The jungle seemed to close in on Batman then, an ominous green shroud
which threatened to smother him. He was alone, lost, on his own without
even a pistol to defend himself. Malibu might need him, and he didn’t
know which way to go.
Somewhere close by, a monkey or bird cut loose with a shrill, hooting
screech that sounded eerily like human laughter.
To Batman, it seemed as though the hostile jungle was laughing at him.
1320 hours, 17 January
Control Tower, U Feng Airfield
Major Lin Thuribhopal of the Royal That Air Force looked up from the map
spread across the table, meeting the eyes of the helicopter pilots
facing him.
All wore olive-drab flight suits and carried their helmets. Their
helos, UH-1 Huey “Slicks” purchased from the Americans during the final
days of the war in Vietnam, were warming up on the tarmac outside.
“The Americans have agreed to pull out and leave search-and-rescue
operations to us,” he told them. “It is important to find the crew of
the downed plane quickly, if they are still alive. There are reports of
guerrilla activity throughout the region.”
“Will we have fighter cover?” one of the pilots asked.
“Yes. we are already diverting six F-5s into the area. It is unlikely
that the Burmese will risk such odds to cross the border again.” His
finger traced along a region South of the That-Burmese border, well
beyond the north-south course of the Nam Mae Taeng Valley from U Feng.
“Here,” he said.
Sector one-seven. Reports from the second American plane suggest that
the first aircraft went down here.”
“Rugged country,” one of the pilots commented.
“Then you’d better get started,” Major Lin said. “We have only another
five hours or so before dark.”
The pilots departed, leaving Lin alone to contemplate the map. The
ghost of a smile played at his lips. Sector one-seven … that was at
least fifty miles from where the plane had actually gone down. If the
Americans had survived, they would not be walking out of that jungle
soon.
And if they didn’t make it by tonight, they would be too late. He
rolled up the map and returned it to its metal tube. outside, the
chatter of helicopter rotors rose in pitch as the SAR choppers prepared
to depart.
General Hsiao would be pleased that there would be no interference from
the Americans on this critical day. The general’s coded radio message
moments ago had been most insistent about that. If the Americans were
found and rescued, it would be difficult to keep their comrades from
coming to U Feng to pick them up, to search the area where they’d been
shot down.
That could not be allowed. Not now.
Major Lin put the map container in its storage rack and returned to his
duties in the air operations tower.
1830 hours, 17 January
Fantail, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Jefferson’s liberty boat was kept in almost constant operation,
especially during the weekend when duty schedules were adjusted to allow
more of her crew to go ashore. It was a forty-minute round trip from
ship to shore to ship, with the stubby-looking, open landing
craft–called a mike boat–tying up at a Sattahip dock only long enough
to put another liberty party ashore and to take aboard any officers and
men waiting to get back to the ship.
Tombstone had caught the gray government shuttle bus out of Bangkok for
the ride back to Sattahip, arriving at the wharf well after dark. At
the waterfront, he could clearly see the Jefferson riding at anchor out
in the bay. The elevator doors were open, and light from the hangar
deck spilled out into the night, casting long shimmers of reflected
light into the water below the ship. The island too was brightly lit,
and from this angle, Tombstone could even make out the lights on the
carrier’s drop-line, the string of lights hanging down her stern from
the flight deck roundoff as a perspective aid for night traps.
The dark waters of the bay were crowded with other vessels. He could
make out the anticollision lights of Vicksburg and Gridley, swinging on
their hooks almost a mile astern. The other ships of the CVBG were