Targets of Opportunity (1993) (26 page)

"Cap wanted you to have these," she declared, handing each pilot a rifle and an extra magazine.

"Thanks," Brad said, propping his weapon in the corner. "I'll feel more secure," he said with genuine appreciation, "having something other than my six-shooter with which to defend myself"

"That's what Cap thought."

Brad gave Palmer a crooked smile. "Nick, do you know which end to point?"

Palmer laughed amiably and checked the safety. "I'll probably figure it out, smart-ass."

Allison reached into the pocket of her khaki blouse and extracted two containers of first-aid cream. "I got these from our corpsman. He said to apply a liberal amount on your cuts and scratches."

"Thanks," Brad replied, "and hadn't we better give one of these to Rudy and Chase?"

"I already gave a tube to each of them." Allison looked around the disheveled tent, taking in the wrinkled Playboy magazine on the empty ammunition box. The olive-drab canvas tent was army surplus and well-worn. A pair of jeans and three flight suits hung from a line tied along the roof of the shelter. "Who's your interior decorator?"

"We share the responsibility." Brad smiled, applying the cream. "It's a special talent we have."

"Brad," Allison said with a serious look, "do you have a few minutes? I would like to talk to you."

"Sure."

Palmer quietly coughed and got to his feet. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"You don't have to leave," she assured him.

"Actually," Nick confided, "I'm going to see if I can gag down some of the C-rats."

Allison waited until she and Brad were alone, then gazed at him for a long period of time.

"Brad," she said at last, "I know you had a falling-out with Cap . . . and I've been concerned about it."

Austin silently nodded and placed the top on the ointment container.

"Yes," he responded glumly, "and I suppose I'll have to apologize to him. I've had a lot on my mind, and the crash triggered my pent-up emotions."

Allison sensed that Brad was not going to volunteer much more of his real feelings to her.

"I appreciate your concern for me," she admitted, wanting to touch Brad and confide in him.

"Excuse me?"

"Cap told me about your concern for my safety." Allison waited for a reaction, but Brad remained impassive.

Brad sat back. "And?"

"I told him I want to do my job with the rest of you," she declared, "but I agree with you. We need more security."

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you tell him that?"

"No," she conceded, "but he did confer with the security commander. He's a former marine company commander."

Brad held his response in deference to the experienced ground officer. Although Austin had the fundamental training to be a platoon commander, he had never actually commanded troops in the field.

"Well," he said stiffly, "I'm confident they'll make the right decisions."

Allison studied Brad for a moment. "You mentioned that you've had a lot on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." Brad chuckled. "It's just been one of those days." "It's Leigh Ann, isn't it?" she inquired coolly.

"Yes," Brad answered truthfully, "and you."

Allison felt an underlying excitement. "What about me?"

Brad grew cautious. "Allison, I appreciate your efforts to smoot
h t
hings over." He rose from his cot. "I'm going to see Cap and apologize." "Okay," she replied, concealing her disappointment. "Perhaps w e c an talk later."

He felt a compelling desire to speak freely to her, but he resisted. "Sure."

The fan was humming at full blast when Brad entered the warm
Quonset hut. Hollis Spencer was seated at one of the four radios
, hiving a brisk conversation. He motioned for Austin to have a seat.

Brad sat down next to the long table that dominated the middle of the room. He felt conspicuous as he waited for Spencer to conclude his conversation. Brad idly inspected the relief maps on the wall until Spencer signed off and removed his headset.

Austin rose from his chair. "Cap, I want to apologize." He extended his hand. "I have no excuse for my behavior this afternoon.
"

Spencer shook Brad's hand. "Let's put it behind us. Have a seat, and I'll fill you in on the latest."

After Spencer sat at his desk, he opened a lower drawer and propped his boots on it. "We've got another thirty troops arriving tomorrow afternoon."

"Great." Brad could not suppress his grin. "I really think we'll need them . . . if anything happens."

"However, the UH-34s--they're scrambling to get another one--will be the only air cover we'll have."

"Cap, I appreciate your efforts," Brad responded, adding wryly, "and we'll do the best we can with what we've got."

Spencer observed Austin, then picked up a pencil and absently tapped the eraser on his desk.

"Brad, I know you've had one hell of a day--all of you--but I'd like to discuss a personal matter," he paused, "if you don't mind."

Austin tensed in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Allison hasn't said anything to me." Spencer said, and smiled politely. "Hell, she doesn't have to. I've known her for a long time, and it is obvious to me, and probably everyone else, that she has fallen for you."

Maintaining his composure, Brad searched for a response. "I recognize that, Cap, but she knows that I have a relationship with someone else."

"Don't get me wrong," Spencer declared, sitting upright. "Whatever the relationship is . . . is none of my business, unless it affects our mission."

Spencer pulled out his pipe.

Brad started to tell Cap about his walk on the runway with Allison and their discussion about Leigh Ann, but he decided not to. He waited impatiently while Spencer lighted his pipe.

"Brad, I can't monitor your feelings or your actions," he paused to exhale the smoke, "but, believe me, the more you can keep your total concentration on our work, the better your chance of survival."

"Sir," Brad said, wishing there was an easier way to extract himself from the conversation, "I get the message."

"I'm relieved, Brad." Spencer smiled warmly. "Get some rest."

In the damp stillness of the early morning, Brad listened to Nick's uneven breathing. Believing his tentmate was having a nightmare, Brad reached across the aisle and prodded Palmer. Nick rolled onto his side and his breathing smoothed.

Brad listened to the buzzing sounds of the insects and reviewed the events of the last four days. The CIA reinforcements had arrived and the replacement helicopter had been flown to the field. The ferry pilots had remained overnight and flown back on the C-123.

