(See Cover)
High over the Red River delta, U.S. jets raced toward their targets: bridges and ammunition dumps, barracks and railroad lines. Below, the country spread like oozing clay, its paddies framed by the dark brown lines of dikes. Ahead loomed the forested mountain peaks crowned with billowing thunderheads. Then there was Hanoi: a net of tiny roads leading in, the rail line gleaming north toward China, the factories on the river's edge belching smoke, the concrete revetments of Phuc Yen airfield, behind which lurked North Viet Nam's MIGs. As the American...
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