Whenever weather and Washington permitted,
the two Thud wings each flew two strike
missions daily. The strike force was
usually 16 F-105Ds escorted by two spares to
achieve four flights of four to attack a
prime target in the industrial heartland of
NVN. Usually our number-two flight was
assigned to flak suppression around the
target by dropping canisters of bomblets,
while the other three flights attacked the
primary target. The configuration varied
according to target for the attack
airplanes. There were two configurations
for bombing, the most common was six 750
pound bombs on a center mounted multiple
ejection rack (MER). The other was a 3000#
bombs mounted on each wing on the mid-store
station. The aircraft assigned to flak
suppression were hung with Cluster Bomb
Units (CBU) instead of bombs, which opened
at a pre-designated altitude over the gun
positions and scattered sub-munitions over a
wide area. Strike aircraft also could carry
an Electronic Counter Measures pod on each
outboard stores racks. The ECM pods
interfered with the accuracy with which
surface to air missiles could be guided, but
at a cost of limited strike aircraft
formations and maneuvers, a reasonable
trade, as the numbers of ECM pods necessary
became available, during my tour.
The Gatling cannon was a formidable weapon
for defense against attacking Migs or in
protecting downed flyers, and we could find
some interesting hunting with it from time
to time in lower packs, my favorite sport
when returning from Pack VI.
Our 5th flight had two Wild
Weasel (F-105F) two-seaters, each escorted
by an F-105D strike wingman, usually
carrying CBUs, but capable of carrying
Anti-SAM missiles, to be launched under
command of the Weasels. The 105F’s were
specially equipped to reduce the threat from
Surface to Air Missiles, SAM-2, by observing
and keeping them in danger whenever their
radars showed activity. The back-seater was
a specially trained Electronic
Countermeasures Officer to locate and
identify surface to air missile sites. If
the enemy kept tracking us, the Weasel’s
missile would track the radar to the source
of the SAM control. When appropriate, the
flight could visually attack sites directly
with the wingmen’s weapons. The latter was
frequent in earlier times than mine, even to
attack with the 20mm Gatling cannon, however
so suicidal that such attacks had generally
been reduced to occasional use of cluster
bomb drops.
 |
Route Package System |
We did our toughest jobs in Route Pack VIA,
a designation of a large area surrounding
Hanoi and extending to the Chinese border.
The map shows the designations of enemy
areas of NVN, designated as route packages
or “Packs”. By this time, the North
Vietnamese had figured out the politics of
the war. They had huge numbers of
antiaircraft guns and surface to air
missiles in prime target area of Pack VI.
In fact, some jocks made a red mark instead
of a black mark on their Aussie hats (our
complement to the flying suit) for each Pack
VI mission to acknowledge that fact.
Shortly before we arrived, a long-enduring
campaign named “Rolling Thunder” was
implemented in Washington. North Vietnam
was divided into 7 packages. By far, the
heaviest defenses were in Pack VI, which was
divided in half. Pack VIA included Hanoi and
was usually reserved for the Air Force.
Pack VIB included Haiphong and was assigned
to the Navy. Pack VIA represented the most
hostile environment we could be assigned.
But even south to Pack I, and north to the
Chinese border, the threat of shoot-down was
real. The Navy had aircraft carriers and
ships offshore of VIB but not of much help
when hit in VIA, where recovery of downed
crewmen was impossible.
More than 396 Thuds were confirmed destroyed
or lost to battle damage, some excess of
that number being uncertain. The loss
locations were: North VNM 285; Laos 57;
Thailand 51 and South VN 3. Those in
Thailand and SVNM were operational and/or
battle damage. More than 60% of the F-105’s
were lost in two years, 1966 and ’67.
A more vital measure was how F-105 crewmen
faired: Pilots shot down and recovered 153;
Killed 147; died in Captivity 6; Returned
from Missing in Action 4 and POW’s returned;
97. The fact that such a large percentage
of pilots survived the loss of so many
airplanes, in such a lethal atmosphere,
speaks volumes for its durability and
toughness, and for the Air Rescue folks.
The fact that many downed pilots returned to
fly again says a great deal about their
skills and everything about the courage and
determination of those crews who faced great
risks to extract downed flyers. They
willingly risked death or capture when there
was a chance of saving crews. But the
distance was too far and the odds too
impossible even for those supermen in much
of the area of North Vietnam (NVN). For
example, just 3 days before my first
mission, Maj. Bob Barnett, of the 469th
squadron was shot down which drew
lingering attention, because he bailed out
in the mountains of NVN, known as Little
Thud, very close to the Gulf of Tonkin but
also near the heavily populated Haiphong
port area. What accentuated his loss was
that he was on the emergency radio talking
with our guys twice a day as they flew over
him enroute to targets around Hanoi. The
Navy tried to get to him but a couple of
A-1’s were shot up in the process, then, an
accented voice took over and tried to coax
Navy rescue into a trap, but the decision
had been made that the area was impossible
to conduct a successful recovery. Bob
returned home years later with our other
repatriated POW’s.
We employed two basic flight paths from
Korat to the Pack VI area of North Vietnam,
with variations, selections generally
dependent on target location and tactical
considerations such as target type, attack
direction, defenses, etc. Our base was
about 15 degrees north latitude, Hanoi is 21
and most strike force targets were between
those two and generally between 105 and 107
degrees longitude. Generally, we retraced
our path on the way home, and the distances
always required aerial refueling in both
directions.
