Phantom Leader Part 12

"You and your d.a.m.ned blackboard," the President said.

His eyes flashed. "I thought you said we were winning the war. You said that after your last trip."

General Whisenand stood next to the mantel. "I said we Could win, sir,"

he said gently.

The President straightened up and looked at him from under furled brows.

"Didn't you set up some operations in Laos to stop supplies coming down that G.o.dd.a.m.n Trail".

Didn't I say go ahead on that a few months back? What came of that?

What are the figures?"

"Sir, Air Force and Navy planes have stopped about eighty percent of the daylight traffic coming through the pa.s.ses."

"What about traffic at night?" the President asked.

"Sir, in a short time we will be implementing increased night strikes on the Trail, and soon after we will have a night fast-FAC program using F-4 fighters that will use strike planes on the supply trucks."

"What's a FACK?"

"FAC is the term we use for a Forward Air Controller, a man airborne in an airplane who searches for targets, then calls in strike aircraft to destroy them. They fly slow or fast planes. We want to use FACs to stop the traffic at night."

Commander, 7th Air Force, had sent Whitey a coded backchannel TWX outlining the progress of the night FAC program they both thought necessary. To his surprise he read that a Major Courtland EdM.

Bannister was to head the unit. Court Bannister, and his half -brother, Shawn, were like nephews to him because Sam Bannister was his cousin.

"Night strikes will be tricky," Whitey continued, "but I think we can do it." He didn't think it wise to tell the President that the Chief of Staff of the Air Force was less than enthusiastic about the fast FAC program in the daytime, much less at night.

"Plug that Trail and I'll win the war," the President said.

"Sir, allow us to take out all the supplies and supply ships and trucks and railroads before they hit the Trail and you'll maybe win the war."

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Whisenand, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't want to start World War Three. I just want to keep those commie b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out of South Vietnam. You and those generals over in that five-sided c.r.a.phouse are all alike. You don't do what I want you to do.

You never listen to me, so I have to put the screws to you." He waved his drink, animated once more with a tangible enemy at hand.

"That Kennedy general," LBJ said, "that Max Taylor. He had it right.

You read his book? That Trumpet book? fie had it right. He said the Joint Chiefs of Staff belong to the administration in power and are expected to be the spokes men for the President's policies. That's what I want. I want you generals to support my policies."

"Mister President, General Taylor, as Chairman of the JCS, refused in July 1963 to let John Paul Vann brief the JCS on how bad the situation was in South Vietnam."

"Well, maybe Taylor was right. We don't need any negative people now, do we? Just who the h.e.l.l is John Paul Vann?"

"Sir, John Paul Vann is a former infantry officer who served in Vietnam as an advisor, then got out of the Army.

He became a civilian advisor to serve better, he believed, the Vietnamese people who sincerely wanted to fight a communist takeover."

"Well, I just don't want any negative reporting." The President stared into the flames.

Negative reporting, Whitey mused. No, he doesn't want any negative reporting. He really can't accept that we are having trouble over there because of the restrictions. And he ce negotiations are close at hand.

thinks the subtlest of nuances from Ho Chi Minh means pea Whitey returned his thoughts to the fireplace room.

POTUS, President of the United States, didn't seem interested in following up on who John Paul Vann was, so Whitey didn't continue.

There was a knock on the door. After the President barked an enter command, his senior military aide, an Army brigadier, walked in. He held a teletype message and looked ashen.

"What is it now? What does that say?" the President asked irritably.

"Sir," the brigadier began. He was nervous and shaking.

"The Viet Cong have attacked in force all over Vietnam. The air base at Tan Son Nhut, MACV Headquarters, and the city of Cholon are taking heavy fire. Hue City is invaded.

And the wall of the United States Emba.s.sy in Saigon has been breached."

1145 HOURS LOCAL, WEDNESDAY 31 JANUARY 1968.

QUANG TRI ARMY AntrxELD, NORTHERN I CORPS REPUBLIC of VIETNAM The late-morning rainsquall pelted the Quang Tri runway and the tin roof of the operations shack next to it with such ferocity that the two men inside had to stop talking rather than shout to make each other heard.

An overhead light bulb shone on a wall map of the entire I Corps area. A major, a tall, well-built man wearing a two-piece Army Nomex flight suit, traced the flight path from where they were at Quang Tri to the Special Forces camp at Lang Tri, 35 miles to the west. Black thread outlined Army aviator wings and a parachutist's badge on the major's left breast, and his name, Doug Clifton, on the right. He was the commanding officer of C Troop (Armored) in one of the Air Cavalry units at Quang Tri. They flew the UH- IC helicopter gunships. These particular ships, called the Huey Hog, mounted a variety of weaponry ranging from two 7.62mm M60 door guns to a chin turret firing 40mm grenades. Pilots loved the XM-5 system using the M75 grenade launcher that chunked 240 grenades a minute out as far as 1,500 meters.

