Nathan stood there looking at his wristwatch. “What time do you call this? Have you been ashore? Trying to get to first base with a couple of Chinese broads?”
Innes grinned. “Damn, you guessed it sir. We were in the bar knocking back a few Tsingtao beers, with two hot ladies. The bug is in place sir. Mission accomplished.”
“Well done guys. Two down one to go.”
RUNWAY LIGHTS WERE visible in the predawn darkness. Major Pete ‘Soup’ Campbell, and Mission Commander and Lieutenant Kip ‘Slippy’ Clay, sat side by side in the cockpit of the powerful B1-B Lancer.
“Phan Rang, from Rooster flight leader. We have an eight ship inbound, requesting permission to land on your runway 04L/22R.”
B-1B or the ‘Bone’, as it was affectionately known, was a fast, heavy, low-level bomber. Slippy had logged over 1000 hours flying the B-1B, Campbell a little less.
The strike package was part of a flight from the 28th Bomb squadron, on detachment from Dyess AFB Texas. They’d flown there from their forward operating base at Andersen AFB Guam.
“Here we go, good morning Vietnam.”
Sat in a separate compartment to the rear of the cockpit was Lieutenant Donna ‘Fangs’ Farra. The Defensive Systems Officer, she controlled the B1-B’s sophisticated defensive systems. Linda ‘Razor’ Seraisi, the Offensive Systems Officer, sat next to her. A black girl from Louisiana and cool as ice, Razor was competent and seemingly unflappable.
“You are permission land, Rooster flight.”
Slippy turned to line up with the runway, pulled back on the power and came in down the glide slope. They touched down on 10,500 feet of concrete and turned off towards the apron they were allocated. The other seven aircraft banked in when their turn came. Another four ship was due later.
“Well here we are then, the first US forces to be stationed in Vietnam for a long time,” said Fangs.
Linda Razor Seraisi looked over at her colleague clad in her bone dome, she was breathing from her respirator.
“I don’t think you’ll get the red carpet, Donna,” said Razor.
“As long as we get a fuel load and some chow.”
MORE AIRCRAFT ARRIVED later in the day; the crews were made welcome. Aircraft also landed at Than Son Nhut airbase. A flight of F22 Raptors flew from Alaska and deployed on Guam.
That night the Vietnamese cooks at Phan Rang served a local feast of exotic foods on spacious open-air patios. Trees covered the tables and must have provided useful shade in the daytime.
At 05.00 hours the next day, Rooster flight roared into the air from Phan Rang.
“Roosters check in,” called Soup Campbell.
“Rooster two, green board.”
“Rooster three, green board. Package for Mr Chang.”
“Rooster four, green board. Loaded for Bear.”
“Lay in a course for W1.” Rooster flight was at 9,000 feet, heading to the southeast.
After thirty minutes the call came in.
“Rooster flight, rooster flight. This Buzzard one. Looking glass two is picking out trade 28 miles to your north. I’m going to prosecute. Call stud five for trade.”
“Copy Buzzard one, will maintain track.”
An AWACS on patrol had informed Buzzard one, a flight of F22 Raptors that potential Chinese fighters were on patrol to the north.
“Buzzard two, suspected trade, vector two five five. Select AMMRAM.”
“Copy Buzzard one.”
Buzzard flight engaged their twin Pratt and Whitney F119-PW-100 turbofans with 52,000 pounds of dry thrust, and the two F22s went supersonic without reheat.
They didn’t want to engage onboard radar, and risk alerting the opposition.
“Looking glass, Buzzard flight. Give me a sitrep.”
“Buzzard, Looking glass two, IFF negative. Flight profiles in the red, four bogies, you are weapons go. Repeat weapons go.”
“Copy Looking glass.” The Raptors were racing inbound on the Chinese fighters, their radars off.
“Buzzard flight, Looking glass, you are four zero miles to trade.”
“Copy.” Major Zinny called it. He selected the AMRAAM AIM120D active radar homing missile. “Buzzard two go active scope, AIM 120D, lock em, load em and release.”
“Copy.”
They switched on their ASSEA radars.
“Going for tango one.” He selected launch; the underbelly weapons pod opened, the AMRAAM AIM 120D launched and the pod closed, maintaining its stealth approach.
“Fox three,” called Zinny. The missile raced in, and the Chinese fighter detected it at the last minute. He pulled hard to the left and activated his countermeasures, and flares ejected quickly into his Jetstream. It was to no avail, the missile struck in the rear fuselage and the fighter erupted into a fireball.
Zinny’s eyes flicked down to his radar display; he was six miles away from the wingman and racing in at high speed. It was going to be a turning fight. The tracking box appeared in his HUD, and he caught a glimpse of the Chinese fighter as it passed. It was a J20. Zinny pulled back hard on the stick, the G force pushing him down into the seat. He used the voice activated arming system. “Select Sidewinder.” The short range Sidewinder AIM9X flashed red on his weapons display. The missile acquired its target. A warbling became an undulating scream and Zinny pickled a button on the joystick. The underbelly weapons pod opened, the missile launched and the pod closed. It was now a turning fight with an unknown enemy. Zinny tensed.
“Warning, missile launch.” It was Bleating Betty, the aircraft’s verbal warning system.
What would it be like going up against the J20? He knew that in the next few minutes he’d find out just what it was that he was made of. “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”
He gripped the stick and moved his thumb.
Chapter 8
“SO, WHEN WILL YOU KNOW sir?”
Paul Wicks looked at the girl seated at the desk, rubbed his chin and looked out of the log cabin’s window.
“I’d say later today. I’ll leave you a deposit and I’ll either be back to pay the balance or collect the deposit. Are you ok with that?”
“Ok sir. Leave $150 and we’ll see you later.” She stood and pointed to the map behind her.
“So this cabin here number 12, just north of the Big Run creek?”
“Yes, that’s great. There’ll be two of us.”
“That’s ok, it sleeps four. You’ll need propane, we’ve got that. Get some food from Saul’s just down the road. It’s on the way.”
“Ok great, thanks.”
“No problem, Mr Cainly.”
PAUL WICKS LEFT THE cabin, got into the Buick and headed off towards Harrisonburg.
Half an hour later he arrived at the house where he’d placed Zhi Ruo as a refuge. Except it wasn’t a refuge now with the FBI closing in. He paced to and fro in a paddock a distance from the house. How would he do this? This was going to be very, very difficult. He was reluctant to enter the house; it would be the most difficult conversation he’d ever had.
“You’re a damn fool Wicks.”
He climbed the few steps to the house with a lifetime’s weight on his shoulders. He knocked even though he had a key.
She opened the door and beamed.
“Hi Paul, come in.” She threw her arms around him, kissed him, then withdrew.
“What’s up?”
“I’m ok Zhi.”
“No. Something’s wrong. Tell me. What is it?”
“Make us both a coffee, ok?” She gave him a questioning look and walked off into the kitchen.
He sat on a couch in the lounge; she sat next to him. “What is it Paul, I’ll help if I can.”
What do you do with this kind of thing; blurt it out, work your way into it?