Viper Strike

CHAPTER 5

The convoy of black government limousines had been waiting for them when Jefferson's launch pulled up to Sattahip's docks. The drive up the coast to Bangkok took almost ninety minutes, most of it in the express lane of the four-lane highway designated Route 3.

Several army trucks and armed jeeps accompanied the convoy, but the escort was more for show than for defense. They'd passed a small demonstration gathered outside Sattahip's north gate, twenty or thirty unhappy-looking locals holding up banners and placards and chanting something in That. One sign in English declared "Yankee Imperialists out of Asia," while another rather enigmatically read "Blood Atrocity on Wonsan." A number of Thais who seemed not to be part of the demonstration simply stood by and watched, most smiling, some waving at the convoy as it raced past.

Rear Admiral Thomas J. Magruder, immaculate in his dress whites, turned in the limo's seat as the convoy accelerated onto Route 3, looking through the back window. The commanding officer of Carrier Battle Group 14 assured himself that the limos following with several of his staff personnel and aides were still with the convoy. There had been time only for a brief reception with the That military officers at Sattahip. The real business of the day was scheduled for later, in Bangkok, and he didn't want to lose half his staff in the traffic.

"Well, CAG," he said, settling back in his seat. "We're past the demonstrators."

Commander Marusko looked up from the briefing papers he was reading.

"Yes, sir. Not that it amounted to much. That was a pretty laid-back group of radicals back there."

"Someone probably paid them to walk around with those signs." Magruder grinned. "A dirty job, but someone has to do it."

"Yeah. You know, Admiral, somehow Thailand seems an unlikely place for a communist revolution."

Magruder had to agree. Bangkok was one of those strange Oriental blends of East and West, a city like Tokyo, Singapore, or Hong Kong. Everywhere, the strangely canted, peaked roofs and golden spires of wats ― the local Buddhist temple ― rose and mingled with the glass-and-concrete monoliths of modern architecture. In many ways, it had more in common with the West. A communist insurrection had sputtered on in the more remote parts of the country since the 1970s. Only in the past few months had the situation become unstable.

That was why Jefferson had been ordered into these waters.

Chaos was the word that came to Magruder's mind as they left the main highway and followed the Sukhumvit Road past upper-class residential side streets, then plunged into the city's heart. The city streets were a teeming, endless jam of cars, trucks, buses, carts, pedestrians, and the curious three-wheeled passenger-carrying scooters called tuk-tuks. Everywhere, signs advertising "Rolex" and "Pepsi" coexisted with signs covered with the buttonhook loops of That writing and the blocky ideographs of Chinese. A gigantic billboard featuring a dark-eyed That movie actress, her bare breasts almost modestly covered by a stripe of advertising copy, towered across the street from the gleaming and tranquil spires of a wat, a green Buddha, standing three stories tall, looming in a niche between two glass skyscrapers.

People clogged the sidewalks and streets with complete disregard for the traffic. Thais and foreigners alike in Western dress mingled with shaven-headed monks in yellow robes; with farmers selling food from egg-crate stalls; with merchants hawking souvenir Buddhas, gemstones, watches, and grasshoppers from rickety stalls; with white-helmeted police and That soldiers in khaki uniforms; with tourists from a dozen countries all carrying Japanese cameras. Within the space of seconds, Magruder saw Western business suits, Philippine sarongs, Indian saris, Japanese kimonos, Indonesian sarongs, Sikh beards and turbans, traditional Chinese robes, miniskirts, cutoffs, T-shirts, and everywhere, everywhere, American blue jeans. The limousine was air-conditioned and the windows rolled up, but the bawling cacophony of the streets still filtered through; shouted pleas, screamed invectives, shrill sales pitches and greetings in a dozen languages; braying horns; clashing gears and thundering vehicle engines in earsplitting need of mufflers.