Our Western Approach route was a north
easterly flight from Korat to meet our
Tankers for inbound refueling over Northern
Thailand, continuing north over Laos to the
western border of NVN then going
northeasterly to targets near the China
border. For the more frequently attacked
targets in the Hanoi area we would turn
directly east toward the areas surrounding
the capital, crossing first the Black, then
the Song Lo river which combined to form the
very broad Red River that flowed through
Hanoi and down the delta to the sea. We
could continue east to a small mountain
range, nicknamed Thud Ridge, which extended
like a finger for about 35 miles southeast
from the mountains that blanketed all the
areas north to China. Thud Ridge was about
a mile high and most vital targets within
the Red River delta were within 40 miles of
its southern tip, Hanoi being only 25. This
allowed for attacking targets all around
Hanoi and to the north of the ridge also.
The Eastern Approach route, served for the
same general target areas, except resulted
in attacking from the east or south, rather
than the west or north. We departed home to
the east crossing the north part of South VN
before flying north to tanker rendezvous
over the Gulf. Leaving the K-135 tankers we
would fly north over water until we passed
the port city of Haiphong, turning westerly
along Little Thud, another ridge that headed
toward Hanoi. Like the western approach,
this helped us reduce the threat of SAMs for
an extended period. It was a more direct
route to many of the towns and targets
northeast of the Hanoi. This approach
served us well for a number of targets along
the rails and roads that connected their
primary port of Haiphong with the capital.
The Eastern Approach also had an alternate
after leaving the tankers. We would turn
northwest to the mouth of the Red River and
fly parallel to it (northwest) directly to
Hanoi. This was excellent for attacking the
eastern outskirts of the city, one of the
prime targets being their most vital bridge,
the Doumer, sometimes referred to as Hanoi
Rail and Highway Bridge. A secondary
bridge, the Canal des Rapides was just east
of the Doumer crossing a side canal of the
Red River.
All Strike Force missions required refueling
to make it to the targets and again to
return home, typically about 3 hours of
flight, and longer on occasion, especially
to provide cover for a rescue, when that was
possible after a successful bailout. In
route package VI, North from Hanoi, the
likelihood of recovery was nil, but strike
aircraft would shuttle back and forth from
the tankers for as long as necessary. If
downed crewmen reached the Gulf or land
areas accessible to helicopters in Laos or
Route Pack I, we could provide effective
support with the 20mm Gatling, shuttling
elements to refuel.
Not enough can be said of the courage and
skills of the rescue crews throughout
Vietnam, who were known as the Jolly Green
Giants for their camouflaged helicopters.
The chopper crews made miraculous saves of
airmen. Those rescue guys placed themselves
in great risk in the air, and on the ground,
under fire to help an injured aviator,
sometimes remaining with downed crewmen,
when ground fire became too intense for the
chopper to withstand.
 |
Flight Taxi at Korat |
I flew my first four combat missions from 6
thru 11October 1967, to lower route packs
for familiarity and was cleared for Strike
Force. These were never more than four ship
flights and sometimes merely a 2-ship
element. I was on my final attack at low
altitude using the gun and pulling out not
very high over the target, when my world
turned red: Every warning light in the
cockpit seemed to light up. My immediate
thought was ground fire so I pulled up
steeply to gain altitude in case I had to
punch out, but found that I had only had an
electrical system failure at an inopportune
moment. It was a good wake up call, since I
had not taken too much stock in the
realities of the situation on those early
missions, but that was about to change. I
was cleared for Strike Force missions and
would fly my first the next day.
12 October 1967:
When I arrived at Wing in the wee hours of
the morning and on through the extensive
squadron briefing, I was surprise by the
amount of procedures that had to be covered
on every flight. Being my first, that was
imperative and for a few more to come, but I
learned that would not be deviated from even
with four veterans in the squadron briefing,
done at a flight level. Our force would
attack the railroad at Bac Ninh, about 15
miles from Hanoi, on the northwest rail
lines. We would fly the eastern approach to
Little Thud. The entire force taxied out,
with the Weasel flight first. The flight
leaders would level off and pull back to
minimum afterburner, to maintain it as a
beacon for wingmen to locate him and join
up, especially vital before dawn and when
the visibility was poor. As we cruised by
flights toward our rendezvous with the
KC-135 tankers I was overcome with
drowsiness as the sun began to rise and
struggled to remain awake. That was
disturbing and uncomfortable in one respect,
but a happy experience in another, in
realizing that I was not afraid of what lie
ahead. If that wasn’t the cause then my
brain was doing a great job of keeping me
from reality. I had wondered, from the
moment I volunteered for this tour, how I
would react to the risks that we all were
fully aware of from the loss statistics and
reports of the defenses. The dangers to the
Thud pilots were well advertised throughout
the Air Force. We were especially pleased
that F-4 pilots, who escorted us to the edge
of the SAM zones, paid us the honor of
declaring we had “Balls of Brass.” At least
we thought it a compliment.
The realization that I was fully prepared
was one of the most satisfying experiences
of my life, and I saw enough of that threat
on this mission to test me. By the time we
were on the tankers, drowsiness had
departed. I had no trouble concentrating
on the job at hand from the moment the
mission commander started his roll-in on the
bomb run and throughout my attack, the
result of working so hard at visualization
and concentration in my dive bomb training.
Immediately I discovered that nothing
reduced the stress of a mission more than
deep concentration on a successful diving
attack, something I realized could help our
young or inexperienced guys. Only after the
bombs released was I free to evade defenses
and there was no remaining obligation except
to find my flight. The ability to maneuver
and evade fire increased the feeling of
security, from that moment. I had not only
noticed but marveled at the flak until it
came near my time to roll-in, but became
oblivious to it the moment it was my turn to
dive into the attack. I found that to be the
case on every mission, except when bursts
happened right in front of the windshield
and even then it was not really distracting,
but sort of got stored in memory to recall
after clearing out of the high threats.
