Chapter 2
Iron Hand
A.J. Chegwidden had been shot, stabbed, tortured and left for dead, but he'd come home from Vietnam. Harmon Rabb Sr. hadn't been so lucky. Once back at JAG, Admiral Chegwidden instructed Petty Officer Tiner to shuffle the appropriate papers to cover the unexplained absences of Harmon Rabb Jr. and Major Sarah Mackenzie.
That presented no problem for Tiner, who by now had become quite proficient in that duty.
Friday. 9 October 1998
1130 Kilo (Zulu -5)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
When Clayton Webb walked into Harm's office he immediately handed Harm his father's file. "As promised."
Harmon Rabb had seen countless legal documents, and he recognized that these were genuine. "I'll send certified copies to the DoD and the Department of the Navy."
"The Pentagon was my first stop."
"You're a delivery boy now?" asked Harm
"If I want to get out of that office with a view the parking lot, hell yes. Harm, if there's anything more that I can do for you, just let me know."
"As a matter of fact there is. I'm going in to see the Admiral and I need you there with me."
Harm watched the color drain from Webb's face. "I've only just recovered from the last time I saw Chegwidden." Webb rubbed his jaw. "The man has a mean right cross."
"You being there would be a big help," admitted Harm.
Webb sighed. "Lead on, MacDuff."
"Commander Rabb and Mister Webb are here to see you, sir," said Petty Officer Tiner.
"Send them in," was the Admirals curt response.
As soon as the pair walked into his office, Admiral Chegwidden confronted Clayton Webb. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?"
"Don't shoot the messenger, A.J," said Webb, who was trying his best to blend in with the paneling.
"Webb, I've been in the Navy for 30 years, and what you are doing with this cover up is a disgrace. Just my knowing about it makes me feel as dirty as a two dollar whore in Da Nang."
Harm spoke up. "With all due respect, Admiral. I agreed to it. Without going into the ugly details, this is the only way to put it behind us."
"Harm, is this really what you want? or is it what Langley is telling you to do?"
"Sir, it's what I have to do."
"We can fight this," the Admiral insisted.
"To what end, sir? My father was a combat pilot who gave his life for his country, just like his own father had done in WWII. I want my father remembered for that, and not as a kidnapped POW caught up in Cold War intrigue."
"This is your call, Harm, but experience has taught me that these kinds of secrets don't stay secret for long."
Webb spoke up. "A.J, if I can say something about that-"
"Webb, if I hear another word out of you, this time I'll break your damned jaw," and the former SEAL stared down the CIA officer.
Harm got the conversation back on track. "Admiral, I love my father. He was a gifted aviator, and an officer and a gentleman. I feel that this is the best way for his Naval career to end. What might happen later doesn't matter."
"I respect that. Your dad would be proud of you. Hell, I'm proud of you." The Admiral was embarrassed that he'd let that slip out
"Thank you, sir. After all that you've done for me I hate to ask this, but I'd feel uncomfortable discussing recent events with my mother over the telephone."
"Will five days leave be sufficient?"
"That is more than generous, sir."
"Commander, give your mother my condolences."
Harm sensed that the Admiral's tone that he had abruptly switched from father figure to commanding officer. "I will do that. Thank you, sir."
"Both of you are dismissed."
Harm rose to his feet and stood at attention and said, "Aye aye, sir," while Webb silently slipped out the door.
When the pair left the Admiral's office, Webb, happy to still have all of his teeth, breathed a sigh of relief. "That meeting took ten years off of my life."
"I'm sorry about that, Clay, but I appreciate the assist. I hope you get that new office with a view."
"Harm, I only met your mother once, and it was briefly. Please give her my condolences."
Harm saw that Webb was sincere, and the two men exchanged a rare handshake.
When Harm returned to his own office, Mac was sitting in his chair and waiting for him.
Mac was wearing her Marine Service Alpha's, but for some strange reason Harm was seeing her dressed as the gypsy fortune teller.
"How did it go with the Admiral?" Mac asked.
"Better than expected. The Admiral has given me five days to visit with my mother in San Diego."
"Would you like me to go with you?"
Harm was caught off guard. "You want to go with me to visit my mother?"
"Harm, when the time comes for you to tell Trish what happened to your dad, no matter what the story is, a woman should be there with her."
"I hadn't considered that," Harm admitted.
"That's because you're a man." Mac gave sly smile. "You wouldn't be expected to be so thoughtful."
"Of course I'd like you to go with me, but I doubt that the Admiral will give you the time off."
Mac held up her hand. "The Admiral has given me five days leave."
"You've already spoken to him?"
"He called me into his office first thing this morning. Harm, seeing you in Russia has given the Admiral survivors guilt. He came home from Vietnam, but your dad didn't."
"I don't know what to say."
