Chapter Thirteen: Eagle's Talons
Author's Note: I may have stated this before but I am repeating it here. As I'm trying to keep my story as authentic as possible some of the language and terms of the time definitely do not meet the current "PC" standards. Too bad. That's the way it was.
The air war in Korea had heated up considerably. All U.S. squadrons, Navy Marine and Air Force were flying multiple sorties each day. Rick's squadron was averaging two, two- flight sorties and one squadron sortie each day. With all the administrative duties and flying combat, Rick was exhausted at the end of each day. He tried to write Kate every day, but sometimes it was just a brief note, telling her that he was still alive and how much he loved her.
The squadron's primary mission was air superiority, and that included supporting ground attack missions, keeping enemy fighters off the backs of the slower moving Shooting Star and Thunder jet fighter-bombers and the even slower, propeller driven Mustangs and Corsairs.
On one such ground support mission, each F-84 was loaded with two five hundred-pound bombs each, eight five-inch rockets as well as their machine guns. They caught a communist battalion in a charge on open ground. The F-84's commander called out;
"Caught the suckers in the open. Hit them with everything you've got. Squadron attack in echelon." With no enemy fighters left in the area, Rick's squadron followed the fighter-bombers in strafing runs. The attack devastated the communist battalion. With no cover to be had, it was a slaughter. The dazed and confused remnants were easy pickings for the American's 14th Infantry. Only a handful made it back to their own lines and the whole line crumpled to the American counter-attack.
Staff Sergeant Seamus O'Leary, A Company, 1st Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment, tipped back his helmet and wiped sweat off his forehead. As a squad leader, he should have been carrying an M-1 Garand rifle or an M-3 "Grease Gun" sub-machine gun. Instead, he was carrying a heavy Browning Automatic Rifle, which some countries classified as a light machine gun. It fired the same .30-06 round as the Garand, from a 20- round box magazine. His CO didn't care what he carried. The big man was too effective with it, He also carried a 1911A1 .45 caliber pistol and a Kabar knife he'd traded off a Marine.
At six feet seven inches tall and weighing 275 pounds he was the biggest man in the division, possibly even the army. He looked at his assistant squad leader, Sergeant Joe Bronsky.
"Man, thank Jesus, Joseph, Mary and all the saints for those flyboys they sure saved us a lot of grief, maybe even saved our asses." Joe took a Chesterfield out of the pack and lit it. Blowing smoke, he said;
"Yeah, dey probably did, but dose flyboys have it easy. Dey fly for a couple of hours then go back to their nice soft bunks. dey don't have to freeze their asses off or broil out here in foxholes."
"Quit complaining Boyo, you're regular army, you signed up for this. But I'll tell you, when this is over, I'm getting out. My uncle Denny is getting me on the cops in New York."
"Ya know for a bog trotter youse don't sound much like one."
"That's because I'm not. My dad was born in County Cork but I was born in New York and I speak a recognizable English, not that Brooklynese or whatever it is."
"Hey I speak good English!" O'Leary laughed, which sounded more like a tank engine idling than a laugh.
"If you say so, Joe. Come on, we've got some work to do. O'Leary's squad joined the rest of first platoon in checking over the enemy bodies for anything of intelligence value.
Kimpo air base, South Korea
Rick landed his Saber and taxied to a revetment. He shut the engine down and climbed down from the standing by the wing.
"You'd better get her serviced Sergeant, I hope that we won't go up again today, but you never know."
"Yes sir, I'll get right on it."
Rick walked to his office to compose his after- action report. About an hour later, a weather front rolled in, covering the airbase in heavy fog and low- lying clouds. Thank God. No flying in that soup I'm going to the club and have a couple of beers. That night, after supper Rick had the time to write a long letter to Kate and shorter ones to Alexis and Martha. Finished, he took a bottle of Glenlivet and a shot glass out of a desk drawer and poured himself a stiff drink. That night, for the first time in three weeks, he got a uninterrupted eight hours of sleep.
Time jump: two months
The air battle over Korea had slacked off somewhat, the American air forces Sabers had amassed nearly a ten to one kill ratio over the Migs. Rick was the second highest score with fifteen kills, but he was tired, so tired and three months, nearly four since he's seen his beautiful wife. He had plenty of opportunity to relieve the tension, but contrary to rumor, he was no longer that kind of man. Lessor women didn't appeal to him anymore. He was Kate's one and done. The responsibility of a fighter squadron, with its myriad problems of manpower, aircraft, supplies, etc. was wearing more and more on him. Thrilled, at first, with the promotion and the honor of command he was now in a far different frame of mind. He was a fighting man, a pilot. He hated the administrative duties. He especially hated having to hand down punishments for minor violations, most of them fights among the enlisted men or some airman overstaying his pass, usually because he was with a hoochie girl.
