of fire, still in a tight break after passing Batman.
'Target lock!' Batman yelled. 'Fox two!'
Tombstone locked onto his target and triggered a slim, heat-seeking package of death. The Sidewinder arrowed away.
The Sparrow caught its target behind the cockpit. Eighty-eight pounds of high explosive shredded the MiG's starboard wing. Fuel in the wing tanks ignited.
Seconds later, Batman's AIM-9 made its kill, followed by the flash and billowing debris cloud of Tombstone's Sidewinder. The surviving MiG was already fleeing, throttled up to full afterburner and lunging for the far side of the green line.
Tombstone dropped onto Batman's wing. 'Good to have you back,' he radioed.
'Good to be back. Watch it! Three more, nine o'clock!'
'Let's take 'em. Break left.'
'Eagle Two in!'
The Tomcats stood on their port wings, turning toward the new targets.
The MiGs, aware that they were being stalked, abruptly broke off and fled north.
'This is Eagle Four!' Taggart called suddenly. 'I'm in trouble!'
'Eagle Four! Where are you?'
'On the deck! Two bandits on my six. I've taken a hit!'
Tombstone looked down, saw Taggart's 203 aircraft streaming smoke low above the treetops. VF-95's luck had just run dry. The MiGs on his tail were too close to use missiles. Tombstone could see the puffs of smoke from their cannons dotting a pair of long, straight lines behind them.
'Let's go, Batman!'
'With you, Boss.'
Tombstone brought his Tomcat over, plunging toward the ground. He let the lead MiG slide into his targeting pipper as he switched his selector switch to radar homing. Target lock! He heard the familiar growl in his headset and fired. A Sparrow homer shooshed toward the enemy plane.
'Fox one! Fox one! I'm on him, Price! Hold on!'
'Hear you… Stoney…' Taggart's voice was straining against the G-forces as he pulled up. The J-7s followed.
Tombstone's Sparrow started to follow… then swerved erratically and slammed into a jungle-covered ridge.
'God damn it…!' Either the Sparrow had accidentally locked onto the ground… or the MiG had decoyed it with chaff. He opened the F-14's throttle wider, closing the gap.
The lead MiG was firing again. Tombstone saw bits of metal flaking away from the twin stabilizers of Taggart's F-14. The smoke from his engine was heavier now. Taggart was still climbing, but his plane was reacting sluggishly. Tombstone dropped down on the two MiGs less than a quarter of a mile behind them.
'Got the one on the right,' Batman yelled. 'Lock! Fox two!'
'I've got the left!' Tombstone decided to stay with the Sparrow missiles. He had two of them left, and only one heat-seeker. 'Fox one!'
The hunted Tomcat seemed to stagger. Tombstone could tell that Taggart was fighting to keep the wounded turkey under control.
'Eagle Four, Eagle Leader,' he called. 'Punch out, Price!'
'I can hold it, Stoney!' His Tomcat was dropping again, skimming the trees as the MiGs weaved back and forth on his tail.
Taggart's aircraft exploded with stunning suddenness, bursting into flame, then tumbling over and over and over again until the wreckage sheared through the uppermost branches of the forest canopy.
'Tomcat down, Tomcat down!' Batman called. Tombstone could hear pain in his wingman's voice. 'Eagle Four down three miles east of Taeng River, five miles south of the green line…'
The MiGs were climbing on full burners. Tombstone's second Sparrow followed, zeroing in on the lead MiG. He could see the number 612 on the MiG's nose. Tombstone found himself willing the missile to detonate.
A miss! Damn! The Sparrow had passed fifty feet behind the jinking MiG, decoyed this time, Tombstone was certain, by a timely burst of chaff.
His attitude and position were wrong to pursue. 'Two-oh-one breaking, Batman! Going high!' He pulled the F-14 clear of the trees.
'I'm with you, Stoney,' Batman replied. He sounded shaken.
Behind them, black smoke curled into the sky, grave marker for Lieutenant Ronald Taggart and his RIO, Lieutenant Charles Ziegler.
Their flight was an all-out run away from the shed, past the neatly aligned fuel tanks, and into the open space beyond. The camp was in complete chaos. Pamela could hear the rising whine of the planes she'd seen being started earlier. Once she chanced a look back over her shoulder and saw two heavy-bodied aircraft lifting from the runway with a thundering roar. Other planes seemed to be milling about at one end of the runway, readying for takeoff.
Where were the Navy planes? She could hear a distant rumble of jet aircraft, but outside of wisps and streaks of white high in the sky, she could not see them, couldn't tell if they were engaged in battle or not.
She could see soldiers in the camp, but none were close by, and none appeared to notice the two fugitives. 'Run!' Bayerly yelled, and she ran, her legs pumping away. Memories of Hsiao and the warehouse drove her on.
The clearing around U Feng was a hundred yards across, but the ground was soft and broken, making each step treacherous. She quickly found herself slowing. She'd eaten little more than a bowlful of rice in two days, had slept no more than a few hours. In minutes, her lungs were burning with the effort, her breath coming in gasps. She clutched at her side as a stitch hobbled her. She couldn't run much farther.
They were halfway across the clearing when someone saw them. Pamela heard a burst of gunfire behind her, much closer than the rattlings off in the jungle, and something went snap-snap-snap just above her head, making her duck involuntarily. She started to recover… and then her foot turned and she went sprawling to the ground.
'C'mon! C'mon!' Bayerly yelled. He stood above her, breathing hard, the AK-47 raised to his shoulder and pointed back toward the base. 'Run!'
But Pamela was on her hands and knees, unable to get up. Her knees, her legs were trembling with the effort which had brought her this far. 'I can't…'
'Move, damn you!'
Bayerly's scream was like a physical blow. She found her balance and got her feet under her. Still shaking, she lurched forward.
'Yoot!' a shrill voice yelled behind them. 'Yawm pa!'
Bayerly's AK fired, a short burst that assaulted Pamela's ears. She turned in time to see three Thais less than fifty yards away. Two of them staggered and fell with the burst. The third turned and ran back the way he'd come.
She looked back toward the camp. More of those heavy-looking aircraft Bayerly had called Q-5s were climbing into the sky. Her attention was drawn by a loud roar… not the thunder of jet engines but a chattering, propeller sound. Something was rising above the fuel storage tanks.
A helicopter. She recognized the distinctive shape, an American-made Huey, probably, a relic of Vietnam.
And it was skimming low across the fuel tanks, coming directly toward them.
CHAPTER 28
