapes of several helicopters pacing their own shadows as they flew north, parallel to the Tomcats' course but rapidly falling behind. Those were probably troop transports, possibly some of the helos on loan from the Marines to the Thais for the ground attack on U Feng. Possibly, he decided, something had gone wrong with that end of the operation, and the alpha strike was being held up to coordinate with them better.

Batman just hoped that someone remembered that the alpha strike was going to be running a little lean on fuel by the time they reached the skies over U Feng, and the more time they spent circling Point Lima ― a marshaling area just north of Chiang Mai, thirty miles south of U Feng ― the less time they'd have over the target.

From what he knew of the way command decisions were often made, Batman was not reassured.

0641 hours, 21 January
That International Hotel, Bangkok

"Silence! Silence!" Kriangsak shouted in English. His throat was raw with gun smoke and screaming, his head still fuzzy from the blast which had stunned him almost two hours earlier. He pointed the M-16 he'd picked up somewhere at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The sudden, shocking burst of gunfire cut through the screams and cries of the hostages and brought a sudden, deathly silence to the lobby. "Quiet, everyone!"

Plaster dust and smoke floated in the air of the hotel lobby. Nearly forty civilians, men, women, and a few children, knelt or lay on the expensive red and gold patterned carpet in front of the hotel's registration desk. A half dozen of Kriangsak's men kept their automatic weapons pointed at the crowd, patrolling the outer edge of the group like sheepdogs.

Two bodies lay on the floor nearby, a doorman in a military-looking white uniform and a That policeman in khaki, both killed when Kriangsak's men had stormed into the hotel. A third body, a hotel security guard, lay across the room near the front door.

It was a large, long room, lined with shops and opening into a ground-floor restaurant. After fleeing the disaster on New Phetchaburi Road over an hour earlier, Kriangsak's men had broken in and quickly secured the lobby and all of the ground-floor entrances.

Hotel guests in the foyer and the restaurant had been herded into the lobby. Most ― all of the Orientals except for the staff ― had been freed immediately. Under Kriangsak's orders, the hotel's employees had then begun moving through the hotel, ordering the guests to evacuate the hotel.

As the guests, many of them half-dressed or still wearing night clothes, had exited the elevators and stairwells, Kriangsak's men had sorted them.

Orientals had been allowed to leave by the front door, but Westerners had been roughly shoved into the growing crowd in front of the registration desk. One of Kriangsak's men had gone through the hotel's registration book, calling out names. One by one, the Americans in the group of hostages had been identified, the others released.

By now, all of the hotel's rooms had been emptied and checked by Kriangsak's men. Other rebel soldiers stood guard at each window and entrance. It wouldn't be very long before the authorities were forced to act.

"Colonel!" one of the soldiers yelled. He wore a bloodstained bandage around his head, covering a gash where he'd struck his head during the Americans' attack on the tank column. "They're coming, Colonel! Front door!"

Kriangsak walked to the wide windows at the front of the lobby. Outside, the city looked peaceful, not like a city under siege at all. The only signs that anything was wrong were the absence of the usual early morning traffic on the street, and a smudge of smoke hanging above the buildings in the distance.

He saw movement, troops in camo uniforms, moving cautiously among the trees which filled the International's park-like grounds. Soon a white flag appeared above a low mound of earth two hundred meters away.

"Attention!" an amplified voice blared in That. There was a squeal of feedback, quickly adjusted. The white flag continued to wave. "Attention in the hotel! We wish to talk with you!"

Kriangsak wiped his face with his hand. The issue, whatever the outcome, was about to be resolved. "Let them come, Dhani," he said to the soldier.

"They will have things they wish to discuss with us."

He waited as Dhani showed himself, holding his CAR-15 above his head.

The government's negotiators rose from hiding and approached, holding the white flag above their heads.

Kriangsak smiled. The Americans might have thwarted his attempt to seize the government, but in the end, they would still have to come to him, deal with him. They would have no choice.

0704 hours, 21 January
That International Hotel, Bangkok

Marine Captain Fraser approached the That army officer and saluted.

"Well, Colonel," he said. "What's it going to be?"

