Shadows of War (26 page)
Authors: Larry Bond
The point man for the tower group, Private Han, and Corporal Chen were already at the tower door. They had it openâno locks, no need for explosives.
It must be a trap.
“Move! Move!” shouted Jing Yo, the last one out of the chopper.
The helicopter was already up. If it was a trap, they were doomed.
The smell of burning metal hit Jing Yo's nose as he pushed into the building. He hadn't heard any gunfire yet, but he could smell that too as he started up the metal steps that led to the control area. The building, opened only within the past year, was basically a staircase topped by a large glass-enclosed room where the flight controllers worked. There were no security checks at each landing, just more steps.
Jing Yo slung his feet on the metal treads, jogging upward. He kept his head up, eyes darting. There were shouts above, but still he hadn't heard gunfire.
The earplugs were good, but not
that
good.
that
good.
Have I gone deaf? he asked himself. Did someone throw one of the loud grenades, a flash-bang, to get into the control room?
Noâhe heard the voices around him, barely muffled by the plugs. And he heard his own steps, the slight rasp on the metal.
The steps came up into the middle of the control room. Jing Yo saw the rail as he approached and put out his arm. Accelerating, he leapt
upward, vaulting over the pipe and landing only a few feet from the console area.
upward, vaulting over the pipe and landing only a few feet from the console area.
Three men lay on the floor, blood pooling around their heads. All Vietnamese. One of their pistols lay on the floor; the others hadn't managed to unholster their weapons.
“The tower is ours,” said Corporal Chen.
Jing Yo scanned the consoles quickly. They seemed to be working.
“Geijui, get to the radio,” Jing Yo told the corporal who had been trained as an air controller. He was to use the Vietnamese circuits to broadcast to the incoming flights.
A body lay in front of the console where Geijui was to work. He hesitated, his face pale.
“Bring the bodies downstairs,” Jing Yo told Chen. “Put them below the steps. Quickly. Then make sure there are no charges set anywhere inside.”
As the squad got to work, there was an explosion outside. Jing Yo pushed up on the console and craned his neck to see if it had been the auxiliary shed, but all he could see was the shack's black sloped roof.
Sergeant Wu ran up the stairs a few moments later.
“Pin and Fushan are at the door,” said Wu. “The rest of the team is going for the antiair gun at the southeast.”
“Good,” said Jing Yo.
“Now comes the fun part,” added Wu.
Jing Yo picked up a pair of binoculars from the shelf below the window and began scanning the airstrip. The Vietnamese unit responsible for providing security to the base had not yet reacted; no troops were pouring from the barracks, no messengers running frantically from the headquarters building.
Jing Yo pulled out his radio and sent the prearranged signal that the tower had been taken: “The ostrich has been beheaded.”
Before he could return the radio to its pocket in his vest, a cloud of black smoke appeared beyond the runway. The bombardment had begun.
“Direct the fire,” Wu told Chen, handing over the radio. “Tell them they have a good hit.”
Jing Yo went to the door at the side of the room, which opened onto a metal catwalk that surrounded the tower. Privates Ai Gua and Han were already there, lining up their rocket-grenade launchers on the mobile antiaircraft emplacements at the northern side of the field.
The flak guns were four-barreled ZSU-23 cannons mounted on tank chassis. Though old, they were devastating weapons against slow-moving aircraft, helicopters especially.
The back of Ai Gua's launcher flared as his grenade shot out. A second later, white smoke enveloped the farthest truck. Han fired next, scoring a direct hit on the gun next to the one Ai had hit.
The other antiair unit began firing at the tower a few seconds later. The barrage was thick but at first missed the tower completely, shooting wildly high and well off to the side. The swarm of bullets moved toward them slowly, slamming into the tower almost directly below where Jing Yo was standing before moving across.
Ai Gua cursedâhe could not get his launcher loaded correctly.
Han fired, but his grenade flew wide, exploding harmlessly on the runway in front of the ZSU-23-4. The antiaircraft gun raked the tower a second time, this time shattering the glass above them.
