Phantom Leader Part 43

Toby made contact the first try as Invert picked them up immediately.

"Phantom Leader, steer 282, Phantom. You copy Invert?"

"Roger, Invert," Toby replied. "Phantom copies five by."

"Phantom Leader, what is the nature of your problem and what are your intentions?"

Nothing happened when Court tried to transmit. "You'll have to relay for me, Tobes," he said.

Toby relayed that Phantom had taken a hit in the right wing, no one was wounded, that things were under control, and they needed a drink from a friendly tank on the way home.

Invert Controller 42 said no sweat. Both he and the Peach tank performed as advertised and Court Bannister made an uneventful straight-in approach and landing on the active runway at Udorn Royal Thai Air Force Base at 0740 hours.

At 0820 hours he was at attention in front of Colonel Stanley D. Bryce, who drilled him with his piercing gray eyes.

"What's going on out there, Bannister? You're supposed to be setting up a night FAC outfit, not ginning along the Trail in broad daylight getting your a.s.s shot off. Suppose you explain to me just how in h.e.l.l this will help you accomplish your mission?"

"Sir, a large gun came up the other night on me and Howie Joseph. We pretty well fixed the location. Hostettler checked the records and said several planes have been shot down in the Delta 32 area near Rho Magna.

No one was quite sure what kind of gun it was. We found out. I could tell by the bursts it was 100mm. I think I know where it is and how to kill it."

"How come you are the only one in Southeast Asia that knows the location of that gun?" Bryce demanded.

"Sir, Parker and I got down in the weeds and took a good look. I think I know exactly where it is and I request permission to go put a strike in on it late this afternoon."

"Why late this afternoon?"

"The best attack heading is to the west. I want the strike birds to sneak in from the east, then pull off due west to hide in the sun in case they don't get it on the first pa.s.s."

"You probably won't get any fragged fighters this late, but okay, get to it."

As Court started out of the office, Bryce spoke up.

"Say again when your Phantom FACs will be operational?"

"I estimate by the first of March we will be fully operational, ready to handle fragged and unfragged strike aircraft."

"That's barely a week from now. Get with it. Damage any more of my airplanes while you train and I don't care who your daddy rabbit is in Saigon, I'll ground your a.s.s. Dismissed."

1515 HOURS LOCAL, SAt.u.r.dAY 24 FEBRUARY 1968.

ROYALTY OF LAOS.

At 1515 hours that afternoon, Court and Toby orbited west of Rho Magna, trying to arrange for fighters from Hillsboro.

They were an unfragged mission, and using valuable fighters to probe by fire for a suspected gun site was not a high priority.

"Phantom, Hillsboro. Sorry, we can't do you any good today. Get me a couple of live trucks and I might help you out." The controller wouldn't say in the clear that the first half of a big strike was on up north and all available a.s.sets were in use. Hostettler had warned them before takeoff that such might be the case.

They spent most of their remaining mission time learning the Trail from Mu Gia to Delta 32. They explored overhangs, valleys, ravines, suspected truck parts, cat's eyes, and open stretches of the Trail. Guns came up only twice as they roamed the 100-mile stretch of territory. One sent up a small, looping tracer stream that fell far short. The shoot time was too scant to spot where it came from. Toby identified the rounds as 12.7mm.

"That's about .51 caliber in size," he said. "The gunner is practicing or is trigger-happy. He's just lucky we weren't looking in that direction at the time he fired. He'll get his a.s.s chewed out. Normally their fire discipline is much better."

The other gun was a 37mm that fired three bursts straight up in the air, seemingly without aiming at them. "That's their warning to outposts and binh trans an airplane is headed their way. Means their landline is cut someplace."

Court varied his time memorizing the landscape as he oriented himself on his map. When they had fifteen minutes remaining in the mission, Court headed for Rho Magna.

"Just as we got hit this morning," he said on the intercom, "I started to tell you I spotted another clearing just east up the slope from the one we were looking at. It's hard to see and not nearly as big. I think those 37mm gunners were after us because they think we saw the pit for the big gun."

