There was no answer.
Hearing the approaching villagers, Brad crashed through the thick foliage toward the incline at the edge of the trees. He saw something move to his left. Dropping to his knees, Brad drew his.38-caliber revolver, then glimpsed Russ Lunsford thrashing through the undergrowth. "Russ, I'm over here!"
Limping, Lunsford stumbled through the foliage, meeting his pilot at the edge of the trees. "They're right on our asses," Lunsford heaved, feeling the deep scratches on his neck and face. His ankle would barely support him.
"Come on," Brad ordered, raising the radio antenna and turning on the power switch. "We gotta make it to the top of that knoll."
Breathing heavily, Lunsford followed Austin up the slight incline. There were several indentations on top of the long hill. Another small field lay on the other side of the pockmarked incline.
Out of breath, both men dropped into a large sunken area at the edge of the slope. The depression was not deep enough to conceal them completely, but it did provide some cover. Looking around the area, Brad raised the survival radio to his mouth.
"Joker," Brad panted, "we need cover. We're on top of a long hill separating the tree line and a narrow field."
O'Meara replied immediately, wrapping the Phantom into a tight turn. "I've got ya spotted. Stay put."
Brad glanced at the F-4 and keyed his radio. "We've got armed men coming through the tree line."
"Copy," O'Meara responded, settling into an orbit. "Help is on the way. Hold on."
"We're in deep shit," Lunsford gasped, hearing the yelling farmers. "They're going to kill us."
Brad snapped his head around. "Goddamnit, Lunsford, get your shit together. I'll do the firing, you do the loading. I've got another fifty rounds in my torso harness."
Lunsford nodded his head, then reluctantly handed Brad his revolver. They both heard Jon O'Meara talk to the A-1 Skyraider leader.
"Lifeguard One, Joker Two Hundred."
"Go, Joker," the metallic voice answered over the roar of the big radial engine.
"We're going to need some ordnance real soon," O'Meara said, looking at a truck full of soldiers racing down a narrow trail by the side of the tree line. "We've got troops moving in on our guys."
"Roger that," the detached voice replied, then added, "we've got a Jolly Green and a Seasprite en route." The Jolly Green was an air-force HH-53 helicopter; the Seasprite was an armed Kaman HH-2C rescue helicopter.
Brad saw the first villagers emerge from the trees. Fear had dried the saliva in his mouth. He counted seven men and four youngsters. Barking wildly, two dogs ran out of the dense undergrowth. Every one of the Vietnamese was armed, including the teenage boys. Two of the men held AK-47s; the rest had assorted rifles and handguns.
Licking his dry lips, Brad raised his radio. "Joker, they're coming out of the tree line."
"I'm in," O'Meara replied calmly.
Brad watched the sleek Phantom flick over on its side and hurtle toward the villagers. Leveling at fifty feet, Jon O'Meara boomed right over the Vietnamese, tapping the afterburners three times.
The villagers ducked back into the undergrowth as the howling Phantom blasted over them. They emerged again when the F-4 shot skyward. The group spread out and again started up the incline.
Slipping off his flight gloves, Brad reached into a specially sewn pocket in his survival gear. He extracted a small metal box containing fifty rounds of.38-caliber ammunition. He placed the box between them, then felt Lunsford tap him. He looked up, petrified. "Oh, shit."
"Okay, Nick," Harry coached, "wings level. We're lined up in the groove."
"Okay," Palmer whispered, trying to keep his head up.
Bailey crossed under Palmer, moving off to the left side of the damaged Phantom. He listened to the landing-signal officer, who had trained Palmer to be an LSO, talk his friend down.
"You're going a little flat. Watch your altitude."
Locking his shoulder harness, Harry felt a tightness in his stomach. "Have you got the deck?"
"Blurry" was the only response.
Bailey added power and turned away, climbing steeply to the orbiting tanker.
"You're a quarter of a mile," Harry reported, feeling his pulse throb in his neck.
The LSO held his mike button down. "Line up. You're drifting right."
"Nick," Harry said, breathing rapidly, "come left just a hair. Get the left wing down." On their present heading, they would hit the island superstructure. Palmer corrected to the left, then let the nose drop too low. They were about to cross the stern of the ship.
"Get your nose up! Power!" the LSO shouted, preparing to dive into the crash net. "Get the nose up!"
Palmer hauled back on the stick as the Phantom slammed into the steel deck. Hutton braced himself for the violent barricade engagement.
The speeding fighter slammed into the nylon webbing, stopping far left of the landing-zone centerline. The left main mount was only two feet from the port catwalk. Nick Palmer brought the throttles to idle, then slumped unconscious against his shoulder harness.
"Joker," Brad whispered, watching the dogs and villagers inch up the incline, "there's a troop truck two hundred meters from us.
The Phantom flicked over again, diving steeply at the army vehicle. The soldiers opened fire with every weapon they had available.
Transfixed, Brad and Russ watched Jon O'Meara punch off his missile ejector racks at point-blank range. The left rack, with one Sidewinder attached, plowed into the cab of thp truck. The direct hit knocked the vehicle sideways into a shallow ditch.
The stunned soldiers clambered out of the wrecked truck and rushed for cover in the trees. They left their dead officer and his driver in the mutilated cab.
With renewed caution, the angry villagers stalked the two Americans. They fanned out to the right side of the trapped airmen. One of the men stopped and took aim.
"Keep your head down," Brad warned.
A shot rang out, kicking up dirt next to Brad's head. The farmers were shouting at the soldiers, gesturing for them to hurry to their position. They had two war criminals cornered on the hill. Two more shots ricocheted between Austin and Lunsford.
"Goddamnit," Brad swore, gripping the.38 with both hands. He extended his arms and raised his head, remembering the rifle and pistol instruction at the Officers' Basic School in Quantico.
Brad fired three quick shots, then carefully aimed at one of the men brandishing an AK-47. He squeezed the revolver twice, sending the villager staggering backward. He waited a couple of seconds, then fired again, missing the fleeing Vietnamese. The man he had shot was crawling toward the trees, but he collapsed on his face after traveling three meters.
"Reload," Brad ordered tersely, then accepted the other.38 revolver. He grabbed the radio and slid it to his mouth. "Jon, where's Lifeguard?"
The radio became garbled when Jon O'Meara and the Skyraider pilot attempted to transmit at the same time.
"This is Lifeguard Lead. We've got a tally on the Fox-4. We're almost there."
Brad could barely hear the roar of the approaching A-1 s. Glancing to the east, he spotted the descending RESCAP Sky-raiders. Looking back at the tree line, he could see that the soldiers had joined the villagers. They moved forward, crouching at the edge of the trees. A barrage of concentrated fire erupted from the soldiers, forcing Brad and Russ to hug the ground.
"Tell Jon to make a pass," Brad said, placing the revolver over the edge of their depression. He rapidly fired all six rounds, then grabbed the other.38.
Brad heard O'Meara's voice as he fired another six rounds at the advancing soldiers. He grabbed his standby.45-caliber pistol and squeezed the trigger until the gun was empty.
Lunsford struggled to reload the empty.38s while O'Meara thundered over the line of soldiers and farmers. He was so low, Brad thought he was going to hit the ground. The Vietnamese flattened out on their stomachs.