His biggest problems were two of his officers, Captain William Bracken and Lieutenant Cole Maddox both had called aborted missions Bracken four times and Maddox twice, both aircraft had safety inspections with no fault found in any of the aircraft's systems. Rick called both officers to his office seeing them individually, Bracken first.
"Captain Bracken, you have been failing to meet the standards of this unit ,the Far East ,Air Force and the United States Air Force. You have aborted missions four times. Upon inspection no faults have been found in your aircraft or any of its systems. Therefore. You are removed from flight status. An investigation will be conducted and if warranted, you will be remanded for court martial. Furthermore, until such time, you will work in base operations. At this point, I can't rescind your privileges at the officer's club, but I strongly suggest that you stay away."
"Sir, I protest."
Rick slammed his hand down on his desk.
"You protest? Shut your damned mouth. I'll have no cowards in my squadron. You are dismissed."
Lieutenant Maddox walked in, saluted and said;
"Lieutenant Maddox reporting as ordered sir."
Rick essentially repeated his statement to Bracken, but not losing his temper, because Maddox was smart enough to say nothing but; "Yes sir, I understand."
Bracken wasn't smart enough to let the system work. He demanded to see someone from the inspector general's office and lodged a complaint. The IG officer investigated and judged that the complaint had no merit and forwarded his report to General Schmidt. That was a serious mistake. General Schmidt forwarded a recommendation to the Far East Air Forces for a General Court Martial.
Bracken was found guilty of dereliction of duty and conduct unbecoming an officer. He was given a dishonorable discharge, forfeiting all pay and privileges and losing his benefits. It could have been worse. He could have been charged with cowardice in the face of the enemy, which was a capitol crime. Maddox was smarter. He went with the system. Being a younger, less experienced officer he was shown leniency. Offered the choice of non-judicial punishment, he accepted He was permanently removed from flight status, required to forfeit flight pay back to the date of the first incident and transferred back to the states. Although he would serve out his term of service, his military career was effectively over. The slack period ended and the air war picked up again. The brutal schedule was back. Although Rick was kept too busy to worry about anything beyond the next day's action, not so for Kate
New York City
Alexis had bonded so tightly to Kate, she seldom wanted to spend any time away from her, unless it was with Grandma Jo. Kate really needed a good long talk with her mother so Alexis was persuaded to spend an afternoon at the zoo with Grandpa Jim.
Sitting in the parlor, both women held glasses of wine. Kate said;
"Mom I'm so worried about Rick. That mess over there seems to be getting worse I fear for Rick. And worse, my body aches for him. I want him home so badly." Johanna took her weeping daughter in her arms.
"All we can do is pray for him and ask Saint Michael to watch over him,
About a week later Jim and Johanna came to the loft for dinner. After Alexis had been put to bed, Jim took some papers out of a folder" Martha, Katie I have a proposition I want to discuss with you and hopefully you'll convince Rick. I was looking over the custody arrangements, not only does Rick have full custody, but Meredith signed away all parental rights. I think that you, Katie should file for adoption. If granted you are legally her mother, no longer her step-mother.
Meredith will not be able to do anything with Alexis that you don't authorize. I play golf and sometimes poker with judge Markoway. He'll be able to expedite the process. "I'll write Rick tonight and present it to him, Kate said. She wrote Rick and posted the letter the next day. The return letter arrived ten days later, with Rick's enthusiastic consent and request that Jim prepare all the necessary documents.
A few days later, Madison invited Kate for a late lunch, a couple of drinks and some girl talk. They were seated at a table in an upscale bar and grill that Madison favored, chatting quietly. Kate's left hand was resting on the table top, her rings clearly visible. A man approached Kate's side of the table. Dressed in a flashy fashion that a certain type of woman liked. Rather swarthy, his dark hair slicked back, he clearly thought himself a lady's man. He flashed a smile.
"May I buy you pretty ladies a drink?" Kate and Maddie looked at him with identical chilly smiles. Kate said;
"No thank you."
"Why not? A friendly drink never hurt anyone."