"I sure as h.e.l.l didn't see any pit," Toby said. "Did you?"

"No, no pit. But I'm sure that the big gunfire the other night came from right in that area. I want to go down and look it over again. You game?"

"Bannister, I'm locked on your tail in perfect trail. Let's go see. You insisted I take a camera. Put your doughnut on the site and I'll snap it."

"Good. I'm going to head south and run down there east of the Trail over the jungle. When we get close, I'll kick in the burners and pull west across the same spot as this morning, then pull up into the sun.

The site will be off our left wing just before we go over the old one."

"Why don't you dive directly at it and strafe the spot, then you'll get some gun-camera film of it?"

"No. I want them to think we're still faked out and don't realiv know where it is."

In the afternoon sun, Rho Magna was lit up on the westward side and in deep shadow on the east. Court felt his breathing and pulse increase as he approached the roll-in spot. Again he felt the tingling in his spine. It wasn't the imminent danger from the gun, he knew, it brought about a different reaction. Apprehension before combat often made his left calf contract spasmodically. He was so used to the condition that it was almost welcome. But this was different.

He felt he was responding to something so basic as to be nearly uncontrollable. It was as if Rho Magna were a living thing that had a pulsing nucleus deep inside, a throbbing arachnid core composed more of unearthly matter than of a physical heart. Did early man wors.h.i.+p or hate at this shrine?

Was something inside himself, something best left unstudied, responding to an unhealthy gall? Court felt his lip curl in disdain inside his mask. This is crazy, he said to himself.

He sped over the jungle, moved the throttles outboard to engage the afterburners, and turned west toward Rho Magna, knowing he had one pa.s.s to locate the gun. A second pa.s.s was out of the question.

He sped over the jungle, looking up at the ma.s.s. "Let's hope the gunners aren't expecting a low-level pa.s.s from the east," he said.

Hope, h.e.l.l," Toby said. "Let us pray. We've got 600 knots." At that speed, nearly 700 miles per hour, they would be upon the site before the sound registered with the gunners.

"And here it is," Court said. He lifted the nose slightly and the plane flashed up the shaded flank of Rho Magna and roared over the site where Court thought the gun was located. He dipped the wing a second, then pulled up into the hot glow of the western sun. He had seen nothing in the tiny clearing.

"Yahoo," Toby shouted. "I got it. At least I think I did.

I just kept snapping from before you dipped the wing until after."

Court looked into his rearview mirror. The big gun had not fired.

Streams of tracers from half a dozen guns vaguely followed his path like the aimless movements of spider legs.

He half-expected the tail of the dragon to rise up and lash them out of the air.

It was dark by the time they landed and debriefed with d.i.c.k Hostettler in the intell room. They scrutinized Toby's negatives on the photo interpreter's light box with a magnifying gla.s.s.

"d.a.m.n, all I see is a clearing, no caves, nothing," Hostettier said with reluctance as he straightened up.

Court checked the photo once again against his map. "I'm sure that's the place. And look at this." He pointed to the lower open area. "Maybe they resupply that gun by helicopter and it lands right here."

"Maybe so, but we can't convince Seventh Air Force of that long enough to frag some birds on it to blow the top of that mountain off,"

Hostettler said.

"Hey," Court said, I 'you've just given me an idea. I'll bet there is a cave, but the entrance is camouflaged so well we can't spot it. All I need to do is go out there tomorrow and put a few bombs on where I think it is and we'll know for sure.

"Tomorrow is out, Court," flostettler said. "We've still got a big push going on up north, plus the normal fighter stream into Khe Sanh. Big wing gaggle here and at all the other bases. Best you can get is the same FAC-configured bird you used this afternoon."

Court felt a twinge at not being on the schedule for the missions up north and maybe a chance for his fifth MiG.

"Okay," he said, "I'll take it."

Hostettler examined him closely. "I'm not sure I like that look on your face."

Court gave him a c.o.c.ky half-grin that bordered on slyness. "So okay, no bombs. I'll have rockets, won't I? And a gun. What else do I need?"