A smile spread across Mac's beautiful face. "Say nothing. It's done."
"I'll arrange for the tickets."
Mac's hand came up again. "Already taken care of. Frank has booked us two seats on tomorrow's 1130 United flight out of Dulles."
"It seems that you've handled everything."
"Well, I did begin my Marine Corps career in Logistics."
"At least let me pick you up and take you to the airport. I'll swing by your place a 0900."
"I was thinking that I should stay overnight with you. That way we can leave for the airport together. After all, it would simplify logistics." Mac looked up in anticipation of his answer.
The look on Mac's face left no doubt in Harm's mind of what she wanted to happen tonight. What man would not desire her? Harm had long suspected that Mac was a passionate woman, but she kept that passion hidden beneath the Marine façade.
Harm pictured he and Mac in his bed. He was holding her. She'd want to be held tightly. Now he was looking into her huge brown eyes while slowly running his hands along her body, all the time marveling at how well toned she was. Then they kissed.
It was a beautiful picture, but the timing wasn't right. Harm snapped back to reality. "I'm sorry, Mac. I have a lot of things to take care of this evening. I'll be at your place at 0900."
Mac abruptly stood up and walked towards the door.
"Mac-"
She turned and told him, "It's okay, Harm. I'll see in 20 hours and 11 minutes."
As Sarah MacKenzie walked into the bullpen, she wondered if her parading naked in front of Harmon Rabb would get the desired results?
No, he'd warn me about getting a chill and then offer me a robe.
Saturday 10 October 1998
1050 Local (Zulu -5)
Dulles International Airport
Loudoun County, Virginia
"United Airlines Flight UA 231, from Washington DC to San Diego is now boarding at Gate 34," came the announcement.
Business passengers were starting to board when Harm felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, Harm was surprised to find Clayton Webb.
"Webb, what brings you here?"
"Business, of course. Excuse us, Sarah, but I need a minute alone with Harm," explained Webb, who was not pleased to see that Mac was accompanying Harm to San Diego.
"I'll secure our carry-on's." Mac took Harm's bag and left the two men alone.
"What's this about, Clay?"
Webb handed Harm a Sony digital audio tape player along with a pair of small headphones. "This is for you."
"A gift? My birthday isn't for two weeks," Harm joked.
"The tape contains radio transmissions which were recorded at a CIA LIMA site in northern Laos. To the best of my knowledge, no one outside of the Agency has heard this tape in over 25 years."
"Well, Mister Phelps, should I destroy the tape after I listen to it?"
"Harm, the recording was made on 24 December 1969. I advise you to have a couple of drinks before and after you listen to this tape- I did," and the inscrutable CIA officer disappeared inside the crowded terminal.
A leggy blond stewardess directed Harm to his seat next to Mac, who was busy studying the aircraft safety sheet and making note of the emergency exists. Mac scowled at the blond, who quickly retreated to the safety of the galley.
"What was on Clay's mind?" Mac asked anxiously.
"He gave me this tape player."
"That was nice of him." Mac's curiosity quickly got the better of her. "Aren't you going to listen to your tape?"
"Maybe later. Right now I could use a drink."
Saturday 10 October 1998
United Flight UA 231
32,000 above Greeley County, Kansas
The tape began with the sterile voice of a CIA officer monitoring radio traffic at "Heavy Green", which was LIMA Site-75 and was located atop Phou Pha Thi (The Sacred Mountain) in eastern Laos.
"Tape rolling at Heavy Green, 24 December, 1330 hours. US Navy Iron Hand strike commences at Kilo-Zebra-Tango-Delta."
Harm had already had two drinks, but hearing his father's voice on the tape sent a shiver went up his spine.
"What have we got, Hoot?"
"Strobe (SAM radar launch alert) at 10 o'clock."
This was the first time that Harmon Rabb Junior had heard the voice of his father's RIO: LTJG Howard "Hoot" Gibson.
"Bad Man Two. Send mode one," Harm called to his wingman, Tom Boone, whose F-4 was equipped with countermeasures pods.
"Sending mode one."
There was no mistaking Tom Boone's voice. It was more familiar to Harm Junior than his own father's.
"Bad Man One, no joy on launch light," said Harm.
The rules of engagement then in effect prohibited aircraft from firing on any SAM site not in operation. A SAM site had to be tracking a U.S. plane before the plane could fire back.
"Fairfield One to Two. I have a threat alert," said flight leader Lt. Commander (now Rear Admiral) Allen Cherry, call sign 'Buster'.
"Fox-three. Missile away," shouted Cherry's wingman, Bill Ross, call sign was 'Rooster,' who was carrying AGM-45 Shrike anti-radiation missiles designed to home in on hostile anti-aircraft radar, which could ride the radar beam to the ground to destroy the launch site.
