Eagle Station Part 9

"Nothing doing." s.h.i.+lleto stared straight ahead.

"Sir, it's a clear signal. We've got to check it out."

"Not after what happened yesterday." s.h.i.+lleto reached down and switched off Guard Channel. The abrupt silence after the unearthly sound was startling. "Anybody can switch to beacon on those radios," he said.

"They have captured a lot of them.

It's a flak trap, I tell you. We didn't get those eleven holes from friendly fire. We're not going back. This is a one-time ferry flight to get this bird home. We are not authorized to partic.i.p.ate in any rescue."

"At least I can verify the signal and take a fix," Kelly said as he switched Guard Channel back on. He cut the volume control so he could barely hear the beacon. The needle pointed unwaveringly back left to the seven-thirty position. Nuts, he said to himself. Maybe the gomers have captured the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d and are using his radio. He's got to come up voice and prove he's okay. He remembered the American's voice and his call sign from the day before, and tried again. He transmitted on Guard.

"Wolf, Wolf, this is Jolly Green Two Two, come up voice.

Talk to me, man."

It was no good. Guard Channel was blocked by the whooping beacon transmitted by Wolf's radio.

"We're not going to do anything about it, I promise You'll s.h.i.+lleto said.

It was quiet and peaceful in the cave. Wolf barely registered the sound of the receding helicopter. Something tugged at a corner of his mind.

There was something he should do. The helicopter faded from his hearing, and with it the insistent nagging. He dozed, fitful and restless.

Tewa knew he had to do something. The helicopter was going away, headed south, and would never, never come back.

He crawled over to the radio that lay inert on the rough floor of the cave near the entrance. He knew if you spoke into it, someone would answer. That is how it worked before. He carefully pressed the b.u.t.ton and called many times for Chollie Gleen, with no response. He had seen Wolf work one of the switches, so he fingered it back and forth and tried again. No answer. He didn't understand why it had worked yesterday and not today. He studied the switch positions, and next to each the incomprehensible chicken scratches the Americans said were words. He decided to work the switch from sei to qwa, left to the right, and stop and call from each position, then wait for an answer.

Nothing happened for him at the full left position, which was "OFF." He would go to the next and try again.

In the helicopter, when Kelly heard the beeper signal stop, he immediately pressed his transmit b.u.t.ton and called Wolf.

Tewa turned the switch to the second position from the left and heard the last part of the call.

" . . . talk to me, Wolf."

Tewa jammed his finger onto the transmit b.u.t.ton. "Oh, Chollie Gleen, you come now. Sor sick. You come now."

"Let me talk to sore," Kelly transmitted on the radio.

"I'm telling you, we are not going back," s.h.i.+lleto said on the intercom.

"I don't care what he says."

"Make sore talk," Kelly transmitted again.

Tewa pushed back to Wolf Lochert and shook him. "Sor, you talk. Is Chollie Gleen. You talk Chollie Gleen." He shook Wolf again and tried to hand him the radio. Wolf barely stirred.

"We must talk to the American," Kelly said with urgency.

"Put the American on. Put ... the ... American ... on ... the radio." He unkeyed and waited. Double-d.a.m.n, triple-s.h.i.+t, he said to himself, then tried again. "Wolf, Wolf-talk to me, Wolf."

Through a haze, Wolf heard the tinny American voice. When he rolled his head toward the sound, Tewa held the radio to Wolf's lips and said, "Sor talk. Sor talk now." He pressed the transmit b.u.t.ton.

"Anyone read Wolf, give me a call," Wolf said with difficulty.

Kelly was overjoyed. "Wolf, Wolf," he said, "this is Jolly Two Two. Got you three by. Give me a hold-down." Kelly was telling Wolf he heard his transmission clear but not loud. Five by five for clarity and volume was best; one by one was worst.

Wolf blinked several times in the gloom of the cave. Holddown, what was. . . then he remembered. "Fewa," he said.

"Press b.u.t.ton. Press b.u.t.ton."

Tewa grinned and bobbed his head several times and pushed in the transmit b.u.t.ton and released it.

"Hold the b.u.t.ton," Kelly said. "Hold the b.u.t.ton down, count to ten."

"You don't really believe that's an American survivor down there, do you?" s.h.i.+lleto asked. "He wouldn't have all this much trouble talking."

"He might if he were injured or wounded," Kelly said.

s.h.i.+lleto flew straight ahead and didn't answer.

"Look," Kelly said, "at least can't we do a 360 turn? If not, we'll be out of range soon and never get a good fix. Just a 360.

It won't cause us any trouble."

"One turn," s.h.i.+lleto rumbled and put the helicopter into a left-hand turn.

