Flames of War: The Airmen Series, #16

By David Lee Corley

Something has changed, and not in a good way. For the first time, the communists are holding territory that they have captured near the borders of Laos and North Vietnam. It could be that the leaders in Hanoi want to secure supply and reinforcement routes into South Vietnam… or it could be something far more nefarious.

The communists' new strategy is an opportunity for the U.S. military and its allies to finally engage their enemy in a large-scale, set-piece battle that would allow American airpower and artillery to destroy a massive enemy force. It's tempting bait. Such a victory could bring the communists to the negotiating table and end the war. The clash between the two enemies would develop into The Border Battles, resulting in the fiercest fighting in the entire Vietnam War in the hills around Dak To.

But something doesn't feel right to Rene Granier and the CIA. Using the Phoenix program, Granier will try to discover the communists' real strategy before it's too late.

Continue the journey and learn the truth. Read Flames of War - Book 16 in the Airmen Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Lee Corley
• Release date: May 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223017677

Book preview

Flames of War

Based on Historical Events

David Lee Corley

Copyright © 2023 David Lee Corley

All rights reserved.

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DEDICATION

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Dedicated to all the men and women that fought and sacrificed for their country.

Table of Contents

The Most Wanted Man in Laos

Bolo

The Ban Naden Raid

No Boy Scout

Pershing

Fall

Second Battle of Bau Bang

The Offer

Will of the Jungle Spirits

Miniguns & Boxcars

Silent No More

Operation Francis Marion

The Hill Fights

Operation Concordia

Buffalo and Kingfisher

The Forrestal

McCain

Quigley

Dak To

Hubris

Letter to Reader

Author’s Biography

The first casualty of war is innocence.

– Oliver Stone

The Most Wanted Man in Laos

January 1, 1967 – Mountains, Laos

The headlights on Chau’s truck snaked their way through the dark mountains on a winding road, if you could call it that... a road. The nonstop rain had washed out much of it. What was left was precarious at best. Chau had grown used to the difficult terrain over the years. She had it memorized and knew where to watch out.

The North Vietnamese work crews labored day and night to maintain the road. Picks, shovels, and wheelbarrows were their tools of trade. A bulldozer was just a distant dream in this part of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. As loyal patriots, they tried to keep the road open and the supplies and troops flowing into the South. It was a constant losing battle. If it wasn’t the rains that turned the road to mud, it was the American bombers that pounded the road to dust.

The Americans... she thought. As a young woman, she had befriended them and slept with many before she knew them as the enemy. She may have even loved one – McGoon. She didn’t talk of those times with her comrades. It was too dangerous. They wouldn’t understand. Communist dogma was black and white with little room for compassion or tolerance. When she joined the North Vietnamese Army, it was her communist instructors that had taught her to hate the Americans. They were invaders determined to take over Vietnam, her country. She would sacrifice everything to keep that from happening. She was a flag-waving nationalist.

She was also lucky and honored to be driving the lead truck in the convoy. She knew the road better than any of the other drivers. As the lead vehicle, she was allowed to use her headlights. Everyone else had to follow the truck in front of them. That wasn’t easy, especially when a truck drove off the side of a cliff. Unable to see the road clearly, several trucks behind the vanished truck would usually follow it over the edge. Few survived such a fall. Of course, most of the supplies could be recovered if there was no fire from the crash, but that did little to comfort the families of the dead drivers and soldiers. Chau had learned not to get too close to anyone that drove the Ho Chi Minh Trail. She avoided remembering her comrades’ names and rarely asked about their personal lives. There was no time to mourn when someone was lost. The convoy had to keep moving... no matter what.

Chau was approaching the most dangerous section of the road that often washed out during heavy rains. The road had been carved into a steep slope. All of the trees and vegetation had been swept away long ago leaving exposed soil that sopped up the rain. When it was saturated and grew too heavy, the slope let loose creating an avalanche of mud and rock that took out the road. It was raining, but not heavy. It gave her hope that the road would remain intact as the convoy passed. Even so, she forced herself to focus on the road and watch carefully as she continued. As the lead truck, everyone behind her depended on her eyes and experience.

Watching the approaching convoy through binoculars, Blackjack could feel his pulse rising. This was the fun part of what he and his team did. It was also the riskiest. All the preparation and work led up to the few minutes that would follow the detonation. The SOG team and their Montagnard warriors had placed a series of C-4 charges high on the upside of the slope above the road. The way to create an effective avalanche was momentum. Start high and the rocks and mud would collect more rocks and mud as they traveled down the slope gaining speed. The avalanche would block the road and trap the rest of the convoy. Easy pickings for the well-armed Montagnard.