I realized then, that there would never be a
strike mission that was not greeted with
anti-aircraft artillery, AAA, and in Pack
VIA a hell of a lot of it. Frequently the
missions were spiced up with volleys of
surface to air missiles (SAM-2), which were
most lethal of all but due to quantity,
second in danger to the AAA, in my personal
impressions, though others disagree. The
Mig-21 fighter jets added the third threat
to the enemy’s arsenal, and could never be
ignored, although my 100 prior air combat
missions tended to minimize them in my
mind. But all three accounted for a lot of
guys not getting home on time or ever. The
AAA went from radar assisted 100 mm and 85
mm, capable of hitting us at any altitude we
normally flew missions, 57 mm fully
effective shortly after our roll-in and 37mm
added below 10,000. The Russian ZPU, a
rapid-fire machine gun could track us well,
even at high speed during pullout. I never
really noticed to ZPU in the high threat
areas, but I was able to watch them after I
pulled off strafing targets at low altitude
on my way home from Hanoi, and that weapon
was able to effectively track when flying at
500 knots, even when evading by pulling
heavy g’s.
The F-105 had a gun-sight camera, which was
initiated by either the gun trigger, or the
bomb release button, the latter for only a
brief period to display the bomb release
aim. And we sometimes had a 70 millimeter
camera mounted under the belly which was
also initiated with bomb release and took
large definitive still photos with a prism
system that moved fore and aft to scan along
the flight path, thus providing good
coverage of battle damage and on occasions
some very unexpected pictures. The films
would record bomb impacts, though not always
correlated to individual results.
An advantage to the NVN defenders was the
two wings arrived on target at consistent
times twice daily, and often to the same
target in sequence, about 30 minutes apart.
When the weather and politics were right,
meaning two strike flights daily, the NVN
could count on the former and be ready in
case of the latter. Additionally, our
refueling activity, limited egress paths and
the NVN radar and radio monitors helped
their anticipation of our attack area and
visual contact took care of the rest, well
in time for full response, wherever we
struck them. Add to that the limited number
of compressed site areas and the defenses
held a lot of Aces in their deck.
13 October:
The next day I was again on a morning
strike mission. Typically, for the morning
sortie we arose at 1:00 am for breakfast,
then jumped into squadron trucks, and were
off to the operations compound for the wing
briefing. However, few things but pre-flight
were typical and everything was exciting,
like a kid getting ready for the first day
at the circus, with real lions! Our beloved
and loyal Wing Mascot Roscoe selected a
truck and was in attendance at briefing, as
always resting in his plush chair, next to
another reserved, for the Wing C.O. Except
for those leaders who planned the mission,
pilots did not know the target until this
pre-mission briefing.
.jpg) |
Roscoe Leads Me, Outside Wing Compound (Pawprints courtesy of Roscoe and Uggy!) |
Roscoe was so important to our morale that
he deserves an appropriate introduction.
His historical info I gleaned from notes of
a “Roscoe Control Officer” who was assigned
shortly after Roscoe was separated from his
master and adopted by the wing. I got to
know Roscoe better than most and I can say
without fear of contradiction that it was
Roscoe who was the “Officer Control Dog!” I
consider dogs a greatest companion for
mankind and it took me no time to put Roscoe
in the top of my list of best friends at
Korat. He had arrived there in June of
1966, with his owner, Maj. Ray Lewis when
the 34th was formed, his method
of transportation being the only
uncertainty. His master Major M. Ray Lewis
was shot down on 20 July over the Northeast
Railroad near the border of China. Ray
named Roscoe in memory of his own best
friend, Capt. Roscoe Anderson, killed in an
F-105 accident. Roscoe nearly died of a
broken heart for quite a while, after Ray
Lewis did not return to him. Some say he
was a Japanese dog, others that he came from
America. He was probably the only dog I’ve
known who had the same Flight Surgeon for
his check-ups and medications as the flight
crews. When I arrived he was the companion
of all but best friend of none, 16 months
after the loss of his master. I made great
effort to overcome his grief with him and he
got especially close to me, which gave me
great joy, until I returned home.
Afterwards I worried that I had just created
another opportunity to feel that those he
attached himself to with love, would always
desert him. I even tamed a stray Thai dog,
I candidly named Uggy, hoping for
companionship for Roscoe, but mere
acceptance was Roscoe’s limit.
Late in my tour our new and enigmatic Wing
Commander, Col. Paul P. Douglas, would call
me aside and say we were going to have to
put the dogs down, as they were potential
health hazards. I told him he would face a
real mutiny, and it wouldn’t have taken much
smarts to realize that I would have been the
instigator. After I left for home, I not
only missed my buddy, Roscoe, but I worried
for years whether the loss of yet another
best buddy would set him back again. I was
pleased to recently read of his extended
life. Although he had heartworms, for which
he was treated and became a bit overweight
he was doing well in May 1973. He had hung
on to complete his job until the battles
were over!
 |
Hosed! |
There were very bright sides to my tour, not
the least of which was celebrating “100
Mission” Ceremonies, with those fortunate to
be going home. I am repeatedly reminded of
one, in living motion, that was our
celebration of end of tour with Dave
Waldrop. It wasn’t any more special than
all the others, in spite of Dave’s two Mig
kills, and the water being sprayed was no
wetter. I never realized until recently
that Dave was so astute that he maneuvered
my butt toward the camera the entire time he
was filmed and sprayed, with that damned big
smile, which allows the troops from the 34th
to exclaim as they see us (as I do
repetitively on a TV segment of Discovery
Flight about Dave’s feats): “Why that’s
Dave Waldrop, the Mig killer! I flew with
him ... and that Asshole facing us, too!
