0704 hours, 21 January
That International Hotel, Bangkok
Marine Captain Fraser approached the That army officer and saluted.
“Well, Colonel,” he said. “What’s it going to be?”
Colonel Vang Chitiburit looked past Fraser toward the low, ultra-modern
sprawl of the That International. “Do you seriously believe you have a
chance, Captain?”
“We have a chance. We sure as hell can’t wait this bastard out.” The
That colonel considered that. “No,” he said at last. “You are right.”
The colonel had returned from his conversation with the rebel soldiers
only minutes before. Their leader, Colonel Kriangsak of the Royal That
military staff, no less, wanted–demanded–a helicopter to fly him, his
men, and a number of American hostages out of the city. He’d not said
what his destination was, but U Feng would be the obvious guess.
“Those are Americans that son of a bitch has in there,” the Marine
officer added quietly, without emotion. “The Marines are here to
protect them.”
“Your plan has risk.”
“So does giving the bastard what he wants. And damn it, he claims he’s
going to start shooting people in thirty minutes! You want to see if
he means it?” There was a long hesitation. Fraser wondered if the man
was trying to decide whether or not to buck the problem up to a higher
command. The problem was, the higher command was busy just now with a
coup. At best, the confrontation at the That International was a minor
distraction.
“Very well, Captain,” Vang said stiffly. He sounded relieved, though,
rather than reluctant. Probably, Fraser thought, he was happy to have
the responsibility for success or disaster riding on someone else’s
shoulders. “I turn the situation over to you.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, saluting.
Vang looked uncertain. “Will there be anything you or your men need,
Captain?”
“Yes, Colonel Vang.” He smiled. “A small diversion.”
“A diversion?”
“When I give the word.” And he began to explain what he had in mind.
0730 hours, 21 January
That International Hotel, Bangkok
Master Sergeant Phillip Loomis lay flat on the ground, watching the
hotel. Captain Fraser had snagged him almost the moment he’d returned
to the embassy earlier that morning, explaining that there were
Americans being held hostage at the That International and ordering
Loomis to round up fifty volunteers for a rescue.
The mission, Loomis thought to himself, would have been better suited to
a Recon Marine force, but the only Recondos within a thousand miles were
north at U Feng, spotting for the Navy A-6s and Hornets.
Very slowly, he raised his head, studying the hotel over the slight,
grass-covered rise he and twelve other Marines were hiding behind. The
nearest entrance was fifty yards away. He could see one rebel soldier
standing guard by the door. There might be others, but if so they were
staying out of sight.
Loomis checked his watch. Zero-seven thirty. Where were they? It was
time to go …!
He heard the stuttering drone of an approaching helicopter.
He looked toward the east and saw it approaching low above the buildings
in the direction of the embassy.
The captain had explained it to him before they deployed. One of the
Marine Sea Stallions, deploying now off the Jefferson, was to be flown
in and landed directly in front of the hotel’s front door. While the
rebels were watching the landing–they’d be expecting a trick–Loomis’s
Marines, Assault One, would storm the side entrance. Assault Two was
waiting on the far side of the building, ready to do the same thing.
And there would be still more Marines, code-named Sunday Punch, waiting
inside the helicopter as backups.
The Sea Stallion drifted toward the front of the hotel, its rotor wash
lashing at the palm trees lining the parking lot. Loomis could hear a
singsong barking over a megaphone–Colonel Vang speaking to the rebels
in That, explaining that their demands were being met and that the helo
was coming to take them and their hostages away.
Loomis kept his eye on the sentry beside the side door. The man had a
Colt CAR-15 in his hands, was holding it at the ready as he took a few
steps in the direction of the helo, trying to see past the corner of the