"A h.e.l.luva lot of luck, a s.h.i.+t-hot good guardian angel, slow gunners, maybe a new backseater," Toby said.

"You mean that, Tobes, old buddy? A new backseater?"

Toby sighed. "No, not really. Wish I did, though." He turned to Hostettler. "You know, Court seems pretty obsessed with that thing."

"What? The gun or the mountain?"

"I think both. Maybe he takes his wars too seriously."

d.i.c.k Hostettler c.o.c.ked his head at Court. "How about it?

You taking this war too serious? You feel anything special about Rho Magna?"

Court laughed. "You guys are barking up the wrong mountain. It's just another job to me." Sure, he said to himself, sure it is.

The hotline phone from 7th Air Force rang. Hostettler strode over and answered.

"Court," Toby said, "we're going to get that gun. I know d.a.m.n well we are."

Court studied Toby's face. It was lit up and his eyes were sparkling.

My G.o.d, Court thought in revelation, here this guy has had all the troubles in the world and he's happy, he's optimistic. What a great att.i.tude.

Hostettler made extensive notes and returned. The talk had been elliptical to confuse probable listeners on the Vietnam side, because no fighter wing in Thailand had a scramble phone. He spent a moment decoding what he had.

"Okay," he said, and looked up at Court. "Maybe you thought it was just another job, but it has suddenly become a very important one. A Navy A-6 just got blown out of the sky in the Delta 32 area by flying into what his wingman cla.s.sified as huge explosions. They were at 30,000 feet. Nothing can reach that high with any accuracy except a hundredmil gun. Seventh is now paying big-time attention to our reports. Still can't frag any birds to you because of the Khe Sanh and North Vietnam push tomorrow, but you are authorized your bird plus one other to be uploaded with all the thousand-pound bombs that beast can carry or any other ordnance you want. The written-authorization frag will come in tonight at the normal time."

It was very quiet in the room. Court held Hostettler's eyes for a few seconds, then looked away.

"This is what you wanted, Court," Toby said.

Court took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. "Yeah, this is what I wanted." Then he gave a mocking laugh. "But h.e.l.l, do I always have to get what I want?" He stood up and slapped Toby on the back. "Tell Deacon Docks and Neil Tallboy they've got the early go with us. Briefing starts right here." He checked his watch. "In five hours at 0330. We've got a lot to cover with them, and then I want us to hit those gunners from out of the morning sun. You can turn in, Toby. I'm going down to the Armament Shop and see what kind of bombs and fuzes we can get. This is a one-shot deal and I want to be able to blow the top of the mountain clean off."

0615 HOURS LOCAL, SUNDAY 25 FEBRUARY 1968.

Two F-4s AxRBoRNE NEAR RHO NIAGNA ROYALTY of LOAS Their call sign was Phantom. The four of them, the two frontseaters and their G113s, had spent long hours that morning poring over the maps and photos, discussing dive angles, pull-offs, and tactics against the heavy defense the big gun had. Toby had not turned in when Court suggested.

He had stayed up with Court, getting the M904 fuzes set with the proper delay for the six 1,000-pound bombs Court would carry. Then they arranged to have special ordnance loaded for the second airplane.

Because the 23- and 37mm defenses were so heavy, Court had decided Deacon Docks would roll in first and cover the area near the gun site with CBU 49, the Cl.u.s.ter Bomb Units the size of grapefruit that exploded and sprayed steel pellets in all directions. Though they wouldn't necessarily destroy a gun, the varying times the units exploded either killed the gunners outright or kept their heads down for the vital moments it would take Court to roll in with the earthmovers. They had ch.o.r.eographed their movements to the split second and were now cutting across -the Ho Chi Minh Trail twenty miles to the south of Rho Magna at 22,000 feet.

Court and Toby were leading in Phantom Leader, Deacon and Neil followed in radar trail as Phantom Two. Without words, they had topped off from a tanker in the gray dark before dawn and set up their armament switches as they crossed the fence into Laos. They had told NKP operations with coded words before takeoff to alert Moonbeam, the night ABCCC, where they would be and when, so Moonbeam would divert fighters through their area.

