Phantom Leader Part 7

"Yes. What's up?"

"The general's compliments, sir, I'm to drive you to his quarters." He handed Court a poncho. The staff car was a 1964 Ford Fairlane sedan, painted Air Force blue. Court climbed in back. It was stiff vinyl, steamy, and smelled of mildew. Ten minutes later he was deposited at the entrance to the General Officer's area, which was surrounded by a twelve-foot chain-link fence. USAF senior officers were required to live on base. Army officers could and did live in downtown Saigon, some in sumptuous villas. The rain was streaming down. A guard waved him through, he found Trailer 5, and knocked twice on the narrow door.

Brigadier General Leonard Norman let him in. He was tall, slender, and straight as an Irish walking stick, and had a thatch of reddish-brown hair. He was smiling.

"Welcome, Major Bannister. Come in, come in. I trust you did not get too wet." Two men in civilian clothes with drinks in their hands were seated in the small living room of the two-room trailer. With a start, Court recognized both of them.

The taller and older of the two was the four-star general in command of 7th Air Force, the other was a public information officer he had known a few years before at Bien Hoa.

Commander, 7th Air Force, was a man who managed to look both quizzical and wry at the same time. He had good reason. He was responsible for 70,000 airmen and pilots and 1,500 airplanes on twenty bases South Vietnam and Thailand. He also had operational control over 400 more airplanes based in the Philippines, Okinawa, and Guam. He was an old-head fighter pilot, competent and very much in command. He was the general who two months earlier had pinned Bannister's second Silver Star and other medals on him.

The second man, Major Angelo Correlli, was Court's age, medium height and weight. He had dark hair to match his dark and brooding eyes, and a handsome pockmarked face.

Not a pilot, he held the unenviable position as one of the PlOs (Public Information Officers) for 7th Air Force under the office symbol DXI.

Commander, 7th, extended his hand. "Good to see you again, Bannister.

Correlli here says you were stationed together at Bien Hoa." They shook hands.

"Yes, sir, we were." Court and Correlli shook.

"What are you drinking?" General Norman said.

"Beer, sir." He thought about lighting a cigarette and decided against it. Norman handed him a beer and pointed to an open spot on the rattan sofa next to Correlli.

"How are you? Feeling better?" Commander, 7th, asked.

"Yes, sir. Just fine." Now what in h.e.l.l is this all about? he wondered. Four-star generals didn't call in majors to inquire after their health. If they must know, there are any number of staff members who could procure the information at a twist of a telephone dial.

"I understand you have some convalescence leave coming? What do you intend to do?"

"Off to Singapore for ten days, sir," Court said, surprised at such intimate questioning and wondering when the boom would fall. This was a strange way to set up an a.s.s-chewing.

"I didn't want the DO, General Berzin, to receive you in his office because for the moment I want what we talk about to be off the record.

And if I had seen you, my exec would have had to log you in along with the topic of our conversation." Commander, 7th, sighed. "That's how it goes once you get some horsepower. You're not really your own man anymore." He smiled and handed Court a packet of photos. "Take a look at these. You might just find them of interest."

Court thumbed through the pictures. They were grainy and obviously from a gun camera. Then he recognized them for what they were: single-frame blowups of his dogfight with the MiG-19s last week. MiGs in two photos were circled with red grease pencil. One, at a 30-degree angle off, showed Court's gunsight pipper placed squarely behind the c.o.c.kpit of the MiG he could not shoot at. The numbers 201 0 on the nose of the enemy fighter were circled. The second shot clearly showed 201 0 over Kep Air Base with its gear and flaps down. Hostettler had done a good job breaking out the pertinent photos. Court looked up at the general.

"You're off the hook, Court," Commander, 7th, said.

"Those MiGs were attacking the strike force, you were there to defend the strike force, so you went in hot pursuit of the attackers. At least," he said dryly, "that is how I choose to interpret the battle.

From further interpretation of the photos and from the debrief of your flight members, you have been given credit for two possibles and one probable from that mission. And, in case you are having trouble adding them up, you now have four MiG kills confirmed, three possibles, and two probables. And I know about those Thuds in your flight path on your first missile attack, the kill you gave your wingman. That's a cla.s.sic example of mature judgment, for which we thank you. Sorry it blew your fifth kill. Nonetheless, congratulations." He stuck his hand out.

"You are the leading MiG killer in the whole of Southeast Asia." They shook.

"But there is a kicker," the general continued. "Unfortunately there will be no fifth MiG for you. No more Rolling Thunder missions, no more flying north into the Route rider any circ.u.mstances." That meant Package system u g his fifth MiG were nonexistent, Court's chances of gettin cases, North Vietnamese because beyond one or two rare MiGs never flew over Laos, the DMZ, or South Vietnam, only North Vietnam.

