Eagle Station Part 32

"Well, there's no plan for that at this time," Mister Sam said.

"Why the h.e.l.l not?" Court asked. "If they're here to defend you, seems to me they should get the same protection you do."

"Doesn't work that way, Major," said Jerome Powers as he stepped out of the door of the village supply hut. "These people are well paid to stay here and defend their own property ...

property they would lose if we didn't give them the means to defend it."

"You mean property n.o.body would want if we didn't have military equipment up here," Wolf said. "What are you doing here, Powers?"

"He's part of the visiting team," Mister Sam said.

"And I'm the other half," Barbara Powers said as she stepped from the supply hut. She wore a nicely tailored green jumpsuit and carried a large tan over-the-shoulder bag. "And a cheery h.e.l.lo to you, Major Courtland Bannister."

"Team for what?" Wolf snapped.

"Basically, it was sort of a last-minute thing," Babs said.

"I got this fabulous idea that since I am married to one of the important men in the Emba.s.sy, and since I work in the Emba.s.sy, I should get out and see what's going on in the villages. Jerome was a perfect darling and agreed to show me around."

Perfect darling squirmed and made deprecating motions with his hands.

"Well, actually I had a supply run to make and no reason why ... I mean, there was a seat open on the helicopter."

Court thought perfect darling looked like a man caught with his fly open in a girls' school. "Do you normally take your wife on a field trip?"

he asked.

"Well, unh, no. You see---"

Wolf Lochert looked at Powers with contempt. "You better get your b.u.t.ts out of here right now before this place gets. .h.i.t.

Didn't you get the warning? This place is due for imminent attack. Call up your bird, get it in here early, get moving."

"Just a minute there, Colonel," Powers said. "You can't talk like that to me, I'm a civilian with a higher rank than you-"

"You're a civilian Scheisskopf who's out here on a boondoggle-" Wolf never finished his sentence because the first bomb impacted with a blast that sent dirt and rocks flying over the south end of Poo Pah Tee and the concussion smashed into their eardrums. Within seconds the moan of a hand-cranked siren split the moisture-laden air. The male villagers scurried about grabbing their weapons and running to their fighting positions; the women scooped up their children and ran into their flimsy huts.

"Back to the bunker," Wolf yelled.

"What is it?" Powers yelled as he ran.

There had been no characteristic express-train sound from an incoming artillery sh.e.l.l before the blast. Court heard the sound of a piston engine overhead and looked up to see an airplane he had seen only a few times in an aircraft recognition book.

It was a six-pa.s.senger single-engined biplane that looked like a DeHavilland Beaver with two wings.

"We're being bombed," Court said in surprise as they darted into the bunker, "by one of the oldest airplanes in the Soviet inventory."

1030 Hours LOCAL, FRIDAY 1 NOVEMBER 1968 EAGLE STATION AT LIMA SITE 85.

ROYALTY OF LAOS.

"What the h.e.l.l is it?" Powers demanded.

"A Colt, the AN-2," Court replied. "It's got fabric control surfaces,"

he said in amused wonder. He stood in the doorway and watched the ancient airplane come around for another pa.s.s.

Soon an object split from the airplane and fell dartlike toward the radar dome.

"That's no bomb," Wolf said. "It's too small."

"Looks more like a sh.e.l.l," Mister Sam said as the projectile hit the ground and exploded too far away from the radar dome to cause any damage. Court saw that the clouds were so low where the plane was turning to come in for another pa.s.s that it would have to clear a ridgeline at less than 100 feet.

"You got any automatic weapons in here?" he asked Mister Sam as he moved away from the doorway. "Let's get 'em out.

I think we can hose that b.a.s.t.a.r.d from the ridge."

Mister Sam rushed inside and back out with three AK-47 a.s.sault rifles.

He gave one to Court and one to Wolf as they ran up the hill.

"Hey, how about me?" Powers yelled. "I wanna shoot, too, you know."

"Guard the women and children, a.s.shole," Mister Sam yelled over his shoulder. Mister Sam flung Wolf and Court a bandolier as they flopped down on the shale and rocks of the ridge.

"These have tracers," Mister Sam said. The tip of every fifth round was green in the Russian style and made of a material that would burn bright green as it flew through the air. Snicks and clacks sounded as they charged their weapons.

