American Phi

By Karl Vincent Sy

It is 1970 and Richard Nixon knows that in two years he will face a disgruntled electorate if he cannot distract their attention from the increasingly unpopular Vietnam War. His Administration considers playing the so-called 'China Card'...to establish warmer relations with the communist regime while delicately balancing American commitments to Taiwan. It would certainly be heralded as a political coup; but a task easier set than done.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 11, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450012928

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American Phi

Karl Vincent

Copyright © 2010 by Karl Vincent.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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71971

Introduction

In 1970, the Vietnam War was reaching a ferocious intensity. Air operations against North Vietnam were escalating and so were the casualties. Rather than risk being captured by the North Vietnamese Army or the Viet Cong, U.S. airmen tried to nurse crippled aircraft over the border where rescue was more likely.

Laos was ideally placed, both as a safer haven and a base from which rescue operations could be mounted. Bordered on the east by Vietnam, to the west by Burma, to the south by Thailand, and to the north by the sprawling Yunnan Province of China, it is the ideal centre for Air America’s aircrew retrieval operations. Because of the neutral status of Laos under the Geneva Accords, Air America must appear to the outside world as a civilian operation, but it was in fact designed to support the Vietnam military campaign. Air America was known as the ‘company’ and was funded by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), or the ‘client’; the employees were a mix of contracted specialists—usually ex-military—and bona fide CIA agents usually referred to as ‘boys in black’. The air support operations were primarily search and rescue for downed airmen, but the company aircraft were also used to service and supply remote ‘sites’ in the hill country of Laos where navigational beacons, radar installation, and listening posts, as well as other clandestine electronic surveillance equipment, was located.

Two years before, Jake Lowenstein had been offered a job as one of the ops managers at the company base at Watay Airfield, on the outskirts of Vientiane. Formerly a naval intelligence officer, his expertise lay in the coordination of search and rescue for downed airmen. Jake’s career-mindedness as a naval officer had become exasperated during his tour in Vietnam by the constant interference of the politicians in military matters and disillusioned when the infighting between senior officers of the U.S. forces had seemed to him to have become more important than the success of the war. When the Air America ‘civilian’ post was offered, he took it.

Cornelius Flack is one of the boys in black, a CIA ‘Country Specialist’, who has instructions from the very highest political level to mount an operation, which has the potential to begin a tectonic shift in the haughty political stand-off between the USA and Communist China. To execute it, he will need the resources of Air America and the cooperation of Jake, but he will only reveal information on a need-to-know basis. This is American Phi, the people who would be involved and the casualties.

________________________

Phi—(pee) n. (Laotian) 1. Spirit said to occupy inanimate objects, animals, and plants [variant of traditional Buddhist animism].

Day One

1804h (Local)

Watay Airfield,

Vientiane

Laos, Southeast Asia

Jake Lowenstein stood at the map table in the operations room, his elbows resting on the chart he was examining in detail. Every now and then he would drop his head and allow his fingers to run through the close-cropped hair of his ‘flat top’, it was soothing. He glanced up as he heard the door jerked open and saw Duncan Lee rush in, deftly kicking the door shut behind him with his boot. Jake was amused to see the tall Chinese American duck instinctively as he passed over the threshold; it was 1970 and not many doorways in Southeast Asia were yet built for tall people. The ‘ops’ room was different, built by Americans for Americans.

Most of the wall area was covered by maps and scores of telex-typed sheets, offering a wealth of different information: weather bulletins, notices to Airmen (NOTAMS), technical notices on aircraft types, and engineering updates, many beginning to encroach on the maps, vying for space. There were circles drawn on the plastic map protectors in wax chinagraph pencil and a colourful multitude of pinheads completing the collage. To the untrained eye, this artwork made less sense than a Picasso.

