Eagle Station Part 28

VIENTIANE, ROYALTY OF LAOS.

The two Laotians were waiting for them when Shawn Bannister and Richard Connert stepped down from the Thai Airways DC-3 twin-prop airliner.

"Welcome, Mister Gentlemen, to our poor country," said the taller of the two in French-accented English. "So pleased you could make this trip.

You must be very tired. Come for refreshments before the next portion of your journey." The two Lao wore short-sleeved white s.h.i.+rts and baggy black pants. The two Americans wore safari suits. Each carried a small bag. Connert had the sniffles and kept using a handkerchief he carried in his hand.

They were led to a small, hot and stuffy room in a shed next to a nondescript hangar. The Americans accepted warm orange soda and sat on straight-backed chairs while the tall Lao told them of the importance of their trip and the fine cooperation between the Pathet Lao and the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. He explained that the next portion of their trip would be on an International Control Commission (ICC) airplane that would fly them directly to the Gia Lam Airport outside Hanoi. He kept up the one-sided dialogue until a Caucasian man entered the small room. The man carried a black bag from which he took a big Nikon 35mm camera and a tripod.

"If you please," the Lao said, "to stand up and everybody shake hands and smile. This is a very important event." He urged Shawn and Connert to stand between him and his companion while the Caucasian photographer took several photos with and without flash. He also took several close-ups of the two Americans.

"Who are you with?" Shawn asked with a smile and stuck out his hand as the photographer was stowing his equipment.

When there was no answer he asked again, but the man mumbled something between a grunt and a hiccup and went out the door.

"Mister Gentlemen, it is time to go now. If you please." The Lao motioned to the door.

"Wait a minute," Connert said. "I thought we were going to get some publicity here. Who was that guy? Where are the other photographers and reporters?"

"Hold it, Richard. I don't know who that guy was either, but part of the deal is no publicity until a certain date. The second of November, I think."

"Why?" he asked into his handkerchief.

"It just is. They have our trip and Apple's release tied in to something else, something important that's supposed to happen real soon.

I'll get first crack at it, but they won't tell me anything in advance."

"Please to go now," the tall Lao insisted. "Your airplane is here."

"My G.o.d, I don't believe it," Connert said when they saw the ICC airplane taxiing across the ap.r.o.n to the small terminal building. It was a four-engined World War II B-17 bomber converted to carry pa.s.sengers, called a Boeing 307.

Minutes later the airplane was airborne, the gear slowly retracting into the nacelles beneath the inboard engines. Inside, small airline seats lining a narrow aisle held members of the ICC: a turbaned Sikh, a scowling Pole, and a smiling Canadian.

Shawn and Connert spoke little as the B-17 climbed to 9,000 and set course northeast to Hanoi. The decrease in pressure bothered Connert and he kept sniffing and blotting with his handkerchief. It was worse on the letdown.

"Level off, level off," Connert screamed as the B-17 descended through 6,000 feet. "My ears. Oh G.o.d, make him level off."

"For G.o.d's sake, Richard, shut up!" Shawn said with great exasperation.

The Canadian went to the c.o.c.kpit and spoke to the pilot, who leveled the big plane and sent his copilot back to see what was wrong. Connert told him it was an ear block.

"Here," the copilot, a big Canadian, said. "Shut your mouth, hold your nose-and blow. It's called the Valsalva maneuver."

Connert gave his thanks when his ears cleared, and the plane continued its descent into Gia Lam.

Thach met the two Americans as they walked into the shabby terminal that serviced Gia Lam International Airport. It was an attractive French design, but the concrete was now cracked and the flower beds were empty.

It was as if the North Vietnamese communists didn't want to show a bright or cheery face to the world travelers who alighted at their only civilian airport in use.

A group of thin Vietnamese came in from a Russian Aeroflot 11yus.h.i.+n transport.

Thach walked up to them and spoke without preamble. "You may come with me, misters, there is no need," he said as he waved a hand at the customs and immigration counter. He offered a limp hand to Shawn.

"Mister Shawn, I am Thach." Shawn shook and introduced Richard Cofinert.

"Yes, misters. I am most pleased you are here and able to help us in our struggle." He led them to his Lada sedan.

Shawn and Connert were all eyes as Thach drove from the airport toward Hanoi. They drove by an abandoned church, then out to the main road, which was ragged and full of potholes that Thach said were called "hen's nests" in Vietnamese. People were busy in the fields harvesting rice.

