The Coup Maker

Copyright © 2012 by Caleb Havebond.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011963662

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-3241-9

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-3242-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-3240-2

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter One

Saigon, 1968

Two men, both standing over six feet tall dressed in US Army fatigues, walk down a busy Saigon footpath, turn left, and enter a bar.

Both men stand in the doorway; their eyes scour the room to see several Vietnamese drinking at the bar, a juke box playing sour music, and an uninspired stripper dancing on a stage pole to a near empty bar.

The two men look to their left, focusing on the far corner of the room to see two shadows sitting at a table in the darkest corner of the bar. Smoke rises through the darkness and the glint of a cigarette’s red eye visible; the two men walk over to the table and sit.

First to sit is Victor Matine; the twenty-six-year-old had been raised in an orphanage until his early teens. After entering the Civil Air Patrol, he was recruited into the CIA in his late teens.

CIA officials, deciding that recruiting men so young with no records or relatives was an advantage in field recruitment, ensured a most effective contractor in numerous methods.

The second man, Markus Henry, also sits, facing the two older men already seated. Both men aged in their early fifties stare across the table at Markus.

Who’s the new cherry? asks the first man seated across from Victor.

This is Markus Henry, my new recruit.

Jesus Christ, Vic, he looks like he’s fuckin’ twelve years old.

How old are you, boy? asks the second man seated across from Markus.

As Markus begins to respond, Victor cuts in, answering the question, Twenty years old, and I’ve hired him for good reason.

Fill me in, Vic. I’ve always trusted your judgment, but Dale and I are seasoned pros. Don’t you think this cherry kid’s in over his head with the ops we do?

Well, he has to start out somewhere. I was younger and greener than him when I started. May as well throw him in the deep end with us. I chose Markus for a good reason.

And what’s that? asks Lee.

His captain and the rest of his platoon were stationed outside Laos on guard duty at a weapons base. Their captain went nuts and convinced the rest of his platoon he’d make them all rich after they sold the base weapons to a colonel in the NLFPAVN (northern communist forces) instead of guarding the base from the NVA. Myself and a few others got wind of this just in time. As we approached the base, the captain ordered his men to open fire on me and my unit. I was outnumbered and in what could have been a costly engagement, Markus stopped all that with one shot to the back of his captain’s skull. The rest of his platoon froze, and I was able to secure the base with no incident.

You blew his fuckin’ brains out, kid? asks Dale.

Yes.

Well done! One less nut job traitor to fuck with our free world, says the first company man, smiling.

What happened to the rest of his platoon? asks Dale.

They were all choppered deep into enemy territory, and I don’t believe any of those commies will be seeing Stateside again after the area we sent them to.

Nice, just deserts for those fuckin’ saps, says Lee, as he and Dale chuckle.

Victor then pulls a yellow-colored envelope from inside his jacket, which reads CLASSIFIED on the front with a golden red security tag running across the top of the envelope, ensured for one set of eyes only.

Victor removes a security tag and then reads what is written on the other side in black capital letters, ONCE ONLY UMBRA. Victor then pulls a map and documents from inside and begins briefing the three men on their mission.

He begins looking over the plastic-wrapped map with coordinates and trails marked in red and a fixed position marked in black.

So what have you got for us, Vic? asks Lee, as he downs a shot glass of whiskey and wipes his moe, then he lights a cigarette. His companion Dale does the same with his whiskey and listens attentively as Victor begins.

Intel just in indicates heavy fighting has just broken out around Laos, not far from our objective. Chopper insertion from field two is around 400 clicks to our designated drop zone. He points to a red dot marked on the map. Where we hump around sixteen to twenty clicks.

Why do we have to fly that far, Vic? What about the base at Nakhom Phanom? Why the hell can’t we launch our strike from there? It’s a stone’s throw from Laos.

