Chapter 1: Escalation

May 8th, 1972

It was a calm morning at Osan Air Base, near the heart of South Korea. The usual hustle and bustle of civilians, traffic moving around the airbase into the capital of Seoul, and the flocks of birds flying overhead. Soon, the silence was wrenched from the air, as the sound of J97 turbojet engines roared overhead. The young children walking to school looked up and pointed, as a 23-year-old girl soared through the sky, her B-58A "Hustler" bomber units churning through the humid air. "This is Airman First Class Hailey Confer, callsign 'Boiling Point.' Osan Tower, requesting permission to land." Hailey said over the radio.

"This is Osan Tower. Airman Confer, you are cleared to land. Welcome home." The gruff controller's voice said, as Hailey touched down on the concrete runway. Upon landing, the rather tall girl docked her bomber units in the hangar, retrieved her flight recorder unit from the fuselage, and began a brisk walk to the War Room.

The War Room was dimly lit by a few red-light bulbs, and the eerily luminescent computer screens that filled it. The technicians paid little attention to Confer, as they hunched over various radar displays and scanners. She walked over to Lieutenant General Moore, the chief of the 7th Joint Strike Force, who was briefly mumbling something to a radar officer. "Lt. Gen. Moore, Airman Confer reporting." She said, saluting him.

"At ease, Airman Confer." Moore said, turning around. "Good to see you safe and sound. Anything interesting out there?"

Hailey pulled out her flight recorder unit, extracted the data tape and laid it on a nearby desk. "Yes, I found what you were looking for, a breach in the DMZ. The Teki are moving swiftly, in a flanking maneuver through Cambodia. I detected a convoy of at least 39 armored fighting vehicles, accompanied by twice as many logistics vehicles with coolant and power cells for their energy weapons. A heavy weapons platoon was following closely behind them, mainly large caliber artillery guarded by anti-aircraft vehicles."

Moore scratched his head momentarily. "We don't have the firepower to take out a convoy that large… However, word from the top brass is that the Big Man is going to approve an escalation of the air war tomorrow, during his address on the status in Vietnam."

"You mean the big guy? JFK?" Confer asked, her eyes wide as saucers.

"That's affirmative. We'll be getting those long-awaited reinforcements, which will finally give us the upper hand." Moore replied with a grin, and patted Hailey on the back.

"General." She stopped him, with a worried expression. "There's more. I found one of the forward airfields near the Cambodian-Vietnam border, they've been under siege by enemy raiders for a considerable time now. I picked up a weak distress signal coming from the pilots stranded there. They're still alive, but unable to launch any attacks without medical supplies, ammo, and fuel."

Moore grumbled in a low tone. "We really don't have time to babysit…"

"Sir, with all due respect, our reinforcements won't be arriving for another few days. Wouldn't it be wise to recover the pilots and bring them back to Osan?"

Moore deliberated, the internal confliction showing in his eyes. Hailey tried to keep professional, and yet she was visibly trembling with concern. The Lt. Gen. sighed, and walked over to the logistics officer. "Scramble a CASEVAC (casualty evacuation) unit. Airman Confer will provide guidance for the transport." He ordered, and the officer nodded obediently. Moore started for his office, before he grasped Hailey's shoulder. "You have 12 hours. Bring them back alive." He demanded, before stalking to his office.

Hailey walked back to the hangar, where her B-58 'Hustler' units were resting in the docking station. Next to it were many more docking stations, but most of them were empty. She recalled the first few years of the conflict, in the late '60's, when the stations were all full of long range bomber units and recon units. Little did they know what kind of enemy they would face, and the majority of them were written off as MIA (missing in action) or KIA (killed in action). Hailey's unit now consisted of just her, and one of the fighter pilots, Corporal Candice Drew, a Swiss pilot who flew the Hawker Hunter. It was a strange little fighter unit, which entered service with Britain in the '50's, and sold to many countries before the turn of the '60's. Candice's unit was painted in dark forest camouflage as standard, however she would consistently draw little hearts and flowers on her belongings with permanent markers, a strange habit that Hailey observed continually.

"Speaking of… where is Candice, anyways?" Hailey wondered, before spotting her near the hangar door. The slender Swiss girl leaned against the doorway, looking out across the tarmac to the transport sector. Her flight suit clung tightly to her like a bodysuit, and she was in the process of extracting her long, violet dyed hair from the suit.

"Man, it's hot out here, huh Hailey?" Candice complained.

"You're delusional. It's a nice climate here." Hailey remarked.

"It's nothing at all like the Alps… I need to cool off…" Candice groaned, unzipping the top half of her suit and pulling her arms out of the sleeves, revealing her tank top underneath.

"H-hey, Candice! We're still out in the open, yknow!" Hailey reprimanded, her cheeks bright red.

