The primary target was the covert airfield that satellites had just revealed hidden deep in the jungle. It was the same one from which the last, aborted strike had deployed, and from what we could tell, most of the aircraft had returned to that airfield after withdrawing from the air battle. My intention was to strike a quick, retaliatory blow aimed primarily at the airfield and its aircraft that had attacked us. No civilian population centers, no other targets, other than a secondary airfield we'd just discovered north of that.
The strike was divided into two missions, one heading for the main field, the other briefed to pull north to the secondary airfield. Depending on the results I saw via J-TARPS, I would be able to vector the second flight in to restrike the primary airfield or allow them to continue on to their northern airfield mission.
The trees loomed closer now, and I could make out individual trees and foliage. The aircraft were down on the deck, coming in low and fast. Precision bombing at its best, with the results highly dependent on individual pilot skills. But the airfield was a good target, one that would be easy to pick out. And it was big enough that we should be able to neutralize most of its capabilities even if we didn't nail every square inch of it. Of course, it was the aircraft I was really concerned about. Airfields can be fixed quickly, with the combination of quick-set concrete and temporary steel airfield mats. But aircraft ― and the people that flew them ― weren't quite as expendable.
The airfield was coming into view now, a dull, silvery stripe against the green of the jungle. There were maybe ten aircraft parked along it, wings folded, ancillary equipment swarming around. One main building spouted flames and smoke, an indication that the EA-6B Prowler HARM missiles had found at least one antenna radiating. Good ― maybe we'd caught them by surprise. One of the first things any enemy does when an inbound strike is detected is shut down all electromagnetic radiation to avoid the HARM missiles.
If they'd had any doubts about it before, they now knew we were coming. The detail was amazing ― I could pick out technicians running across the airfield, yellow gear called huffers that provided compressed air for quick engine starts next to some of the aircraft, and even one pilot slamming down a canopy. Faces were turned up to look toward me.
The picture shuddered violently. The radio circuit revealed why ― the lead Tomcat had just lofted his five-hundred-pound dumb bombs at the airfield, and pulled into a hard turn to clear the area. The clearance maneuver was designed to not only get him away from the explosions that would soon occur, but also to clear the path for the incoming flights.
The J-TARPS camera was stabilized to remain locked on the designated point as long as possible, but the pilot quickly outstripped its capabilities. He pulled back, and the picture of the airfield was replaced with the immenseness of the jungle again.
I switched my gaze to the second camera. He was just coming up on the airfield, and concrete and smoke splattered up from the runway where the lead's bombs had hit. There were more people now running, scampering toward the illusory safety of the main building as the strike force pressed on in.
Smoke was obscuring the picture, and would complicate the targeting picture. As it wafted across the screen, blocking out part of my picture, I realized that something was bothering me. I turned to Lab Rat. "Where are the rest of the aircraft?"
He frowned, a worried look on his face. "We counted twelve on the deck. There were more than that in the air last time ― definitely more."
"Revetments?" I suggested.
He sat still for a moment, his face expressionless. "Maybe," he admitted finally. "But we saw no indication of it on the satellite pictures. Usually there are mounds, some sort of clearly definable entrance to them. But not here."
"Then where are they?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. But at least we'll get the ones that are out there now. Twelve aircraft have got to be a significant blow to their capabilities."
I didn't want to decimate the Vietnamese air-combat capabilities, not just hurt them a little, force them to slow down. I wanted complete and utter destruction, smoking black holes in the ground where aircraft, fuel dumps, and spare parts inventory had been. Scorched earth as vengeance for my people ― nothing else would suffice.
But if the aircraft were in revetments, we had a problem. Concrete reinforced structures buried under the earth were a tough target. It took a lot of firepower to damage them, much less destroy them. Weaponeering can do it if you know that's the problem, using some special high-penetration bombs designed to take on hardened targets, but that wasn't what our weapons load carried. Big old plain fat dumb bombs, that was it.
Now the second aircraft was dropping its bombs, and I studied the picture being transmitted back carefully, searching for some indication of where the aircraft might be. Jungle, just jungle surrounded the entire airfield. It was unusually flat for that part of the country, probably the reason they'd built the base there. "Switch to infrared on number three," I said.
Lab Rat relayed my order to the Tactical Action Officer in the Combat Direction Center, who had his Operations Specialist pass it on to the pilot. The picture flickered, then dissolved into the black-and-white display of the infrared.
"See anything?" I asked Lab Rat. He motioned to the Intelligence Specialist standing slightly behind him, an expert in photographic imagery. The man stepped up beside the monitor.
"These heat sources appear to be from the bombs, Admiral," he said, pointing out two or three bright white flares on the screen. "Smoke may cool the picture off a little bit, but it can't disguise the main heat source. These appear to be pretty much in the area where the aircraft were parked."
"What else?" I asked.
He studied the picture for a moment, then continued. "Here's the main building ― see, those heat sources come from the gear in there as much as the people. And a couple smaller spots ― probably yellow gear. Maybe some secondary fires."
"So what would the revetments look like?" I asked.
"Tough to say, Admiral. There are ways to design the exhaust systems to conceal a heat signature ― just like we do with our Stealth birds, cooling the exhaust down so it's not distinguishable from the ambient atmosphere. However," he continued, seeing my doubtful look, "I doubt that the Vietnamese are that sophisticated. If they're not obviously visible from the photo display, then they're camouflaged in some way, although we can make some logical assumptions about their location. First, they need to be near the airfield ― or if not, there's gotta be a well-marked path from the revetments to the airfield."
"Could they be built into the side of the mountains?"
He shook his head. "I doubt it. I've read some science-fiction books about aircraft landing in concealed mountain caverns, but that's not a strong probability. No, if they're there, I'm betting that they're near this airfield." He pointed in an area ringing the airfield, now splotched with bright heat sources indicating fires.
"Maybe ― what about there?" I said, pointing at a small spike of peaks off to one side.
"I was just looking at that." He squinted, stepped back a few feet to get a bigger overall picture, then nodded. "If the revetments are in the area at all, that would be my bet." He shot a sly, sideways glance at me. "If you ever get tired of being an admiral, I could use a good photo interpreter."
I laughed, more at the shocked, outraged expression on Lab Rat's face than anything else. I like an enlisted man that has enough balls to treat an admiral like a human being. "I'll consider it," I said. "After this raid is over."
The technician nodded, a pleased expression on his face. Then he slipped back into a professional mode. "Commander," he said, addressing Lab Rat, "your opinion, sir?"