We can’t afford any exposure on this. That’s why we fly from field 2. We won’t be using the A-26 bombers stationed there for support either. The Eighth Tactical Fighter Wing is on bombing missions there, and at Haiphong, after we hump from the drop zone this brings us upon Nest House Z, Charlie’s main heroin, cocaine, opium, and hashish manufacturing and distribution plant, being brought down directly from the Golden Triangle. Finally, we have gathered something from the air-delivered seismic intruder detection devices that we’ve been scattering around the countryside for months. The microphones recorded a conversation by Vietcong troops using a delivery trail from the nest house. It must have got hung up on a tree branch around head height from the ground and captured a crystal clear conversation between the soldiers stationed there.

Unbelievable! So then what do we do once there, Vic? We kill ’em all and blow the shit outer the place? asks Lee, the first company man.

Close, we have around an hour before six black birds land to kill all hostiles and gather as much snort as we can. Intel hypothesis has it maybe as much as a billion dollars runs through that place every year of other countries’ money. The taking of this camp by the way could see this war financed for another five years.

Oh, but then again America and Australia wouldn’t be in this country if it wasn’t for you, Vic, says Dale, laughing to himself while taking another shot of whiskey. Victor’s memory suddenly flashes to 1963—Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas, and President Kennedy’s head exploding as he pulls the trigger from behind the picket fence.

Dale’s eyes, looking down toward the whiskey glass, doesn’t see Victor’s face tighten with rage and give a deathly stare at him as Dale slams the glass down upon the table and sighs loudly as if he has not had a drink in days.

What do you mean we wouldn’t be here if not for Vic? asks Markus; he was the only man at the table who did not know what Dale had said.

Sudden silence falls over the table as no one replies to Markus’s question. Victor stares at Dale, and Markus begins to repeat the question after looking around the table but is cut off by Dale’s deep voice, who continues speaking, dropping any talk of the previous conversation. Our boys will flood the streets of New York and LA with the coke we get from Charlie, says Dale.

Yeah, I think it’s imperative we keep the nigger strung out and dependent on coke, living in squalor like rats. We own them then. The last thing we need is the black man getting organized with their radical fucking panther and Islam groups with their x’s and y’s, finishes Lee.

You two done? Can I continue with the briefing? After a brief pause, Victor continues, Intel suggests that aid to communist forces in the south is coming north via the Ho Chi Minh trail and from Cambodia via the Sihanouk trail. Large air strikes are planned for both trails and Nest House Z after we accomplish our objective. It’s imperative that any trace of evidence is neutralized.

And what about us traveling all the way from fuckin’ Saigon to the drop zone and the six pickup birds? That’s a long way to travel with fuckin’ SAM sites and triple A batteries scattered along the countryside. I’ve heard the fuckin’ Reds have supplied dozens more sites out there, taking our birds out daily.

The air force has been working around the clock on bombing missions taking out as many batteries as they can. New orders have stepped up their campaign vigorously. All I’ve been hearing from Langley is to work on attrition, focus on body count, which will lead to the enemy’s capitulation. The domino theory must be put into effect.

Well, let’s hope so, answers Dale.

Victor continues the briefing, There’s a labyrinth of trails and tunnels used by the VC. The quickest way to the camp is heavily mined and booby-trapped, a classic Charlie tactic used by them for many years on the French in the 1950s, until we eventually caught on some years ago. Our route will involve circling round their left flank in a quarter moon formation emerging around here. Victor points to the map. "At coordinate grid numbers 476635. That’s where you two set sniper cover a few hundred yards out. Myself and Markus will flank left. Our other ten men will join us. When their plane arrives from the training camp in Athens shall flank right covering the base from three sides. Remember, try and leave the goods in one piece this time, not like last time. Our men on the street suffered huge losses trying to recoup on street sales and trying to get the entire negro nation hooked on the stuff for generations to come back home.

The old men have high plans for this country in the next decade, after Rolling Thunder dropped 864,000 tons of bombs on the countryside, and we pull the strings of our puppets in Hanoi, load up another million tons, and send the VC the way of the dodo. Nixon’s all go for another round on Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos within a year if things don’t improve, which I personally don’t think will happen. This would mean the use of more de foliates. Up to 10 per cent of the south has already been sprayed and even the use of chemical weapons must be considered."