There was silence in the trailer. Court's lips involuntarily compressed. One does not ask a superior officer why he chooses to put a certain order into effect. One does hope, however, the superior explains a controversial order, or an hards.h.i.+p, or-in Court's case-great unorder that causes happiness and bitter disappointment. He was destined to remain the Ivory Ace, Court thought. And Commander, 7th, had chosen not to divulge his reasoning for why he could not go north.

h.e.l.l, this just proves I'm better off out of the service, he reasoned.

Leonard Norman refilled the drinks.

"Now for the next subject," Commander, 7th, said. He motioned to Correlli. "While not painful, it isn't exactly one of great joy."

Correlli opened a briefcase he had at his feet. He extracted copies of the tabloids that were sensationalizing the two sons of Sam Bannister.

They were much the same as Court had in his room.

Commander, 7th, cleared his throat. "This is the off-there cord part of our little chat," he said.

"Do you know where your brother-excuse me, halfbrother-is right now?"

Brigadier General Leonard Nor man asked.

"Here in Saigon, I believe, sir. I had seen some of his articles datelined Saigon. He usually stays at the Caravel Hotel."

"He has a room there," Norman said, "but he hasn't occupied it for several weeks now. We are, if not concerned, at least curious as to his whereabouts, and we know where he is."

Court looked up. "Can you be legally tailing him, sir?"

"No," Norman said. "We in the military cannot. But the FBI can-and are, or were. He gave them the slip here, then surfaced in San Francisco. Based on that big article he wrote last fall about his interview with the VC colonel, and his broad hints in that article about a big drive or VC push coming, we are naturally curious about what he knows. We have many indicators something is about to pop. As to where he is in San Francisco, he's running with some leftwing politicos."

Court took a long haul from his beer. He leaned back an shook his head.

Shawn had been a problem since childhood "You know more about his activities than I do," he said' "Did you know about this?" Brigadier General Leonard Norman asked. He handed Court a page from a copy of the Nhan Dan, a newspaper from Hanoi. With it was a translation of an article with Shawn's byline. The article gave detailed information about F-4 bomb loads and takeoffs from Udorn, along with a diatribe on how the Western giant was attacking a defenseless people who wanted merely to uni their country against foreign imperialists, it had been ten two months before, when Shawn had been at Udorn.

"Yes, I did," Court said, anger tightening his lips, "Shawn used it in his defense when the OSI picked him up. It's not illegal, is it?"

"No, actually it is not," Leonard said. "In the last war, though, we would call it giving aid and comfort to the enemy." He sighed. "But then, this isn't a war, and there is no press censors.h.i.+p."

"About these tabloids," Correlli said, indicating the papers. "I've been getting a big ration of s.h.i.+t from SAFOI in the Pentagon."

Commander, 7th, rolled his eyes. Junior officers weren't supposed to say "s.h.i.+t" around senior officers. But Correlli was, well, Correlli.

SAFOI was the office of information of the Secretary of the Air Force.

Correlli continued. "I hate to ask this of you, but for the record, have you given any interviews or are you going to give any interviews?

SAFOI really wants to know. Supposedly everything has to be cleared through them, in addition to a PIO officer being present at any interview."

"Interviews about Shawn or about the MiGs?" Court asked.

Correlli grinned. "About Shawn. SAFOI thinks an interview with a reputable publication about your MiG kills would be just fine."

Court frowned. "I haven't given any interviews and I'm not going to give any interviews ... on anything, Shawn, MiGs, my dad. Nothing. In fact I'm thinking of resigning my commission."

Commander, 7th, nodded, unperturbed. "Leonard," he said, "better break out some scotch." Brigadier General Leonard Norman did as requested and poured scotch all around, except for Court, who took another beer.

"I'll just let that resignation statement be for the moment, if you will keep your mind open," Commander, 7th, said.

"It's not that I've been testing you, Court, it's just that a rather interesting project has come up that might interest you." He held up his hand. "It will not begin until some time after you return from Singapore. You'll have plenty of time to make up your mind, but I want to talk about it this evening. Granted, you've just given me new information, but supposing you do remain on active duty, I just want to make sure you are, ah, free of any other problems-like making Ace, or a half-brother that bothers you."

Court hesitated, then nodded. "I have no problems, General." I'm lying, he thought. I've got problems with the way this stupid war is being run. I've got problems because I can't seem to get interested in much of anything anymore.

I've got problems....