"First and most important, I am a married woman. Second, neither my friend nor I accept drinks from people we don't know."
"Well, that's easily fixed, I'm Nick Papadakos. May I have your names?"
Kate narrowed her eyes. "No, you may not, Mr. Papadakos, please leave us alone." His face flushed and he growled:
"You uptown bitch, I'll…"
"Is this man bothering ladies?" Kate looked up and Papadakos turned to face a tall young man in uniform. Papadakos growled at him;
"But out, soldier boy."
"No, I don't think I will. It's time for you to leave. This is too nice a place for sleaze balls."
Papadakos pulled a switchblade out of his pocket but didn't even get a chance to bring it up, when the young man grabbed his hand and twisted it. There was the sound of bones breaking. Papadakos screamed and dropped the knife. At that point, the bartender stepped out and whacked Papadakos behind the ear. He said;
"Why don't you three leave now. I'll call the cops. No need for you to get involved with the cops. This guy's made trouble in here before. The cops will buy my story. Don't worry about your bill. It's on me."
As they stepped outside, Kate said;
Thank you so much for your gallantry. My name is Mrs. Katherine Rodgers and this is my friend, Madison Queller."
The man smiled. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Stanley Kenton, Sergeant, U.S. Air Force."
"What a coincidence. My husband is an Air Force officer, serving in Korea. Lieutenant Colonel Richard Rodgers. I will write him. I am sure that he will want to express his thanks."
Stan's eyebrows rose.
"Colonel Rodgers, the double ace is your husband? Ma'am I'm honored to meet you."
"Perhaps I could invite you to dinner with my family, as a thank you."
"Thank you, Ma'am I appreciate the offer but I can't accept. You're an officer's lady. I'm regular Air Force. Customs of the service."
Maddie spoke up.
"Kate's not the only lady that was at the table Sergeant. I own a restaurant. The Q1. I'd like to make the invitation. Saturday night. Kate, you and your family could come too." Maddie's invitation was not without some self-interest. Sergeant Kenton was a good-looking man.
Kimpo air base, South Korea.
And so, my Darling that's how that all ended. I checked the next day and Papadakos is in jail, charged with disturbing the peace, assault and assault with a deadly weapon. When you get home, will you please see Sergeant Kenton and do something for him. He's a recruiting sergeant in the Bronx station. After the dinner, I think that Maddie has a new boyfriend. Dad has all the adoption documents ready and is sending the parts that need your signature. I miss you so much my Darling, I ache for you. I pray, every day for you to come home soon. I love you with all my heart and soul. Kate.
Rick smiled as he folded the letter from his wife. Well, she wasn't alone in her thoughts. He missed her as much as she missed him. He wanted to be home with her and the rest of his family. Thinking, in surprise. The rest of my family. I'm still getting used to the idea of that being more than mother and Alexis but Jim and Johanna too. It's a little hard to believe that they've bonded with Alexis and she with them. I'm not doubting Kate's word, but it's still a little strange. I believe that it's going to be a pleasure to meet them. Awkward to be sure but we'll get through it. I'm not looking forward to meeting her, as she put it, her crazy aunt Theresa or cousin Sophie. I will see what, if anything, I can do for Sergeant Kenton, there will also be a reckoning with that sleazy Greek.
He got out his stationary and began to write. My Darling Kate, you can't possibly know how much I'm missing you and how badly I want to be holding you in my arms, loving you. I can't be explicit but I think you know what I mean. Just remember our nights in Tokyo. When I get home, we're going dancing, any place you want. I hope that I am home before the adoption becomes final. I want to see the look on Meredith's face when she finds out that you are legally Alexis 'mother. Sorry that it's just a short note. I'm tired, it's been a long day. Good night my Darling With all my love. Rick. P. S. things are heating up again, Mail may be slower.
North Korean air base
General of Aviation Ivanov was fuming, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't just shoot a hero of the Soviet Union. Colonel Kalinin was standing in front of his desk.
"You are very fortunate that I am a reasonable man. I have to return to Mother Russia. You will continue your mission to get that American Ace. Good luck, I leave in an hour.
The general was riding in a specially modified Ilyushin IL Beagle light bomber. Unfortunately for him, A prowling flight of South Korean F-80 fighters spotted the bomber. Coming out of the sun, they evaded the escorting Migs Scratch one aircraft, its crew and a general of aviation.