Really? asks Lee;, the two old men stare at each other with joy on their faces.

A nuclear strike has already been suggested by him and discussed about by the rest of his administration. I know of a certain little area of a certain little country that was recently used to test VX gas, but you aren’t going to read about that in any historical war books. Also all our field operatives will be pulled back when Nixon’s plans go through.

How do you know they will go through? I mean how long and costly will it be for another operation like Rolling Thunder take to get off the ground? asks Dale.

They’ll go through. Trust me on that. The cost is going to run into the billions.

Well, Vic, Dale and I are up for RNR after this, right? I mean if Dale stays here any longer he’s going to end up with syphilis, or even worse his dick will drop off from banging these little yellow momma sans every fucking day. Lee begins to laugh out loud.

Very fucking funny, Dale retorts back, unimpressed.

The men don’t notice as Victor once again gives deathly stares at both men this time. Markus, sitting next to Victor, notices with a look of what is going on coming over him. After a slight pause, Dale finishes pouring himself another drink, and Lee lights himself another smoke.

Yeah, you’se can both have as much RNR as you wish, says Victor in a tone that suggests he knows something the two old men don’t. Dale looks at Victor with seriousness in his face.

What are you doing after this, Vic?

I have to pay a visit to the Pine Gap installation in the middle of Australia. I’ll be briefed there by Chief Executive Assistant and Base Section Chief Victor Marchetti on matters I am unaware of at present. Victor pauses for a second. Okay, that’s it. Rendezvous 1,900 hours at field two. I’ll brief the others by the time you two arrive, finishes Victor as he stands followed by Markus.

The two old men looking disinterested as Dale flicks out a straight razor-snorting cocaine from the blade; his companion downs some more whiskey from a shot glass.

Mission’s in 0500 hours. Cut it out.

Take it easy, Vic. Camelot is long gone, and his casting of us into the wind is gone, so is his fucking brother, and never again will someone try what that communist cock-sucking son of a bitch tried to do. We made damn sure of that partner.

Victor nods to the door, and Markus knows to wait outside and walks off. "Don’t you ever mention the way this administration came to power… the reason we are here… ever again in front of a first timer, ever," says Victor in a raised voice.

The company man crushes the shot glass in his hand with a big smirk on his face. Victor with his deathly stare turns and walks away with one last icy stare back toward the two men as he walks toward the door. The company men turn their heads, revealing their faces more in the light as they look at each other. Dale then produces a Zippo lighter from his sleeve and torches all the documents, pushing the flaming papers to the floor.

Chapter Two

Field Two: Just Outside Saigon, 1900 Hours

At a busy base camp stationed on the outskirts of Saigon, marines and Central Intelligence officers mingle about, transport choppers touch down as others leave, and marines stack weapons, crates, and supplies. On the far side of the field, under flood lights in a dug out ditch, a sweating marine with his shirt off in the hot night fills up napalm B canisters with hydrocarbon benzene and plastic polystyrene.

Toward the far end of the camp situated under tarpaulin tents stand Victor and Markus. They watch as a UH-1 Iroquois Huey touches down under a red signal flare. Ten mercenaries exit the crowded Huey and begin to head toward Victor.

How was your flight? Victor asks their commander, a bearded man with a Grim Reaper tattoo on his right shoulder.

Long. We’ve been training in Greece for months. My boys are itching for whatever you have for us.

Victor looks over at the nine men dressed in camouflage and black painted faces. Good, they look ready. Have they all had their shots?

Yes, back in Athens.

Good, enter the briefing tent. The ten men follow Victor into the tent.

A short time later a M151A1 Mutt jeep enters the camp, driving along the muddy access road.

Its occupants Dale and Lee, the old company, are also decked out in their war fatigues with sniper rifles at the ready. The men pull up in front of Victor’s briefing tent as he and the mercenaries exit. You’re late, says Victor sternly.