"Good, Hand me the maps, Leonard." The intelligence officer gave him a folded 1:250,000 map of the Laotian panhandle, that part of Laos that runs between Cambodia and North and South Vietnam. Commander, 7th, pointed to the hydra-headed black traces coming from North Vietnam through the mountain pa.s.ses of Mu Gia and Ban Karai into Laos, then south in Laos to reemerge into South Vietnam.

The areas the hydra-the Ho Chi Minh Trail-transited in Laos were code-named Steel Tiger and Tiger Hound.

"In a nutsh.e.l.l, we are stepping up our interdiction efforts in Steel Tiger and Tiger Hound. We've got them pretty well bottled up now in the daytime. But now I want to stop them at night. I think a night fast FAC program using F-4s could do it. They could sniff out the trucks, then call in air strikes to destroy them."

"Night FACT' Brigadier General Leonard Norman echoed. "Night reconnaissance? Strike planes dive-bombing at night in the karst?

That's rough stuff. It's never been done before."

Commander, 7th, gave him a withering look. "To continue," he rasped.

"Bannister, you had Commando Sabre experience, helping to set up the first program to use air borne forward air controllers in jets. That led to the Misty FACs in F-100s. From that came other fast FAC programs in F-4s. They are doing a good job of bottling up the Trail but only in daylight. So I want you to establish a night schedule to cover Steel Tiger and Tiger Hound with F -4s from Udorn. The mission would be to find and destroy trucks, truck parks, maintenance and supply depots.

fuel pipelines, and the guns that protect them. Upon activation we will frag Air Force and Navy fighters to your group. Do you follow me so far?"

"Yes, sir."

"This would be a dedicated night mission." He glanced at General Norman.

"And it's never been done before." He looked back at Court. "Isn't that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"it would take an exceptional man to set up and run the program, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes indeed, an exceptional man. Tell me," Commander, 7th, ordered, "why are you considering getting out?"

Court shrugged. He decided to tell the general exactly how he felt.

"Sir, if Was.h.i.+ngton doesn't want to win this war, and I'm not allowed to fight in all aspects of it--"

"You mean continue to go after MiGs up north, don't you?"

Court hesitated a moment. "Yes, sir, I suppose I do."

"Well, Bannister, this new position would give you all the fight you could handle, even if you can no longer go to Hanoi. But I'd like to add something. This war isn't being run for the convenience of the partic.i.p.ants. A military man goes where he is sent, does what he is told to do, and does it as well as he possibly can." He took a sip of scotch. He decided not to push that aspect any further. For some time he had been not only displeased but dismayed at the att.i.tude emanating from Was.h.i.+ngton both the Pentagon and the White House. It was an att.i.tude both cowardly and ambivalent, and he weighed telling the young major from just how high up the order had come that forbade him to fly in North Vietnam. He decided not to, reasoning that if Bannister was upset about what Was.h.i.+ngton was doing or not doing right now, it was best he not learn it was also meddling-meddling even down to individual troop level such as Bannister. fie had no idea why such an idiotic order had come-and from the President himself. He pictured the message that had been Security Officer that handled encrypted messages.

delivered to him a few days earlier by his SSO, the Special IVY TREE MESSAGE FOLLOWS: SECRET, EYES ONLY TO: CO/7TH AF FROM: MG A. G.

WHISENAND/WHNSC DATE: 25 JAN 68 SUBJ: POTUS RESTRICTION 1. (S) POTUS.

DESIRES USAF MAJOR COURTLAND EDM. BANNISTER, FV3021953, 8TH TFW, UDORN.

RTAFB, THAILAND BE FORBIDDEN TO FLY NORTH OF DMZ UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

IVY TREE ENDS.

POTUS meant President of the United States. Any message from him as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces was transmitted with the Ivy Tree label to ensure prompt and restricted handling by SSOs.

Commander, 7th, knew he had to play Bannister easy, like a flycaster with a wary trout. He needed this man to take this particular job, and not just because of his talent.

He wasn't quite alone in pus.h.i.+ng this hazardous nightFAC idea. He and one other general in Was.h.i.+ngton, Whitey Whisenand, had been the only two general officers to take seriously a staff study by a former student at the Air Command and Staff College.

A Major Harry "Skip" Rington had postulated that since the Rules of Engagement prohibited sealing the North Vietnamese war-supply route at the source, and since the day FACs were becoming more and more successful in throttling day traffic on the Ho Chi Minh Trail, it was obvious that a night FAC program was the next logical step.

Rington himself, now a lieutenant colonel in the Pentagon tactics shop, had been instrumental in setting up the Wolf FAC program at Udorn, but hadn't been able to get the support he'd needed from the 7th Air Force for the night mission before he'd rotated back to his current stateside desk job.

