“Able Zero-Seven, I cannot. Land on shoreline. I can see you. Land on shoreline.”
“Bullet, go to Rescue One. Over.” “Able Zero-Seven, I am injured. I cannot work my radio. Land on the shoreline. I am just a few meters inland. Hurry. Over.” The DF readout still read southwest-but that could mean a hundred yards southwest or ten miles southwest. The Navy pilot was not following orders because he was panicking-or because it wasn’t a Navy pilot talking. The term “meters” worried Collins, but more military guys were using metric measurements like meters and “klicks, ” so that wasn’t a definite giveaway. On the Guard emergency channel, Collins said, “Stand by, Bullet.” To his copilot, Collins said, “Swing west a few miles. Let’s see if we can triangulate this DF steer.” The MV-22 swung west away from the coastline, keeping as close to the treetops as possible. “Able Zero-Seven, this is Bullet, come in. Come in, Able.” Bowman was groggy but awake. He had a pounding headache and completely washed-out vision. He felt paralyzed, and when he tried to move, a red-hot wave of pain rolled up and down his back. Same for his left arm-it wasn’t just his elbow anymore, the entire arm felt broken. His wrists were still handcuffed together and the survival radio was gone… No, not gone. He could hear faint voices coming from somewhere. Fighting through the pain in his back and arm, he scratched his fingers across the mud and foliage toward the sound. Just as he thought he was going to pass out from the pain, his fingers brushed the thick rubber of the short antenna. A spark of hope shot through his pain-tortured brain, and he was able to grab the radio and drag it to his body. “Stand by, Bullet, ” Bowman heard. “Bullet, switch to Rescue One, if able. Over.”
“Unable to switch. Help me. Land on the shoreline. I will find you. Able… that was the call sign of the Navy rescue choppers on Ranger on the day that Bowman was shot down. The PJs finally found him! But who was he talking to? There was another Bullet crew member out here? Who was he talking to? Miller? Was Cookin’ alive? He couldn’t believe it-Miller had really made it! But he suddenly realized that wasn’t right. Miller was dead. The voice on the radio didn’t sound American-it sounded too smooth, too practiced. It had to be Chinese! The Chinese were trying to coax the Navy rescue bird into landing. No downed aircrewman would ever do that-a downed aircrewman’s responsibility was to first get himself located, then follow instructions from the rescue bird. He was not supposed to issue orders. Bowman’s radio was set to the Guard channel. On the PRC23D radio, there was a four-position rotary dial: full clockwise, toward the side with the antenna, was Guard, one click counterclockwise was Off, one more click was Rescue One, and one more was Rescue Two. With trembling fingers, Bowman depressed the rotary dial and twisted the knob once to the Off position; then, with a tremendous effort, twisted the dial to Rescue One and depressed a rubber switch on the side of the unit. … The DF readout on radio number one was moving slightly south. “Few more miles, ” Collins said to his copilot, “and we can plot out his position Suddenly, radio number two came alive with a distinctive Piiinng! Piiinng! Piiinng! Piiinng! tone. The DF readout on the second channel pointed directly east. “I got a tone on Rescue One!” Collins shouted. “Coming from the area we just left!”
“That guy on Guard must be an eavesdropper, ” the copilot said. “I almost fell for it, too. Follow the DF steer from Rescue One.” Collins switched from Guard channel to Rescue One. “Bullet on Rescue One, I copy your tone. Give me a tone when we fly overhead.” They were about sixty seconds on the new heading toward the east when Collins said, “I think I have something down there. PJs, stand by.” In the rear of the MV-22 tilt-rotor aircraft were four pararescue jumpers, or PJs, two sitting on the port and starboard cargo doors, wearing rappelling gear. Collins tracked the warm spot below him with the FLIR. Just before the object was directly beneath them, they heard another series of tones on Rescue One. The copilot flew past the spot, but Collins continued to track the warm spot and hit a button on the AN/AYK-14 mission computer, which would store the latitude and longitude of the spot they flew over. “Bullet, this is Able Zero-Seven, authenticate Victor-Kilo. Victor-Kilo.” No response. “Bullet, this is Able, I say again, authenticate Victor-Kilo. Over.”