They would lay the grain sheaves in the roads, where what few vehicles there were ran over them, shucking the rice kernels from the husk. Some of the bundles were quite large, and the Lada bounced and swayed when Thach tried to avoid them. They crossed the Paul Dourner Bridge and drove into the main section of downtown Hanoi. Outside of wrecked rail yards the city looked shabby but untouched by what the protestors had called carpet-bombing.

The streets were lined with what looked like oversized manhole covers that rested on concrete cylinders buried upright in the ground. Thach said they were personal air raid shelters. He drove them to the Victory Hotel, where he took them directly to a small room overlooking the street. A ceiling fan stirred the air over the two small beds separated by a thin wooden nightstand. Upon a chest of drawers in front of a bust-sized smoky mirror hanging from a nail was a carafe of water and two gla.s.ses resting on a lacquer tray. A wooden chair was under a narrow desk, and a vinyl lounge chair was next to the window.

Thach said the bath was down the hall to the right.

"We are very poor here, misters," Thach explained. "We conserve all our resources for the just struggle against the imperialists. We are very sorry, but electricity is not available from ten of the clock at night until six of the clock in the morning." By now Connert was sniffling and coughing. "Sorry," he said many times as Shawn looked at him in aggravation.

"We will have a small chat," Thach said, "before you see the criminal Apple."

"How is his att.i.tude?" Shawn asked. "Does he want to go home?"

Thacb regarded him through slitted eyes. "It is important that you and your friend convince him such a move is in his best interest."

"Me? I thought you would have him ready. I thought we were only here to ... to talk to him a little bit, then just accompany him home."

"Oh no, Mister Shawn. There is more. You must be very convincing. You and Mister Richard can do this thing, can you not? It will be very beneficial to you to do this thing."

"Beneficial? What do you mean by that?" Shawn said and shot a look of annoyance at Connert when he sneezed.

"You have an election process, do you not?" Thach reminded him. "A success here would give you much favorable publicity."

"Well, in any case I'm supposed to get a good story on something else up here too. I was promised."

"Promised, Mister ShawnT'Although Thach showed no emotion on his face, his tone was an unmistakable combination of sarcastic disbelief and menace.

"Yes, promised by Huynh Va. Ba when we met in Cuba."

"Mister Shawn, Huynh is a messenger, a courier. A man without stature.

He cannot make promises. Here in Hanoi I can make you promises. If you convince the air criminal Apple to return with you, I will promise you to be the first witness to a very important event. Very important. An event that will show just how criminal the imperialists are in our neighboring country of Laos. You have but four days to accomplish this task, for you must be ready to leave with the air criminal on the second day of November."

"Wait a minute-2' Shawn said in desperation.

"We have no minutes to spare. I suggest we go now to the hospital where the air criminal is receiving the most excellent of treatment. There you first will meet someone, then you will talk to him."

1745 Hours LOCAL, TUESDAY 29 OCTOBER 1968 HANOI CITY HOSPITAL.

HANOI, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM.

Thach drove through pedestrian-clogged streets to the rear of the gray concrete Hanoi hospital and led them to the small doctors' lounge.

Connert sneezed several times and blew his nose. Thach left them for a moment and returned with Co Dust.

"Tell these men," he ordered her, "of the air criminal Apple and what of his att.i.tude to return with his countrymen."

Shawn noticed that even when she began to speak, Co Dust never looked up. He thought she looked very pet.i.te and attractive in her white uniform.

"He is a man who ... who knows his own mind," she began in a low voice.

"What does that mean?" Shawn asked.

"It means he ... he does not wish to ... to leave just yet."

Thach rattled off some angry words in Vietnamese to her and yanked her by the arm out the door.

"G.o.d," Connert said, "what was that all about?"

"I think she's in big trouble," Shawn said, his face spoiled by a heavy frown.

Flak Apple was startled as the door to his room was flung open and crashed against the wall. Thach stomped into the room, dragging Co Dust by one arm. He spun her around to face Flak.

"There will be no more games," he raged. "Too much time has gone by-TOO MUCH." In a quick motion he lifted her long white skirt and pinched her genitals through her panties with clawlike fingers. She stifled a shriek and sank to her knees, sobbing. "You have accomplished NOTHING,"

Thach yelled and struck her face.

"You sonab.i.t.c.h, I'll KILL you," Flak screamed and struggled to sit up.

He felt an incredible pain as his abrupt movement tore something within him. A slow red stain started in the wide bandages around his midsection.

"No," Thach spat as he reached down to punch Co Dust in the breast.

