The Trash Haulers by Richard Herman Page A

fail and destroyed it.”
    “I cannot report it destroyed,” Lam replied, “only that it appeared to be hit and was trailing smoke.”
    “And what can we assume from this?” Dinh demanded.
    Tran answered. “As it was a Jolly Green Giant, we can assume that it landed at its base at Nakhon Phanom in Thailand. As the good Colonel knows, Nakhon Phanom is the home of the 56th Air Commando Wing. We can assume they will send aircraft to attack.”
    The reality of what they were up against finally reached Dinh. He sat down. “So we must take protective cover and postpone the attack on Se Pang.”
    “Maybe not,” Kim-Ly replied. The men looked at her. “May I suggest that our main force take protective cover for now but continue to move our Sergey forward and into position. The Americans will understand that our objective is to destroy the Special Forces compound and will concentrate their defensive forces there. Our Sergey will be there, waiting for them.” The Sergey was a twin-barrel ZSU-23mm anti-aircraft autocannon that was feared by aircrews for good reason. Normally it was towed behind a vehicle, but this particular ZSU-23 was disassembled and carried on the backs of men. They needed time to get it into place and reassembled.
    “Make it happen,” Tran said.
    Reluctantly, Dinh agreed. “Please message General Dong of your decision.”
    Kim-Ly nodded. But she would send two messages.

 
    1000 HOURS
     
    Da Nang Air Base, South Vietnam
    The crew van slammed to a halt in front of the sandbag revetment that surrounded the low building which served as tactical operations. The seven officers piled out and ran inside. A harried-looking sergeant rushed them into a mission planning room where an intelligence officer, a lieutenant colonel wearing jungle fatigues, was bent over the flight-planning table. He looked up and grunted in approval when he saw Huckabee and Slovack. “I’ll be damned, someone with a clue.” He motioned them to gather around the table that was topped with a Plexiglas-covered map of Southeast Asia. “We’ve got a Jolly Green chopper out of Naked Fanny down near Ban Naphilang.” He pointed to a village in central Laos. “We need to extract the crew and you’re all we’ve got. I’m talking like immediate extraction fifteen minutes ago.” He spread out a much larger-scale chart. “They are on the east end of a dirt landing strip.”
    Warren and Santos bent over the two charts, studying the location. “The strip has got maybe 2000 feet,” Warren said. “That’s doable.” He looked at his navigator. “Dave?”
    “I can find it. Sixty-five nautical miles east-northeast of Savannakhet.” Savannakhet was the second largest town in Laos. He ran the numbers. “One hundred forty-five nautical miles from Da Nang, forty minutes flying time.”
    “You need to get the crew and cargo to Naked Fanny ASAP,” the intelligence officer said.
    “Fifteen minutes to NKP,” Santos said. “Piece of cake.”
    Hardy shook his head. “Savannakhet is on the Mekong and might be in friendly hands, but the Ho Chi Minh trail is in the eastern part of the province.” He tapped the chart, his finger striking the village. “And Ban Naphilang is smack-dab in the middle of the trail.”
    Huckabee stepped up to a big wall chart and found the village. “Negative, Colonel.” He used a wooden pointer to trace a mountain ridge that ran from the northwest to the southeast, cutting Laos in half. “This is the Chaîne Annamitique mountains. The Ho Chi Minh trail is on the northern side of the mountains and Savannahket Province is to the south.” He pointed to a break in the mountain chain. “This is the Ban Nap pass. Ban Naphilang and the landing strip are on the southern side of the pass, more or less in neutral territory.”
    Hardy wasn’t having any of it. “More or less? I’m not about to risk one of my C-130s on a ‘more or less’ just to salvage some cargo.”
    “Is the cargo Heavy Hook?” Huckabee