"They just shut down their radar," announced Cherry, who watched as the Shrike missile flew off and disappeared from view.
Tom Boone spotted a large cloud of dust on the ground, followed fire and a trail of white smoke with an orange-hot projectile in its center.
It was a SAM launch.
"Bad Man Two has got a tally. Hammer, he's heading for you...break left!" shouted Boone, who watched the missile's exhaust trail race after his friend's aircraft.
Considered to be the most capable aviator in the squadron (some said in the fleet), Harm's F-4 served as bait for the SAMs, but Harm wasn't flying his regular Phantom today. Harm's Phantom, which he had named in honor of his mother, was undergoing routine maintenance which had been delayed by the Bob Hope USO show on board USS Ticonderoga.
Today, Harm was flying another F-4, an aircraft which was no where near as responsive to control inputs as Sweet Sarah.
"I have another missile launch," announced Boone, knowing it was NVA doctrine to launch SAM's in pairs, and a few seconds apart.
"I've got a threat light. The missile's gone active," said Harm, who began evasive action.
A SAM cannot be evaded by climbing. Missiles are light weight with powerful rocket motors which allow them to easily out climb any jet aircraft. The missile's weaknesses was its short range, and that it couldn't think, it could only react. Jinking, rolling, hard breaking turns and diving were the target aircraft's best defense, but the F-4 Phantom, which was designed to be a fleet air superiority fighter, was not especially nimble.
"Hammer, light the burners and dive for the deck!" Al Cherry shouted, and everyone held their breath as the two missiles continued to close on Harm's Phantom.
"He's going to outrun it," said Boone who saw the first missile exhaust its fuel before getting close to Harm's F-4.
Al Cherry saw the second missile closing in. "Hammer, break hard right!" Cherry shouted, but it was too late.
The second missile's 350 pound warhead detonated by proximity below and behind Harm's left wing.
The Phantom began to careen wildly, went into a flat spin, and then it burst into flames.
"Shit! You're on fire! Tom Boone shouted into the open microphone.
The F-4 began trailing heavy flames from its belly and began shedding debris. When the fire spread up the fuselage, Al Cherry shouted, "Get out! NOW!"
An instant later, flames engulfed the cockpit and the Phantom came apart in a massive ball of fire.
"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Boone cried.
Bill Ross's voice cut in. "I've got two chutes at my 9 o'clock." By some miracle, Harm and Hoot had punched out of the doomed aircraft.
"Rooster, take high-cap and stay with those chutes," ordered Cherry, who immediately raised Red Crown, USS Chicago, the radar control ship cruising in the Tonkin Gulf.
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Navy Bad Man One has been shot down."
In an instant, all nonessential US Navy Radio traffic ceased. Somewhere over North Vietnam, a shipmate was in serious trouble.
"This is Red Crown on Guard (the emergency radio channel). Navy aircraft calling, say again all after Mayday."
The voice on the radio belonged to Chief Larry Nowell, the most experienced controller in Vietnam. Nowell had been tracking multiple aircraft on his radar scope, but the instant he heard the words shot down, he began handing aircraft off to other controllers.
"This is Navy Fairfield One. I say again, Bad Man One has been shot down. INS (Internal Navigation System) Coordinates 2121-110679. Bad Man One has ejected. We have two good chutes."
"Roger. What is the terrain?"
"Mountains and a heavy tree line- triple canopy," Cherry answered back.
"Buster, I'm taking flak. I've got to break off," announced Bill Ross, whose aircraft was being fired on.
"Aircraft has impacted the ground. There's smoke and a fire. Jughead, what are the coordinates?" Boone asked his RIO, Lt. Archie Bond.
Harm Junior had never met Archie Bond, and Tom Boone had never spoken the man's name in his presence.
"Wait one," said Bond.
"You've got one job in this airplane, and that's to know where we are!" Boone demanded.
"I've got it," said Cherry's RIO, Bill "Fingers" Fontane, who passed the info to Cherry.
"Red Crown. Downed aircraft coordinates are 2122-110672. The downed aircraft is burning."
"I've lost the chutes. They must have gone into the trees," said Bill Ross, who had dodged the flak and retaken his station.
On board USS Chicago, Chief Nowell began coordinating with the US Air Force search and rescue components based in Nakhon Phanom, Thailand, and with USS Constellation, which had assets already in the air; all while trying to answer the frantic questions now pouring in from USS Ticonderoga.
First to respond would be the USAF, which operated a fleet of enormous "Super Jolly Green Giant" helicopters which could venture far deeper into North Vietnam than the shorter ranged US Navy choppers.
Air Force search and rescue also had their own escorts; heavily armed piston engine A-1 Skyraiders, called Sandy's, which could loiter over a rescue site far longer than thirsty jet engine fighters.