The convoy was slowed to a crawl by the traffic, but with horns blaring it continued to make headway against the tide. Several blocks past the landscaped magnificence of the That Intercontinental Hotel and the sprawl of a four-story shopping mall, the limo turned right and began making its way along the colorful turbulence of one of the dirty, crowded klongs, or canals, which had given Bangkok its reputation as the Venice of the Orient.

The seat of Thailand's government was located on the north bank of the Kiong Phadung. Magruder had expected a colorful and ornate palace of some kind and was surprised to learn that the government carried out its business in a complex of modern, air-conditioned skyscrapers several blocks from the old National Assembly building, the King's palace, and the zoo. The convoy plunged into the cool semidarkness of an underground garage. That naval officers in dress whites and army officers in ribbon-heavy khakis led them through fluorescent-lit, air-conditioned passageways that seemed light years removed from the steamy, crowded streets outside.

In a comfortable conference room, a navy captain bowed formally to the Americans, his hands pressed together as though in prayer in the salutation known as a wai. "Sirs, may I present Major General Duong Rangsit of the Royal That senior staff," he said formally as the door at the far end of the room opened and a squat, ponderously overweight That officer walked in.

"Savahtdi!" the general said warmly. He gave a perfunctory wai, then extended his hand to Magruder for a cordial Western handshake. "I have been instructed personally by His Majesty the King to welcome you to our City of Angels!"

"The pleasure is mine, General Duong."

A second officer, a lean, dark-eyed man, followed the general into the room. "This is my chief aide, Colonel Kriangsak Vajiravudh," Duong said. "He has been assigned as liaison officer between your command and mine while you are in our country."

A half hour of pleasantries followed, and a discussion of subjects ranging from the raid at Wonsan to a recent coup attempt in the Philippines.

As tea was served by white-jacketed attendants, Magruder leaned back in his chair.

"I suppose we should touch on the main reason we're here," he said, gesturing. An aide handed him a copy of CBG-14's orders which he slid across the table to Duong. "As you can read there, we have been directed to assist your government in every way possible short of actually participating in combat. It is the belief of the Joint Chiefs that combat operations which resulted in Americans flying missions against That nationals would not be productive for either government."

Duong gave a wry smile as he flipped through the pages. "I tend to agree, Admiral. Especially given the curiously anti-American flavor of the demonstrators lately." He shook his head sadly. "I've not seen anything like this in Thailand before. I wonder sometimes if the rumors of foreign leadership among the insurrectionists are not true. Most Thais like Americans!"

"This is a somewhat awkward situation, actually," Magruder said. "On the one hand, we're supposed to demonstrate our support for your government. On the other, we're to keep a low profile and try not to get shot at. Sometimes our orders can be a little… contradictory."

Duong laughed. "The very essence of bureaucracy! In any case, there should be no problem. Our people will take heart with the knowledge that one of America's supercarriers is anchored at Sattahip. Our aviators will be inspired flying alongside yours. But we certainly do not envision a combat role for your people."

"So what is the military situation?" Magruder asked. "Our sources haven't been very informative on that point."

Duong gave a massive shrug. "The That CIA believes the insurrection in the northern districts is simply a renewal of the old communist guerrilla offensive. The Communist Party of Thailand was never able to secure a strong power base among the people they pretended to represent. We've had very little trouble out of them since we beat them in the Chong Cham Mountains in 1982.

"This… this new movement appears to have begun about six months ago.

If it is the old CPT, then it has been reborn, with new leaders, new sources of supplies and arms, everything. They are elusive, well-armed, and well-supplied. Their leadership and discipline appears to be quite good. On an individual level, their soldiers are not as good as ours, not as well-trained."

"Have there been many major engagements? How bad is it up there now?"

Duong pursed his lips, then made a so-so gesture with his hand.

"Militarily, the insurrection is not a serious problem, though obviously we are concerned. So far, most of what we have seen are skirmishes and raids, coupled with attempts to extort rice and other supplies from the local villages. The greater danger is less direct." He exchanged glances with Colonel Kriangsak.