We know what to do, Vic. Give us a brief overview on the way, says Lee. Victor once again gives a deathly stare at the old men as he leads the way to the choppers. The ten mercenaries follow behind. Each man straps on all necessary equipment—rifles, grenades, rocket launchers, sidearms, and knives; every man locks, loads, and checks over their radios before proceeding toward the choppers.

Dale and Lee check over their M14 rifles. Lee looks over and says to Dale, You still have the traditional wood stock?

Yeah, so?

They have a tendency to swell and expand in heavy moisture, you know, adversely affecting accuracy. You should get a fiberglass stock like mine, says Dale, pointing to his rifle stock.

I would, but the nights here aren’t cold enough to affect it, replies Lee as he finishes wrapping the rifle in a cloth covering.

The two UH-1D model Iroquois chopper blades begin to twirl as the pilots bring the blades up to operating speed. Fuel hoses are dragged away by the ground crew, and the commander and his men climb aboard. The door gunner plugs his helmet cord into the intercom. Check one, two, he asks.

Loud and clear, replies the pilot, and the choppers begin to rise, looking down on the arsenal of hardware below.

Victor and Markus do one last check of their rifles and 40mm M79 thumper grenade launchers.

Victor then checks his Colt 45 sidearm is working by his hip; he then looks over to Dale and Lee, who also stare back with snake like-eyes. The sky is lined brightly with stars and the light of a half moon.

The choppers fly low for a few hours; its occupants look over the horizon as glints of far off air strikes and sounds of screaming jets delivering their payloads ring out in the distance over the half moon horizon.

The pilot then signals the men that they are nearing the drop zone; he begins to descend down to 100 feet from the ground, hovering just above the tree line. Victor and his men deploy ropes down into the dark jungle floor below. Two ropes are deployed from each chopper, and the men stealthily climb down. When the last man touches down, the copilots begin pulling the ropes back up; both choppers veer right and climb, flying away into the distance.

Chapter Three

US Eighth Tactical Fighter Wing: Ubon, Thailand

A young airman, First Class, named Daniel Beck from the 433rd Tactical Fighter Squadron sits in the base’s cafeteria alone as he eats a meal, nervously flicking through his flight manual.

Another air force pilot walks into the cafeteria; Col. James Carlton walks over to him and sits across from the airman. Still nervous, kid?

Yeah, I am.

I know it’s your first day at this base, kid, and I didn’t sugarcoat it for you when we met this afternoon, but you are my last airman’s replacement.

What happened to him?

He took a flak round to the head over Haiphong two days ago. I’m giving you the reins tonight, kid. And the young airman’s eyes grow wide. I will be your backseater. I have some more bad news for you, kid. MiG 19s and 21s are inflicting heavy losses on our boys returning from bombing assignments. An F-105 was just downed a few hours ago by an SA-2 guideline missile we think. Their sites are near the restricted urban areas, and our AIM-9 Sidewinders and AIM-7 Sparrows on the Phantoms are unreliable. One ace in our sleeve is that we’ve just been fitted with an M61 Vulcan 20mm cannon below the radome of our Phantom. So we can fight back if necessary once our missiles run out. The marine and navy Phantoms aren’t going to be fitted with this luxury, kid, so let’s look at that as our good luck charm.

Okay, sir, what’s our mission tonight?

Tonight we were heading downtown to knock out a Pol site. Colonel Carlton produces a mission map.

Pol site, sir?

Yeah, petroleum, oils and lubes storage area up north. Last minute change, kid. We’re headed a stone’s throw a way into Laos. Our mission is a road junction supplying Pathet Loa forces. Convoys of trucks have been moving through the area. It’s up to us to cut their supply lines. In past missions, we fly straight back to base over the Gulf of Tonkin. It’s a relatively safe route returning from Haiphong. Our route packages have changed recently.

Route packages? Which one is ours?

Well, the north is divided into six route packages, each of which is either assigned to us or the navy boys, whom each other are forbidden to intrude upon. Route package six over Haiphong has taken more planes than any other route. It’s hell on earth down there, kid, and it’s all ours.

