for a closer look at the bogies.
“There they are, sir,” the radarman said. “They come and go. I think
they’re hedgehopping.”
The amber screen showed a confusing tangle of blips, most identified by
their IFF transponders as commercial flights or That military aircraft.
Clear at the top of the screen, though, was a tiny cluster of lights.
They showed no ID, and they appeared to be moving southeast.
“Keep on ’em, son.” Dunning opened a channel and began speaking into
his helmet mike. “Homeplate, Homeplate, this is Victor Kilo Two.”
“Victor Kilo, Homeplate. We copy.”
“Homeplate, we have multiple unidentified targets, bearing
three-four-four, range approximately two-three-zero. They appear to be
inbound, relative bearing one-three-zero, speed three-five-zero, over.”
“Roger that, Victor Kilo. How many contacts, over?”
“Homeplate, hard to call it.” The targets were at the extreme limit of
the Hawkeye’s radar range. “Estimate eight to ten bogies. They …
Homeplate, they appear to be coming across the border, probably at
extreme low altitude.”
“Copy that, Victor Kilo. Stand by.” There was a long silence. Then:
“Victor Kilo, come to three-five-zero. CIC wants a continuous track of
your targets.”
“Rog.” Dunning stared at the blips on the amber screen for a moment
longer. Like everyone else in the carrier air wing that day, he’d heard
about the MiG attack, knew that Batman Wayne and his RIO had been shot
down up there. “Someone back there better pass this on to the Thais,”
he added. “It looks to me like they’re about to get dumped on.”
“Roger that.”
He listened as the Hawkeye’s pilot confirmed the course change
instructions. Jefferson was sending Victor Kilo Two farther north,
hoping for a better look at those intruders. As he watched, one of the
small blips in the cluster split as the E-2C’s radar got a better look
at it, then merged once more. There were at least eleven of the
bastards … probably a lot more. What the hell were they doing up
there?
0150 hours, 18 January
U Feng
The alert telephone was buzzing, and Major Lin ignored it. That air
defense radars had probably detected Victory and someone in Bangkok was
passing on the warning, but it was too late now. Already he could hear
the clatter of the approaching helicopters. They were clearly visible
on the radar, a triangular formation of blips coming in from the
northwest. Other blips circled more quickly in the distance. Those
would be the MiGs providing air cover.
“Arrow, this is Victory,” a voice said over the headphones Lin was
wearing. “Commencing final approach.”
“Victory, Arrow,” he said. “All clear. You have complete surprise.”
On the field, several of the RTAF personnel working on the down-checked
F-5 had stopped and were staring into the night. The rotor noise was
much louder now.
A dazzling beam of light stabbed out of the sky, casting an oval circle
of illumination across the tarmac. Lin could just barely make out the
dark mass of the helicopter behind the searchlight as it drifted down
out of the night. Behind it a second helo approached … and a third.
As they moved into the illumination cast by the work-lights on the
field, their hulls became more distinct … the familiar shapes of UHI
Hueys, RTAF rounders prominent on their tails. Several air force men
began walking toward the first helo to help secure it, stooping as they
moved to avoid being caught by the rotors.
The lead Huey’s cargo bay hatch slid back. Soldiers began piling out.
Gunfire stuttered from a pintel-mounted machine gun, the muzzle flash a
jagged flicker in the darkness. The air force men began dropping, mowed
down by the sweep of an invisible blade. Small-arms fire was added to
the machine gun’s chatter. Someone screamed.
More helicopters were touching down all over the base, their cargo doors
sliding open, troops jumping out. Overhead, the first escorting MiG
shrieked low across the airfield. There was a sudden flash, then the
dull whump of an explosion. Flame boiled into the sky, illuminating the
field as a dozen Thais scattered in every direction. The F-5 burned
furiously.
Lin turned when he heard the pounding of boots coming up the control
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