Ai Gua continued to curse. Han fired again. His grenade hit the front of the antiaircraft truck, just below the turret. The gunfire stopped.
They had only a few seconds to catch their breath. The two track-mounted ZSU-23-4's at the far end of the runway swung their guns in the tower's direction and began firing. Tracers flew through the air wildly, well above the tower and several degrees left and right, but Jing Yo realized it would take only a few moments for the gunners to adjust.
The ground team wasn't close enough to get the trucks yet. They'd have to take them from here with the RPGs.
Jing Yo went to Ai Gua just as the private finally managed to get his grenade inserted. He stopped short, waiting for the customary hiss as the rocket shot from the launcher.
He didn't hear it. The weapon began to smoke, but the grenade remained attached.
“Throw it down,” yelled Jing Yo.
Ai Gua remained in his firing position, stunned. Jing Yo reached for the barrel of the weapon. His hand seemed to catch on fireâthe propellant was burning and the barrel hotâbut by the time the sensation of pain had reached his brain the launcher had struck the ground and exploded.
Han fired again, hitting the antiaircraft gun on the left straight on. The other one stopped firing.
“Help Han,” Jing Yo told Ai Gua, who was staring at him.
“Your hand.”
“Help Han.”
Ai Gua jumped up, scooping his ammo case along as he went to his comrade.
A second later, a fresh rocket flew from the tower, knocking out the last antiaircraft truck.
“Remain vigilant,” Jing Yo told the two privates before going back inside.
“Force is on its way,” Wu told him. “Leading helicopters are about ten minutes off.”
“The antiair guns have been disabled.”
“What the hell happened to your hand?”
Jing Yo held out his right hand, looking at it. It was bright red. The left seemed unscathed, its throbs duller.
“The weapon misfired,” he said. “How far away are our troops?”
“Someone get the lieutenant a burn kit. He needs attention.”
“How far away are the troops?” Jing Yo asked.
“Twenty minutes.”
“The fighters should have been here by now.”
“They're always late,” said Wu.
Jing Yo wrapped his hand with ointment, gauze, and a pair of cold packs, diminishing the pain. By the time the bandages had been taped, the control tower had come under small arms fire from the north. Bullets flew through the now battered windows and ripped into the metal below. The area around the control room just below the window was armored, so they were not in immediate danger. But it was impossible to return fire from inside.
“Aircraft inbound!” announced the controller.
“About time,” said Wu. “Damn air force is
always
late.”
always
late.”
The aircraft were a pair of MiGs assigned to shoot up the defenses.
“Make sure they know we took out the antiaircraft guns,” said Jing Yo. “Tell them to concentrate on the barracks.”
There was a flurry of gunfire outside. The Vietnamese had launched a counterattack against the tower.
Ignoring the pain in his hand, Jing Yo went back out on the catwalk. He got about two steps from the door before a hail of bullets forced him to dive face-first on the grillwork.
“Grenade!” yelled Han.
Jing Yo wasn't sure whether he was warning about an incoming grenade, or one he was dropping. An explosion settled itâthe private had targeted a knot of Vietnamese soldiers below.
Jing Yo's bandages made it impossible to hold a gun in his right hand, but he could drop grenades easily enough with his left. He pulled one of his Type 82-2 grenades from his vest. Holding it against his chest, he slid his finger up the seam, undid the tape that held the plunger, and with the pin out and grenade armed, dropped it over the side.
There was a small explosion, followed by a much larger one, then a second and a thirdâincoming artillery shells, fired by their own forces. The last was so strong it pitched Jing Yo back against the rail; he just barely managed to keep his balance before turning and racing inside.
“Those are ours!” shouted Wu.
“Tell them to stop firing at us!” Jing Yo screamed.
“I'm working on it,” said Chen. He was on his hands and knees, talking on the sat radio with division. Chen unleashed a string of curses at whoever was on the other end of the line.
The shelling continued for a few more rounds, then began retreating to the west. Jing Yo heard the first helicopters approaching. Down on the far end of the runway, the team that had been tasked to hit the antiaircraft guns went to work on their secondary mission, marking the landing zone with red smoke, indicating that the helicopters would be landing under fire.