Kalinin had only one way to redeem himself. Find and destroy the American ace. Two days later, he got the opportunity. A squadron of American B-26'a was on a mission to bomb a critical span of railroad bridges and a marshaling yard. Kalinin scrambled his squadron, hoping that the American fighters would scramble to intercept. If they didn't, in time he would hit the bombers and engage the fighters on the way back.
Kimpo air base, South Korea.
Rick was just beginning the morning briefing when the loudspeaker came on. "Enemy aircraft inbound on a course to intercept a bombing mission, Pilots, man your planes."
"Kimpo tower this is Fighting Eagle Six. With four flights. permission for take-off."
"Roger Fighting Eagle Six, permission granted initial intercept course is 223 degrees."
The 16 F-86 Sabers of the 334th fighter squadron roared off the runway in four flights of four, seconds between each flight. They rendezvoused over the base.
"Squadron, this is Six. Vee formation, climb to angels thirty. Gentlemen, we have some Migs to kill. Let's do it. Check your guns." Each fighter fired a short burst. The aircraft climbed to 30,000 feet and began their search pattern. About 10 minutes into the flight, there came the excited cry of; "Migs, Migs, Migs!"
"Gentlemen, split into flights attack from echelon right. Full military power, good hunting"
The Sabers turned until they had the sun to their backs and dove on the Migs. The Mig 15 was a lighter, faster aircraft and had heavier armament. Despite the fact that the Browning .50 caliber fired a smaller round, it outranged the MiG's 23mm canon. The initial attack was quite orderly. The Sabers dove un the Mig formation. Tearing through it, leaving three Migs burning and falling out of the sky.
That was the last orderly event. What came next was a melee all over the sky. A furball. Migs and sabers twisting and turning, climbing and diving. The three Migs initially shot down, left the communists with a slight numerical advantage, 17 to 16. The Russian built fighter had the advantages of speed, maneuverability and armament, were offset by the American's more experience, better training and tactics. The Americans never split up farther than their pairs. Lead and wingman. As Rick pulled out of his dive, he said a brief prayer.
"Dear God, please let me survive this and get home to my family." Rick was not an overly religious man, but the quote had it that there were no atheists in foxholes. It was equally true in cockpits. A Mig tried to climb back into action and climbed right into Rick's gunsights. He fired a long burst and saw pieces flying off the enemy's fuselage. A moment later fire erupted just aft of the cockpit. The pilot ejected. That was his fifteenth kill.
Sergeant Kenton had said double ace to Kate. That was, because unbelievably, Rick had racked up four kills in the last two weeks. 3 Migs and a Yak-9 This Mig made him a triple ace. In the next few minutes, two Sabers went down in exchange for seven more Migs.
Lieutenant Colonel was exultant. Despite his high number of losses, he had that damned American ace in his gunsights. He fired. Rick felt the canon shells impacting his jet, walking up the fuselage, the last one exploding alongside the cockpit. He felt pain in his left calf.
Kalinin screamed in pleasure. He knew that he'd crippled the American fighter. Now to finish him off. He maneuvered to line up on the canopy, focused on murder, not a simple victory. He never felt the .50 caliber bullets that killed him.
Kalinin's second in command, a Russian major, ordered the survivors to break off the action and return to base. They'd lost twelve of twenty, including Kalinin, in exchange for four Sabers, three of which pilots had ejected safely.
Rick's Saber was losing power. He looked down at his wounded leg and swore. Rick couldn't see the wounds, there wasn't much blood, although his thigh and calf calf felt like they were on fire. The real problem was that a large piece of the fuselage had bent from impact and was folded over his leg. There was no way that he could eject without inflicting a probably fatal wound to his leg.
Shit, I'm going to have to ride this bitch in. I hope the power lasts long enough. I've got to find a clear spot to belly in.
He keyed the mike.
"This is Fighting Eagle Six, Mayday. Mayday."
Rick's incredible luck stayed with him. He spotted a large rice paddy that bordered a grassy area. He used the paddy to bleed off speed, hoping to keep just enough to reach the grass. When he was about ten feet off the ground, he pulled back on the stick and chopped the throttle.
The aircraft ploughed into the paddy, throwing sheets of dirty water and human feces to either side. The jet ploughed through the paddy's berm and came to stop on the grass. He reached up and slid the canopy back. Now how in the hell am I going to get my leg free?
Sergeant Joe Bronsky heard a strange roar overhead. He looked up. There was an F-86 not thirty feet overhead, the jet was trailing smoke and vapor.