That morning, when we arrived for the wing
briefing, we were greeted with a handwritten
chart on the briefing screen that welcomed
our arrival and declared:
“KEP Friday the 13th
…Y.G.B.S.M!”
YGBSM was our expletive, “You’ve
Gotta Be Shitting Me!” reserved to be
uttered only when the demands from
Headquarters were unbelievable. Under that
usage guideline, the target selections and
the rules of engagement, it seemed that most
everything that came down from Washington
through 7th Air Force
headquarters demanded its use!
Kep was one of two primary airports of the
NVN used by the Migs. I think that they had
never been attacked and were known to have
unusually heavy defenses, even for an area
where all major targets were well defended.
I was really psyched up about bombing the
airport runway about 34 miles northeast of
Hanoi, on North Vietnam’s major road (1A)
and railroad line connecting with China. The
next best thing to shooting an enemy’s
airplanes out of the sky would be blasting
them on the ground.
We would take the eastern approach. The
Little Thud variation was ideal for Kep,
avoiding the Hanoi city defenses in route.
That target alone would have more than
enough SAM and AAA to make life exciting,
and possible brief. This mission was
a big event for me, and I got a good dive
pass and bombs on the runway, but in
reviewing the strike films from our KA-70
belly mounted strike cameras, there were too
few who hit the runway. Dive bombing was
the most difficult skill for a fighter pilot
to acquire, and we had too few with the
necessary experience, and we could improve
that, I thought. But one thing we couldn’t
improve was that 750# bombs made such small
divots on a runway that they were hard to
detect after the smoke cleared, unless sun
angle formed a shadow. Our only other
available bombs were 3000 pounders, which
had mostly explosives in a thin casing, thus
had no penetrating capability. The big bomb
was great for structures.
The results on that early mission drew my
attention to lack of interest in the photo
results. In my prior air combat fighting
Mig-15’s checking results was the first
order of business after landing, I must
confess to those who had hit a Mig. Vietnam
war attitudes were induced by the political
nature of the war, where bomb tonnage
delivered was the political measure of
success in Washington, not battle damage.
It also got me to thinking about the lack of
any attention to the most vital
accomplishment of our job, the dive-bomb
attack. To the contrary, the wing’s briefing
officer had assigned individual flights a
specific aim point on the runway, a bad idea
for best bombing results on runway, being
very long and narrow. As a result I brought
home a notion to try to do something to
improve our squadron’s bombing accuracy.
15 October:
 |
Strike Force Taxi for Takeoff at Korat |
After a day off, I was again on a strike
force mission, flying number four, with 750#
bombs.
We flew into NVN from the west, over
Dien Bien Phu and would soon have Hanoi in
sight, heading down Thud Ridge toward our
target, when Mig-21’s attacked and
pandemonium took hold. This really surprised
me since my prior missions demonstrated our
pilots were very cool under fire, heavy
fire. There was too much excited chatter
and decisions to salvo bombs, to suit me, so
I didn’t do that. The strike force broke
down, then aborted the mission and headed on
the long journey home, absolutely defeated
by maybe a couple or four NVN fighters, but
no one was hit. I was steaming mad at being
defeated without a fight and I carried my
full bomb load home. At the outset, I was
just too stubborn to drop them, but as I
continued to get angry on that long ride,
decided I had to make the point that we had
been shamed and had run away in the face of
the enemy. As far as I know, we were driven
off without a shot being fired by a Mig; for
sure no one was hit.
Had it not been hazardous for people on the
ground, I would have landed with the load to
drive home the point. Instead, after all
the others had landed, I made a very obvious
low and slow pass down the runway, just for
show, then went away and made a safe salvo
at the approved area. I knew it would get
the attention of a lot of jocks when a
returning Thud passed over with a full bomb
load, making a more impressive statement
than I was about to deliver.
At the Wing debrief I was still mad as hell
and made comments in no uncertain words that
what we did was inexcusable for guys who
hang it on the line, over tough targets, to
be defeated by a few assholes who couldn’t
whip our butts if they outnumbered us.
Unless we were under attack, personally, I
hoped to never see such a disgraceful
display or be part of such shame ever
again. At this point we were flying strike
force with pilots mixed between the 34th
and our sister squadron, the 469th
. I felt some regret for my outburst
as I began to see our guys doing the tough
stuff without a whimper, but we couldn’t let
the Migs force us to abort entire missions,
by threat, even though it was real and a
constant danger.
17 October:
I would fly my 8th combat mission
in 12 days and it proved to be one of the
greatest eye openers of my flying career. A
wakeup call for a morning flight and my
entire tour of combat. More than any other
it affected my view of what I was there for
in a very positive way, because I was not
only the commander but at age 39, an “old
man” of the squadron and had a job to
comfort and encourage as well as set an
example and lead.
We arrived for the Wing briefing to find out
this would be a tough day, but that was the
ordinary. The target was announced to be
Dap Cau railroad yards, located along the
Song Cau river, near the larger city of Bac
Ninh. That terminal was on the northwest
line out of Hanoi, about 20 miles northeast
of the capitol along a main highway (1A) and
NVN’s prime railroad tracks, northeast to
China. The area was a hub of activities and
therefore a defensive center for the enemy,
as well.
