thdrawal problems… I don‘t expect that。 I examined her while you two were gone。 Her physical problem is not so much addiction as exhaustion and undernourishment。 She ought to be ten pounds heavier than she is。 She ought to tolerate withdrawal rather well if we support her in other ways。‘
‘Me； you mean？‘ Kelly asked。
‘That‘s a lot of it。‘ She looked over towards the open bedroom door and sighed； the tension going out of her。 ‘Well； given her underlying condition； that phenobarb will probably have her out for the rest of the night。 Tomorrow we start feeding her and exercising her。 For now；‘ Sarah announced； ‘we can feed ourselves。‘
Dinner talk focused deliberately on other subjects； and Kelly found himself delivering a lengthy discourse on the bottom contours of the Chesapeake Bay； segueing into what he knew about good fishing spots。 It was soon decided that his visitors would stay until Monday evening。 Time over the dinner table lengthened； and it was nearly ten before they rose。 Kelly cleaned up； then quietly entered his bedroom to hear Pam‘s quiet breathing。
Only thirteen feet long； and a scant three thousand sixty…five pounds of mass … nearly half of that fuel … the Buffalo Hunter angled towards the ground as it accelerated to an initial cruising speed of over five hundred knots。 Already its navigational puter； made by Lear…Siegler； was monitoring time and altitude in a very limited way。 The drone was programmed to follow a specific flight path and altitude； all painstakingly predetermined for systems that were by later standards absurdly primitive。 For all that； Cody…193 was a sporty…looking beast。 Its profile was remarkably like that of a blue shark with a protruding nose and underslung air intake for a mouth … stateside it was often painted with aggressive rows of teeth。 In this particular case； an experimental paint scheme … flat white beneath and mottled brown and green atop … was supposed to make it harder to spot from the ground … and the air。 It was also stealthy … a term not yet invented。 Blankets of RAM … radar…absorbing material … were integral with the wing surfaces； and the air intake was screened to attenuate the radar return off the whirling engine blades。
Cody…193 crossed the border between Laos and North Vietnam at 11：41：38 local time。 Still descending； it leveled out for the first time at five hundred feet above ground level； turning northeast； somewhat slower now in the thicker air this close to the ground。 The low altitude and small size of the speeding drone made it a difficult target； but by no means an impossible one； and outlying gun positions of the dense and sophisticated North Vietnamese air…defense work spotted it。 The drone flew directly towards a recently sited 37mm twin gun mount whose alert crew got their mount slued around quickly enough to loose twenty quick rounds； three of which passed within feet of the diminutive shape but missed。 Cody…193 took no note of this； and neither jinked nor evaded the fire。 Without a brain； without eyes； it continued along on its flight path rather like a toy train around a Christmas tree while its new owner ate breakfast in the kitchen。 In fact it was being watched。 A distant EC…121 Warning Star tracked …193 by means of a coded radar transponder located atop the drone‘s vertical fin。
‘Keep going； baby；‘ a major whispered to himself； watching his scope。 He knew of the mission； how important it was； and why nobody else could be allowed to know。 Next to him was a small segment from a topographical map。 The drone turned north at the right place； dropping down to three hundred feet as it found the right valley； following a small tributary river。 At least the guys who programmed it knew their stuff； the major thought。
…193 had burned a third of its fuel by now and was consuming the remaining amount very rapidly at low level； flying below the crests of the unseen hills to the left and right。 The programmers had done their best； but there was one chillingly close call when a puff of wind forced it to the right before the autopilot could correct； and …193 missed an unusually tall tree by a scant seventy feet。 Two militiamen were on that crest and fired off their rifles at it； and again the rounds missed。 One of them started down the hill towards a telephone； but his panion called for him to stop as …193 flew blindly on。 By the time a call was made and received； the enemy aircraft would be long gone； and besides； they‘d done their duty in shooting at it。 He worried about where their bullets had landed； but it was too late for that。
Colonel Robin Zacharias； USAF； was walking across the dirt of what might in other times and circumstances be called a parade ground； but there were no parades here。 A prisoner for over six months； he faced every day as a struggle； contemplating misery more deep and dark than anything he‘d been able to imagine。 Shot down on his eighty…ninth mission； within sight of rotation home； a pletely successful mission brought to a bloody end by nothing more significant than bad luck。 Worse； his ‘bear‘ was dead。 And he was probably the lucky one； the Colonel thought as he was led across the pound by two small； unfriendly men with rifles。 His arms were tied behind him； and his ankles were hobbled because they were afraid of him despite their guns； and even with all that he was also being watched by men in the guard towers。 I must really look scary to the little bastards； the fighter pilot told himself。
Zacharias didn‘t feel very dangerous。 His back was still injured from the ejection。 He‘d hit the ground severely crippled； and his effort to evade capture had been little more than a token gesture； a whole hundred yards of movement over a period of five minutes； right into the arms of the gun crew which had shredded his aircraft。