"Hey Sarge, he yelled. Look, it's one of ours." O'Leary looked where Bronsky was pointing. He saw the fighter crash land less than fifty yards away. The canopy slid back but the pilot didn't climb out.
"That pilot probably need needs help. Bronsky, Gage, Morton, with me." The four soldiers ran over to the crashed jet. O'Leary said;
"Do you need help sir."
Rick looked over.
"Yes, Sergeant I do. A piece of the fuselage is bent over my leg. I can't free it."
O'Leary was tall enough to look into the cockpit.
"I'm sergeant first class O'Leary. We'll get you out sir.
Morton, go get the sledge and the prybar off that wrecked halftrack. And get Tatum with his med kit."
When Morton returned with the tools and the medic, O' Leary pounded down the edge of the cockpit until he could get a good look. There was just enough room to slide the end of the prybar under the piece of aluminum to move it without injuring Rick further. He slid the prybar in place and heaved, slowly prying the metal clear. He reached down.
"Let me help you out sir. Don't want to put any weight on that leg."
O'Leary grabbed Rick under the arms and lifted his solid two hundred pounds clear, then set him on the ground.
"Let me look at your leg, sir." The medic said. He slit the leg of the flight suit open. There were four pieces of shrapnel in Rick's calf and one in his thigh, none of them imbedded deeply. The shrapnel was plugging the wounds so there wasn't much bleeding.
"Sir, we need to get you back to our position so that I can treat your wounds."
"Okay but give me a minute."
"Sergeant O'Leary."
"Sir?"
"There are about six hundred rounds of .50 caliber in my bird. It might be a good idea to salvage them. And if you will, retrieve the gun camera. Then torch the bird.
With Tatum and Morton supporting Rick between them, they got back to the company position. They sat Rick down on a clean blanket in the back of the wrecked halftrack. Rick took off his flight jacket and pistol belt. Tatum knelt and removed Ricks flight boots and helped Rick take off his flight suit.
"These pieces of shrapnel aren't in too deep. I think I can get them out right here. You'll still have to go to the hospital when you get out of here."
"Do it."
Tatum gave Rick a shot of Morphine, not large enough to knock Rick out completely, waited for it to take effect, then using forceps, removed the shrapnel, cleaned the wounds with alcohol, dusted them with sulfa powder and bandaged them.
"Damn, that was a waste of good vodka." Rick quipped.
"Your flight suit is ruined sir, but the CO is about your size. I think he has a spare set of clothes that will fit you. They're even clean." Tatum came back with a pair of wool olive drab trousers and a field shirt. Tatum helped Rick dress then helped him to the command post.
"Thank you for the loan of the clothes, Captain." Rick said.
"You're welcome Colonel. Unfortunately, the weather's closing in and we won't be able to get you out of here tonight."
That evening Tatum came into the command post to check on Ricks wounds.
"The wounds look good, sir. We'll be having hot chow in about fifteen minutes. It's only C-rats but at least they will be hot."
About fifteen minutes later, Rick was given a mess kit with beef stew. Only C-rats, but as hungry as he was, he ate them with relish. Given a sleeping bag, Rick slept on the floor of the command post.
Just after breakfast, Rick heard the sound of bugles. He stood and said;
"Captain Collins, what is going on?"
"That damn Chink battalion is at it again. We've thrown them back with heavy losses, twice."
"How long before they get within range?"
"Probably about fifteen minutes Colonel."
"Is this party by invitation only or can anyone come?"
"The more the merrier sir."
"Okay, get me something better to fight with than my .45."
"Can you handle a Garand?"
"Yes."
"Thompkins, get me O'Leary."
O'Leary entered the command post.
"Sergeant, the colonel's going to join the party. Get him Willard's outfit and a helmet."
"Yes sir."
"Please come with me Colonel."
With O'Leary's help, Rick limped over to O'Leary's squad position. They were dug in around the wrecked halftrack. They'd dismounted its machine gun and mounted the .50 on a tripod.
O'Leary handed Rick an M-1 rifle, a filled cartridge belt with bayonet and two bandoliers of pre-loaded clips.
"Do you know how to use that thing sir?"
"I qualified expert with it back in the day, Sergeant and I requalify each year. Even though only the 1911 is required."
Rick buckled on the cartridge belt, dropped into a foxhole, and loaded the rifle.
A few minutes later O'Leary said;
"Get ready, here they come. Fix bayonets. We may need them.
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