We were aware of severe defenses surrounding
the entire Hanoi area and expected the
threats to be heavy whenever we attacked in
the area. The defenses didn’t affect our
strait line of ingress because they were so
heavily deployed that it was impractical to
consider their geometry. The completed
defense in all these surroundings offered
changing threats with Mig-21’s hitting
first, under ground radar control, usually
diving in from above and firing Russian
Atoll Missiles, infra-red guided, with both
proximity and direct hit fuses. These copies
of our Sidewinder were effective and lethal.
As we penetrated the broad areas of SA-2
Surface to Air Missiles (SAM), the Migs
typically stood off, leaving the next line
of defense to this white, flying telephone
pole, ground radar-guided with a powerful
nose explosive that could be detonated
either by a pre-selection of proximate fuse
or ground command. Use of SAMs in terms of
quantities was unpredictable, probably due
to foreign supplies and logistics, but they
were sometimes fired in large numbers. On
this mission we had only two SAMs fired.
I stated that my personal opinion held AAA
to be our deadliest of the three major
threats to us, which is very argumentative
statistically, but that mindset may have
resulted from what was about to occur. I
have seen the WW II reports and pictures
over Berlin, etc. with B-17 attacks and I
would guess that the density of fire we
faced at VIA target areas often exceeded
that, if for no other reason than we
numbered 16, tightly grouped, compared to
hundreds of bombers broadly spread. NVN
defenses could be constrained to maybe a
dozen prime target areas, and the heartland
of Hanoi, their grandest, was only about 5
miles in diameter.
Add to that the assurance that the times we
would arrive, twice every day, was about a
30-minute window, and when one wing came,
the other would often follow. Planners were
not stupid, it was just that our ability for
two F-105 Wings to each fly two maximum
capability daylight missions, averaging
about 3 hours, defined our schedule quite
precisely for the enemy, because a portion
of our airplanes had to be used on both
sorties. We had smaller size missions also
flying daily, weather permitting. Turn
around with full combat loads is not only
tough work, but takes a good deal of time.
I was flying tail-end Charlie, number 4 in
the 4th flight, thus be the last
to roll in on the attack, so I would get a
good view of all the others in their dives.
Some believed the rear slots were more
vulnerable, which is argumentative when
there is enough anti-aircraft fire for
everyone. I never felt it mattered where I
was in the formation, when the dice were
rolling, they didn’t stop by tail number or
flight position.
We arrived at the tankers, this time over
northern Laos, and took on full fuel in
standard order of flight leader, 2, 3, then
4. The sequence assured the positions that
used more fuel would depart for targets with
the most. Each flight had its tanker and we
flew formation with tankers in a racetrack
pattern, until time to top off the fuel and
depart for the target. The initial
refueling of four took some time but the top
off was brief, which assured maximum fuel
for each and minimum variation within the
flight.
We flew north to about 20 degrees 45 minutes
north latitude, then eastward into North
Vietnam passing Dien Bien Phu, where the
French had been badly defeated by the NVN.
This was always a point for alertness, since
the NVN had radar controlled 100 mm or 85s
batteries scattered about and sometimes
practiced on us in that vicinity. The entire
country north is mountainous and rugged and
up to a mile high, so visually acquiring
them was impossible. We cruised east in
spread formation for Mig watch to Thud
Ridge, and there were warnings of Mig
activity but no attack. Then tightened to
formation flying southeast along the ridge
to gain protection from SAMs, until about 20
miles north of “Downtown”. From there we
turned eastward and assumed ECM formation
for the cruise to target, climbing to over
16,000 feet for our attack.
I got my first full view of Hanoi and its’
surroundings and of how large the Red River
was and the great expanse of the huge delta
going south of Hanoi.
Now the primary threat of Migs would be
replaced first with the Surface to Air
Missiles. The SA-2 missiles that were
steered toward us by two operators, ‘flying’
the bird, a dot on a line, elevation or
direction. The ECM simply made the line
wide enough to increase the chance of
missing. The ECM formation turned us into a
larger box in space on the radar.
The enemy could guide their supersonic SAMs
through our formation with a pre-launch
choice only, for proximity fuse setting or
ground command. This game of “chicken” we
played, was very good, but not perfect. The
rapidly speeding white missiles would pass
among us, either exploding within the
formation by ground command, or if on
proximity fuse to pass directly up and
safely through us, unless it sensed a nearby
Thud and exploded, a deadly event of
chance.
Earlier in the war, when my friend Howard
Leaf was in the 357th squadron,
355th Wing at Tahkli, and before
ECM pod’s were available, the Thuds flew
into the target area depending entirely on
warnings from the same crude gear we still
used to signal a near-by launch. They flew
in closer formation and visually searched
for flying SAMs, when warned. Then dove
toward them and finally broke at the proper
time, like avoiding a fighter attack. If
timed correctly, the high-speed, missiles
could not make the turn.
That was a pretty good defense, with one
really big issue: “IF you got a warning AND
saw the missile in time?” If you didn’t see
the SAM it could be deadly! This option was
still used by us, when flying in four ship
flights, including the Wild Weasel missions,
where pods were not used because they
defeated the Weasel’s own detection gear.
I liked the freedom offered to all the
pilots by ECM to pay attention to the target
and be able to mentally prepare for the
roll-in, which varied greatly, depending on
the character of the approach, its angle to
target line, and the roll in point.
Assessing and mentally preparing for those
factors had a lot of bearing on the accuracy
of the bomb delivery, our primary job!
As we started a left turn I had a great view
of Hanoi, the expansive Red River delta and
very broad river. The delta had many rivers,
one of which meandered past Bac Ninh, 20
miles east as we turned.
