enemy fire. He grabbed up his flares, ready
to ignite the first one.
Hambleton watched the helicopters fly toward the
river. On reaching it they turned north in a diversionary maneuver.
Then they suddenly swung directly toward his position, coming in low
at full throttle, the prop wash from their rotors leaving a trail of
broiling dust.
Hambleton ripped off the flare's striker, poised
for his dash to the clearing. Closer and closer they came. Sporadic
gunfire started opening up from nearby positions. He could see the
flash of machine guns and the trail of smoke from the gunship in the
lead, paving the way for the rescue chopper behind, answering fire
with fire.
Suddenly his radio crackled. It was the urgent
voice of the Birddog pilot. "Jolly Green! Jolly Green! Turn
left! Big gun activity in the village twelve o'clock to you. Turn
left!" The urgent voice suddenly switched to a yell of anguish.
"Left, goddamn it, Jolly Green! LEFT! STAY AWAY FROM THAT
VILLAGE! IT'S HOT!"
Hambleton, transfixed, watched as the choppers
started to break in a sharp bank away from the village. And then,
before his horrified eyes, the reserve chopper was suddenly replaced
by a blinding ball of fire. A delayed boom of the antiaircraft gun
banged his eardrums.
"Oh, no!" Hambleton shook his
head in unbelieving horror. "Oh, sweet Jesus, NO!"
"Jolly Green's hit!" yelled the Birddog
pilot. "Going down... going down..."
Hambleton stared, muted by fear, watching as the
chopper dropped from view, leaving a mushroom of smoke in the sky. He
felt as well as heard the explosion as it plummeted into the village.
His empty stomach retched as he watched the accompanying helicopter
turn, and with wheeling, evasive maneuvers hightail it back across
the river.
The shocking silence that followed was broken by
the leaden voice from Birddog. "Bat Twenty-one, we'll have to
back off."
"Understand." Hambleton could barely
manage the word as he stared in disbelief at the funeral pyre rising
from the village.
He sank back into his hole, indescribable misery
and abandonment written on his face. "Whole crew.. .wiped
out," he whispered. "Five men.. .trying to save me."
He sagged, hopelessly. "Five men... five men..."
The Sixth Day
It was thirty minutes past midnight. In the
command post of the Korat Royal Thai Air Base several officers were
engaged in a heated session with Colonel Walker. A red-eyed, angry
Captain Clark was popping off. "Goddamnit, Colonel—"
"Cool it, Captain," snapped Walker.
"Just cool it. For the last time. I didn't say we're going to
abandon Hambleton. You're punch-drunk tired."
Clark eased off a little. "I thought you
said, sir—
Walker leaned into the young officer. "I said
it's got to look like we've abandoned him. There's a big difference.
Is that clear?"
"No, sir."
Exasperated, Walker looked around the group. "One
more time. The enemy is going to keep it hot in Hambleton's sector as
long as they know he's alive. Now, you agree with that, Clark?"
"It appears so. Especially after today's—"
he checked his watch, "yesterday's mission."
"Especially after yesterday's mission, we
can't go in again with choppers as long as they keep it so hot.
Agreed?"
"Not necessarily, sir—"
"Believe me. Necessarily. Therefore, the wing
staff has come up with a new wrinkle. I'm about to brief you on it,
if you give me the chance. It may or may not work. But headquarters
thinks it's worth a try. Now if it's all right with you I'll get on
with it."
Clark relaxed, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry,
sir. I misunderstood. When you said abandonment I thought—"
"I know what you thought. Believe it or not,
Clark, the Air Force is just as eager to get back that man as you
are. Now as soon as you're briefed, go out and tuck Hambleton in for
the night. And don't mention anything to him about this plan. It's
top secret. For reasons you'll understand, we don't want to risk any
chance of the Charleys getting onto this one."
"Yes, sir."
"And then I want you
to ignite the first one.
Hambleton watched the helicopters fly toward the
river. On reaching it they turned north in a diversionary maneuver.
Then they suddenly swung directly toward his position, coming in low
at full throttle, the prop wash from their rotors leaving a trail of
broiling dust.
Hambleton ripped off the flare's striker, poised
for his dash to the clearing. Closer and closer they came. Sporadic
gunfire started opening up from nearby positions. He could see the
flash of machine guns and the trail of smoke from the gunship in the
lead, paving the way for the rescue chopper behind, answering fire
with fire.
Suddenly his radio crackled. It was the urgent
voice of the Birddog pilot. "Jolly Green! Jolly Green! Turn
left! Big gun activity in the village twelve o'clock to you. Turn
left!" The urgent voice suddenly switched to a yell of anguish.
"Left, goddamn it, Jolly Green! LEFT! STAY AWAY FROM THAT
VILLAGE! IT'S HOT!"
Hambleton, transfixed, watched as the choppers
started to break in a sharp bank away from the village. And then,
before his horrified eyes, the reserve chopper was suddenly replaced
by a blinding ball of fire. A delayed boom of the antiaircraft gun
banged his eardrums.
"Oh, no!" Hambleton shook his
head in unbelieving horror. "Oh, sweet Jesus, NO!"
"Jolly Green's hit!" yelled the Birddog
pilot. "Going down... going down..."
Hambleton stared, muted by fear, watching as the
chopper dropped from view, leaving a mushroom of smoke in the sky. He
felt as well as heard the explosion as it plummeted into the village.
His empty stomach retched as he watched the accompanying helicopter
turn, and with wheeling, evasive maneuvers hightail it back across
the river.
The shocking silence that followed was broken by
the leaden voice from Birddog. "Bat Twenty-one, we'll have to
back off."
"Understand." Hambleton could barely
manage the word as he stared in disbelief at the funeral pyre rising
from the village.
He sank back into his hole, indescribable misery
and abandonment written on his face. "Whole crew.. .wiped
out," he whispered. "Five men.. .trying to save me."
He sagged, hopelessly. "Five men... five men..."
The Sixth Day
It was thirty minutes past midnight. In the
command post of the Korat Royal Thai Air Base several officers were
engaged in a heated session with Colonel Walker. A red-eyed, angry
Captain Clark was popping off. "Goddamnit, Colonel—"
"Cool it, Captain," snapped Walker.
"Just cool it. For the last time. I didn't say we're going to
abandon Hambleton. You're punch-drunk tired."
Clark eased off a little. "I thought you
said, sir—
Walker leaned into the young officer. "I said
it's got to look like we've abandoned him. There's a big difference.
Is that clear?"
"No, sir."
Exasperated, Walker looked around the group. "One
more time. The enemy is going to keep it hot in Hambleton's sector as
long as they know he's alive. Now, you agree with that, Clark?"
"It appears so. Especially after today's—"
he checked his watch, "yesterday's mission."
"Especially after yesterday's mission, we
can't go in again with choppers as long as they keep it so hot.
Agreed?"
"Not necessarily, sir—"
"Believe me. Necessarily. Therefore, the wing
staff has come up with a new wrinkle. I'm about to brief you on it,
if you give me the chance. It may or may not work. But headquarters
thinks it's worth a try. Now if it's all right with you I'll get on
with it."
Clark relaxed, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry,
sir. I misunderstood. When you said abandonment I thought—"
"I know what you thought. Believe it or not,
Clark, the Air Force is just as eager to get back that man as you
are. Now as soon as you're briefed, go out and tuck Hambleton in for
the night. And don't mention anything to him about this plan. It's
top secret. For reasons you'll understand, we don't want to risk any
chance of the Charleys getting onto this one."
"Yes, sir."
"And then I want you
Similar Books