"Wolf, give me a long count," Kelly said, and looked with anxious eyes at the direction-finding equipment.

"Tewa." Wolf's whisper was raspy. "Hold b.u.t.ton down, keep pressing.

Talk to Jolly Green. Talk to them, Tewa."

"Ah, Chollic Green, sor say talk you. Tewa talk you. Tewa is talk. You talk Tewa?" He released the b.u.t.ton.

As s.h.i.+lleto turned the HH-53B through north, the homing needle pointed straight ahead and Kelly could see the area where he was sure Wolf and Tewa were hiding.

"Smoke, Tewa, give me smoke," he said. "You have smoke grenade? You have smoke flare, Tewa? Jolly Green must see smoke."

"The smoke won't do you any good, Kelly, we're not going in," s.h.i.+lleto said in a loud voice.

"Sir, it's your last -flight. Why not end it with a rescue? Think of how much publicity you'd receive."

"Kelly, you're insulting. All the years I've been in Rescue, I've never done it for publicity."

"Sir, that's a human being down there. You said yourself if a shootdown isn't picked up right away, his chances are s.h.i.+t.

This guy has hung on. He's all screwed-up but he's hung on.

Maybe Compress can't get someone here in time. Maybe we're his last chance."

In the cave, Wolf heard the voice on the radio ask for smoke.

Still lying flat, he pushed the day/night flare from his cargo pocket.

He rolled it toward the Hmoung. "Tewa, make smoke.

Wolf cannot make smoke."

Tewa picked it up and edged to the opening of the cave. He remembered the one-hour course he had had when he became a bundle-kicker for Air America on the rudiments of emergency rescue procedures and how to generate smoke by pulling the proper tab on the cylinder. He put his finger through the ring tab, then looked back at Wolf with a worried frown. "If smoke, bad f.u.c.ker shoot smoke."

Wolf digested the news and tried to clear his brain. His tongue felt terribly swollen in his mouth and his thoughts ran away from him like scattering leaves in a wind. He knew Tewa should release the smoke because ... because someone should know where they were. If there was too much ground fire for a pickup, well, he would just have to sleep on that. Maybe they would die. That was all right, too. He was so tired, and his head felt so funny. He started drifting. From the far reaches of his mind a small voice said maybe they would be captured.

CAPTURED. An alarm as real and as loud as a firehouse gong sounded in Wolf's brain, and all his fleeing thoughts returned. He knew exactly where they were and exactly what the problem was. He gathered his energy and rolled over to lie next to Tewa.

"No smoke," he said. "Tewa right. No smoke." He picked up the radio and hit the transmit b.u.t.ton.

"Jolly Green, this is Wolf. We can't give you smoke. There are enemy forces deployed about a klick south of our position. If we pop smoke, they'll get a fix on us and ... and they will be ready to hose you down if you come in for a Pickup. They can probably hear you right now just like we can. I don't see how we can do this today." He unkeyed.

"Scheiss, Tewa, we can't let that helicopter in here. 'We don't know what's out there." Tewa looked wide-eyed and uncomprehending.

"Wolf, this is Jolly Green, we'll make the decision whether or not we can make the pickup," the strong voice of Lieutenant Colonel Paul s.h.i.+lleto sounded over the radio. He unkeyed and switched to intercom.

"Flight mech? Pis? You got any problem with our going in?"

"No, sir, not at all," they a.s.sured him. Rescue men were up there to do just that, rescue, not pa.s.s up perfectly good opportunities. PJs actually flipped coins to see who would be first down the hoist.

"What made you change your mind, boss?" Kelly asked in surprise.

"h.e.l.l, since he was going to turn down a pickup because we might be in danger, I figured he was not only a real American but a brave one, one we should see what we can do about."

He kept the nose of the helicopter pointed toward the source of the signal. "And look up there." He pointed northeast at a line of thunderstorms. "They're coming this way, may be here for days. We've got to move now." s.h.i.+lleto punched his radio b.u.t.ton. "Wolf," he transmitted, "we are homing in on your signal. Hold your smoke. Tell us when we pa.s.s over your position."

s.h.i.+lleto unkeyed and said to Kelly, "Call Cricket, see if there are any A- Is in the area, we may have a full-blown SAR on our hands." Kelly saw the light of challenge in s.h.i.+lleto's eyes, and he seemed ten years younger.

Buoyed by the confident voice and the possibility they might be rescued, Wolf rogered the transmission. His brain cleared and a new thought occurred to him.

"Jolly Green," he said. "I will go ahead and release some smoke. If they shoot at us, okay. But I don't think they will.

I think they know where we are and don't want to give themselves away and are waiting for you to come closer to start shooting. Either way, we'd be no worse off than before and you'd get a positive fix on us. You copy?"