Okay. Is it true, sir, that you have scored four enemy MiG kills, so you’re only one kill of being an ace? First of all cut out the sir crap, okay, kid, only sir me if there’s brass around the base, which I doubt you will see being I’m one of the highest ranking officers on this base, says James with a smile on his face and the young airman smiles back with a slight chuckle. And second of all, it doesn’t matter how many kills you get, kid, or how many ground targets you hit. It only matters that you make it back to base in one piece ready to do it all again, understand?

Yes, sir, umm, I mean yes, Colonel. And both men laugh slightly as Daniel remembers not to say sir.

Lighten up, kid. Try not to be so nervous. I know it’s hard but once you get a few missions under your belt you’ll be just fine. Trust me on that.

Thank you, Colonel.

That’s OK, kid. We’ve all been there before. Suit up and meet me on the tarmac in thirty minutes.

Victor and his band of mercenaries begin to move cautiously through the dark thick jungle.

Finch, the commander of the mercenaries, takes to Victor’s left-hand side. What do you think we far enough out from the base?

Yes, with all these air strikes going on it will create perfect cover. We’re around fifteen clicks out. They won’t know we’re coming. We have to be on guard for roving patrols closer to the base.

Victor then pulls a Starlight scope from his pack.

What’s that? asks Finch.

Starlight scope, turns night into day. Our newest toy. It relies on ambient light instead of infrared light source. They’re not perfected yet and require moonlight to function properly.

I’ve heard of them. Haven’t had the pleasure of using them yet. Victor passes the scope to Fitch, letting him survey the tree line ahead.

The men begin to circle left cautiously in a sweeping left hook attack formation. Dale and Lee on point check over their coordinates on a map with a red light. They signal to Victor with a hand wave come over signal and speak softly to each other. North East, says Lee.

He and Dale lead the way into the dense foliage, just ahead of the mercenaries and Victor.

Okay, kid, let’s fire her up, says James to the young airman. Both men climb aboard their F-4E Phantom 2.

James takes the rear cockpit, acting as the backseater, and Daniel climbs into the lead cockpit.

Adjusting the seat and strapping his helmet on, Daniel begins to look over the gauges before firing up the engines and then watches the needles rise on the engine gauges. The ground crew move away to safety after finishing their final check. The crew chief standing out front waves the Phantom into the center of the runway.

Ready for takeoff?

Ready, answers Daniel as he finishes putting his gloves on and completing the pre-flight checks.

She’s all yours, son, says James.

Copy, base tower, Wolf 114 ready to taxi.

Roger, 114, you may proceed to taxi, answers the base control tower.

The young airman powers down full throttle and the F-4 begins to rocket down the tarmac on afterburner, reaching top speed and taking off into the night sky. Daniel retracts the landing gear up before reaching 250 knots.

The double ugly F-4 as it is called in the air force heads toward the cloud cover of the night sky.

Phantom Wolf 114, we’re airborne, states Daniel over the radio.

Roger, Wolf, happy hunting, answers the base tower.

Chapter Four

Victor and his black bag squad proceed cautiously through the jungle in attack formation, bringing them around one click from their target. Each man spreads a few meters from the next. Victor proceeds to the front and crouches low next to Dale and Lee, raising his scope as he watches four VC guards around fifty yards up ahead. The four guards are eating rice from one large bowl in front of them. They then light cigarettes.

Victor stretches out his left hand just above his waist for the crouch signal; all his men crouch down low.

Victor then signals Markus with his right hand, pulled back by his right side, motioning him forward to go there and circle round in front of them.

Markus slowly and quietly begins to make his way around the side positioning himself in front of the four men, stopping any chance of one running through to the base.

One guard walks forward into the bushes and begins to piss, only two feet from a crouching Markus gripping his KA-BAR knife, who then leaps up and spins the man around, covering his mouth with his left hand then slicing his throat with the edged weapon; a single slash drops the guard instantly.