We departed the ridge at about 12,000 feet,
hit the burners and leveled at about 18,000
for the dive runs. The radar aimed 85 or 100
mm batteries, opened up with their large
black burst around us as we approached.
They posed a real threat, being lethal well
above 20,000 feet. The target was to our
right so I was sitting on the far left and
above the last seven to make the turning
roll-in to the dive before me. As the lead
flights went into full dive one by one, I
began to see the black bursts of the long
range AAA. Then, as the lead flight started
down, the smaller black puffs of 57 mm and
finally the grayish puffs of 37s as the
dives extended.
Number four on the 3rd flight had
rolled into his dive, so my leader would
follow suit momentarily, but I was watching
the diving line of attackers when an
airplane from the attacking flight was blown
to bits, then another was destroyed and
almost simultaneously a third....three of my
new squadron mates would not come home. It
was a picture that was indelible yet
momentary.
Suddenly my element lead rolled in and it
was my turn. Now I had only one thought and
that was to place my 6 bombs on the
railroad. With a rail yard’s vulnerability
and a careful effort, I knew I could place
my entire load on target.
When I rolled in for my dive bomb run I was
completely focused and what I saw was out of
mind: The best catharsis for fear on a dive
bomb run and absolutely necessary to bombing
accuracy. My intended 60 degree dive would
be shallow, due to starting from the
farthest outside of the formation, but I
could adjust for it with a lower bomb
release, faster speed and/or aim long.
Fortunately, the railroads tracks were long
and straight so only the cross-track miss
distance was critical, a far easier
situation. After release of ordnance I was
free to make any break, keeping in mind the
withdrawal direction to locate and rejoin my
flight.
We fueled in fours on our assigned tanker,
inbound and out, but this time we arrived as
five, because Capt. Floyd “Skeets” Heinzig,
the only flyer left in the air from the 3rd
flight, joined us on our journey home. His
moving in to join us really drove home the
realization of what I witnessed, and I
suddenly recalled the deadly reality of
those black and white bursts around us all.
As I flew home and contemplated what I saw,
it occurred to me that I still had 92
missions to fly and that there was nothing I
could do that would change the outcome of my
efforts, except bomb well. I may have
become somewhat a fatalist at that moment.
And I don’t remember ever being truly afraid
on a mission, as I had long before at age 22
when 4 Migs seemed to have me cold turkey,
alone and defenseless.
There were periods of uncertainty or ominous
feelings, sometimes before a mission, but
never for long --- you could not allow that
to survive in flying. I also attribute some
of my demeanor to my family being more
self-sufficient than in my days of Korean
combat, and equity in death benefits for all
this time. I thought I saw three separate
hits for the disaster, and another observer
felt the third was the result of one
impacting the wreckage of another.
The three downed pilots, all from the 34th
squadron, were Tony Andrews, “Digger” O’Dell
and Dwight Sullivan. Even a single survival
seemed unlikely to me, with my view from the
eagle’s nest, when all three went down.
The loss of three of our comrades together
was obviously a shock to all, but with 114
crewmen down in 1966 and us rapidly
approaching the 109 total downed in ’67, our
pilots were conditioned to losses, when the
hottest targets were being hit twice daily
and good weather assured that. My
introduction to the threat level was swift
and thorough. Only a period of very bad
weather in December kept us from suffering
far greater losses that year.
My roommate Lt. Col. Rufus Dye was assigned
to wing headquarters, working for Merv
Taylor in the operations compound, a secure
area where mission planning, wing briefings
and intelligence matters were conducted. We
were together on a strike mission, inbound,
and Rufus was in the flight directly ahead
of me when we got a warning that Mig-21’s
were approaching and the next thing I knew
an Atoll sped just below me and impacted his
aft section, with quite an explosion.
Rufe’s Thud was badly damaged and mission
lead sent one of the guys to escort him out
and we continued east to Thud Ridge, then to
our target. The Mig had dived down from high
altitude at supersonic speed and climbed out
of harms way before F-4’s could intercept.
 |
Rufus Dye and Thud # 376 meet Atoll missile. |
Although his whole aft section was
devastated, and a segment of the missile
lodged in it, he got home. It had not
damaged the critical flight control single
point failure right below the rudder, almost
a miracle in that part of the airplane.
But, his power loss was so great that the
KC-135 had to reduce power to idle and dive
for speed, while Rufus used full power to
refuel to the extent necessary to return
safely home. Looking at the photo of his
aircraft, most vividly impaled by the
missile’s tail in his own and with the
entire afterburner and tailpipe in shreds,
it is difficult to comprehend how he made
it.
 |
View from my Flight Perspective! |
Those big Texaco’s on a wing, the KC-135s,
were always there when we needed them and
would move northward in peril, whenever
called upon, as they did that day to save my
roommate, Rufus Dye. And talk about skills,
the boom operators were so practiced that we
could relax when attached and sucking the
JP-4 fuel. They never flinched and no
matter how fast we decelerated in our
approach to join, they stuck it to us, with
their fuel probe. There was a great mutual
trust and respect between pilots and
“Boomers”, who were great formation flyers
in their own right.
Little more than a month later, our squadron
mate Doug Beyer and his Thud (#512) made it
home, with damage similar to Rufe’s, again
the victim of a rear attack with another
infrared guided missile fired by a Mig-21.
It looks like Doug was fortunate to have the
missile explode a little further from his
aircraft, but again in an area where
catastrophic loss of control was likely.
 |
Doug Beyer & Thud # 512 meet Atoll Missile. |
This is Doug Beyer’s personal recollection
of that mission:
“Early on the morning of 12 Dec 67, we went
through the normal mission briefings. Sam
Armstrong, Irv Levine and I were three
members of the flight. My memory fades on
the fourth. Target was Kep Airfield,
northeast of Hanoi. We went the water
route, hit the tankers, and entered the area
south of Haiphong. The weather was solid,
and we were in and out of the clouds the
whole time. The Weasel flight kept us
advised as to what they found—no breaks,
anywhere.
