CARRIER 2: VIPER STRIKE By Keith Douglass

years Bangkok had been losing another war, the war against the drug

lords of the Golden Triangle in the northern part of the country, and

now the drug war was high on the agenda of the White House. Washington

was concerned that the resurgence of guerrilla activity in northern

Thailand might somehow be connected with the Golden Triangle’s deadly

trade, in the same way that Marxist rebels in South and Central America

funded their operations with cocaine. For years, heroin traffic in the

region had been controlled by various warlords in the area who, in turn,

answered to a cartel–mostly Chinese–based in Hong Kong.

With the U.S. Navy helping the That army in its operations against

guerrillas, the CIA, the DEA, and other organizations with an interest

in the region could get a good look at the area’s drug trade as well.

Guerrillas and drug smugglers would be using the same trails, even the

same camps. The fact that communist insurgents were operating within

the Golden Triangle at all meant that they were somehow linked with the

local drug lords. No one, including the That army, moved through some

parts of Thailand’s north hill country without their approval.

None of this was discussed openly with Duong, of course. TARPS

reconnaissance of the border region would assist the That army in

putting down the insurrection; whether or not the U.S. Navy pulled

copies of the data for other purposes was, of course, up to them.

After almost an hour of discussion, Duong leaned forward, steepling his

fingers. “I am inclined to accept your offer, Admiral,” he said at

last.

“Particularly if the RTAF has the primary responsibility for protecting

your people. Your … your TARPS aircraft could be based at an airfield

in the area where we could provide ground security as well.”

“That would be satisfactory,” Magruder said. “I would suggest that we

provide you with two aircraft, though, one to carry the TARPS, one as

wingman.” Flying wingman formations was basic to U.S. air tactics, and

Magruder didn’t want the entire responsibility for protecting the TARPS

plane to rest with their That hosts.

Duong nodded. “Two aircraft could hardly be interpreted as major

American assistance,” he said. “And the air base I have in mind is

somewhat remote.”

“Where is it?”

“North of Chiang Mai. It’s a small military base called U Feng, about

twenty kilometers from the border.” He turned to face his aide.

“Colonel, you were just stationed there, were you not?”

Kriangsak nodded. “Yes, sir. Headquarters staff for almost two years.”

“Then you will have all the information these gentlemen need. I’ll

leave that to YOU.”

Whom to send? Magruder wondered. Properly, this should have been a

volunteers-only mission, since whoever went would be missing out on

liberty in Bangkok. That alone could qualify U Feng as hardship duty.

For a recon flight like this, though, he wanted someone with plenty of

experience flying the electronics-laden pod. Most Tomcat drivers were

familiar with TARPS, but some had more experience than others. The name

of Lieutenant Commander Matthew Magruder came to mind.

Magruder smiled. Simply ordering his nephew to take the U Feng mission

might solve several problems at once. He’d heard the rumors and jokes

about VF-95’s skipper, winner of the Navy Cross, the fair-haired

admiral’s nephew.

It was impossible to avoid the ugly specter of favoritism in a situation

like this, and ever since Wonsan, Magruder had been wondering if it

wouldn’t be a good idea to have Tombstone transferred to another

command. Maybe the rumors could be scotched if it was Tombstone who was

ordered to fly up to U Feng for fun and games in the jungles of the

Golden Triangle.

So, Tombstone and his RIO, plus one other Tomcat and crew. A week at U

Feng should be sufficient to map most of the threatened border area.

He hoped Tombstone would understand. A week at U Feng wouldn’t exactly

be a pleasant break from shipboard routine.

2140 hours, 14 January

VF-95 Ready Room, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson

Tombstone, Batman, Nightmare Marinaro and Price Taggart all sat in the

synthetic leather chairs of the Ready Room, sipping Cokes and swapping

stories. They were on Alert 15, but it had been a quiet night so far

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