For security, the windows were boarded up in this section of the building, so the staff depended on the artificial light, learning to ignore the fluorescent tubes, which constantly flickered for want of maintenance. Jake noted the perspiration covering Duncan’s face as well as the dark patches on his white short-sleeved shirt, reminding him that it was hot outside. This was the dry monsoon, and the sun could be merciless in Laos at this time of year. It was only late February, but it was already apparent that it would be an uncomfortably hot, dry monsoon. Even inside the operations room, there was no real comfort in the air conditioning; like so many other things in Laos, it was inadequate.

You beeped? asked Duncan breathlessly.

We’ve got a critical situation, Dunk, responded Jake, an aircraft down. It’s a carrier-based A-3 Sky Warrior, crew of two, pilot and RIO (radio intercept operator).

I assume they went down in my sector, said Lee as his eyes were drawn towards the chart on the wall that covered part of Yunnan Province. What were they doing that far north? Do you have a point location?

We’ve got a last transmission with altitude, speed, and direction, replied Jake, They ejected, Carl is working out the envelope, but it definitely looks like your sector.

What was their mission? whispered Lee.

Jake smiled inwardly at the younger man’s serious demeanour, speaking in hushed tones in case the Pathet Lao, Khmer Rouge, or Viet Cong were eavesdropping. Jake was sure in his own mind that if this ‘greenhorn’ had joined a military service after college, he would have been one of those totally tight-ass, by-the-regs, junior officers that strutted noisily on their way to the Vietnam War, and usually came back quietly in a body bag.

Well, Jake smiled indulgently, his right eyebrow arched, we know they weren’t on river patrol, else they would’ve jumped off their boat, instead of banging out of their plane.

Duncan Lee didn’t react to Lowenstein’s sarcasm, but continued to wear a serious expression.

Have they picked up the transponder?

Hey, Eagle Scout, this just happened. Somebody’s going to need to fly that sector to pick up their signal. Overflying Communist China ain’t our normal traffic pattern, or didn’t you know?

Still completely un-phased, Duncan replied, So, what am I supposed to tell my resource?

Jake paused for thought; the company had created this new China sector specifically for Duncan Lee. Prior to his recruitment, Yunnan had been considered a ‘critical situation venue’. It was a province in the People’s Republic of China, which spread north of the Laotian border. Previously, operations would have simply handed over such an incident to the boys in black as representatives of the ‘client’, and then got out of their way and not asked any questions. Their client resources also included Special Forces personnel loaned from the military that, necessarily, had to practise their own special form of invisibility. The Geneva Accords forbade the presence of any American military personnel from setting foot on Laotian soil. The United States was a signatory to this treaty; other signatories to the treaty were likewise required to observe these proscriptions. Vientiane had Russians, Red Chinese, British, and Americans all walking along the same side of the street, essentially a latter-day Casablanca where, in World War II, Axis had rubbed shoulders with allies. It served as a clinic in political neutrality and a civilian cover was required for all American operations, which was why Air America had to maintain their civilian trappings.

Actually, in his two years in operations, Lowenstein could only remember three ‘critical situations’ occurring across the Chinese border. In each case, the ‘invisible’ boys in black had taken over. They quietly made their move and little more was ever heard about the event. This time would be different, he now had Duncan Lee to deal with it, and Duncan had his own resources allocated by the client. He was very green and Jake knew that he was obliged, by virtue of his seniority, to pay close attention to every move this ‘rookie’ made, and to make himself available if ‘turbulence’ looked likely to precipitate a ‘stall’ for this neophyte.

The fact that the boys in black had handed over their Yunnan resources to this young Chinese American was extremely unusual; they normally guarded their turf jealously. Ground resource liaison personnel were, for sector operators, the one sensitive area that the boys in black did not necessarily share with their contract employee ops managers, rather like the relationship between police and their informants; indigenous resources are recruited by a sector operator who works with them, sometimes for many years. It had struck Jake Lowenstein as unusual for the client to share or pass on a resource to a contract employee. Sector operators had always been boys in black. It was likely then that the change in intelligence tactics for Yunnan had been ordered from the highest level.