"I would have to agree," Kriangsak said in a low, cultured voice. "Some of our officers feel that the government's current policy is too lenient, too soft on communism. This has raised the possibility of a coup."

"Toss out the old guard so that we can do things right," Magruder said.

"We have been responding to the threat in strength," Duong continued. "A number of army units have already been transferred to the border, and others are scheduled for movement within the next few days. Air groups have been repositioned north to both Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai."

"What about the possibility that the rebels are being supplied from Burma?" Marusko asked. "I'm still worried about those MiGs."

"There is some evidence that the rebels are being supplied across the border," Duong said. "But there is no proof."

"Those MiGs look like pretty good proof to me," Marusko said. "Your average jungle-fighting guerrilla doesn't normally pack MiG-21s as part of his personal armament!"

"Burmese support is a possibility, yes," Duong admitted.

"Actually," Kriangsak said, "we haven't yet been able to confirm that they have MiGs. Rangoon has denied the incident."

"But there seems to be no other reasonable explanation." Duong shrugged.

"I suppose the MiGs could have been Chinese aircraft, though what reason the PRC would have had to cross several hundred kilometers of Burmese territory to attack one of our planes…" He waved one hand helplessly in the air. "It makes no sense."

"Burma is still the most likely enemy," Colonel Kriangsak added. "They have been Thailand's traditional enemies for centuries, and there is little doubt that it is they who are supplying the rebels in the northern provinces."

"We also have to know whether our air operations can continue over your territory," Magruder said. He paused to take a sip of tea from the cup at his elbow. "We grounded all ops yesterday except for routine CAPS. I don't want my command to blunder into a combat situation before we know what the score is."

"We will be strengthening our own air patrols along the border, of course," Duong said. "I should think there would be no problem for you to continue your flights as well. My government is especially anxious to make use of your Hawkeye early-warning aircraft."

Magruder nodded. "No problem there. Also, we will be in a position to pass on satellite reconnaissance photos of the border. That might help make the situation up there clearer. And something more." He handed another set of papers across the table to the general. "My staff and I have been discussing the possibility of loaning you a TARPS aircraft and crew for a few days."

"Excuse me," Duong said. "TARPS?"

"Stands for Tactical Aerial Reconnaissance Pod System," Marusko explained. "It's a strap-on pod carrying special cameras and infrared imaging scanners. We sling it from the belly of a Tomcat, and it gets us close-up pictures… better and faster than we can usually manage from a satellite."

"We thought that might be useful for locating guerrilla trails and camps," Magruder added.

Duong examined the written proposal for a series of TARPS flights over northern Thailand, then passed it over to Kriangsak. "That could be of enormous benefit," he said. "Your orders, however, are to avoid combat. If those MiGs reappear…"

Magruder grinned. "If that happens, General, maybe you'll have your confirmation of Burmese involvement."

"That might not be wise, General," Kriangsak said softly. "With all due respect to our American friends, the risk of an incident involving them is great. Next time the Burmese intruders could well try to down an American plane instead of one of ours. That could precipitate an unfortunate incident."

Duong's pudgy fingers drummed on the tabletop for a moment. "Point taken, Colonel."

"There is a further difficulty," Kriangsak continued. "So far as the dissident officers are concerned, too much reliance on American help might be as bad as inaction against the communists. We must be seen to be handling this ourselves, without farang involvement."

Magruder smiled. "I think we can manage to stay inconspicuous, Colonel.

Here's what we can do…"

They continued to work out the details of the joint That-American operation.

Thailand had been winning her long fight against Communism, but for many years Bangkok had been losing another war, the war against the drug lords of the Golden Triangle in the northern part of the country, and now the drug war was high on the agenda of the White House. Washington was concerned that the resurgence of guerrilla activity in northern Thailand might somehow be connected with the Golden Triangle's deadly trade, in the same way that Marxist rebels in South and Central America funded their operations with cocaine. For years, heroin traffic in the region had been controlled by various warlords in the area who, in turn, answered to a cartel ― mostly Chinese ― based in Hong Kong.