Colonel Vang Chitiburit looked past Fraser toward the low, ultra-modern sprawl of the That International. "Do you seriously believe you have a chance, Captain?"

"We have a chance. We sure as hell can't wait this bastard out." The That colonel considered that. "No," he said at last. "You are right."

The colonel had returned from his conversation with the rebel soldiers only minutes before. Their leader, Colonel Kriangsak of the Royal That military staff, no less, wanted ― demanded ― a helicopter to fly him, his men, and a number of American hostages out of the city. He'd not said what his destination was, but U Feng would be the obvious guess.

"Those are Americans that son of a bitch has in there," the Marine officer added quietly, without emotion. "The Marines are here to protect them."

"Your plan has risk."

"So does giving the bastard what he wants. And damn it, he claims he's going to start shooting people in thirty minutes! You want to see if he means it?" There was a long hesitation. Fraser wondered if the man was trying to decide whether or not to buck the problem up to a higher command. The problem was, the higher command was busy just now with a coup. At best, the confrontation at the That International was a minor distraction.

"Very well, Captain," Vang said stiffly. He sounded relieved, though, rather than reluctant. Probably, Fraser thought, he was happy to have the responsibility for success or disaster riding on someone else's shoulders. "I turn the situation over to you."

"Thank you, sir," he said, saluting.

Vang looked uncertain. "Will there be anything you or your men need, Captain?"

"Yes, Colonel Vang." He smiled. "A small diversion."

"A diversion?"

"When I give the word." And he began to explain what he had in mind.

0730 hours, 21 January
That International Hotel, Bangkok

Master Sergeant Phillip Loomis lay flat on the ground, watching the hotel. Captain Fraser had snagged him almost the moment he'd returned to the embassy earlier that morning, explaining that there were Americans being held hostage at the That International and ordering Loomis to round up fifty volunteers for a rescue.

The mission, Loomis thought to himself, would have been better suited to a Recon Marine force, but the only Recondos within a thousand miles were north at U Feng, spotting for the Navy A-6s and Hornets.

Very slowly, he raised his head, studying the hotel over the slight, grass-covered rise he and twelve other Marines were hiding behind. The nearest entrance was fifty yards away. He could see one rebel soldier standing guard by the door. There might be others, but if so they were staying out of sight.

Loomis checked his watch. Zero-seven thirty. Where were they? It was time to go…!

He heard the stuttering drone of an approaching helicopter.

He looked toward the east and saw it approaching low above the buildings in the direction of the embassy.

The captain had explained it to him before they deployed. One of the Marine Sea Stallions, deploying now off the Jefferson, was to be flown in and landed directly in front of the hotel's front door. While the rebels were watching the landing ― they'd be expecting a trick ― Loomis's Marines, Assault One, would storm the side entrance. Assault Two was waiting on the far side of the building, ready to do the same thing.

And there would be still more Marines, code-named Sunday Punch, waiting inside the helicopter as backups.

The Sea Stallion drifted toward the front of the hotel, its rotor wash lashing at the palm trees lining the parking lot. Loomis could hear a singsong barking over a megaphone ― Colonel Vang speaking to the rebels in That, explaining that their demands were being met and that the helo was coming to take them and their hostages away.

Loomis kept his eye on the sentry beside the side door. The man had a Colt CAR-15 in his hands, was holding it at the ready as he took a few steps in the direction of the helo, trying to see past the corner of the building.

A second guard stepped through the door at his back. Loomis waited for a count of ten. No more guards came through the door. He reached out and slapped the helmet of the Marine next to him.

Corporal Halcek was a Marine sniper. He was already taking careful aim with the bolt-action M40A1, a militarized version of the Remington 700 hunting rifle. Halcek took a second more to center the 10-power scope on the target, then squeezed the trigger.

The rifle cracked and one of the guards staggered a step to one side, colliding with the hotel wall. The second guard spun, assault rifle coming up, but Halcek had already worked the bolt, shifted aim, and was squeezing the trigger again. Two shots rang out this time, one from Halcek and the other from a Marine with an M-16, designated as backup.

