A second shadow went down.
The third shadow never stopped, never hesitated. It materialized into a man, a That wearing a rumpled officer's uniform and carrying an M16. His boots clattered up the Sea Stallion's ramp as he stormed the helicopter's cargo bay by himself.
Howard leaped to one side. The M-16 in the intruder's hands spat full-auto noise and flame, and a white hot hammer struck Howard high in the left shoulder, slamming him back against the bulkhead. The crew chief collapsed in a heap. The invader hurried past, ignoring them both.
David Howard did not think of himself as a brave man, but after the first shock his arm didn't hurt. And the That officer was heading for the cockpit.
A red-painted CO, fire extinguisher hung from its mounting bracket on the bulkhead above Howard's head. He grabbed the cylinder and wrenched it free.
At the sound, the invader turned suddenly, the M-16 coming up.
Howard had thought he might spray the intruder's face with cold, high-pressure gas, but there was no more time for thinking, no time to pull the arming pin, no time to do anything but act. Continuing the motion begun when he pulled the fire extinguisher from its rack, he swung the eighteen-inch bottle with all his might. It struck the muzzle of the M-16, knocking the weapon aside just as it fired, sending rounds chewing into the helicopter's bulkhead. Howard swung again, this time catching the invader full in the face.
He struck again… and again…
The next thing he was aware of was a Marine standing beside him. "It's okay, son," the man said. "You got him."
CHAPTER 25
The That UH-1 Hueys touched down in a clearing less than fifteen kilometers from U Feng, as troops of the 1st Special Forces (Airborne) leaped from the landing skids and dispersed across the landing zone. Smoke plumes drifted with the wind, defining the LZ, a scar in the forest left by a recent logging operation. Super Stallions and twin-rotored Sea Knights bearing the squadron numerals and markings of the U.S. Marines and the 6th Marine Expeditionary Unit were also present, settling to the ground as soldiers unloaded heavy equipment, weapons, and vehicles from their holds. From one grounded Sea Stallion, a line of men with paint-blackened faces and camo fatigues quietly filed down the rear ramp and fell into formation. They wore floppy boonie hats like their That counterparts, and carried a variety of weapons, ranging from M-16s to Israeli Uzis to Soviet-made AKMs.
They were Marine Recon, members of the Force Recon company assigned to MEU-6. Their specialty was landing in advance of the main body of Marines during an amphibious operation in order to gain pre-landing intelligence. If Marines considered themselves the best, Marine Recon considered its people the best of the best, an elite commando unit as capable as ― they themselves would have said more capable than ― SEALS, the SAS, or Delta Force. All had been through two years of special training, making them qualified as combat swimmers, at HALO insertions, and at combat operations deep behind enemy lines. They'd been assigned to the U Feng operation because of their experience as forward air controllers, and several of them shouldered the heavy, square cases which held GLD equipment.
But their training also made them ideal for another type of mission.
"Listen up, people," the officer in command of the unit said. Lieutenant Francis Nolan Miller spoke softly but with absolute authority. "Team assignments stay the same. So do the operational orders. The only thing different is the initial objective. Once we have located and freed any American hostages in the target area, original mission directives are in force. Our first concern, however, is the safety of Americans being held in that camp. Questions?"
"Yeah, LT," someone said. "Whose screw-up was it this time?"
Miller allowed himself a tight grin. Last-minute changes to operations such as this one were detested by the troops. They never failed to make things more complicated… and more likely to go wrong. Inevitably there was always someone who didn't get the word. "It's ours now, Wojtascek," he said.
"It's in our laps so it's our problem. Right? Move out."
The Marines began separating into the four-man units favored by Recon.
Miller searched the LZ until he saw a That general standing with several of his staff officers nearby. He walked up to the men and saluted. "General Vinjit?"
"Yes, Lieutenant," the general said in accented English. He was dressed, like the others, in camouflage fatigues. Only the star on his baseball cap showed that he was a brigade-level commander. "Your men are ready?"
"Yes, sir. I just wanted to make sure we're straight on the plan.
You'll keep your forces back and out of sight until you hear from us."
The general's mouth twitched impatiently. "I and my men know our duties, Lieutenant. You see to yours." He turned away and continued discussing the map with his staff.
"Yes, sir." Miller returned to where his own team was waiting.
"Trouble, Lieutenant?" Gunnery Hunnicker asked.
"Nah." He glanced back at the That officers. "Language barrier."
Miller had an unpleasant feeling about this last-second change in plans.
Originally, the Recon Marines were to move in close to the U Feng perimeter and serve as forward observers, first for the Hornets designated as Chickenhawk, then for the Intruders designated Thunderbird. The Marines would then step aside while Vinjit's men took the camp back from whoever had survived the air attack.
Now, though, the presence of American hostages in U Feng had changed things. The air strike was to be delayed until either the Americans were rescued, or until Lieutenant Miller reported that rescue was impossible.
Either way, the bombers would not go in until after they'd heard from the Marines.
There was so much which could go wrong. The enemy had to know that several thousand That troops were in the vicinity. If the Thais were discovered, getting those Americans out of U Feng might be impossible, and Lieutenant Miller and his men would be left dangling.
If everything went according to plan…
Of course, Miller knew better than to expect that. The only question was just what would go wrong… and when.
Hsiao knew the Thais were coming, of course. It was impossible to miss them. Their aircraft, milling about north of Chiang Mai, stood out clearly on radar, and his scouts had reported That airmobile forces gathering several kilometers to the southeast.
How best to answer the threat? Hsiao had expected the enemy to begin with a massive air strike. Once certain that the Thais were committed, he would have ordered his own interceptors airborne, sending them off to the north as if in retreat. When the RTAF pursued, they would cross the Taeng River Valley west of U Feng where he'd arrayed the majority of his hidden SAM batteries. The J-7s would then turn and fall upon the survivors. Meanwhile, his ground-attack aircraft, still based safely across the border at Mong-koi, would stoop on the ground troops, destroying their trucks, their helicopters, their weapons positions, leaving the troops easy marks for his own soldiers.
But the operation already was not going according to plan. For some reason, the That air elements had stopped short of U Feng and were circling uselessly some fifty kilometers to the south.