"Roger, copy," s.h.i.+lleto said. "We're ready. Pop your smoke."

s.h.i.+lleto glanced at Kelly. "What does Cricket have for us?"

"A ration of s.h.i.+t," Kelly replied. "They say we are to proceed as planned and they will handle this whole thing."

s.h.i.+lleto set his jaw. "We'll see about that." His eyes flashed and his haggard face looked joyfully animated. He punched his mike b.u.t.ton.

"Cricket, Jolly Green Two Two. We found a target of enemy troops. I need some A-Is, and I'm d.a.m.n well going to stay right here until you provide them. Either you provide them or we run out of gas and you got to run a SAR on us. You copy, Cricket?"

"Why, sure, Jolly Green," the Cricket controller said from his position in a large radio capsule loaded in the back end of a C-130. Thirteen other men were in there with them at consoles, running the airborne command post. "I think we can get something up for you." He was a young ROTC first lieutenant and was pretty sure he knew what Jolly Green Two Two had in mind. He had been required earlier to pa.s.s on the order for 22 to go home, but now he decided to go along with what he was sure was a bit of a charade. Laos was a f.u.c.ked-up place, and anytime you had the opportunity to unf.u.c.k it, he believed, particularly when it might save an American, then he'd go along.

"Okay, Wolf," s.h.i.+lleto said, "you hang on to that smoke until I tell you. We'll get a couple Sandys or Hobos in here and then we'll see what we'll see."

"Roger," Wolf said, aware that the Jolly Green wanted the A-1 firepower handy in case his smoke provoked any return fire.

Sandy and Hobo were the USAF call signs of the giant prop-driven Douglas A-1 aircraft that carried four tons of ordnance under their wings (on fifteen hardpoints-seven under each wing and one under the centerline of the fuselage), had four forwafd-firing 20mm cannons, and enough gas to stay on station for Hours. Though certainly not in the jet fighter cla.s.s, the A-1 was preferred over the faster jets for close air support because of its delivery accuracy and endurance. US Navy pilots still cackled over the shootdown of a MiG-17 in June 1965 by two A-1s from the Midway. They called the A-1s Spads. The USAF had acquired fifty A-1s from the Navy in the early sixties, expressly for use in Vietnam. The TAC jet fighter boys had gritted their teeth, but had had to give in to the request from the Air Commandos for the versatile prop aircraft.

Joe Kelly pointed out to s.h.i.+lleto the half-mile-wide karst cliff where he thought the two men were hiding. There were too many crevices and outcroppings on the cliff face for him to know which was the exact spot.

They orbited two miles south.

Eight minutes later two Sandys checked in. s.h.i.+lleto brought them overhead, steered their eyes in the general direction of the cliff, and had them orbit above them at 9,000 feet.

"Here's how it is, guys," s.h.i.+lleto said to his crew. "If we get a good smoke, and if we can get the bad guys to reveal their position, and if we can get the Sandys to wipe out the bad guys, we may have a pickup on our hands. You guys game to try?"

"s.h.i.+t hot, Colonel," said the flight mech, Dan Bernick.

"Press on, sir," said PJ Two, Hiram Bakke.

"Let's get 'em," said Pi One, Manuel Dominguez.

Joe Kelly nodded his head in pleased a.s.sent.

."Pop the smoke, Wolf. We're ready," s.h.i.+lleto said.

Wolf Lochert did as he was told and flipped the belching baton out on the ledge at the cave mouth. Within seconds, thick red smoke billowed up and away from the cliff, then became torn sheets in the shearing vertical wind currents.

"I've got a good tally on your position, Wolf. Hear anything?" Kelly asked.

Wolf lay silent for a few minutes. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all, but I know they're out there."

"Sandy, you ready to do your famous troll trick?" s.h.i.+lleto asked Sandy One, the leader of the flight.

"Roger that. Two, orbit west and see what I stir up. Lead's in west to east, off south." He pulled up, hung on his prop for a second, then lazily wheeled over and down, gaining airspeed, then pulled out to zoom in on his run. He made a long, low pa.s.s over the jungle parallel to the cliff face.

"See anything, Two?" he asked as he pulled off short of the approaching storms, the powerful 2,700-horsepower Wright radial engine roaring out over the muted jungle.

"Negative," came the laconic reply. "Want me to try it?' "Rodge, go ahead," Sandy Lead said. "Make it from the opposite direction."

"Wolf, you hear any shooting?" s.h.i.+lleto asked.

"Not a round."

"Two's in, east to west." He dodged in front of the approaching rainsquall and dove in on his run.

"Gotcha covered," Sandy Lead said.