These resources were on the ground and in the battle zone—all of Southeast Asia was a battle zone. Reprisals by the communists against someone known to have collaborated with the Americans would not only result in his or her life being placed in peril, but also that of family and friends. The Yunnan resources had been the client’s quietly and closely guarded secret. They had painstakingly developed them. Now, suddenly, they shared them with this contract sector operator, Duncan Lee. Theoretically, Jake had no idea who the resources were, or where they existed. Sometimes, however, when operations helped resolve a critical situation, certain facts were forced into the light of day; Jake knew more than he was supposed to know.

One thing shared by the sector operator with ops was the daily flare code. STOL (short take off and landing) aircraft serviced ‘sites’ and many of these sites were radar outposts providing intelligence and navigational aids for the airmen. They were designated by a number and also by the name of any nearby settlement, such as Ban Houi Sai, for example. There were other top secret services aiding the Vietnam campaign, which these sites helped; activities were strictly prohibited by the Geneva Accords. The Communist Pathet Lao often sniped at the site personnel and occasionally attacked the actual installations, sometimes overrunning them. Each site had an LZ (landing zone), for which the company had created a procedure to protect incoming fixed or rotary wing aircraft from coming under fire, or being captured if the enemy were in control.

Flares came in three colours: red, yellow, and green; each day, the sector operator established the ‘LZ site secure’ flare colour-codes for his area, and each day, a new permutation of red, yellow, and green were designated for each site: red-red-yellow, green-red-green, and so on. The sector operator forwarded the flare codes to the ops manager, and then on to the sites in his sector. Every chopper or fixed wing pilot intending on landing at a site would go to the operations manager for the daily flare-colour sequence. If the ground site did not ‘colour up’ correctly, the pilot would abort, and immediately report to ops that it had not responded with the colours of the day or had not responded at all. In contrast, Duncan Lee’s sector had no ‘sites’ and therefore no need to devise colour codes. Anybody flying into Duncan’s sector knew damn well the whole place was unfriendly. Therefore, the resources in Yunnan had to take primary responsibility for the rescue and delivery of any airmen to a safe zone across the border into Laos, where an Air America aircraft could pick them up. Violating Red Chinese airspace was strictly verboten!

The entire Air America Ops Centre in Vientiane, together with the sector operators, had an overarching mission: to coordinate air and ground resources in order to rescue downed U.S. aircrew fighting the air war over Vietnam. Many critically damaged American aircraft limped across the North Vietnamese border into Laos before the crew ejected. Certainly, Laos provided a safer haven and a greater likelihood of rescue than did attempting to snatch them out of North Vietnam. Air America (Vientiane) coordinated rescue operations in and around Laos, although a large proportion of their fixed and rotary wing assets came from a sister Air America project in Udon Thani, Thailand. Continental Air Services was also based at this Vientiane’s Watay airfield, working out of separate hangars and with their own staff and organisation. This other operation served the same client as did Air America, but they were not necessarily involved in rescue operations or logistical support of the resources. There was also an occasional whisper about Southern Air Transport; they were very ‘hush-hush’ and apparently executed special projects for the client.

This is your first operation, isn’t it, Dunk? said Jake, this time in a tone devoid of sarcasm.

I’m ready, declared Lee defensively, I’ve been drilling for this since I got here. Look, I need coordinates before I go to my resource.

No, you don’t, replied Jake. Only now did he begin to realise that Duncan had drawn himself up tighter than a high C banjo string.

Give me five minutes, continued Jake, Carl will put together what we’ve got so far. You gotta start with what you know. Sometimes, you don’t know nothin’ and your resources have to initiate the search with nothin’. Those bloody beepers don’t always work, you know. Inform your contact that you will advise them of further developments as they occur. We’re talking standard operating procedure, Dunk. This is a critical situation, and that means you initiate immediately. Okay?

