Colonel Mace didn’t like what you told him.”
The short and energetic Huckabee bounced to his feet. “It was the last straw in a small hay stack.” He paced back and forth. “It goes back to when Mace asked for a briefing on the Ho Chi Minh trail.”
“The trail is Huck’s area of expertise,” Slovack added. “He’s actually seen it.”
Huckabee gave his partner a stern look. “Can’t talk about that ... need to know ... all that classified crap.” The young captain had been the interpreter on a Heavy Hook mission inserted on the Ho Chi Minh trail by helicopter. Their objective was to ‘collect human intelligence resources,’ a euphemism for old-fashioned kidnapping, and Huckabee’s job was to conduct the interrogation. The helicopter had launched out of Nakhon Phanom and the team spent four days in southern Laos observing the trail, finally capturing a courier with a pouch full of messages and orders. It was a gold mine of information, revealing more of the logistical structure than they ever suspected. Huckabee understood the value of what they had uncovered, but before they could extract the courier, a North Vietnamese patrol discovered them and they spent the next two days running for their lives.
The North Vietnamese were closing in on them when the courier was wounded. It was a stray shot, but not a fatal one. The team managed to slip away, carrying their prisoner. Huckabee knew it was only a matter of time before they were run down. Desperate, he hatched a plan to let the courier bleed out while he scratched out a note in Vietnamese, indicating the courier was defecting with the pouch to prove his good faith. But they had to leave the pouch behind, strapped to the body, to make it work. Luckily, it did and the patrol broke off, giving the Americans the chance they needed to escape. A helicopter extracted them the next day.
“Please forget what you just heard,” Huckabee told Warren.
“Heard what?” Warren said, playing the game.
Slovack gave him a grateful look. “Thank you,” she murmured, impressed that he did not carry the over-blown ego of so many pilots. She also noted that he did not wear a wedding ring. “Anyway,” she continued, hoping to make a connection, “Colonel Mace was totally bent out of shape by Huck’s briefing on the trail.” Slovack smiled. “You should have seen his face. He almost had a heart attack when Huck said the Binh Tram structure was a logistics marvel of organization and efficiency.”
“After that, it was just a matter of time until he got rid of us,” Huckabee added. “The briefing this morning was just the last straw.”
“So you’re on your way to Nakhon Phanom in Thailand,” Warren said. “I hear it’s considered a remote tour even for the Thai Air Force.”
“When the wing commander there heard Mace had sacked us, he asked for us by name,” Slovack explained. Nakhon Phanom was the home of the 56th Air Commando Wing. Special operations squadrons flying WW II-vintage attack aircraft, Sikorsky HH-3 ”Jolly Green Giant” rescue helicopters, and light visual reconnaissance aircraft made up the backbone of the wing. The A-1E and A-26K were superb at flying close air support and destroying trucks, and the Jolly Green Giant crews were legendary at rescuing downed airman. One of the more effective units monitoring the Ho Chi Minh trail were the Nail FACs, forward air controllers, who flew O-2s. The O-2 was the military version of the Cessna Skymaster, a twin-engine pusher-puller twin boom observation aircraft.
“The news Mace canned you certainly travelled fast,” Warren allowed.
“NCO’s do talk,” Slovack said. “And some colonels do listen.”
“At least those with a clue,” Warren said. “Too bad it isn’t someone in the Pentagon.” The two captains didn’t answer. Discretion was part of their job and they knew, by name, exactly who was not listening. “So what exactly are the Gomers up to today?”
Slovack answered.
The short and energetic Huckabee bounced to his feet. “It was the last straw in a small hay stack.” He paced back and forth. “It goes back to when Mace asked for a briefing on the Ho Chi Minh trail.”
“The trail is Huck’s area of expertise,” Slovack added. “He’s actually seen it.”
Huckabee gave his partner a stern look. “Can’t talk about that ... need to know ... all that classified crap.” The young captain had been the interpreter on a Heavy Hook mission inserted on the Ho Chi Minh trail by helicopter. Their objective was to ‘collect human intelligence resources,’ a euphemism for old-fashioned kidnapping, and Huckabee’s job was to conduct the interrogation. The helicopter had launched out of Nakhon Phanom and the team spent four days in southern Laos observing the trail, finally capturing a courier with a pouch full of messages and orders. It was a gold mine of information, revealing more of the logistical structure than they ever suspected. Huckabee understood the value of what they had uncovered, but before they could extract the courier, a North Vietnamese patrol discovered them and they spent the next two days running for their lives.
The North Vietnamese were closing in on them when the courier was wounded. It was a stray shot, but not a fatal one. The team managed to slip away, carrying their prisoner. Huckabee knew it was only a matter of time before they were run down. Desperate, he hatched a plan to let the courier bleed out while he scratched out a note in Vietnamese, indicating the courier was defecting with the pouch to prove his good faith. But they had to leave the pouch behind, strapped to the body, to make it work. Luckily, it did and the patrol broke off, giving the Americans the chance they needed to escape. A helicopter extracted them the next day.
“Please forget what you just heard,” Huckabee told Warren.
“Heard what?” Warren said, playing the game.
Slovack gave him a grateful look. “Thank you,” she murmured, impressed that he did not carry the over-blown ego of so many pilots. She also noted that he did not wear a wedding ring. “Anyway,” she continued, hoping to make a connection, “Colonel Mace was totally bent out of shape by Huck’s briefing on the trail.” Slovack smiled. “You should have seen his face. He almost had a heart attack when Huck said the Binh Tram structure was a logistics marvel of organization and efficiency.”
“After that, it was just a matter of time until he got rid of us,” Huckabee added. “The briefing this morning was just the last straw.”
“So you’re on your way to Nakhon Phanom in Thailand,” Warren said. “I hear it’s considered a remote tour even for the Thai Air Force.”
“When the wing commander there heard Mace had sacked us, he asked for us by name,” Slovack explained. Nakhon Phanom was the home of the 56th Air Commando Wing. Special operations squadrons flying WW II-vintage attack aircraft, Sikorsky HH-3 ”Jolly Green Giant” rescue helicopters, and light visual reconnaissance aircraft made up the backbone of the wing. The A-1E and A-26K were superb at flying close air support and destroying trucks, and the Jolly Green Giant crews were legendary at rescuing downed airman. One of the more effective units monitoring the Ho Chi Minh trail were the Nail FACs, forward air controllers, who flew O-2s. The O-2 was the military version of the Cessna Skymaster, a twin-engine pusher-puller twin boom observation aircraft.
“The news Mace canned you certainly travelled fast,” Warren allowed.
“NCO’s do talk,” Slovack said. “And some colonels do listen.”
“At least those with a clue,” Warren said. “Too bad it isn’t someone in the Pentagon.” The two captains didn’t answer. Discretion was part of their job and they knew, by name, exactly who was not listening. “So what exactly are the Gomers up to today?”
Slovack answered.
Similar Books