"Looking good," Toby said from the backseat. "All gages in the green."

He looked into his radarscope. "We start north in two minutes."

"Okay, Phantom Two," Court transmitted. "Take the lead." He dropped back to let Deacon Docks go in first.

Around them, the sun had risen from the South China Sea with a blinding brilliance that promised another blast-furnace day. They had planned to cut due north after they crossed the Trail south of Rho Magna, curve east slightly, then roll in, Court behind Deacon, from the sun. They hoped the surprise and intensity of the attack would keep the gunners from shooting, particularly during the vulnerable phase when they were pulling off. Court would be last, and it was usually the last man that got it. Rarely was the first man in on a target hit. It always took the gunners a few seconds to determine the direction of an attack. If the last man rolled in on the same heading as his leader, he was asking to get hammered. Same if he pulled off in the same direction as the rest of the flight. The gunners would have a sightline ready. Deacon had planned to pull north, Court would pull to the south.

"There he goes," Court said to Toby as he watched Deacon roll in from 22,000 feet. They planned a 60-degree dive with release airspeed of 450 knots at an alt.i.tude of 10,000 feet so they would bottom out 3,000 feet above the gun position. For safety's sake it was normal to bottom out 4,500 feet above the guns. But to be more accurate, Court had decided to take them lower, counting on surprise to add the safety factor.

Court checked the sun over his shoulder and rolled in ten seconds behind Deacon. He brought his gunsight pipper slowly up to the target as he stabilized his dive; needle and ball centered, proper dive angle, airspeed building. He re-checked the proper mils depression set into the sight mechanism. He could easily see Deacon's plane a few thousand feet below, its bent-wing shape and lizard camouflage already making it blend into the mottled hues of Rho Magna.

"Eighteen thousand, seventeen thousand," Toby intoned as their airspeed built and they screamed down toward Rho Magna. "Dive angle approaching sixty."

Court felt the tension build as the roar of the wind outside the canopy approached a crescendo. Rho Magna grew bigger in his windscreen; the ma.s.s once again outlined the sleeping dragon. Just as Court felt his teeth clench with resolve, the whole side of the dragon's neck lit up like Fourth of July sparklers and pulsing strobe lights. For an instant he thought he was seeing Deacon's CBUs. But Deacon's plane was still diving in, into the maelstrom of winking lights and streams of cherry tracers now flowing upwards like gardenhose streams. The cherry streams at first seemed random and uncoordinated, then they started to converge on a single point, setting up a wall of fire through which both fighters had to pa.s.s. Just as the dark CBU canisters left Deacon's airplane, he flashed through the wall of exploding antiaircraft fire, bottomed out the other side, and started his pull to the north. Court thought he saw a piece fly from Deacon's speeding jet. He bored in as the fire diminished only slightly and the CBUs started going off in fiery overlapping doughnut rings several hundred feet in diameter.

"One's. .h.i.t," Deacon transmitted as Court had his gunsight squarely on the target. In reflex to the call, Court glanced up at Deacon's Phantom, and when he looked back to his gunsight, it was too late to drop. At that instant he was in the fiery wall.

Black-and-orange b.a.l.l.s of 37mm were exploding at 10,000 feet, 23mm was dotting the sky with basketball-sized puffs of white smoke at 9,000 feet, and wavering tentacles of 12.7mm were weaving an orange net below both layers of steel death.

Two loud bangs jolted Court's airplane from the left.

"Pickle, pickle," Toby yelled, telling Court to release the bombs.

"Too late, lost my sight picture."

"Oh G.o.d. You mean we gotta go in again?"

"Yeah. Sorry 'bout that. Check for damage," Court said as he pulled sharply left to jink south away from the explosions. He struggled against the G-forces to check his instrument panel. All the gages read in the green. "Everything looks okay up here."

"Samo samo back here," Toby said, his voice high from excitement.

"Phantom Two, what's your status?" Court called when they were clear of the murderous fire zone.

"Ah, Lead. I think we're okay. Number Two engine is out, but no fire.