"So? It's not like the mechanics mind." Candice replied with a smile.

"Anyways, we need to get going. The 113th Airborne Infantry is undertaking the CASEVAC mission in one hour. There's an enemy convoy coming in from north of that position, and Moore's given us 12 hours to get the pilots out before that convoy gets in range."

"Fine, let's get going then…" Candice said loftily, walking back over to her fighter units. Hailey also jumped into her B-58 units, spinning up the turbojets as she performed pre-flight checks.

Meanwhile at Offut AFB in Nebraska…

Multiple generals of the Strategic Air Command were meeting in the war room, at SAC Headquarters in Nebraska. General Curtiss Lemay sat at the head of the table, smoking his pipe as usual, discussing the tactical overview for the upcoming operation. Various flags were being moved across the table, representing fighter and bomber wings of the Strategic Air Command. Down in the South China Sea was a flag belonging to the naval air forces, and it represented Carrier Task Force 77, a massive fleet whose aim was to prevent eastward expansion of the enemy forces. On the east coast of the DMZ was a former Vietnamese naval base, where enemy torpedo boats were sortieing into the South China Sea.

General Lemay was cross with the situation, evident by his fist violently slamming onto the table. "Will someone explain to me why we haven't shut those damned torpedo boats in?" He demanded gruffly. "That base has been the only real opposition to the task force, and yet every time it's bombed, more torpedo boats stream out into the open waters. I don't want excuses, I want solutions, people."

From the back of the room, a pair of eyes peered through the door, which was open just a crack. The woman watched earnestly, and the lieutenant general insignia gleamed on her shoulders. Lemay felt her gaze upon him, and slowly turned around to meet her eyes.

"Ah, Lt. Gen. Doolittle. Right on time." He turned back to the table with a slight grin. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."

Lemay rose from his chair, and walked out into the hall with Jamie, who took his hand eagerly. He took note of the splendorous ring on her finger, as she escorted him down the hallway. Suddenly, Jamie ducked into a side corridor, pulling General Lemay with her. She pressed both of his shoulders against the wall, with a determined grip. Curtiss was surprised, and amused at the same time.

"You certainly know how to get my attention, Lt. Gen. What can I do for you?"

"Don't call me by that distant title." Jamie responded hurtfully. "Have you forgotten that we're married now? You hardly ever come home for dinner, and this is the only way I can ever get your attention."

She was almost in tears, as Curtiss' face softened a bit. "Don't cry, my little warhawk. I realize I haven't been home nearly enough to support you, but please try to understand." He wiped a few tears from her eyes. "We're about to undertake the largest airborne offensive since the daylight bombing raids of WW2."

Jamie was pulling her handkerchief out, and stopped partway. "You mean… President Kennedy approved?"

"That's affirmative. After so many sleepless nights, we finally have the means to get something done. In fact, I was going to offer you a transfer to Osan AFB, as an instructor. But I thought I would break it to you over dinner." Curtiss admitted warmly.

"Oh, you old teddy bear…" Jamie giggled gleefully. "Only you would make a proposition like that to an expecting lady."

Curtiss' eyes widened, as he struggled to believe her. "You mean… I'm going to be a father?" He asked hoarsely.

"Surprise…!" Jamie giggled, giving him a loving smooch. "In the meantime, I have some other suggestions, if you still need an instructor…"

"On such short notice? How did you even know the position was open?" Curtiss asked, wide-eyed.

"Call it… Intuition." Jamie giggled.

At that moment, Hailey, Candice, and a C-46 Commando transport were departing on their CASEVAC mission, braving the long flight from Osan to South Vietnam. The C-46, being the stronger but less reliable brother to the C-47 Skytrain, lumbered into the air. On the left side of the nose, a title was printed in bright yellow, that read, "The Tinker Belle."

Meanwhile at Barksdale AFB, Louisiana, a group of C-130 transports were preparing for the flight to Vietnam. As the C-130's were being loaded up with soldiers, the division commander noticed a red haired bun, sticking up from among the soldier helmets. "Hey! Redhead!" He called out. "Who are you? Where's your gear? I don't have any room for delinquents on my departure list!" He boomed.

"Oh, there must be some sort of mix up." The girl replied, walking over as her emerald green eyes stared right through him. She was certainly older than this big shot, in her late 40's at least, but her red hair was just as vibrant as if she was 24. "You see, I'm Lt. Col. Roberta Morgan." She smiled politely, holding out her identification badge.

The officer was flustered. "And… what is the purpose of your presence here, Lt. Col.?"

"I'm on orders from Lt. Gen. Doolittle, if you could just drop me off at Osan AFB in South Korea, I'm going to be their instructor." The officer was still confused, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that. Coming along with a group like this…" He muttered.

"Trust me, hon. I've faced far worse, and still came out on top." She laughed heartily, walking up the aircraft ramp.