Birds with these chin turrets were called chunkers; or thumpers because of the sound the launch charge made as it propelled the grenade from the stubby barrel. The same device, the M79 grenade launcher used by ground troops, was called the blooper for the same reason. Other versions of the Hog carried, in addition to the chin turret, combinations of 2.75inch rocket launchers, four 7.62min M60 machine guns, and/or two 5.62mm miniguns that fired 4,000 rounds per minute. A ship with just the 2.75-inch rockets and two miniguns was called a Frog. A Slick was the larger UH- I H that carried up to fourteen troops. The only protection for a Slick was two door gunners firing mounted M60 7.62mm machine guns. When the rain noise subsided, the major continued.

"Cougar is responsible for all ground and air a.s.sets in the Khe Sanh-Lang Tri area. His message says he backs his colonel at Khe Sanh who won't risk the two Marine rifle companies set up to relieve Lang Tri. He says there is a hundred-percent chance of an ambush on the road to Lang Tri. And he will not risk Marine helicopters because, he says, all the LZs at Lang Tri are surrounded by NVA. Understand, Colonel Lochert, we don't have command authority to launch you and your troops in Army helicopters. In other words I'm not allowed to fly you to Lang Tri."

The man listening was Wolf Lochert. His jaw was clenched, bushy black eyebrows knotted in concentration.

"I know all that," he growled. "And I know Westmoreland so far, note I say 'so far,' agrees with Cougar."

Cougar was Lieutenant General Robert Cushman, the commander of the III MAF (Marine Amphibious Force).

There had been some problems between Cushman and his theater boss, General Westmoreland. Westmoreland felt Cushman was reluctant to use the forces he had placed at his disposal, particularly the Army forces.

Westmoreland also didn't like the way Cushman was employing air power, particularly USAF' air support. He simply was not using it.

General Cushman had been fighting the concept that COMUSMACV wanted, in which Commander, 7th Air Force, would be the single manager for the use of air power in South Vietnam. Under that method Cushman would no longer have exclusive control over his Marine fighter aircraft. If Cushman had used USAF air better, and given Marine air support to the Army's 1st Cavalry Division, the problem probably would not have arisen.

Lochert continued. "Bull Dall has been to MACV and later called Westmoreland three times with no results."

Lochert remembered his conversation as he flew to Nha Trang earlier with Colonel Bull Dail. Wolf had told him about the attack by Huey Dan and the TV film of his killing the Vietnamese. Dail had nodded and said that war manifested itself in ways both strange and h.e.l.lish, that Wolf wasn't to worry, the Army would take care of him.

Then Dail had briefed Wolf on the situation in I Corps between the Marines and the Special Forces. Dail had become almost incoherent with anger. "Wolf," he had said, "we are going to send help, I don't care what the Marines say. Get some troops and work something out at Quang Tri for transportation." Wolf was now at Quang Tri trying to work something out.

"How about you fly us to Lang Tri or I'll break your legs," Lieutenant Colonel Wolf Lochert said to Major Doug Clifton in a menacing voice. He was deadly serious.

"I get your point, Colonel. You're trying to protect my a.s.s if I'm hauled up on charges when we get back. All I do is plead coercion and I get off." Clifton smiled at the fiercely scowling Wolf Lochert. "Look, I've never met you before, but I've heard a lot about you."

Lochert's scowl deepened. He wasn't used to being smiled at when he threatened to break someone's legs. He didn't like being figured out at all, much less so fast. And by a junior major who by the looks of him was a fast burner, a man on his way up. Something Wolf Lochert was not.

His scowl deepened further. Clifton grinned back.

"You know the official word. We can't go," he said.

"Listen, Scheisskopf-" Wolf rumbled, but Clifton cut him off.

"Hold on, Colonel Lochert. Hear me out. My buddy and I are supposed to make test hops today on two Hueys, a gunship and a troopship. The weather is so bad, all combat operations are on hold. But we just might go ahead with our test hops. You understand?"

Wolf Lochert was surprised. This was not the way fast burners got ahead. A fast burner got promoted earlybelow the zone, it was called-by making decisions based on what was best for his career, not what was best for the mission. He looked at Clifton's left hand. He was married.

Then he looked at his right hand. Clifton noticed, and held it up so he could see the ring.

"Woo Poo," he said, "Cla.s.s of '59." Woo Poo was the not-so-favored nickname for West Point.

Lochert's scowl disappeared as he raised an eyebrow.

"You feeling all right, son?" he asked in a normal voice. He uld tell there would be no trouble with this man.

co Clifton laughed. "Just fine, Colonel. When do you want to take off?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"Put your men under the group of palms at the east end of the taxiway.

Keep them out of sight, The first time the rain eases even slightly and the ceiling is above a few hundred feet, we'll swing by and pick you folks up. My ship has 'Strange Striker' painted on the nose. Put your ant.i.tank team with the RPG in there. The rest of the guys in the number-two bird."

"Strange Striker?" Wolf said, a frown on his face. "Odd name. A guy in your outfit?"

Clifton laughed. "No. It refers to our ill.u.s.trious Secretary of Defense, Robert Strange McNamara."

"Who'd want to name a gunship after him?" Wolf rasped.