USAF Major General Albert G. "Whitey" Whisenand had seen Rington's study because he had a good friend at the Air University who flagged things like that for Whitey to review. In the late 1950s, when he had been a.s.signed to Maxwell Air Force Base, home of the Air University complex, Whitey had noted that some extraordinary good ideas thought up by students in the various schools and seminars didn't make it past the confines of the All library. Usually the ideas were, as the faculty would say, ". - . not in consonance with current USAF thinking." These ideas weren't necessarily scuttled, just filed in dusty racks in the back storeroom of the library. They were there because nonconformists simply weren't chosen as faculty members, And that was ironic, Whitey Whisenand knew, because one of the best at nonconformist tactics had gotten the whole concept started. Claire Chennault had begun an air tactics school back in the thirties, then gone on to set up and command the AVG-the American Volunteer Group-better known as the Flying Tigers.

They'd flown P-40s, defending China before the j.a.panese even attacked Pearl Harbor. Chennault's Air Tactics School at Langley AFB in Virginia had evolved into the Air University at Maxwell AFB, at Montgomery, Alabama.

Whitey Whisenand had picked up on these studies. One, from a captain in the early sixties, he had pa.s.sed to the proper place at Wright-Patterson. It had involved side-firing guns from transports and had been based on how missionaries let buckets of trinkets down a rope from a Piper Cub making pylon turns over South American tribesmen.

Because of that, Commander, 7th, now had AC-47 guns.h.i.+ps on hand, with AC-130 guns.h.i.+ps due over in a few weeks.

Commander, 7th, smiled wryly to himself. How could he tell all this to such a young man as Court Bannister? How could he tell him that deft politics mixed with amiable subterfuge could often get a mission accomplished, whereas strict conformance to the regulations might bog results forever? How the higher in rank a person goes, the more strings he must have available to pull at just the correct time. Now, in Vietnam, there was added complexity. G.o.d knew that what he was sometimes a party to in bending the Rules of Engagement could get him cas.h.i.+ered from the Air Force. He was not at all comfortable running a war when he had to resort to trickery to get the job done. How dare the politicians send their military out to accomplish a mission, then restrict their means to do so? How dare they place their best men in a position where they had to cheat to win?

Not only that, he sighed, there were a few tactical things the current regime at the Department of the Air Force did not like: the fast FAC program was one of them. For the Commander of the 7th Air Force to start up a night fast FAC organization, in addition to the day program, was pus.h.i.+ng the tolerance envelope. And this is precisely where an d why Bannister came in. Commander, 7th, reasoned that besides his obvious talent to do the task, whatever operation the well-known Court Bannister ran for the Air Force was sure to receive favorable publicity.

The news clips from his grand appearance at Tan Son Nhut last November after downing his fourth MiG had been spectacular. The coverage, mostly favorable, for one of Sam Bannister's sons as a hero in the Vietnam war had made the international press.

His reticence to disembark from an airplane at his awards ceremony had been likened to the boyish shyness of the Lone Eagle, Charles Lindbergh.

The Chief of Staff had been pleased, SAFOI had been ecstatic. So, if Bannister successfully organized and ran this night program and actually stopped the enemy traffic, that, plus his public relations value, should be enough weight to ensure the longevity of the night FAC operation. A tough way to circ.u.mvent Was.h.i.+ngton, but a method that might help win the war. At least it would save GI lives by destroying enemy equipment before it got to the battlefield. If we can't turn off the tap, Commander, 7th, thought, we can try to chop up all those hoses snaking through the gra.s.s.

Commander, 7th, looked at Angelo Correlli, one of his best public information officers. Correlli was to see to it that some USAF operations didn't make the news. Correlli's job was vital in these tricky times, when the American government had not quite acknowledged that U.S. forces were doing anything in or over Laos or even flying missions from Thailand. There had been enough bad publicity. Just recently a disheveled man in the front ranks of the war protesters had said he was a former F-105 pilot who had hideous nightmares due to his indiscriminate bombing of civilians.

His picture and the words made all the nightly news channels, none of which bothered to verify his background.

When the Pentagon released the fact that he had been a malcontent corporal who had never served in SEA and had been discharged "at the convenience of the government," none of the channels were interested.

The New York Times, however, had carried a small article in the bottom left-hand corner on page 35 citing the Pentagon release about the corporal.

What a war, the general mused, and returned his thoughts to the task at hand. The gave Court Bannister a thin smile "Of course you need both night combat-flying experience and day fast FAC experience. If you decide to take the job, my DO will arrange for both.

So make up your mind in Singapore. You have ten days. When you decide to take the job-and you will--submit your plan to me. It must include number of aircraft and aircrew to provide full nighttime coverage and how you will accomplish maintenance for the planes and personal equipment for the aircrew. State your intelligence-processing method.