With the U.S. Navy helping the That army in its operations against guerrillas, the CIA, the DEA, and other organizations with an interest in the region could get a good look at the area's drug trade as well. Guerrillas and drug smugglers would be using the same trails, even the same camps. The fact that communist insurgents were operating within the Golden Triangle at all meant that they were somehow linked with the local drug lords. No one, including the That army, moved through some parts of Thailand's north hill country without their approval.

None of this was discussed openly with Duong, of course. TARPS reconnaissance of the border region would assist the That army in putting down the insurrection; whether or not the U.S. Navy pulled copies of the data for other purposes was, of course, up to them.

After almost an hour of discussion, Duong leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "I am inclined to accept your offer, Admiral," he said at last.

"Particularly if the RTAF has the primary responsibility for protecting your people. Your… your TARPS aircraft could be based at an airfield in the area where we could provide ground security as well."

"That would be satisfactory," Magruder said. "I would suggest that we provide you with two aircraft, though, one to carry the TARPS, one as wingman." Flying wingman formations was basic to U.S. air tactics, and Magruder didn't want the entire responsibility for protecting the TARPS plane to rest with their That hosts.

Duong nodded. "Two aircraft could hardly be interpreted as major American assistance," he said. "And the air base I have in mind is somewhat remote."

"Where is it?"

"North of Chiang Mai. It's a small military base called U Feng, about twenty kilometers from the border." He turned to face his aide. "Colonel, you were just stationed there, were you not?"

Kriangsak nodded. "Yes, sir. Headquarters staff for almost two years."

"Then you will have all the information these gentlemen need. I'll leave that to YOU."

Whom to send? Magruder wondered. Properly, this should have been a volunteers-only mission, since whoever went would be missing out on liberty in Bangkok. That alone could qualify U Feng as hardship duty.

For a recon flight like this, though, he wanted someone with plenty of experience flying the electronics-laden pod. Most Tomcat drivers were familiar with TARPS, but some had more experience than others. The name of Lieutenant Commander Matthew Magruder came to mind.

Magruder smiled. Simply ordering his nephew to take the U Feng mission might solve several problems at once. He'd heard the rumors and jokes about VF-95's skipper, winner of the Navy Cross, the fair-haired admiral's nephew.

It was impossible to avoid the ugly specter of favoritism in a situation like this, and ever since Wonsan, Magruder had been wondering if it wouldn't be a good idea to have Tombstone transferred to another command. Maybe the rumors could be scotched if it was Tombstone who was ordered to fly up to U Feng for fun and games in the jungles of the Golden Triangle.

So, Tombstone and his RIO, plus one other Tomcat and crew. A week at U Feng should be sufficient to map most of the threatened border area.

He hoped Tombstone would understand. A week at U Feng wouldn't exactly be a pleasant break from shipboard routine.

Tombstone, Batman, Nightmare Marinaro and Price Taggart all sat in the synthetic leather chairs of the Ready Room, sipping Cokes and swapping stories. They were on Alert 15, but it had been a quiet night so far and only twenty minutes remained in the watch. The atmosphere was relaxed, full of joking and good-natured banter.

They laughed as Tombstone wrinkled his nose. "Come off it, Batman, you don't know what the hell you're talking about! You've never even been there!"

"Hey! Trust me, man! Trust me! I used to go out with this blonde back Stateside, y'know? An airline stewardess for TWA! Tits like you would not believe! And she told me that the Airport Hotel was where the stews hang out whenever they're in town."

"Bull!" Nightmare said, grinning. "You're saying your girlfriend told you where to pick up Western girls when you were here?"