"In a very unusual way, without him there would be no Air Cavalry. In '62 he wrote a directive to the Secretary of the Army telling him to get off his a.s.s on tactical air diobility. At the same time he appointed General Hamilton Howze-a real air buff, I might add-and a bunch of other guys to set it up. McNamara told George Decker, who was Secretary of the Army, to get with it or else. But on Christmas Eve 1964 he told Creighton Abrams to cancel all Army aviation, said it wasn't justified.

Then he reversed himself again. In July '65 he visited Vietnam and sent message after message back to DoD saying to get the lead out and produce helicopters once again. Problem was, we didn't have enough pilots.

That's why some of our guys are back on their second and third tours."

Clifton spread his hands. "So I fly Strange Striker. I just wish he'd have let it go at production of our ships. Now he's trying to tell us when and where to fly."

Wolf Lochert looked thoughtful. Another rainsquall drifted over the field.

"You're a good man, Clifton," Wolf said, slamming him on the back.

"Yeah, I know. My wife says that all the time," Clifton said as drumming rain engulfed the shack.

Twenty minutes later, as low clouds boated across the field, releasing a light drizzle, two helicopters eased off the asphalt, one behind the other. They flew nose-down four feet off the taxiway to the east end of runway 22. After they settled on their skids, blades turning over, fourteen men carrying weapons and wearing light rucksacks ran from the cover of the palm trees and boarded two into the gunship and twelve men, including Wolf Lochert, into the Huey troopship. The two helicopters pulled pitch and disappeared off the west side of the field. They made no calls to Quang Tri tower.

"I thought this was a test flight. How come you didn't call the tower?"

Wolf Lochert in the number-two helicopter asked the pilot, a warrant officer, in the right seat. He used the intercom in the flight helmet he had put on..

"Ahh, sir, the weather is a little below test-flight minimums," the pilot answered, concentrating on following his leader. "Way below, in fact. We had a little chat with the boys in the tower. They agreed to be looking in the other direction for a few minutes." He flew twenty feet above the ground, twisting and turning in trail behind the troopship as he followed his leader to the west.

Major Doug Clifton flew the lead helicopter, the gunship.

The plan was for him to follow Route 9 to the Lang Tri camp, prep with gunfire the best area near the besieged bunker to land, and fly cover while the troopship disembarked Wolf Lochert and his troops. Wolf had told him his team would use the call sign Dakota. Clifton carried two SF men on board for some special action and as a small reserve for the twelve on the ground. He would put them down for diversion, counterattack, flanking fire, or whatever function they might perform to make the rescue a success. In addition to their Ml 6s and grenades, the two men carried an RPG-7, a Soviet Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher, and ten High Explosive Anti Tank (HEAT) rounds. Time was short.

Darkness would soon blanket the area.

Clifton could not check the map in his lap, he was too busy flying his helicopter around the twists and bends of Route 9. His copilot in the left seat followed the road with his finger on his map. The hills on both sides of the road rose into the low clouds.

"Uh oh," Clifton said. Ahead was a rainsquall completely obscuring the road and the surrounding hills. "Pull it up, pull it up, Sabre Two," he transmitted to the second helicopter. He grunted as he pulled his ship up into the clouds.

"Steer two four zero, Sabre Two. I'll steer two five zeromGo back to two four five in five minutes. Meet you on top."

They could not fly formation in the clouds, so Clifton gave a divergent heading to Sabre Two to prevent a collision.

After five minutes they could resume parallel courses and hope to find each other.

"If there is a top," Sabre Two said as he pulled up. On this mission proper radio procedure was of no importance.

At 4,000 feet Clifton was in relatively clear air in a deep chasm between towering clouds.

"I'm in the clear, Sabre Two," he transmitted. "I'll orbit right at four thousand two hundred."

Wolf Lochert stood behind the warrant officer's seat in Sabre Two. They popped through the clouds into the chasm.

"Over there," the copilot said, pointing his finger to the right. They could see the ghostly form of a circling helicopter in the murk.

"Gotcha, Sabre Lead," the warrant said. "Roll out heading west. I'll be on your left."

"Roger, roger," Clifton transmitted and rolled out. He looked ahead.

"The low stuff is thinning out," he transmitted. "We're about ten minutes out, I'm going to VHF Guard channel."

He switched to 121.5 megacycles, a frequency reserved exclusively for emergencies. All aircraft of all services monitored Guard channel at all times. On UHF it was 243.0 megacycles. Clifton wanted to see if there was anyone else in the Lang Tri area.

"Any aircraft in the Lang Tri area, this is Sabre One on Victor Guard.

Give me a call." Because some aircraft monitored many radios, Clifton had identified which Guard channel he was on. Victor stood for VHF, Uniform for UHF.

A voice from a strong transmitter replied. "Sabre One, this is Khe Sanh Control. Who are you and what is your mission? We do not have you scheduled into Khe Sanh. Get off Guard channel. Come up 127.1 and explain."

"Uh oh," the warrant officer said to Wolf Lochert.