The remaining three men hear the commotion only meters in front of them and jump to attention; all three men’s backs are to Victor, who emerges from behind and fires three shots from a silenced 45 sidearm.

Two shots strike the second guard in the center back; the last shot hits the third guard in the back of the neck, severing the spine. As the fourth guard turns around not worrying about the first noise and turns his back to Markus, now facing Victor, he tries to aim his AK-47 assault rifle, bringing the rifle butt up to his right shoulder, but is too late. Victor doesn’t have to pull the trigger.

Markus charging from behind shoves his knife through the man’s back. Markus places his left hand over his victim’s mouth, stopping him from screaming. The blade protrudes from his stomach; Markus yanks the knife out of the lifeless man’s body; wiping the blood, he places the knife back in its sheath and discards the limp body into the bushes.

Victor inclines his head to the right as a fall out sign, and the fourteen men double-time it, covering 200 yards before stopping and crouching low.

Just then, one of the mercenaries further out on the left flank signals with his hand up, then points down with his index finger to some loose foliage. Victor proceeds over to the man’s position.

Tunnel, whispers the man to Victor and begins to slowly pull back the loose foliage covering the tunnel.

As he does, Victor grabs his hand and takes over, giving the mercenary his silenced 45.

Slowly lying on the ground, Victor takes out a red service light from the front of his jacket, keeping it as close to the ground as he can, and switches it on. He slowly pulls back the foliage with the mercenary covering the tunnel.

Victor shines the light inside the entrance, then pokes his head in, checking whether the coast is clear. He emerges and signals to Fitch now crouched a few yards away with a hand gesture. Fitch signals his smallest man forward, who is crouching to the rear flank. He proceeds to the front and jumps in the hole with a knife in one hand and a flashlight with a red beam in the other; the tunnel rat mercenary begins to scurry up the tunnel.

The men continue on for around fifty yards when Victor signals them to stop with his left hand held back behind him; the men crouch down again.

Around ten meters ahead, the jungle stops to reveal a wide, cleared-out section around the size of a football field; directly centered in the middle is Nest House Z.

Victor surveys the scene with his generation one Starlight scope; the others spread out to their positions. Dale and Lee take the left and right flanks, setting up their sniper rifles and looking over the base with their telescopic sights; Dale uses a large fallen tree log to rest the barrel on.

The base camp is surrounded by a ten-foot high wall of sheet metal, tree logs, and bamboo supports around three feet thick, enabling two sentries to walk back and forth along the wall with a large gate centered in the middle.

Fitted to the wall are three spotlights, two on the outside and one in the middle.

Trip wires to the west and east, mine field directly in front, states Victor with Markus by his side.

Victor than pans left with his scope to see an approaching convoy of trucks proceed along the narrow road and pull up opposite the front of the base. To the rear of the convoy, making its way along the muddy road, a white Rolls Royce also pulls up behind the last truck.

Colonel Carlton and his young airman streak through the air at Mach speed, nearing their objective in their F-4 Phantom 2.

These new Paveways will make a hell of difference in accuracy, says James.

I haven’t used them before, Colonel. I heard the laser guidance makes them much more reliable compared to gravity bombs?

Yes, up to hundreds of feet more accurate, making sure there’s no repeats of the Tranh Hoa Bridge.

What’s that, Colonel?

It was a bridge seventy miles south of Hanoi, a major crossing point over the Red River. In ’65, there had been 871 sorties flown against it. Eleven planes were lost and the bridge still stood.

Damn, Colonel, that’s unbelievable, finishes Daniel; the F-4 continues on through the night sky.

Okay, kid, nearing target. You ready for your first drop?

Ready, Colonel. The Phantom veers down from the night sky, closing in on the jungle floor below at a 900 foot ceiling, revealing a pathway of roads and bridges amongst the trees. James looks over his navigation computer box, the unit being part of the inertial navigation system. He dials in the latitude and longitude of their intended target.