The SOG team and the Montagnard often attacked enemy units two to three times their size. The surprise and ferocity of their assault gave them an advantage. It wasn’t rocket science. It was momentum – getting the enemy running and keeping it running. The enemy cannot counterattack if it’s running in the opposite direction. Simple really. Simple plans were almost always better than complex plans when it came to war. There was less to go wrong. Even the best plans go out the window once the battle starts.

Blackjack watched as Chau’s truck passed the location of the first C-4 charge. He waited. He wanted as many trucks as possible to be caught in the avalanche. It was about timing. He could feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body. He hated the idea of being addicted to anything, but adrenaline was different. It made his reactions quicker. His mind was more focused. His muscles were stronger. There was no denying it. Adrenaline made him Superman. He willingly let it take over. His eyes narrowed. He was a hunter. He picked up the detonator...

Chau was grateful that the road was intact. As she approached the far end of the slope, her hopes were dashed when she heard a large series of explosions above. She didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t matter. The convoy was in trouble. Her head jerked around, and she looked up the slope. It was hard to see in the dark. Her irises had closed from the bright flashes of the explosions and her vision was limited. But she saw enough – the earth was moving toward her.

She stomped on the accelerator and the truck picked up speed. The end of the slope wasn’t far. With luck, she could reach it before the rocks and mud reached her truck. But she wasn’t lucky that night. She felt the first boulder slamming into the side of her truck, forcing it toward the edge of the road. She steered back toward the road, but it was too late. More boulders and mud hit the side of the truck as the wheels left the road and it tipped on its side. It tumbled down the slope.

She was helpless, trapped inside the cab. She held on to the steering wheel as it lurched from side to side. A boulder smashed into the roof, crushing the cab, the windshield, and the driver’s door window shattering. Mud and rocks entered the cab, hitting her in the face and arms. Her hands were forced from the steering wheel. She was in freefall banging her head, her arms and legs flailing out of control as the truck continued its journey down the slope. She struggled to keep her mouth and nose clear of mud. She wasn’t afraid. She was angry at herself for letting this happen. She was responsible for the safety of the convoy. She should have spotted the ambush. A fist-sized rock hit her in the side of the head, and she blacked out. Mercy at last.

Above, five trucks had been caught in the avalanche and were pushed over the side of the road. Troops and supplies were ousted out the back of the trucks as they tumbled downward and were scattered among the cascading mud and rocks. The bodies of the soldiers twisted in the muddy flow like ragdolls. Legs and arms were fractured; some had their necks broken. They were helpless against the momentum of the slide.

The convoy came to an abrupt stop. With no room to turn around, the trucks still on the road were trapped just as Blackjack had predicted. A parachute flare launched from a mortar lit up the convoy creating clear targets. The Montagnard sprung up from their hiding places on the uphill side of the mountain slope and opened fire. The SOG team had assigned targets designed to decapitate the convoy’s leadership and create mayhem. Officers and NCOs were singled out and dispatched.

The fusillade of gunfire put out by the SOG and the Montagnard was intense. There was no reserve. Everyone fought. The NVA troops being transported south easily outnumbered the SOG and Montagnard, but they were leaderless and in complete disarray. The warriors on the hillside pressed the attack. As much as they wanted to run down the slope and fight hand-to-hand, they were disciplined and kept their firing positions. Once their enemy was depleted, the signal to charge would come. They had learned from their American SOG advisors and fought as a cohesive unit. That strategy brought them victory which the Montagnard loved. Victory was like revenge... sweet.

One by one, a recoilless rifle manned by two Montagnard took out the trucks on the road, destroying their cabs and engines, and setting them ablaze. American-made grenades arced across the night sky to destroy more trucks and killed those defending them. The convoy was burning. The ammunition they carried exploded killing the NVA using the trucks for cover. Unable to determine the size of the force attacking them, most of the NVA broke and ran down the slope. Some were caught by the mud and rock of the avalanche that was still moving, but slower. Those that remained were quickly overwhelmed by the Montagnard when the order to charge was given by their village chief. It was a massacre with over seventy-two NVA killed. There were no NVA wounded. The Montagnard had three wounded and two killed. After the Montagnard had taken what they wanted, fifty-two trucks were destroyed which included the supplies and ammunition they carried. It was a big victory for the SOG and Montagnard. Blackjack would be buying his warriors and their families several pigs for a feast when they returned to their village several days later.

Chau awoke in darkness. She tried to move but could feel that her legs were buried in mud and rock pinning her down. The pain in her left forearm was intense. She felt along her arm until she discovered the broken bone sticking through her skin. With her good arm, she retrieved the cigarette lighter from her uniform’s shirt pocket. It was a Zippo lighter she had borrowed from McGoon. She opened the lid and spun the little wheel until it lit. What remained of the cab was illuminated. She was almost completely buried beneath mud and rock. Only the cab’s crushed roof had saved her life. There wasn’t much room in the tiny cavern and that meant there wasn’t much air. The flame from the lighter was using oxygen, but she needed to find a way out if there was one.