“We’re coming up on bingo fuel, ” the copilot said, “and the Chinese are bound to bring reinforcements. We can’t stay…”
“Once more, then we’re outta here, ” Collins said. On Rescue One, he said, “Bullet, I say again “Bullet . . . authenticates . . . Poppa Zero . . . PoppaZero…”
“He didn’t give the whole response, ” the copilot said. “Close enough for me, ” Collins said. “But you don’t know…”
“I’m taking the chance. I’ve got the aircraft.” Collins took the controls, gave them a shake to verify transfer of control, then banked sharply to the left and lined up on the object he was tracking on the FLIR. When he was pointing at it, he moved a switch on the power quadrant, which rotated the twin rotor nacelles on the wingtips of the MV-22 vertically and transformed the Sea Hammer aircraft from an airplane to a helicopter. He maneuvered the big cargo~plane~turned~heli copter into a hover, then translated slightly sideways until he found a clearing beneath the airplane. On interphone, he said, “PJs, our boy’s off the nose, about thirty yards. No complete ID, but I don’t see a weapon and he’s alone. Out.” Using their rappelling gear, the PJs edged off the Sea Hammer and slid to the ground. Unslinging their rifles, they took a bearing from the MV-22 and proceeded toward the subject. A few cautious minutes later, they found Bowman. “Able, this is PJ One, I got him. Looks like one of our boys.” The rescue technician quickly searched Bowman for hidden explosives or booby traps as the second PJ stood a safe distance away, guarding the area. “Move in position.” Collins edged the Sea Hammer aircraft forward, and the crewmen in the cargo hold lowered a rescue hoist with a forestzpenetrat0r device down to the men on the ground. He unfolded the petal-like seats on the forest penetrator, lifted Bowman up, and secured him into the seat. Bowman had enough strength to wrap his arms around the rescue device and do as he was told. “Samar… Samar. Don’t forget Samar.. .” Bowman told the PJ. It was hard to hear over the roar of the MV-22 overhead, but the first PJ caught a snippet of Bowman’s words. “He seems to be saying Sammy something, ” the PJ said on a helmet radio to Collins. “There might be someone else nearby.”
“We don’t have time to search for anybody else, ” Collins’ copilot said. “We’re past bingo already.” Collins was using the FL1R scanner to search the area around the rescue site. Suddenly he stopped. “I got someone else, ” he said. “Thirty yards to the right. He’s not moving. Check it out. Hoist Robby on board.” The first PJ on the ground climbed onto another seat on the forest penetrator, strapped himself on, then pushed Bowman’s head down and wrapped his arms around him as the cargo hold crew hoisted them up through the foliage. The second PJ began moving toward the second object, taking directions from Collins, using the gradually brightening morning skies to find cover until he was close enough. The crew in the cargo hold of the MV-22 dragged Bowman inside and wrapped him in a blanket. One PJ shined a flashlight in his face, then compared the face to a sheet of ID-card photographs of downed crewmen from the Saratoga. “He matches, ” the PJ shouted on interphone. “Bowman. Bullet Seven’s pilot.” Collins let out a sigh of relief. “Dammit, I don’t believe it. We got one. The other guy might be his RIO.” The second PJ on the ground reached the body. “He looks like a Filipino… wait. He’s wearing general’s stars. No name tag, but he’s got two stars on his collar.” Collins maneuvered closer to his ground crewman. “General’s stars… a general? Named Sammy? Sammy… Sa~ar? Holy shit, that might be General Samar, the fucking Vice President! Get him on board! Hurry!” ABOARD THE USS RANGER, IN THE PHILIPPINE SEA MONDAY, 3 OCTOBER 1994, 0600 HOURS MANILA TIME The Philippine national anthem played in the background. The television transmission showed a sign written in English, Tagalog, and Chinese, telling the viewer to stand by for an important message from the Philippine government. After two minutes, the scene dissolved, to be replaced by the grim face of Second Vice President General Jose Trujillo Samar. Most of his hair was burned off, and one eye was swollen shuthe had refused to wear any bandages, however, because he was afraid his countrymen might not recognize him, and because he wanted all the world to see what the Chinese military had done to him. He was wearing his uniform, freshly cleaned and starched, which hid a tightly wrapped separated shoulder and burns across most of his upper torso. “My fellow Filipinos and all others who can hear my voice. I am Jose Samar, Second Vice President of the Republic of the Philippines. I am speaking to you from a control room aboard the American aircraft carrier USS Ranger, which is en route to Guam after being viciously attacked by Chinese warplanes three days ago. This message is being broadcast to you at six o’clock A.M. on the third of October, Manila time, via Philippine TV channels two and three, on the Voice of America, the British Broadcasting Channel shortwave channel seventeen, and on other international radio and television channels. “As you can see, 1 am injured but alive. I was rescued on the second of October from the island of Mindanao by American Marines shortly after being attacked and nearly killed by patrols from the People’s Republic of China. The Chinese patrols killed several of my militiamen while we were engaged in rescue operations, trying to save the life of an American Navy pilot shot down by Chinese fighter planes several days ago. “I am speaking to you today to tell you that, as the governor of the Commonwealth of Mindanao and Second Vice President of the Republic of the Philippines, that the People’s Republic of China is engaged in a full-scale military invasion of my country. Do not be deceived by stories of cooperation with the Philippine government. The Chinese are believed to have murdered President Arturo Mikaso. Chinese warships have taken the Commonwealth cities of