"Hey, she didn't know I was going to be in Bangkok when she told me! We were in bed at the time, as I recall… and she was kind of under my spell, know what I mean?"

Tombstone shook his head. "Maybe you'll run into her when you're there."

"Not likely. She quit and married a lawyer from Duluth. Great tits, though. The Batman flies first class, all the way!"

"Delirious again, poor boy," Price said sadly. He picked up an empty soft drink can by Batman's elbow and shook it lightly. "Too much sugar.

Makes 'em hallucinate."

"Must be," Tombstone agreed.

"Shit," Batman said agreeably. "You two clods are just jealous! There you'll be, off on the frontier with gomers and alligators for playmates…"

"Right on," Nightmare said. "Ol' Batman and me are gonna be making the rounds in Patpong while you two are slapping mosquitos out in the jungle!

Don't worry, though. We'll remember you to the girls…"

"You want to kill them or shall I?" Price asked Tombstone.

"Aw, let them live. They both had deprived childhoods."

"Deprived of nookie," Batman agreed. "We're making up for lost time."

Tombstone snorted. "Perhaps I should remind you that you guys are still going to be working. That's Working…" He dragged the word out cruelly.

"You know… flying? With an airplane? Working with the Thais?"

"That's it, man!" Nightmare said. "Working with 'em by day and playing with 'em by night! Some of those That babes-"

"Uh uh," Batman said, shaking his head. "Not me. None of this here local gook poon for yours truly! That's why I'm for the Airport Hotel!"

"So what's wrong with local girls?" Price asked. "You prejudiced or something?"

"Nah. I just want a gal in my league, is all. You know how stews just love fighter jocks…"

"You'd be a natural with your medal, Stoney," Nightmare said. "You go into the bar, see? You sidle up alongside a lonely-looking lovely, and you quietly let slip that you are a genuine American Naval hero, winner of the Navy Cross…"

"… and all of a sudden you've got twenty gorgeous girls," Batman finished for him. "All rubbing up against you in their low-cut gowns, just begging you to take them back to their room!"

"Sounds crowded."

"That, my friend, is the true and deep tragedy of the American hero.

Alone… unloved… unappreciated, he nevertheless must bear the slings and arrows of misfortune-"

"That's 'outrageous fortune.""

"Y'know, Stoney, now that I think about it, maybe you should let me borrow that fancy ribbon of yours. I could put it to real good use!"

"Yeah!" Nightmare snickered. "It's gonna be wasted up in that jungle!"

Tombstone laughed, but the reminder about the medal brought a small stab of guilt. He still felt uncomfortable with the whole hero idea and wished the others would drop the subject.

"Well, Stoney," Batman said slowly. "I'll tell you. I will be thinking of you while you're up at that remote, jungle outpost. I truly will. And the first stew I get in the sack, I'll slip in the old salami and say, 'Stoney, this screw's for you!""

"Your generosity is overwhelming." He looked away from the group, toward a large, mounted photograph on one paneled bulkhead. Taken from another aircraft, it showed ten aircraft from VF-95 flying in formation toward the camera, with the bow-on Jefferson astern and below.

The squadron.

Despite the banter, Tombstone had been looking forward to his assignment at U Feng ever since CAG had told him about it that afternoon. He was not one for nightlife, and he didn't feel the driving need to bed and boast that seemed to animate the others. Batman, perhaps, was more typical in that respect. At least he followed the aviator's party line.

Well, he could have his stewardesses, and welcome. Tombstone was eager to see something of a mystic land that was more fairy tale than fact.

One thing was certain. His assignment to U Feng was going to give him a week away from the ship. A week away from Batman. Tombstone liked the guy, but he could certainly get on a fellow's nerves with his super fighter jock routine.

Tombstone leaned far back in his chair and scratched himself comfortably.

Yes, Batman could bang his stews until he was blue in the face… or wherever. For Tombstone, the jungles of the exotic Golden Triangle might be just the vacation he needed.