Finally, they called for a weather abort,
and the strike force began a port turn to go
feet wet again. About half way through the
turn, someone yelled “Lead, break left”.
About eight or nine leads responded, what
lead? About that time, I felt a heavy jolt
at the rear of the aircraft, and the bird
started a roll to the right. My first
thought, this is the truth, was “I don’t
like rice!” I corrected the attitude with
normal aileron, no problem. I lit the
burner, punched off the MER, and tried to
get rid of both drop tanks. The left one
jettisoned, but the right one remained with
me.
Sam joined up with me and gave me a quick
rundown on what he could see. I was
receiving constant vectors and distances to
the coast from those guys we always heard,
but never saw.
As soon as I was feet wet, we turned south
to Da Nang. As I began my penetration, I
entered the clouds and was under GCA
control. They advised me of deteriorating
weather, with a rainstorm in progress.
There was no problem controlling the
aircraft, but not having a chance to run a
control check, I had to press forward. I
had no hydraulic brakes, but the air system
was in good shape. I broke out at about
500’ with good visibility, hit the runway,
popped the drag chute, and began braking to
a stop. No problems.
I opened the canopy, and slid down onto the
wing. At that time, the aircraft began to
move, and I thought I was in deep trouble.
I was wrong. Ground crewmen already had a
Euclid hooked up, and was towing me off the
runway. First class service, to say the
least!!
Several hours after I landed, a friend of
mine in the maintenance squadron called to
say he had something he wanted to show me.
He’s also the guy that got the pictures of
the aircraft for me.
He met me at Base Ops, and handed me a
rolleron that they had gotten out of the
rear of my engine area. It had no serial
numbers on it, so I assumed it had to be
from an Atoll missile. One of the oldest
master sergeants I’ve ever seen explained
that the US had quit numbering the rollerons
as well, and he was certain the rolleron was
from a Sidewinder. Interesting.
I hitched a ride back to Korat on a T-39
and, upon arrival, joined the squadron
party, already in progress. At that point,
Irv Levine began to tell me exactly what had
happened. He said that he had seen a MIG 21
pop up out of the clouds, hose off an
air-to-air missile, and dive back down into
the clouds. He further stated that he had
gotten off some rounds of 20 mike mike, and
felt sure he had hit the guy in the vertical
stabilizer.
Several days later, I got the pictures of
the aircraft. One most noteworthy picture
shows a hole in MY vertical stabilizer. The
old master sergeant says Sidewinder rolleron.
You can understand my doubts about what
really occurred that day in December 1967—35
½ years ago!
I love telling this story, Bob, and, of
course, Irv denied everything. Nobody got
hurt, and it makes for a good war story.
Gary Durkee, now deceased, reminded me he
inherited 512 after it came back from DaNang.
Said it nearly killed him several times with
in-flight emergencies. I wonder where it is
now—in the bone yard in Tucson, maybe”.
Spence Armstrong was on that mission too,
and I asked for his recollections. His
reference to “Takhli” was the full strike
force from the 355th Wing based
there. This recollection also shows how the
more seasoned veterans, like Sam Morgan,
helped us acclimate by getting on the wing
of new guys, Spence in that instance.
“On this mission, my log shows
that the target was Kep Airfield. I lost my
DC generator on the tanker and had to turn
off my navigation equipment. Don Revers,
Pistol Lead, lost his AC generator so Pistol
#4, Sam Morgan wound up as mission
commander. Bob Elliot was #2 and I was #3.
Takhli weather aborted 5 minutes ahead of us
and we did also a minute later so there were
all sorts of Thuds in a small airspace.
Half way through the 180, we were jumped by
Mig-21’s. They fired heat seekers—one hit
Doug Beyer who was Hatchet #4. He landed
safely at Danang. My comment in my log was
that this was a fiasco and we should never
have been sent up in that weather condition.
Within a few months our third squadron mate
would feel the blast of an Atoll missile
under surprise attack from on high. The
Mig-21s had great advantage with help from
their ground radar control to surprise us.
Then dive at supersonic speed from well
above us and behind, completely out of view,
and fire their air-to-air infrared guided
missiles up our tails without warning.
On 4 February, that happened to one of the
34th squadrons finest young
pilots, who had been with us just a short
time. Captain Carl Lassiter had already made
his mark and I had noted that he would
undoubtedly become a flight commander and
strike force commander. He was an
experienced fighter pilot with excellent
flying skills, leader attitude, courage and
confidence. Coming home from a mission, I
had challenged him at formation acrobatics
and he was excellent, both leading and
flying wing.
Carl’s fate is recalled by Monty Pharmer,
who later became a flight leader:
“My special friend Gary Durkee
and I were in separate flights. I was with
Bill Thomas and two others. Gary’s flight
included Carl Lassiter. Carl had more
missions and we respected him as one of the
“Old Heads”. We all had breakfast
together.....it was raining and still dark
when we got to our planes. The mission was
uneventful into Laos. We crossed into North
Vietnam in the vicinity of Dien Bien Phu,
the battlefield of the French downfall. The
weather ahead looked bad with a solid
overcast and a lower cloud deck that could
preclude us from descending into the target
area. About that time our F-4 flight cover
started calling out Migs at our rear. No
sooner had they called than Carl reported
that he had been hit by an air-to-air
missile.... he was ejecting. He had a good
chute as he drifted down into NVN. The F-4s
pursued the Migs and got a hit on one.