She glanced at the broken bone in her arm. It was as she expected – lots of blood, torn flesh, and pain... a lot of pain. While she was unconscious and still, the blood had coagulated which had slowed the bleeding to a trickle. Moving her arm would break up the clotting and it would most likely start bleeding heavily again. She forced herself to ignore her forearm for the moment. She knew it was bad and didn’t need to use valuable time to examine the wound more closely. If she could not escape the cab she would suffocate, and her broken arm wouldn’t matter.

The flame flickered and dimmed from lack of oxygen. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious using up oxygen, but however long it was she figured she was lucky to wake before dying. At least she stood a chance of escaping before her oxygen ran out. She extinguished the flame, and the cab went dark once again.

She remembered the toolbox beneath the seat. There was a clawed hammer that could be useful for digging. Feeling her way in the darkness, she used her good arm to move the mud and rock off her legs. It took valuable time, but she had no choice. After two minutes of digging, her legs were finally freed, and she had created a space in front of the seat. She cleared away more mud and rock before reaching underneath. She found the toolbox and pulled it out. When she opened it, she felt inside and found the hammer. She also found a ball of string that would help her determine which way was up. She could feel the gravity pulling her down toward the passenger door and imagined the truck was on its side, but she needed to determine the shortest path to the surface. Once she started digging, she guessed there wouldn’t be much time before she was buried alive. Up was critical. She unwound some of the string and let it dangle. She relit the lighter and studied the angle of the string for a moment. She knew which was up and determined the shortest way to the surface was through the broken windshield. She wasted no time.

She switched hands holding the lighter. It was extremely painful, but she had enough power in her mangled arm to hold the lighter and keep the flame from going out. It was getting harder to breathe and each new breath was a struggle and shorter. Her energy was diminishing by the second from lack of oxygen. She knew she needed to make her attempt at escaping while she still had power in her muscles.

She moved her body up as close as possible to where she would attempt to exit the cab. She had no idea how much mud and rock was between the truck and the surface, but she wasn’t going to die without trying to free herself of the muddy tomb. She gripped the hammer’s handle and struck the mud in front of the hammer’s claw. As she had calculated, the mud and rock fell into the cab but created a small space in front of the cab. She pulled herself inside the space and struck the mud again and again, each time pulling herself upward. The mud and rock started flowing faster without hitting it with the claw. Each time, she planted the claw in the muddy tunnel wall and pulled herself upward as fast as she could. Then, the flame flickered out. She was out of oxygen. With her remaining strength, she pulled herself upward in the darkness. Once, twice, three times... then she felt herself out of breath. Her head was spinning. She couldn’t remember what she was doing. She stopped. The mud and rock kept moving through the tunnel into the cab. She could feel it but couldn’t see it. It didn’t matter. She was sleepy and closed her eyes. Her struggle was over as the darkness consumed her.

A minute later, her eyes flickered open. She was conscious again. She could breathe. She still couldn’t see. She felt for the lighter. It was gone. Lost somewhere in the mud below. The mud below, she thought. The mud and rock in the tunnel she had created kept flowing downward even while she was blacked out. She imagined that enough soil had moved that the tunnel had reached the surface to open a passageway for the oxygen. She couldn’t see it, but she used the hammer like a mountain climber’s axe planting it in the soil and pulling herself upward to where she thought the surface might be. She could feel the mud flowing past her filling up the tunnel and trapping her legs. She couldn’t give up now. She was so close to freedom... close to life. She kicked and pulled her knees up. Her good hand gripped the hammer as she embedded it in the side of the tunnel and pulled. She felt herself moving upward as the mud filled the space below her and she could push with her legs. She was exhausted but didn’t give up. Her muscles ached. Her broken forearm throbbed.

Another couple of lunges upward and her head pushed through an opening. She could feel the night’s air filling her lungs. She knew she couldn’t stop to rest. She planted the hammer one more time and pulled herself out of the tunnel. It was a miracle. She was free.

She lay on her back gasping for air and laughing. Life never seemed so precious. Her arm was filled with pain, but she didn’t care. It would heal in time, and she would be whole again. All that seemed to matter to her was a chance of revenge against the enemy soldiers that had done this to her and her comrades. Transporting more reinforcements and supplies into South Vietnam would be that revenge. She wanted to heal as fast as possible, so she could once again get behind the wheel of a truck and carry out her duty. It wouldn’t be the same as pulling the trigger, but helping the war effort was the best she could do.

She gave herself one minute to celebrate, then carefully rolled over on her stomach and looked up the slope. She saw the convoy burning on the road above. Secondary explosions of fuel tanks igniting and ammunition cooking off lit up the surrounding area. She wondered how many of her comrades escaped. She wondered if the enemy was hunting them... and her.