In one wall of the operations room there were two windowless doors; one was the radio room as the sign on it indicated. The other, giving no clue to what lay behind, was a private office, which the three operations managers shared. They used the same desk, but each had one drawer of a three drawer filing cabinet that they could call their own. A secure telephone sat on the desk and Jake indicated with a subtle nod of his head that Duncan could go inside the office and use it.

Lee made a call to the Nationalist Chinese Consulate located along Embassy Row in the chic section of Vientiane. He offered a perfunctory message, a prepared story line, to a receptionist at the other end. The caller declared that he wished to apply for a one-time export licence from Taiwan to Laos, which would allow him to ship five thousand mooncakes, a traditional lunar New Year comestible. The 1970 lunar New Year had recently passed but, no matter, just thirty seconds elapsed before the receptionist confirmed an appointment.

In the annex, she quietly added.

*     *     *

1901h

Hotel Cavalier

Rue Lan Xang, Vientiane

Duncan Lee sat at a table inside the Hotel Cavalier lounge. He was waiting for ‘Johnny’, his contact, who operated out of the Nationalist Chinese Consulate in Vientiane. The company had identified him as ‘Johnny’, so that’s what Duncan called him, although he knew from the file that the man’s true identity was Major Huang Jahn. He was assigned to the commercial section of the Nationalist Chinese Consulate, which shared the embassy building. It was a curious and illegal posting for an active Nationalist military officer, whose presence in Laos was clearly forbidden by the Geneva Accords. However, nothing surprised anyone in this Kafkaesque world of Indochina, mused Lee as he cast an eye around the lounge. If pressed, the Major would deny his military commission; every nation with interests to represent in Southeast Asia played the same game and usually observed the same unwritten rules. For the United States, it was Air America and USAID (U.S. Agency for International Development), even the American Embassy employed ‘smoke and mirrors’ as necessary to get the job done. No one could blame Huang Jahn or his government. They clearly had a national interest in Laos because of General Wun.

In 1947, Nationalist troops, under the loose command of General Wun Tsen Yee, found themselves abandoned in Yunnan Province, thanks to a less than gracious ‘Chancre Jack’ (Westernisation of Chiang Kai-shek based on the French ‘chancre’—cankerous or infected, usually associated with a sexually transmitted disease), the irreverent nickname for Chiang Kai-shek used by mercenary pilots of the AVG (American volunteer group) who had flown their Curtis P-40 Tomahawks with the ‘Flying Tigers’ in 1941/42. As Mao’s victory consolidated, these were the same pilots who took members of the Nationalist Chinese population from the Mainland to Formosa for one thousand U.S. dollars, or thirty troy ounces of gold in coin.

After the Communist takeover of China, General Wun continued to operate in Yunnan Province where he had at one time commanded a full Chinese regiment; now his severely diminished force was more reminiscent of a battalion. Years before Mao’s victory, during China’s occupation by the Empire of the Sun, Wun had cooperated with the British against the Japanese in parts of Burma and Thailand, an area called the Golden Triangle. The gold was not referring to bullion, but to ‘white gold’ . . . opium gum produced from the colourful fields of poppies.

After the defeat of the Japanese by the allies, Wun immediately marched his troops for a new call to arms. Chiang Kai-shek ordered the Yunnan regiment to defend their home province against what the Nationalists referred to as ‘Maoist scum’. Poor Chiang Kai-shek, ambitious heir to the Party of Sun Yat Szen, had no sooner been restored as China’s political leader than once again he was imperilled. The defence of Yunnan against the Maoists went the same way as did the rest of China. The Nationalists fled to Formosa, while Wun scurried across the borders with Burma and Laos, leaving only remnants of his regiment still intact.

He harassed the People’s Republic from time to time, although these raids represented little more than publicity stunts to further the myth that he remained an anti-communist resistance fighter. He had become a Nationalist legend, mostly because he was the only Nationalist still fighting the ‘Maoist scourge’. For Beijing, the fact that General Wun was still at large left a distinct wrinkle in their political fabric. However, in truth, the general had steadily become more and more involved with a lucrative logistics and security business, rather less as a ‘political enemy of the people’. He had given up any notion of ‘Chancre Jack’ mounting an invasion of communist China; the Nationalists no longer seriously believed they could take back the Mainland. Wun Tsen Yee had become a pawn in the history of a failed attempt by a political regime to reunify China under its military authority.