The mission was cancelled due to
weather and we weren’t too disappointed
about that. It was a shame that Carl was
down and the mission was never
accomplished. The one good bit of news we
received almost immediately from our
excellent intelligence was that the Mig that
shot Carl down had been hit and had crashed
on landing at Yen Bai-the pilot was
killed-he had been one of the NVN
“aces”-their best. Carl was captured and
spent the next 5½ years as a P.O.W.”
I had envisioned so many great missions lead
by Carl that it really was a blow to lose
him. This loss was hard to take, as were
the loss of any of our pilots, but the fact
that Carl went down on a mission that could
not be finished because of weather added
even more to the despair with the
fruitlessness of the contest that we were
placed in. I wouldn’t have traded that
tour, but that was because of the comrades
and the personal challenges, not the
outcomes or impact on the enemy. SecDef
McNamara and President Johnson would turn us
off in good weather with their game of
political war management and demand we fly
in terrible weather when they had the green
light on, simply for higher bomb tonnage
reports to the media.
24 October:
I flew on both Strike Force missions to Pack
VIA my 13th and 14th
missions. That was a long day, with the
wake up at 1:00 am and the last debrief
after dark; total flying time was over 6
hours. It entailed a lot of briefing and
debriefing time. The little water I carried
on missions was reserved in event I was shot
down, and dehydration accentuated being very
tired at the end of that day.
The afternoon mission that day was the first
strike on Phuc Yen Airport, with Strike
Force take-off at 1400 hours (2 p.m.). We
expected and got a lot of action from the
defenses this time since NVN had become
aware of how Washington played the game. We
had recently hit Kep airport, and that
signaled open season on their other major
Mig base. Our bombing results were good
with 3 very large explosions and 5 Migs
destroyed.
Not too long before this mission I made my
attack on a target during which there were
more flak bursts nearby than any other
mission. I mean one 85 blew right in front
of my windscreen. More was bursting close
in front during the entire dive and yet I
got home to my surprise with no hits on my
airplane. But on this mission there was the
usual heavy flak but I didn’t notice any
extremely close. After landing, when I was
in the dining room, my crew chief came in
with some pieces of shrapnel he had dug from
the airplane, and said they had more to
remove. I recall that because a small piece
of it graces a nifty little plaque with a
Thud and the annotation: “To: Lt. Col.
Robert W. Smith Presented by Ho Chi Minh:
First Phuc Yen Raid, 24 October 1967. My
second flight that day was my favorite
target, their finest bridge and that mission
is discussed later, with a collection of
attacks on that structure.
Mission recollections are not equivalent,
even between lead and flight members. The
sights, sounds and experiences of the pilots
of a strike force can be so varied, since
much happens over a pretty broad space and
so damned fast. That space seemed to shrink
when the SAMs were many and the flak got
thick, as the roll in for the dive run
began. But even then the observations were
so different between the guy who saw the
flak burst right in his face on the dive and
one who heard it and another who felt
unscathed, but sometimes brought home
shrapnel, all from the same flight, in the
same dive run! The spacing on the roll in
translate into miles of separation with the
great acceleration in the beginning of a
diving attack.
Spence Armstrong, recalls a couple of his
missions in this same period. As a case in
point, the first is his recall of the same
one that I just described:
“On 24 October, my 11th
mission, we struck Phuc Yen Airfield. This
was their primary Mig 21 base just Northwest
of Hanoi. Up to this point it had been off
limits for attack. We never did strike the
civil airfield (Gia Lam) outside Hanoi
although it was widely known that Migs
sometimes used it. LBJ and McNamara had
this dumb idea that we would gradually
increase the targets we were willing to
strike and this was the way to get the North
Vietnamese to sue for peace. Our wing came
in first using the land route and dropped
CBU’s along the flight line to hit the Migs
in their revetments. Takhli rolled in just
behind us with 3,000# bombs to destroy the
runway. The F-4C’s followed them with bombs
and maybe even the Navy got in on this
historic attack. I think we surprised them
and did some considerable damage. There
were no U.S. losses. No SA-2s were fired
and the 85mm flak was spotty. I was written
up for a Silver Star on this mission but it
was downgraded to a Distinguished Flying
Cross. This was the first of three Silver
Star downgrades—so I never got one although
many Thud pilots did.
“The next day we went back to
Phuc Yen. That time, we were attacked on
the way in, by Migs. Our flight punched off
our bombs and tanks and broke into the Migs.
I suspect they abandoned their attack when
we filled their windscreens with bombs and
tanks. Anyhow, the rest of the flights got
to the target safely. The next day I
carried 3,000# bombs for the first time and
was impressed how much sleeker the F-105 was
with this load as opposed to the 750# bombs
carried on the centerline. The target, Hu
Gia between Thai Nyugen and Hanoi, was
clearly under the clouds so the mission
commander wisely directed us to hit the part
of the rail line that was clear and we did
so nicely. Two SA-2’s were fired without
effect.”
I was unaware for more than 30 years that
Spence never received full recognition of
his contributions and valor. He was
submitted more than once and I had expected
that that submittals were usually approved
at 7th Air Force, and I damned
well knew they were deserved. My confidence
in the approval process was high because the
difficulty and risks of the F-105 combat
tour were well known throughout the 7th
Air Force and personnel offices up to the
Pentagon.
Spence proved his valor to those he cared
most about, his peers in combat. He proved
his leadership to the Air Force reflected in
his selection to the rank of Lt. General!