She realized it would be light soon, maybe an hour or so. She had to find cover to hide and hopefully tend to her broken forearm before setting out to find the supply depot seven miles away. Once she reached it, she would be safe, and her comrades would take care of her. She knelt, then used her good arm to push herself up to her feet. Keeping low, she moved across the avalanche slowly, careful not to start another slide.

When she reached the edge of the slide area, she entered the jungle. She found herself a good hiding place between the massive roots of a tree. She couldn’t see well enough to tend to her wound, but she also knew it didn’t matter much since it was full of mud and bits of rock and glass from the broken windshield. She had no water with which to clean the wound. She used her teeth to cut the bottom of her mud-caked shirt and ripped a long strip of cloth. She fashioned a basic sling to hold her broken arm and keep it from getting damaged further. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could do at the moment.

She decided to rest until dawn. She would need her strength for the trek back to the supply depot. She lay back into her tree root cradle and closed her eyes. Exhausted, she was asleep in less than twenty seconds.

After tending to her wound, the young doctor at the supply depot had ordered her to return to Hanoi where the surgeons were more experienced. He had done what he could to clean her wound but was not comfortable setting the bone which was broken in several places without an x-ray. He feared infection. He knew that once Chau arrived at the hospital, the doctors would need to rebreak the bones to set them properly. He decided not to warn Chau of the painful procedure. It wouldn’t do her any good to worry about it. She needed to be able to sleep to regain her strength and allow her body to fight any infection.

Hanoi, North Vietnam

It took almost a week for Chau to reach Hanoi by truck. Many of the roads were bad in North Vietnam, especially in the highlands. It was an uncomfortable journey. Her wounded arm bounced up and down. Each bump sent a stab of pain through her body. In the middle of the journey, she contracted chills and a high-grade fever. The wound had become infected as the doctor had expected. It would only be a matter of time before it killed her if she didn’t get treatment.

The surgeons in Hanoi had done a good job saving her arm. It took almost an hour to get the last little bits of dirt, rocks, and glass out of the wound. Rebreaking and resetting the bone took two more hours. She slept in an opium haze during the surgery and didn’t mind one bit as the doctors probed and pulled at her wound. The resetting of the bone brought pain, but she didn’t remember it. She didn’t remember any of it.

She woke up with a cast on her arm and could feel the throbbing of her flesh and bone inside. It was like a series of clamps was holding her bones in place. She still had a fever, but it didn’t seem as bad as before the operation. Maybe she was healing as she had hoped.

An intelligence officer sat in a chair waiting for her to wake. She suspected she would be court-martialed for losing her truck and abandoning the convoy. It wasn’t her fault, but she doubted that would carry much weight in her sentencing. Instead, he interviewed her about the attack on the convoy. She told him what she remembered, but she had spent most of the attack buried in her truck and never saw the men that carried out the ambush. She wished she could be of more help. The officer assured her that the other survivors had filled in the blanks. He called her a very brave woman and left without any word of court-martial. Chau was relieved. She wanted to return to Laos and continue to drive on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. A court marshal would have prevented that.

It would take three months for her arm to heal enough that she could drive a truck. While she waited to be cleared by the doctors at the hospital, she was allowed to travel around the city and visit the places that she once visited with her friend Nguyen and her lover, McGoon. She rarely had time off when she was driving. She felt guilty but there was little she could do but heal. Besides, the fresh air in the capital’s beautiful parks did her good and lightened her mood.

For the first time in a long time, Chau thought about Nguyen. She wondered if her friend was still alive and what she might be doing. After McGoon had died at Dien Bien Phu, Nguyen and she went their separate ways – Nguyen to the south and her staying in the north. She pondered if Nguyen was a communist and helping the Viet Cong. Maybe she married and had children. Chau had not had time for romance since she started driving the Ho Chi Minh Trail. But maybe Nguyen had been luckier. Maybe she was even rich and lived in a mansion. Even with all of its problems, Chau had heard that anything was possible in the South.

After reporting the results of his interviews with the survivors of one of the worst convoy raids since the Ho Chi Minh Trail had been built, the NVA high command decided to take action. A young Montagnard warrior had been captured during one of the raids. After weeks of interrogation and torture, the young tribesman gave up the names of the American SOG team members, including their leader. The terrorist named Blackjack and his SOG team had to be stopped. Leaderless and without American support, the Montagnard would revert to the peaceful tribal ways and no longer attack the supply and troop convoys on the Ho Chi Minh trail.

After much discussion between the politburo members and the NVA generals, it was decided to assemble an elite unit to hunt down the Montagnard and capture the SOG team. Led by a special operations commander, the new team would be given