"Assault One! We're moving!" he said, the words activating the hot mike to the PRC-9 radio strapped to his helmet. The tactical radio would keep Fraser and the others at the HQ designated as Outpost aware of what was going on, but leave his hands free. He scrambled to his feet, shouting to the other Marines, "Go! Go! Go!"

Thirteen men rose as one and ran toward the hotel, booted feet pounding across grass and pavement. With each step that he took, Loomis expected a burst of gunfire from the door which was their objective… and then they were at the door and the first men were going through. The two rebel soldiers lay sprawled where they had fallen, blood pooling around them on the sidewalk.

The roar of the helicopter was cut off as Loomis plunged in through the door. They were in a long, narrow hallway now, probably a service entrance.

According to the maps they'd studied, the lobby ought to be straight ahead, left, then right.

They left two Marines to watch their rear and kept going, more slowly now to avoid excess noise. That civilians who had been escorted out of the hotel had reported that the Americans were all together, in the lobby next to the registration desk.

Two men came around the corner dead ahead, running, AKs in their hands.

They skidded to a stop when they saw the Marines, one screaming something in That, the other simply staring, mouth open.

Loomis fired his M-16, triggering single shots which slammed into the torso of the shouting rebel. Two other Marines fired at the same moment. The second soldier pitched backward and collided with the first, the two of them sprawling in a heap on the rug. The Marines kept moving.

Rounding the last corner, Loomis almost stumbled into a mass of people sitting on the floor. They all had their hands up or on their heads, and they were staring wide-eyed at a half-dozen rebel soldiers who were covering them with guns. More armed rebels were by the windows at the other end of the lobby… lots more. Loomis estimated that there were at least twenty hostiles in that room alone.

The analysis flashed through his head in an instant. He'd already made his decision and was taking action by the time the situation had registered in his mind.

His thumb snicked his assault rifle's selector from single shot to full-auto. Normally the blindly sprayed devastation of full rock and roll wasn't worth the loss of accuracy… but this time he had little choice but to point and spray. The M-16 roared, chopping into rebel soldiers, slamming them down in blood and flailing arms.

"Down! Down!" Loomis was shouting as he cleared the door so the other Marines could come through with a clear line of fire. "U.S. Marines!

Everybody down!"

The other Marines joined in, some with carefully placed single shots, some on rock and roll. One rebel threw up his arms and pitched back over the registration desk. One tried to run and was cut down before he'd taken two steps. The hostages were screaming, a wild, eerie sound that drowned out the gunfire.

Another rebel pitched back into the lobby from the foyer near the elevators. More Marines were coming through there, the second assault team from the other side of the hotel. And from the front of the lobby, huge sheets of plate glass exploded inwards, engulfing the rebels clustered there.

"U.S. Marines!" Loomis kept shouting. "U.S. Marines! Everybody down!"

Some of the rebel soldiers were already throwing down their guns and raising their hands.

0732 hours, 21 January
That International Hotel, Bangkok

Colonel Kriangsak heard the explosion of gunfire from the lobby. He'd been racing through one of the hotel's shops with two of his men, trying to find a vantage point which would let him see inside the big helicopter's cargo bay when automatic weapons fire began its insistent, full-throated rattling elsewhere in the building.

He knew at once that an assault was underway, that the helo's arrival had been a ruse. He reached a window in time to see two lines of Marines storming down the helo's ramp and rushing the front of the building. There was a loud thump of a grenade, then another. Smoke billowed from beneath the awning over the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

Kriangsak raised his M-16, aiming at the charging Marines through the window… then lowered it again. If he opened fire, he could kill three or four, perhaps, but that would not help the coup and it would guarantee Kriangsak's own death.

0733 hours, 21 January
Sea Stallion 936, That International Hotel, Bangkok

SA David Howard had volunteered to help load the extra Stokes stretchers onto the big Sea Stallion that morning, never guessing that he was getting a front-row seat to a hostage rescue. The helo's cargo chief had simply asked if he wanted to come along to help with the stretchers at the other end, and handed him a cranial and a life jacket when he agreed.

He wasn't sure why he'd volunteered. He still felt the shock ― and the horror ― of the deaths of his three friends in Bangkok. There'd been no official announcement yet, but word had already spread through the Jefferson's grapevine. It was horrible.

And that same death had come so close to claiming him as well.