In the Golden Triangle, growing poppies was not a problem. On the other hand, getting opium gum to market was a treacherous undertaking. In the mountains shared by Burma, Thailand, Laos, and Yunnan Province grew a bountiful crop of the colourful flowers. General Wun provided transport, sometimes using ponies, but more often than not, utilizing mercenary pilots and their DC-3s.

The United States secured a Nationalist government on the Island of Formosa. However, after a decade of blustering and corruption by this government, the Americans grew weary of Chancre Jack’s promise to return and reluctantly concluded that he was no General MacArthur. Now, twenty-two years after the Maoist victory, Chancre Jack was dead. Mme Chiang was in the counting house, counting all her money, and the State Department had signalled that it was time to normalise relations with the People’s Republic of China, referred in short form as the PRC. After all, the United States was fighting the North Vietnamese who were supported by the Soviet Union, not Mao. Memories of the Korean conflict were quietly set aside.

The PRC, in turn, was eager to strike a deal. It still contested their border with North Vietnam, which had been ordained in 1954 by ‘round-eyed barbarians’ remote in Geneva. Furthermore, Ho Chi Minh embraced a very nationalistic distortion of Marxism, which Beijing branded as a form of Titoism, so named after an ignominious defection to the West by Marshall Tito’s communist regime in Yugoslavia. The Communist Vietnamese philosophy was far from being in step with Maoism. The USSR, on other hand, did not seem to mind Ho’s idiosyncratic ways at all, which lead to a cosiness between Moscow and Hanoi, and this left Beijing deeply suspicious. Thus, for very different reasons, the United States and PRC shared a common animosity towards North Vietnam. However, the PRC also feared a U.S. invasion of North Vietnam, warning that it would result in another Korea. These were just some of the cross currents that formed the political maelstrom, which was Indochina.

Wun, now an aging man, was by this time nothing more than a pirate. Rumour had it that his own fondness for the opium pipe had laid waste the toothless general’s mind, but it remained unsubstantiated. The fact seemed to be that the general still controlled the Golden Triangle operations, despite Washington’s pressure on the Republic’s Government in Taipei, capital of Formosa (later Taiwan), to repatriate these remnants of the Nationalist Yunnan regiment to their fate at the hands of the Maoists; their drug-trafficking activities were, and continued to be, offensive to mainstream America.

Suddenly, in 1965, a renewed American interest in General Wun surfaced. The casualties of the air war over Vietnam caused the American Intelligence community to reconsider their attitude towards the old Nationalist pirate. He was in a position to offer credible resources for securing the zone from enemy fire during a rescue operation in the areas in which his troops prowled.

A helicopter cannot execute a rescue in a hostile LZ—that was the whole reason for having sector operators. They had to ensure that friendly ground forces would secure the operational area before vulnerable rotary wing aircraft could initiate a rescue attempt. Air America sector operators acted as the liaison between Air America operations and indigenous friendly forces, collectively referred to as resources, or by their detractors as mercenary tribesmen, or even as opium trade pirates.

The client had negotiated a quid pro quo that compensated the resources for their services, and most importantly, the sector operator coordinated delivery of it. It was an arrangement that must benefit both parties if cooperation were to endure and remain dependable. If the tribesmen compromised a rescue operation, it became a matter of life and death for the Americans involved. On the other hand, tribesmen needed to continually enjoy a resupply of war materials and foodstuffs in order to survive against the disciplined and relentless North Vietnamese Army and their surrogates, the Pathet Lao and Viet Cong, who were bent upon subjugating these independent mountain tribes.

Johnny had not selected The Cavalier Hotel as a designated meeting place out of affection for its ambiance. Duncan Lee was aware of