"Fairfield One, Red Crown. Air Force rescue is inbound. State your endurance," Nowel requested.
"We're bingo in ten," Cherry answered.
"Roger. I have a CAP inbound from the Constellation, ETA 15 minutes. The Jolly's should be five behind the Connie's CAP."
The audio which followed was several minutes of open microphones with the sounds of heavy breathing though oxygen masks while the three Phantoms circled the area searching for the downed aviators.
Suddenly, the high pitched wail of a RT-10 emergency radio-beacon began playing on the tape, and Al Cherry began calling, "Beeper beeper, come up voice. Beeper beeper, come up voice."
The beacon's wailing continued while everyone waited for a response over the two-way radio which had a voice range of 10 miles.
"Beeper beeper, come up voice!"
There was a burst of static on the tape, and Harm trembled the sound of his father's voice.
"Bad Man One-Alpha."
Al Cherry was in command of the flight and should be the one in radio communication with the ground, but Tom Boone didn't care.
"Harm, are you okay?" asked Boone, who was trying in vain to locate his friend.
"My legs are broken. I can't locate Bravo (Hoot)."
"We can't see you. Can you see us?" asked Boone.
"I see smoke to the north."
Boone knew that smoke was from Harm's own downed Phantom.
"Buster, I'm coming back hard right, turning south and going low-cap," said Boone, who should have been observing a 3000 foot hard-deck, but was flying well below that.
At such a low altitude small arms fire from the ground was a genuine threat.
"We're too low," Archie Bond cautioned from the backseat.
"I know what I'm doing!" Boone ignored his RIO's warnings and began flying even lower, now no more than a few hundred feet above the trees. "Harm, do you see me?"
There was nothing but static over the radio.
"Harm, do you see me?" Boone pleaded.
Now, there wasn't even static. Contact with Bad Man One had been broken.
"Fairfield One. I'm bingo fuel," Bill Ross called.
Fuel had become the critical issue. The F-4 was a gas hog, more so at low altitude and low speed.
"Roger. Bad Man Two. Fuel status?" asked Cherry.
"I can orbit until the CAP arrives," said Boone.
Archie Bond cut in. "Buster, we are bingo. Our fuel is negative 2."
"God damn you, Jug. Stop running your mouth! Buster, I can orbit until the CAP arrives."
Al Cherry was in command of the flight. Remaining on station or breaking off was left up to him.
"Red Crown, from Fairfield One."
"Go."
"Contact was established with Bad Man One-Alpha. Alpha states two broken legs and he may have other injuries. His location is south of the crash site. I say again, his location is south of the crash site. Negative contact with Bravo. Contact with Alpha has been broken. We are bingo to the boat."
"Roger. The CAP should arrive in five."
A new voice was heard on the tape. "Red Crown from Sinclair One."
"Go."
"We're seven minutes out."
"Roger. Contact Fairfield One on two-two-five-point five."
"Sinclair One to Fairfield One."
"Go."
"We're coming in to set up the CAP. I have a visual on the smoke."
"We had one good radio contact south of the crash site. No visual. Pilot badly injured. Contact has been broken."
"Roger. We can maintain station until the Jolly's arrive."
To ensure his flight of aircraft were ready to leave, Cherry called for an ops check.
"Fairfield Two, ready," said Bill Ross, but there was no response from Tom Boone.
"Fairfield One to Bad Man Two, acknowledge...Two, answer me!" Cherry demanded.
"I have enough fuel to wait for Sinclair."
"Negative. There's nothing more that we can do here."
Al Cherry could see the bright orange flashes of 37mm cannons erupting from the ground. The Soviet built automatic cannons were deadly against low flying aircraft and the NVA gunners would find their range in a matter of seconds.
"Bad Man Two. Tom, we've got to go!" Cherry ordered.
Tom Boone was weeping. "I can't leave him...he would never leave me."
The tape ended with the same sterile voice. "Heavy Green. 1410 hours. Strike results against Kilo-Zebra-Tango-Delta are negative. One Navy aircraft was lost, call sign Bad Man One.
Inside the airliner, Harmon Rabb Jr. pulled off his headphones and tossed them aside. Now he was the one on the ground in North Vietnam.
Harm could hear the NVA moving in the trees. They were coming for him, but his legs were broken and he couldn't run. He tried to crawl away and hide, but they were on top of him.
Harm put up his hands to surrender.
The NVA began screaming at him. They destroyed his signal beacon and stripped him of his gear. They tried to kill Harm with his own pistol, but when it failed to fire, they started beating and kicking him.
When they began kicking his broken legs, Harm couldn't stand it. He pleaded for them to stop. Instead, a rifle butt was raised above his head. When it came down, everything went black.
Inside the airliner, Mac Looked over at Harm. "My God. You look like you've seen a ghost."
He had.
