can help the Thais against rebel forces in Bangkok and Sattahip.
“Third, we’ll coordinate with Admiral Simpson when Chosin and her
consorts join us later today. We will recommend landing Marines in
Bangkok to provide security for American citizens ashore. We will
suggest providing helo transport for loyal That forces.” He looked
around the room. “Does that cover it all?” He waited for a response.
There was none. “Very well. It is now 1110 hours. I want preliminary
operational plans on my desk for approval by 1700 hours. That’s when
I’ll pass all of this on to Washington.
Department heads, begin working with your people on the assumption that
we’ll get a go for an alpha strike … let’s have it ready for 0500
tomorrow. I want all available planes armed and ready for launch at
that time. I know this means working around the clock, but tell your
crews that this is going to be our chance to fight back!” He searched
the faces in front of him.
“Where’s Commander Murcheson?”
“Here, sir!” A hand went up in the back of the room. Steve Murcheson
was the CO for VA-84, the Blue Rangers, one of Jefferson’s two A-6
squadrons.
“See me before you start your op plans. I want to talk to you about the
mission parameters for a Skipper II strike.” There was a surprised
silence.
Then, “Aye, sir.”
“That’s all I have to say. Dismissed.”
Tombstone rose and started for the door. He wanted to find Batman
before half the air wing got the same idea.
An alpha strike against U Feng! And a Skipper drop as well. This was
going to be one hell of an operation.
1430 hours, 20 January
U Feng
It was mid-afternoon when Pamela and Bayerly arrived at U Feng. They
were herded off the truck and led to a small shed not far from the fuel
storage tanks which were located near the eastern perimeter fence. Lunch
was a bowl of rice and assorted bits of meat for them both, more than
they’d had to eat in over thirty-six hours.
Pamela noticed that the entire base seemed to be on alert. There were
many more soldiers here than there’d been at the rebel camp, and these
troops seemed excited, animated, as they talked to one another with
gestures and laughter. Through the shed’s single small window, she
could see the aircraft arrayed underneath the layers of camouflage
netting, though she didn’t now what kind of planes they were. She also
saw something else, a large tracked vehicle of some kind, mounting three
large missiles.
She didn’t know where they were, couldn’t even be sure they were still
in Thailand, but the purposeful activity told her this was the heart of
Hsiao’s plan. So much activity would be impossible to hide from the
United States, though. Reconnaissance satellites could be taking
pictures of that missile launcher right now.
She wondered what Washington was planning on doing about it.
And in the jungle beyond the U Feng fence, other eyes were noting the
activity too, as well as the presence of two white-skinned Westerners.
CHAPTER 22
0110 hours, 21 January
VF-97 Ready Room, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Tombstone couldn’t sleep. Just before midnight he’d gone aloft for some
nighttime touch-and-goes on the carrier’s flight deck. Every aviator
was required to log a certain number of night flybys and traps.
Few enjoyed making deliberate bolters; as one Navy flyer Tombstone had
once served with liked to put it, a touch-and-go was like kissing your
sister, all the work and risk of setting up the shot, but without the
reward of a good, solid trap at the end. For Tombstone, though, the
repeated fly-arounds, the drop into the box, the low-speed approach with
tailhook raised, the brief jolt as he kissed the deck followed by the
full-throttle rush of takeoff were therapeutic. Until that afternoon,
he’d not been certain that Jefferson’s flight surgeon was going to find
him fit for flight duty. The repeated fly-arounds were a way of
convincing himself … yes, I’m back!
Afterward, he’d felt too keyed up for sleep, and despite the knowledge
that reveille would be sounding early that morning, he made his way down