Okay, we’re on. Heading 224, altitude 900, on target and into attack, four miles and closing, says James.

Daniel flicks the bomb release mode switch, closing in on the target. Ground lock, twelve seconds. At that moment, heavy caliber machine guns begin to fire on the F-4. The laser illuminator marks the bridge with its laser beam. The infrared wavelength and seeker detects the laser’s reflection.

Weapon’s hot. Bomb away, kid, says James, and Daniel releases the payload of Paveway GBU-10 2000-pound laser-guided bombs; they drop down from the Phantom’s belly.

The bombs’ fins rotate as they veer through the night sky, slamming into the bridge and surrounding road exploding in a bright yellow flash; the support columns of the bridge buckle, folding inward, sending the structure crashing into the water below. Bullets continue to fly past the cockpit.

Direct hit, kid. It’s history.

Wow, yeah, shouts Daniel. That was a near perfect hit.

Yes, it was, kid. Good job. Now climb to 15000 feet. Give me twenty degrees nose up.

Yes, sir, I mean, Colonel.

That’s more like it.

The F-4 begins to climb, reaching over 15000 feet in altitude; the radar warning light comes on. Search radars locked on us, kid. I’m going to jam it up, active on ECM.

At that moment, an enemy SAM battery locks on and fires. The threat control indicator lights up red on the SA-2 panel inside the cockpit. Looking at his radar screen, James sees the direction of the incoming missile.

We got a SAM at our eight o’clock, kid. Drop flares.

Way ahead of you, Colonel. Daniel hits the AN/ALE-40 flare control switch on the panel; several flares shoot from the tail. The SAM closes in and strikes the flares exploding behind the F-4.

Missile down, says James; just then the threat indicator activates again. SAM at ten o’clock. Another at one, says James. The cockpit’s fire warning alarm doubles in speed.

I see them, answers Daniel, watching the puffs of white smoke from the ground.

The SAMs shoot upward toward the F-4, a trail of white smoke visible behind the missiles as they close in.

Three more at positions two, three, and five o’clock, says James.

Oh Jesus, shit, they’re everywhere, Colonel, says Daniel with nervousness in his voice.

Calm down, kid. Break hard left. The first two missiles close in at ten o’clock and one o’clock. Daniel pulls the nose down and swings hard left under the ten o’clock missile, then swings hard right as the one o’clock missile skims past the cockpit by mere feet. Daniel straightens back up and begins to panic.

Oh man, that was close, sir, too close. I saw it just above me.

Calm down and cut out the sir crap. I’m getting us through this. Evasive maneuvers, remember your training, son. Daniel then dives down low, pulling the nose down and hard left; the two o’clock and three o’clock missiles close in. Daniel increases speed, pushing the throttles to max power, then swinging right in a hard G turn. The SAMs close in.

SAM visual right two, relays James; the first SAM at one o’clock explodes before reaching the Phantom, sending the second missile at two o’clock out of control and falling harmlessly toward the ground. They’re gone. Damn, that was lucky. Another at five o’clock and closing fast.

We’re out of flares, Colonel.

I got a visual. Dive, dive, yells James, looking back over his right shoulder to see the approaching missile.

Am turning hard right. Daniel reefs at the control stick, swinging hard right as he continues to dive; the SAM closes in and skims by the right wing, leaving scorch marks on the F-4’s camouflage paint. Damn, that was close, Colonel. I was starting to worry.

Calm down, kid, focus. What’s our altitude?

Aah, says Daniel, in a nervous, shaky voice. We are at aah… 15,000 feet. At that moment, the gun light on the threat control indicator panel flashes on.

We’re being painted. Triple A incoming, says James as enemy ground forces begin to fire into the air. Shit, we got incoming triple A nine o’clock, says James. The 57mm rounds begin to strafe by the F-4’s fuselage.