"The only way he can make it back here," Court said, "is between those two clouds-and they're moving in fast and low."

The biplane made a right turn and headed toward the ridge.

They lined up their guns and waited till it drew closer.

"Almost zero deflection," Court said. They did not have to calculate a long and difficult angle by which to lead the aircraft as they fired.

"Hot s.h.i.+t. He'll be lower than fifty feet if he wants to stay out of those clouds," Mister Sam said with glee. "I don't think he even sees us."

The plane bored in on a line that would place it a few feet to one side.

The three men had nothing to fear. The plane didn't carry any guns with which to strafe them, and the bombing with whatever they dropped had been pitiful. Its top speed was no more than 120 knots. They opened up when the Colt was 100 feet in front and to their left.

At first the tracers were behind, then quickly converged on the brown-painted plane. As it flew closer they could see the goggled pilot stare out at them in surprise when the tracers swarmed all over the c.o.c.kpit. The engine coughed and belched a fireball, then the plane trailed black smoke as the left wing went down, and with a loud thump the aircraft crashed into a small rise. There was no fire.

The men and the villagers ran to the wreckage. There were two men pinned in the torn metal. One was obviously dead.

"This guy might be alive," Wolf said as he tore pieces of the airplane from the man's body. He pulled the small figure out and wiped away the blood.

"Viet," he exclaimed. What are you doing here? "Where are you from? he asked in Vietnamese.

The man's face was a twisted mask of pain and incomprehension.

His eyes were wandering, with huge pupils. He repeated words over and over through a nearly crushed throat.

He spasmed, and as he did so, blood erupted from his mouth and he went slack.

"What did he say?" Mister Sam asked.

"Sounded like he said 'Brave Fight or 'Valiant Struggle,' as if it were the name of some operation," Wolf said as he sat back and wiped his hands on a bandana he jerked from a rear pocket.

"Guess he thought he was a hero," Mister Sam said. "What's written on here?" He pulled a paper from a clip attached to the right thigh of the pilot's coveralls.

"It's a pilot's flight card," Court said, recognizing the general format. "The numbers and headings show he came from some place in North Vietnam." He examined the map. "About five klicks over the border."

Wolf studied the paper. "And these letters mean he was scouting for artillery placement. He was only supposed to be a forward artillery observer, to place sh.e.l.ls as they landed. I guess he wanted to get in on the act and drop something of his own. Cost him a lot."

Court poked around the wreckage. "Look at this," he said.

"That tube out of the bottom of the aircraft. It's crushed, but those are 120mm. mortar sh.e.l.ls in a rack next to it. They were trying to bomb us by sliding sh.e.l.ls down the tube."

The sound of a rus.h.i.+ng express train filled the air. "Incoming," Wolf yelled. "Take cover." The three men flung themselves to the ground as an explosion from the tiny airstrip shot red dirt and debris high into the air.

"Let's make it for the bunker," Wolf yelled. "Those are 133mm high-explosive sh.e.l.ls." They got up and dashed into the low, sandbagged structure.

The bunker was small but complete. Pearson had set up phone lines and a Motorola radio circuit with the radar van.

A Mark 128 radio pallet rested on a wooden table. The diverse radios provided long-range contact with Vientiane and 7th Air Force commanders, and local contact with ground troops and airplanes overhead. An outside generator provided power for the radios and the lights. Fans in hidden ventilators moved the air.

"Where's Pearson?" Court asked.

"Gone back to the radar van," Barbara Powers answered, her face flushed.

"Said for me to stay here. Said I'd be safer." Her eyes were bright and her pupils enlarged. She licked her lips.

"What a lark. We're being sh.e.l.led, aren't we?" She clutched her large shoulder purse under one arm. Her green jumpsuit was wrinkled and smudged.

Another crash sounded from outside.

"Yeah," Wolf said with disgust.

Court couldn't tell whether it was disgust at Barbara being at Eagle Station or at the incoming sh.e.l.ls. He decided it was both.

Mister Sam called Pearson on the landline and switched on the voice box so the others could hear the report. "Eagle, this is Maple. What's your situation?"

"Small problem here," Pearson's voice crackled from the box. "Our radar and the TACAN are okay but we've lost our radios. Can't talk to anybody. Guess you'll have to take over from down there. Call Cricket and tell them what's happening and get some fighters in here." Two loud explosions punctuated his words. "What about that airplane that was dropping bombs?

