turn.
“Two bandits on our six,” Dixie said. “Two miles. They’re trying for a
shot.”
“Almost there,” Tombstone said. “Almost there-”
A warbling tone sounded in his ear. “Stoney! They have lock! They
have lock!”
“Damn!” Tombstone snapped the stick back to the right, throwing the
Tomcat into a sudden split-S. The warble was the tone of an Atoll
missile, the radar-guided Soviet and Chinese equivalent of the American
Sparrow.
“They’re still coming’,” Dixie shouted. Tombstone could hear the RIO
shifting back and forth in his seat, trying to keep his eyes on the
approaching MiGs. “They’re breaking right!”
“Hold your stomach, Dixie!”
“Launch! Launch!”
Tombstone hauled the Tomcat’s nose up and rammed the throttles forward,
past full military power to afterburner. His F-14 shrieked toward
heaven.
0748 hours, 21 January
One mile south of U Feng
The That army column had deployed on either side of the trail and was
well-hidden. The men were under orders not to fire, but the nearness of
the enemy, the ear-piercing low pass by jet aircraft, the hiss and roar
of launching SAMs had an unnerving effect. One soldier in particular, a
private named Pang Rajathasithuk, found himself trembling as he lay in
the jungle, watching a raggedly dressed column of troops walk south
along the path.
It was a patrol, one of several sent out by the invaders to search for
the leading elements of the Royal That Army, which was known to be in
the area. Until this moment, Pang had not seen the enemy, had heard
only stories and rumors about the coup, about the attack on U Feng,
about pitched battles fought here and in Bangkok.
There were so many of them, some in Burmese uniforms, most in mismatched
bits and pieces of uniform which suggested they were members of some
private militia rather than an established army. Pang watched the line
passing his position and wondered how large this invading army at U Feng
really was.
Could General Vinjit match such a force?
One of the ragged-looking soldiers on the path broke away from the rest
of the column, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his trousers as he
searched for a place to relieve himself. Chance put him squarely in
front of Pang, and only a little below the level of the slope on which
the That private lay. He looked up …
Pang never knew whether the soldier saw him or not. To the That
private, it seemed that the man was looking straight at him through the
leaves. His finger closed on the trigger of his M-16, and the roar of
the weapon on full auto echoed along the trail.
Burmese and rebel soldiers dove for cover. The other hidden That troops
opened up, and the jungle trail became a bloody killing ground at the
nexus of a deadly crossfire. Gunshots crashed and boomed among the
leaves, and the steady, hammering thunder of an M-60 added to the
racket. A Burmese soldier pitched to the ground, shrieking as he
clutched his shattered knee. A rebel threw up his arms and toppled
forward as bloody guts erupted from his side and back.
Long seconds passed before the ambushed troops recovered from their
surprise enough to begin firing back, and by the time they did dozens of
their number had crumpled to the ground or were already fleeing north as
fast as their legs could carry them. The heavy crump of grenades and
40-mm explosive rounds joined in.
And from the control tower of U Feng, less than a mile to the north,
Hsiao heard the gunfire and knew the base was under attack.
0748 hours, 21 January
Near U Feng
Shit! Lieutenant Miller’s fist hit the ground in front of him with
frustration. He’d heard the sudden eruption of gunfire to the south,
knew the element of surprise was gone before the first of the ambush
survivors began streaming out of the forest and onto the airstrip. From
his hiding place, he could see their wild gestures, hear their shouted
warnings as they spread the alarm.
Well, it couldn’t have lasted long, not with several thousand men
wandering around loose in these woods. He gestured for the radio, took