The pain in Jing Yo's right hand flared. He tried to force it away as he went back to the door. He stopped short at the thresholdâthe walkway had broken and was hanging down off the tower to the left. He leaned out to look for his two men, then threw himself back into the control room as bullets began hitting into the side wall.
“We're going to have to close that door,” said Sergeant Wu. “They get a grenade in here, we're done.”
There was no panic in Wu's voice. There was no emotion at all. Closing the door meant stranding the two men outside, but Wu was rightâunless the armor-paneled door was put back in place, they were all vulnerable. More important, their goal of keeping the tower intact would fail.
Jing Yo went to the door and closed it himself.
Red smoke drifted upward from the runway. The first helicopter was landing.
The tower shook violently. There was an explosion belowâinside the tower.
“They're coming up!” someone yelled.
Jing Yo bit the bandage holding the ice packs onto his burned hand and then tore it off. One of the large windows shattered. The tower smelled as if it was on fire, the stench a sickly mix of metal and tar or very heavy plastic.
Where was his rifle? Someone had taken it from him earlier, but he couldn't remember where they had put it.
Jing Yo saw a gun on the floor. He grabbed it, fingers screaming with pain, then ran to the stairwell.
Wu leaned over the rail, firing madly.
“I see the little bastards,” yelled the sergeant. “Watch out for their grenades.”
Wu fired a fresh burst. There didn't seem to be any return fire, though it was difficult to tell with the rattle of the bullets striking the outside of the building. Unlike the control area, the stairway section was not reinforced with armor, and the bullets punctured the thin aluminum as if it were paper.
Wu reached for a grenade from his vest.
Jing Yo grabbed his arm. “What if our men are down there?”
“They're dead by now, Lieutenant.”
They stared into each other's eyes for the briefest of moments, though it was an eternity under the circumstances.
“Do it,” Jing Yo said.
Behind him, Chen crouched at the console, using the satcom radio to talk with a communications aircraft above. Every so often he would raise his head, peeking at what was going on outside before ducking back and continuing his conversation. Private Wing, trained to watch the radar and report to Chen and Geijui, had his hand over his forehead, shading himself from the glareâthough it looked as if he was actually trying to avoid looking at what was going on outside.
Corporal Chen was on the satcom, talking to the division communicator, who in turn was speaking with the commander of the troops now hitting the field. Geijui half kneeled, half crouched at the console, watching what was going on in the field and describing where the Vietnamese forces were, using their circuits to talk to the Chinese air force.
Ignoring the bullets still sporadically flying through the window,
Jing Yo climbed onto the console shelf, gripping one of the CRTs as he scanned the airport. Four helicopters disgorged troops at the southern end of the runway. The men ran off into the grass, disappearing from view momentarily before emerging on the far taxiway. Vietnamese soldiers were scattered around the airport grounds in small knots. Their resistance did not seem coordinatedâa concentrated attack on the runway might have caught the helicopters on the ground or at least contained the troops there. But there was plenty of gunfire, and Jing Yo knew the battle's outcome was far from determined.
Jing Yo climbed onto the console shelf, gripping one of the CRTs as he scanned the airport. Four helicopters disgorged troops at the southern end of the runway. The men ran off into the grass, disappearing from view momentarily before emerging on the far taxiway. Vietnamese soldiers were scattered around the airport grounds in small knots. Their resistance did not seem coordinatedâa concentrated attack on the runway might have caught the helicopters on the ground or at least contained the troops there. But there was plenty of gunfire, and Jing Yo knew the battle's outcome was far from determined.
Other books
Legend of Oria 1: Initial Contact by James Campbell
Seen and Not Heard by Anne Stuart
From Baghdad To America by Jay Kopelman, Lt. Col. USMC (ret.)
Fire in the Firefly by Scott Gardiner
Under His Sway by Masten, Erika
Rebel Fleet by B. V. Larson
SCARRED - Part 6 (The SCARRED Series - Book 6) by Walker, Kylie
Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
Fosse: Plays Six by Jon Fosse
The Paper Grail by James P. Blaylock