"Only I kill here. And this one will die slow and hard and in front of you as you are chained to a wall unless you agree to cooperate." He sank his fingers into Co Dust's left breast and twisted until she screamed anew.

"Stop, stop," Flak cried and pounded the bed with his good hand, his agonized eyes on the sobbing Co Dust.

"You will cooperate, then?" Thach asked in a voice suddenly grown quiet.

"Yes, sonab.i.t.c.h," Flak gasped. "Just take your f.u.c.king hands off her."

He hardly felt his own pain.

Thach helped Co Dust to her feet and led her gently to a chair by the window. She bit her lip and wouldn't look anywhere but out the window.

"Let us talk," Tbach said to Flak as he approached the bed.

Twenty minutes later Thach returned to the lounge and apologized to Shawn and Connert.

"Things are difficult today. I do not believe that criminal Apple is well enough for a meeting. He needs, ah, continued medication. We will return soon. Perhaps tomorrow he will be ready to see you."

Thach pointed at the table. "Misters, please to have some soda." Thach bustled about pouring the sticky yellow orange soda into thick scarred gla.s.ses. "You perhaps will visit with me certain places here in Hanoi.

I will show you where the hospitals are bombed and where the schools are bombed. I want to show you the museum where we celebrate the 5,000 airplanes of the imperialist air force we have shot down."

" Yes," Shawn said. "I would like that. Will the press be there?"

Thach thought quickly. "Yes, of course. Perhaps you would like to say a few words to them at the completion of your tour.

A few words about what you have seen?"

"Yes, that will be fine."

"Fine, then, misters. I will take you to your hotel now."

1330 Hours LOCAL, THURSDAY 31 OCTOBER 1968 BRIEFING Room, 8TH TACTICAL FIGHTER WING UBON ROYAL THAI AIR FORCE BASE.

KINGDOM OF THAILAND.

"Eagle Station is becoming quite the hot spot, gentlemen," said Major Richard Hostettler. He stood in front of the 8th TFW Wing Commander, Colonel Stan Bryce, the four fighter squadron commanders, the commander and ops officer of the men flying the AC-130 Spectre guns.h.i.+p, the commander of the Wolf FACs, and Major Court Bannister, commander of the Phantom FACs. Each commander had his operations officer with him. Ken Tanaka, filling in for Howie Joseph, sat next to Court.

"This is about as unusual a frag as we are going to get in the war,"

Hostettler began. "It's about a raid that may never take place on a place that doesn't exist by people that aren't there. Ya got that?"

He pulled out a large map of Laos on a roller board from the wings of the stage and pointed to the high karst region west of Sam Neue. "We've got intelligence reports from sources so cla.s.sified ya gotta burn them before ya read 'cm. What they say is this: The bad guys want to snuff Eagle Station. It's a big Thorn in the side of the Hanoi eastern air defense ring because it lets you guys in to bomb Pack Six when the weather is real c.r.a.ppy and all that. They say the attack is imminent."

"What about evacuation of the American personnel?" Colonel Bryce asked.

"Is that in the mill?"

"Funny you should ask that, Colonel. The way I hear it is that the Amba.s.sador doesn't want to pull any of the troops out of there until the last minute. Seems the Agency guys say there are plenty of defenses, and there probably won't be a serious attack anyhow, so why get everybody all het up?"

"Then who says there is an attack coming?" Court asked.

He noted Hostettler was not mentioning any of the other more cla.s.sified reasons for why Eagle Station was the focus of such attention.

"Like I told ya, I can't tell ya. But 7th is impressed enough to order us to put some birds on alert and some on CAP for the next few days to see what develops. Ya know what I think I think the AIRA up there said air power can save the day, and 7th is out to prove him right."

Hostettler moved out from behind the podium and put his hands on his hips and let out a moderately loud fart. Life could be crude in a combat zone.

"Oh, come on, d.i.c.k," one of the squadron commanders said.

"They don't have big guns up there yet. Or do they?"

Richard Hostettler, the famous chili-fart briefer, was barely warmed up.

"Not any AAA guns, because the Trail doesn't swing over that way, but we are starting to get reports of some artillery rounds impacting close to Eagle Station. You gentlemen will most likely be called upon to take them out."

He finished his briefing and gave way to the newly a.s.signed weather officer, a young first lieutenant dressed in 1505 khakis who was clearly nervous on this, his first briefing. He a.s.sembled some notes, then pulled out a weather chart of Southeast Asia. He cleared his throat and spoke in a high-pitched nervous voice.