service the entire wing. Later, perhaps, some aircraft could land and refuel at various That bases, but that wouldn't be until their safety on the ground could be assured. In the meantime, fuel would be a carefully hoarded resource.
The engines on the KA-6 thundered to full throttle. The cat officer gave his signal, and the tanker thundered forward off the flight deck, leaving a billowing cloud of steam in its wake. Heavily loaded, it dipped beyond the carrier's bow, then rose, sluggish but climbing, its anticollision light strobing brilliantly in the crystal half-light of the early morning.
Tombstone checked his watch. Sunrise was still a few minutes away, but the sky was already day-brilliant, while the surface of the ocean and the carrier herself remained in shadow. The JBD slowly dropped back to the deck, and the yellow shirt guiding his plane motioned him forward. Tombstone eased the Tomcat ahead, bringing the front wheel onto the slot for the catapult's shuttle. Around the aircraft, dozens of deck crewmen hurried about the plane, making their final checks.
A red-shirted ordie stepped close to the cockpit and held up a bundle of wires with red tags on them. Tombstone checked the count and nodded approval.
The wires had been pulled from the safety locks on the four AIM-9L Sidewinder and four AIM-7 Sparrow air- to-air missiles under his wings. The decision had been made during the previous day's planning that the far larger and longer-ranged Phoenix missiles would not be used. A Phoenix could lock in and kill an enemy plane over a hundred miles away, but the skies over northern Thailand were going to be a confused swirl of aircraft ? That, American, and enemy ? and it would be necessary to get close enough to see the targets to avoid scoring own goals.
A purple shirt held up a board with 66,000 on it, letting Tombstone verify the Tomcat's launch weight. Green shirts completed hooking the F-14's nose wheel to the cat shuttle.
'Eagle Leader, Homeplate,' a voice said. Tombstone recognized it as Commander Dick Wheeler, Jefferson's Air Boss. 'Trapdoor is now airborne over Don Muang. Victor Four Bravo will give you your vector once you're in the air.'
'Eagle copies,' Tombstone said. He was feeling tight… excitement a living thing twisting in his gut. Victor Four Bravo was the Hawkeye which would coordinate Operation Bright Lightning. Trapdoor was the call sign for an alpha strike of That aircraft, F-5s, mostly, and a few of their F-16 Falcons. According to Intelligence, the That air force had been badly hurt by bomb-throwing guerrillas at nearly every one of their air bases, and well over half of their modern interceptors and attack planes had been destroyed or damaged. General Duong and other members of the That Military Command Staff had been convinced, however, to put their remaining planes in the air, part of a massive air and ground push against U Feng which was already under way.
With so many planes in the air, it was hoped that the presence of Jefferson's air wing could be kept a surprise until the last moment.
Tombstone wiped his Tomcat's controls, using the aviator's mnemonic of 'Father, Son, Holy Ghost' as he moved the stick back, forward, left, and right. He moved the foot pedals controlling the rudders for the 'Amen.'
'Eagle Leader, this is Eagle Two. Tombstone, m' man, how're you reading me?'
'Loud and clear, Batman,' Tombstone replied. He checked over his left shoulder and saw Tomcat 216 behind him, preparing for a simultaneous launch.
Batman had a new RIO in his backseat. Lieutenant Commander Aaron 'Ramrod' Kingsly normally flew a Tomcat, but his F-14 had been one of those down-checked after the fire, so he was filling in as RIO this time around.
Tombstone glanced back over his right shoulder at the ready light on the carrier island. It showed green. He could see shadowy figures behind the windscreens, both on the bridge and on the flag bridge. He thought he saw one of the figures salute.
A yellow shirt signaled. Time to crank her up. He eased the throttles forward, bringing the F-14's engines to full power. The plane trembled, yearning to be free of the deck once more.
The squad safety inspector, in green cranial and white jersey, completed his final check and gave a thumbs- up. The Catapult Officer, identified by his yellow jersey and green helmet, looked up at the cockpit. Tombstone saluted.
Ready…
With a graceful twist, the Cat Officer turned, pointed forward, and touched the deck. There was a surge of motion, of power, and Tombstone was flattened into his ejection seat. The acceleration clamped down on his lungs, squeezed his eyeballs back into his head, pressed his spine against the chair as the Tomcat hurtled off the catapult ramp.
'Good shot! Good shot!' he called.
'Tomcat Two-oh-one airborne,' Pried-Fly's voice answered in his earphones.
'Tomcat Two-one-six airborne.' There was a pause. 'Good Luck, Stoney. Good hunting!'
'Copy that, Homeplate. Thanks.'
Sunlight exploded over the rim of the ocean as he grabbed for altitude.
The burst of noise and speed and golden light seemed to break a dam inside Tombstone's soul. He was alive… and in command of a thirty-three-ton, high-tech fighting machine drilling into the clean, endless blue depths of the sky.
It felt like coming home.
Admiral Magruder was leaning over a table on which maps of Thailand and TENCAP photos were piled in seeming disorder. TENCAP ? the acronym stood for Tactical Exploitation of National CAPabilities ? was one of the most dramatic advances in battlefield management history. For the first time, commanders in the field could call down up-to-the-minute reconnaissance photos from American spy satellites in orbit. Until recently, such high- resolution photos were processed first at the National Photographic Interpretation Center in Washington, D.C., then distributed down the chain of command by the CIA. It had taken weeks, sometimes, for the men who needed the data to get it.
No more. These photos had been taken only hours before. They were in infrared, penetrating the darkness. Individual people were clearly visible.
Magruder found himself looking down on two men in ragged uniforms with AK-47s across their shoulders; the glowing tips of their cigarettes registered like tiny, diamond-brilliant stars.
In two hours, Bright Lightning would hit U Feng like a whirlwind. That soldiers were already moving into position. They would go in when the bombs stopped falling. The victory had to be clearly theirs, proof to the dissidents and a panicky population that the Royal Army had things well in hand.
Washington had agreed with his assessment. Nothing would discourage the army mutineers or strengthen the legitimate government's resolve faster than a quick, sharp victory at U Feng.
'Admiral Magruder?'
He looked up. His Chief of Staff stood in the door. 'Come in, Brad.
What do you have?'
'Eagle is airborne, sir. Thunderbird is over the coast now, on course, on time. Pried-Fly reports that Chickenhawk is ready for launch.'
'Thanks, Brad.'
Eagle ? six aircraft of VF-95 ? would escort Thunderbird ? the Intruders of VA-84 ? into U Feng. Chickenhawk was the code name for the F/A-18 Hornets of VFA-161. Their job would be flack- and SAM- suppression over the target.
Faster, but with smaller fuel reserves, they were being launched last. VF-97, once again, was being held in reserve, providing CAP for the Jefferson… and reinforcements, should the need arise over Bangkok.
'Uh… there's something else, Admiral. Something kind of screwy.'
'What is it?'
'This just came through from Bangkok, sir.' Gilmore handed the admiral a teletype sheet. 'Just been decoded.'
He read the message.
UNCONFIRMED REPORT TWO WESTERN PRISONERS, ONE MALE, ONE FEMALE, ARRIVED U FENG MIDDAY
