Part 43 (1/2)
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.