Unable to sleep, Brad gazed at the top of the darkened tent. Spencer had finally been given permission to launch the MiG. Before midday, or shortly thereafter, Brad would be airborne in a MiG-17 over North Vietnam. This was going to be the first testing of the feasibility of Operation Achilles.

He let his mind drift to Leigh Ann, but could not afford to let himself dwell on her. Brad hoped that she would receive his letter and address at the Constellation Hotel in the next few days.

From Leigh Ann, his thoughts shifted to Allison. After his conversation with Spencer, Brad had purposely avoided Allison. He had spent most of his time around the MiG, except for a brief visit to the security command post. He had left feeling a renewed confidence in the combat-experienced ground officer and the men under his command. Over sixty percent of the security detail were former marine infantrymen.

"Ah, shit," Brad swore as he swatted a mosquito on his forearm. He checked the mosquito netting and pulled the drawstring tighter.

Clad only in his shorts, Brad felt sweaty and irritable. He heard Nick stir. "Are you awake?"

"Barely," Palmer uttered, then sneezed. "I hope I'm not coming down with malaria or some shit like that."

"You don't sound like a happy camper."

"This is ridiculous," Nick snorted.

"What?"

Palmer sat up and slapped a mosquito. "I joined the navy to fly from carriers, and I'm sitting in a goddamn mosquito-infested tent in the middle of shitville." He swatted his ankle. "Surrounded by thousands of gooks who would like nothing better than to kill me."

Brad reached up and cupped his hands behind his head. "Look at the bright side."

"Don't piss me off," Nick said curtly.

"You're not damaging your liver at the 0 club bar," Austin stated emphatically. "You'll probably live an extra ten years . . . if someone doesn't shoot you."

Brad heard Nick thrashing through his belongings. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find my gun," he sneezed again, "so I can blow your worthless brains out."

Brad extended his arm. "Let me bum one of your cigarettes." "Since when did you start smoking?"

"Just give me the cigarette," Brad insisted. "Maybe, if we can create enough smoke, it'll drive these goddamn bloodsuckers out of here."

Nick lighted two cigarettes, handing one to Brad. "Are you nervous about today?"

"Naw," Austin replied, puffing steadily. "I normally stay awake all night."

Chapter
TWENTY-FIVE

Alpha-29 sweltered in the soaring heat of midmorning when Brad stepped out of his tent. His flight suit, tailored to resemble a Russian flying garment, clung damply to his torso. He checked the security of his revolver and patted the pocket containing extra .38 rounds.

Brad paused to watch Hank Murray direct his men as they pulled the MiG out of the makeshift shelter. The aircraft had been painted in camouflage similar to that of MiG-17s stationed at Gia Lam, the highly active air base on the northeastern edge of downtown Hanoi.

Walking toward the Quonset hut, Brad glanced at his watch. The longer he waited to take off, the higher the air temperature would be. Each degree of heat would increase his takeoff distance. Another four degrees would place the MiG at the maximum limit for the altitude and length of the runway at Alpha-29. Weight was the critical factor, and Brad did not want to dump fuel before his takeoff roll. He would need every ounce of jet fuel Murray could squeeze into the tanks.

When he entered the Quonset hut, Hollis Spencer was hunched over a radio at the far end of the room. Nick Palmer was sitting at the briefing table with the helicopter pilots. Allison glanced up at him and smiled as she retrieved a piece of paper from her desk and sat down with the group of pilots.

"We've just received permission," she informed them in a steady voice, "to launch the MiG in coordination with a carrier-based strike at Phu Ly. The target is a major shipping and storage facility."

She handed Brad a chart with a line from the strike group coast-in point to the target.

Austin studied the map, noting that the attack pilots would cross the shoreline at Quan Phuong Ha on their way northwest to Phu Ly. He looked at a circle over the foothills west of Nam Dinh, then saw one to the east of Phu Ly.

"What do these circles represent?" Brad asked Allison.

Nick leaned closer, examining the circles and target area.

"That's where the fighter cover will orbit," Allison explained, pointing to the foothills. "Another group of fighters will be circling east of Phu Ly, over the Red River at Phu Vat."

Brad rose and looked at the relief map on the wall. "Nick, take a look at this."

Nick joined Austin and looked at the valley above Brad's finger. The valley and the river were ten miles west of the fighter escort near Nam Dinh.

"I'm going to stay below the ridge line," Brad explained as he examined the terrain near Nam Dinh, "because I can turn at each end . . . and stay on the deck until the right moment."

Nick measured the distance from Alpha-29 to the valley. He calculated the time to cover the ninety-five nautical miles at a fuel-saving speed. "If you don't have to deviate, you'll be there in twenty-five minutes.
"

The helicopter pilots stepped to the detailed map. Jimenez looked at the area around their holding point at Thiet Tra. "If you can stay in this area, we'll only be thirty-five to forty miles from you."

Brad gave him a thin smile. "That's easier said than done. If I get jumped by a couple of Fox-4s, or Crusaders, I'll be all over the place."

"If you'll have a seat," Allison suggested, "we can finish this before Cap joins us."

Everyone returned to the table while Brad spread his chart in front of him.

"The strike is planned for twelve forty-five," Allison looked at Brad, "so you'll have to take off at fifteen after the hour."

Brad computed the probable temperature and corresponding distance needed for the MiG to get safely airborne. "I'm going to be on the ragged edge, as far as the heat goes."

"You're the pilot," Allison asserted, "so it's your call."

Austin cracked a smile and looked her in the eye. "That's correct .. . fortunately."

Spencer placed his headset down and stepped through the entranc
e t
o the radio shack. "It's a twelve-fifteen go, Brad," he said excitedly. "Jot down these call signs," he instructed, glancing at his hastily written notes.