Ground forces begin to fire an assortment of heavy caliber machine guns mounted on tripods from watch towers in the surrounding hills. We got to climb above 40,000. They’re probably using mid-range 57mm. Quickly, kid, climb, climb. Daniel begins to climb nose up, reaching over 20,000 feet; a barrage of antiaircraft artillery fired from two separate guns explodes around the F-4. The bright red tracer rounds crisscross the night sky; a few rounds find their mark, taking chunks from the aircraft’s left wing and undercarriage.

We’re hit, says James.

Number one engine’s gone. We’re losing fuel. Damn, I got no left turn, sir. Am losing altitude, says Daniel in a panic. The hydraulic/pneumatic and oil pressure indicators begin to drop. Daniel struggles to keep the jet from losing even more altitude. Got no hydraulics, Colonel, damn. Looks like both systems are hit. Do we eject now, sir?

No, not yet. We’re too close to those triple A batteries. More tracer rounds streak across the cockpit, only meters from the glass.

The F-4 Phantom continues to lose altitude, approaching the mountain terrain ahead.

You have to try and clear this terrain up ahead. On my signal, punch out, okay?

Do you think we can make it?

Well, that’s what we’re about to find out, kid. Show me what you’re made of.

The Phantom bears down on the mountain range ahead; Daniel tries his best to level out the jet. Come on, come on. I’m losing her, Colonel.

Control her with your rudders. She’s starting to roll, shouts James; the Phantom begins to roll, and the young airman pulls back on the stick trying to get the F-4’s nose up as the mountain range closes in. Daniel struggles with the left and right rudders, trying to prevent an uncontrollable spin. Come on, baby, come on, says James.

Sir, sir, yells Daniel in panic as the F-4 skims over the mountaintop, scraping the treetops with its undercarriage; the jet now out of control begins to drop down, Daniel no longer being able to pull her nose up anymore. Now, sir?

Not yet, and cut out the sir crap, says James, staying very composed compared to the young airman.

The struggling F-4 begins to cut out, losing all altitude and airspeed.

James then yells at the last moment, Now! Eject, eject, eject. The men reach up and pull their face curtains down on the MK. H-7 seat. Once the face curtain is pulled by both men, the torque tube rotates, firing the seat-mounted initiator on the back of the seat. The initiator sends hot gas into the aircraft-mounted canopy jettison system. The system electronically unlocks the canopies; the compressed gas jettisons the F-4’s canopy, sending it high into the air clear of both men’s path. The two pilots shoot into the night sky, the total process taking only four seconds, launching the pilots at almost 200 kilometers an hour.

Daniel flies into the air; he begins to sigh from the G forces created by the mode two low altitude—high speed eject process. Aah, he shouts as he appears to injure himself in the eject process.

The two men’s parachutes deploy; the withdrawal line pulls the pins from the parachute container flaps, withdrawing the parachute. The parachute retaining straps then release and two strong springs under the parachute box force James and Daniel away from the seat.

They hold on and watch as the F-4 crashes down into a rice paddy area at ground level, a few hundred meters from the bottom of the mountain range.

The jet bursts into flames; the two men hover around for a few minutes, having punched out at less than 15,000 feet, and then touch down in the long grass.

James lands first, a few hundred meters from Daniel; he quickly cuts free and wraps his parachute up, forcing it down into the bottom of the water and grass.

He then runs over to Daniel’s position, who lies stuck in the grass with his parachute draped over him. James reaches the young airman’s position and pulls the chute off him; he sees that Daniel’s in obvious pain.

You OK, kid?

Aah, I think I broke my ribs on the eject, Colonel. Daniel gasps for air.

Can you move?

Yeah, I think so.

OK, let’s move. We don’t have much time before search parties start looking for us.

The last thing I remember was beginning to eject. I must have blacked out or something. What are we going to do?

I’ll try and radio HQ for a Jolly Green rescue chopper. James takes his emergency radio from his survival vest, extends the antenna, and begins trying to radio his base. Base camp Falcon, copy. This is Phantom Wolf 114. We are down around thirty clicks southeast of our designated target, copy. The radio replies, and all James gets is static. "Copy, Falcon, do you copy? I can’t reach anyone,