Think there will be another one?" Pearson asked.

"Can't say," Mister Sam said. "You got the radar, you tell us if one is inbound. I think this guy was supposed to be an artillery spotter."

"Glad he couldn't make it," Pearson said. "So what do we do now? Even if no one is spotting, those are real sh.e.l.ls dropping on us. Even randomly, one could connect."

"I'll call Victor Tango to get the evacuation plan cranked up," Mister Sam said, "but I don't think we'll need it. I'll get reports from Hak and Bunth and see if they have any ground contact. Meanwhile I'll put Bannister in touch with Cricket and let him find out what the fighter and weather situation is." He rang off and handed Court the microphone for the UHF radio.

Court pressed the mike b.u.t.ton. "Cricket, Phantom Zero One on Primary...... Primary" was aviation shorthand for the major frequency of the day.

"Phantom Zero One, Cricket, gotcha loud and clear," the voice came back promptly. "Didn't know you were airborne."

"I'm not, I'm on the ground at Eagle Station. We're under artillery attack and there'll probably be a ground attack later tonight. What's the fighter and Spectre status?" A sh.e.l.l blasted in the distance.

"Phantom, we've got plenty of fighters, and Spectre can be overhead in thirty minutes, but we've had reports of a solid overcast covering your position. Best we can do until it clears is use the fighters on Skyspot and maybe Spectre on a beacon."

He meant the fighters could drop on the directions from the Eagle Station Skyspot radar and Court could direct Spectre to fire through the overcast using his hand-held beacon.

"Good idea, Cricket," Court said into the microphone, "but right now we don't know where the big gun is that's lobbing the sh.e.l.ls on us. Once we get a fix we'll let you know and put some ordnance in." A crash sounded closer to the bunker.

"We'd better find it darrm quick." He signed off.

"I just got Bunth and Hak on the horn," Mister Sam said.

"Here's the situation. Bunth says his men are spread out on a circular perimeter that radiates out twelve kilometers from here.

Unfortunately, the gun has a firing range of 15 klicks. He says that his men in the east quadrant know the gun is somewhere out there because they hear the boom and then the sound of the sh.e.l.l as it goes overhead.

They calculate it's somewhere between 080 degrees and 100 degrees from us."

Court looked at his map. There were heavy karst ridges and jungle in that direction. "Depending on the weather, I can get Spectre down there after dark to look for muzzle flashes. In the meantime can they get a better location on the gun? Maybe even mount a ground attack?"

"Okay, set the Spectre support up," Mister Sam said. "I'll see if I can goose Bunth into a more active search mode, but I doubt he'll attack anything more dangerous than a wounded water buffalo. I talked to Major Hak. His men are all primed and c.o.c.ked for movement up the trail.

They're ready to fight. As yet they haven't seen or heard a thing except the artillery."

The sh.e.l.ls were falling at two-minute intervals and so far had not hit anything vital.

"I made contact with Victor Tango," Mister Sam said to Jerome and Barbara Powers. "Your helicopter is inbound to pick you up. Should be here in thirty minutes or so." He looked pointedly at Powers. "They said they had never authorized your wife on this trip and never would under any circ.u.mstances."

Barbara Powers looked at her husband. "Well, duckie, you lied to me, didn't you? Big man, said you could do anything you wanted. G.o.d." She threw her hands up in . disgust. "Anybody got a drink around this dump?" Jerome Powers grabbed her roughly by an arm. "Shut up. Just shut up." She shook loose and walked back to a corner, where she dug into her large bag.

Mister Sam glanced after her and rolled his eyes. He said to Court and Wolf, "You guys want to haul a.s.s, now's your chance."

"After you," Wolf said with mock gravity.

"I wouldn't miss this for anything," Court replied.

"Well, you know I'd love to stay," Powers said, "but there's no one to run the office, so I've got to get back." Babs made a disparaging sound from her corner.

"Last chance, gentlemen," Mister Sam continued. "Victor Tango told me the Amba.s.sador is not actuating the evacuation plan, because he doesn't think the threat is high enough. He does promise to have the standard Jolly Green alert bird at Lima Site 36 keep a listening watch on HF for us in case we need him."

"Fair enough," Court said.