The abuse had begun there。 Paraded through three separate villages； stoned and spat upon； he‘d finally ended up here。 Wherever here was。 There were sea birds。 Perhaps he was close to the sea； the Colonel speculated。 But the memorial in Salt Lake City； several blocks from his boyhood home； reminded him that gulls were not merely creatures of the sea。 In the preceding months he had been subjected to all sorts of physical abuse； but it had strangely slackened off in the past few weeks。 Perhaps they‘d bee tired of hurting him； Zacharias told himself。 And maybe there really was a Santa Claus； too； he thought； his head looking down at the dirt。 There was little consolation to be had here。 There were other prisoners； but his attempts at municating with them had all failed。 His cell had no windows。 He‘d seen two faces； neither of which he had recognized。 On both occasions he‘d started to call out a greeting only to be clubbed to the ground by one of his guards。 Both men had seen him but made no sound。 In both cases he‘d seen a smile and a nod； the best that they could do。 Both men were of his age； and； he supposed； about his rank； but that was all he knew。 What was most frightening to a man who had much to be frightened about was that this was not what he had been briefed to expect。 It wasn‘t the Hanoi Hilton； where all the POWs were supposed to have been congregated。 Beyond that he knew virtually nothing； and the unknown can be the most frightening thing of all； especially to a man accustomed over a period of twenty years to being absolute master of his fate。 His only consolation； he thought； was that things were as bad as they could be。 On that； he was wrong。
‘Good morning。 Colonel Zacharias；‘ a voice called across the pound。 He looked up to see a man taller than himself； Caucasian； and wearing a uniform very different from that of his guards。 He strode towards the prisoner with a smile。 ‘Very different from Omaha； isn‘t it？‘
That was when he heard a noise； a thin screeching whine； approaching from the southwest。 He turned on instinct … an aviator must always look to see an aircraft； no matter where he might be。 It appeared in an instant； before the guards had a chance to react。
Buffalo Hunter； Zacharias thought； standing erect； turning； to watch it pass； staring at it； holding his head up； seeing the black rectangle of the camera window； whispering a prayer that the device was operating。 When the guards realized what he was doing； a gun butt in the kidneys dropped the colonel to the ground。 Suppressing a curse； he tried to deal with the pain as a pair of boots came into his restricted field of vision。
‘Do not get overly excited；‘ the other man said。 ‘It‘s heading to Haiphong to count the ships。 Now； my friend； we need to bee acquainted。‘
Cody…193 continued northeast； holding a nearly constant speed and altitude as it entered the dense air…defense belt surrounding North Vietnam‘s only major port。 The cameras in the Buffalo Hunter recorded several triple…A batteries； observation points； and more than a few people with AK…47s； all of whom made at least a token shot at the drone。 The only thing …193 had going for it was its small size。 Otherwise it flew on a straight and level course while its cameras snapped away； recording the images on 2。25…inch film。 About the only thing not shot at it were surface…to…air missiles： …193 was too low for that。
‘Go； baby； go！‘ the Major said； two hundred miles away。 Outside； the four piston engines of the Warning Star were straining to maintain the altitude necessary for him to watch the drone‘s progress。 His eyes were locked on the flat glass screen； following the binking blip of the radar transponder。 Other controllers monitored the location of other American aircraft also visiting the enemy country； in constant munication with RED CROWN； the Navy ship that managed air operations from the seaward side。 ‘Turn east； baby … now！‘
Right on schedule； Cody…193 banked hard to the right； ing a touch lower and screaming over the Haiphong docks at 500 knots； a hundred tracer rounds in its wake。 Longshoremen and sailors from various ships looked up in curiosity and irritation； and not a little fear for all the steel flying in the sky over their heads。
‘Yes！‘ the Major shouted； loudly enough that the sergeant…controller to his left looked up in irritation。 You were supposed to keep things quiet here。 He keyed his mike to speak to RED CROWN。 ‘Cody…one…niner…three is bingo。‘
‘Roger； copy bingo on one…niner…three；‘ the acknowledgment came back。 It was a false use of the ‘bingo‘ code word； which ordinarily meant an aircraft with a low fuel state； but it was a term so monly used that it made a more than adequate disguise。 The Navy enlisted man on the other end of the circuit then told an orbiting helicopter crew to wake up。
The drone cleared the coast right on schedule； keeping low for a few more miles before going into its final climb； down to its last hundred pounds of fuel as it reached its pre…programmed point thirty miles offshore and began circling。 Now another transponder came on； one tuned to the search radars of US Navy picket ships。 One of these； the destroyer Henry B。 Wilson； took note of the expected target at the expected time and place。 Her missile technicians used the opportunity to run a practice intercept problem； but had to switch off their illumination radars after a few seconds。 It made the airedales nervous。
Circling at five thousand feet； Cody…193