Maybe it was a need to lay those particular ghosts to rest… or possibly he just needed to be busy. In any case, he'd said yes.

Within minutes of receiving the emergency call from the American embassy, the helo was lifting off from the Jefferson. Howard was enthralled by the sight of the carrier ― the small city in which he'd been living for the past months ― dropping away astern until it looked like a toy, finally vanishing in the distance. The Sea Stallion had touched down at the embassy thirty minutes later and taken aboard at least fifty grim, face-blackened Marines in full combat gear. The flight to the hotel had taken only a minute or two more.

The assault on the That International Hotel was over almost as soon as it began, and Howard saw very little of it. The Sea Stallion had dropped to the pavement in front of the hotel and lowered the ramp, but the body of the aircraft was turned so that people inside the hotel could not see into the machine's cavernous cargo bay.

He waited, unable to see, packed in with at least fifty Marines who, save for their garb and weapons, seemed to be men very much like himself. Some chewed gum, others made grim jokes. Most simply stared past the padding covering the inside of the cargo bay and kept their thoughts to themselves.

It occurred to Howard that he was going into combat himself. He heard the sudden crackle of muffled gunfire.

Then the word crackled over an officer's helmet radio loudly enough for Howard to hear it. "Sunday Punch, Outpost! They're in the lobby. Take 'em down!" An order was barked, and the Marines thundered down the Sea Stallion's ramp, the tramp of their feet on metal amplified by the cargo bay walls.

"Marines!" someone yelled, and the cry was taken up and repeated by the others with one thundering voice which drowned out the noise of the rotors.

Howard heard the double bang of a pair of grenades, the smash of shattering glass, the crack of gunfire.

When the Marines were clear of the Sea Stallion, the cargo chief talked briefly with the crew through his helmet mike. Gently, the big helo lifted off the ground, rotated, and settled to earth again, this time with the open rear ramp pointed at the hotel entrance.

Smoke gushed from canisters hurled by the Marines as they'd charged.

Howard could see through the fog to the gap-toothed ruin of the front windows, could see movement inside the hotel's front lobby, but the smoke obscured his view. Four Marines crouched on the sidewalk outside, mounting guard.

He could hear more shooting over the rotor noise, even distinguish the sharp yells of the Marines, though he couldn't make out the words.

A shape moved through the smoke to one side of the entrance, a shadow in fog… followed by another… then a third.

Howard was about to shout a warning when one of the shadows opened fire on the Marines by the front door. There was a wild, confused exchange of gunfire. Two of the Marines crumpled to the ground as one of the shadows was sent spinning back against one of the pillars supporting the awning over the sidewalk. Rifle shots cracked from another direction as snipers out beyond the parking lot saw this new threat and opened fire. A ricochet struck the sidewalk, screaming.

A second shadow went down.

The third shadow never stopped, never hesitated. It materialized into a man, a That wearing a rumpled officer's uniform and carrying an M16. His boots clattered up the Sea Stallion's ramp as he stormed the helicopter's cargo bay by himself.

Howard leaped to one side. The M-16 in the intruder's hands spat full-auto noise and flame, and a white hot hammer struck Howard high in the left shoulder, slamming him back against the bulkhead. The crew chief collapsed in a heap. The invader hurried past, ignoring them both.

David Howard did not think of himself as a brave man, but after the first shock his arm didn't hurt. And the That officer was heading for the cockpit.

A red-painted CO, fire extinguisher hung from its mounting bracket on the bulkhead above Howard's head. He grabbed the cylinder and wrenched it free.

At the sound, the invader turned suddenly, the M-16 coming up.

Howard had thought he might spray the intruder's face with cold, high-pressure gas, but there was no more time for thinking, no time to pull the arming pin, no time to do anything but act. Continuing the motion begun when he pulled the fire extinguisher from its rack, he swung the eighteen-inch bottle with all his might. It struck the muzzle of the M-16, knocking the weapon aside just as it fired, sending rounds chewing into the helicopter's bulkhead. Howard swung again, this time catching the invader full in the face.

He struck again… and again…

The next thing he was aware of was a Marine standing beside him. "It's okay, son," the man said. "You got him."

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