Tailhook Daily Briefing

The Spad that Started it All!

Historic Navy Spad

Douglas Skyraider A-1H BuNo 135332

Introduction: This is the story of the service-life highlight and preservation afterlife of a Douglas Skyraider that performed honorably in the service of the U.S. Navy, the U.S. Air Force, and the Vietnamese Air Force. A-1H, Bureau Number 135332, was accepted by the Navy at Douglas’ El Segundo plant on 12 August 1954. The highlight of BuNo 135332’s service was its historic action in Attack Squadron 145 (VA-145) as lead aircraft on USS CONSTELLATION’S (CVA-64) Operation Pierce Arrow strike on North Vietnamese PT boats at Lac Chao on 5 August 1964 in retaliation for the Gulf of Tonkin Incident. Thus, BuNo 135332 was a historically significant participant in initiating the U.S. air war against North Vietnam.

Through the efforts of Charles M. Tallichet, Jr. and other former Air Force personnel, this plane was rescued from storage at RTAF Takli in 1978 and presented, in flying condition, to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum (NASM) in 1983. Twenty-five-years later, she still resides at their Garber Facility in Suitland, Maryland awaiting refurbishment.

The Gulf of Tonkin Incident

Early August 1964. Commander Task Group 77.5, embarked aboard USS Ticonderoga (CVA-14) in the eastern South China Sea, had missions of providing air support for South Vietnamese and U.S. operations in-country as well as military backup, well over the horizon, for destroyer(s) conducting DeSoto ‘Freedom-of-the-Seas’ and SIGINT Collection Operations along the Southeast Asian littoral. One or two DeSoto ships would generally steam along in daylight hours, parallel to the coastline at about the 12-mile territorial-waters line then claimed by most communist countries; head out to sea at nightfall; and come back to the 12-mile-offshore patrol in the morning.

North Vietnamese Reactions: The North Vietnamese were sensitized to naval incursions near their waters because nasty PTFs operated by the South Vietnamese under OpPlan 34A, a very sensitive, closely held operation at that time, attacked shore installations along the North Vietnamese coast on the evening of 31 July and again toward midnight 3 August. Although none of this appeared to be coordinated tactically on the U.S. Navy side, it appeared to the North Vietnamese that the DeSoto Patrol, currently USS Maddox (DD-731), was a participant in coordinated naval provocations; thus they sent out motor torpedo boats to attack Maddox mid-afternoon on 2 August. The ship called  Ticonderoga for support and a flight of VF-51 and VF-53 F-8U Crusaders, already airborne and led by Commander Jim Stockdale was diverted to assist. Along with Maddox gunners, the Crusaders used Zuni rockets and 20-mm cannon to leave one PT boat burning dead in the water with damage to two others. USS Turner Joy (DD-951), who had been providing services for the carrier group two hundred miles to the south, was immediately sent to join Maddox on the now more hazardous DeSoto Patrol.

Two days later, the evening of 4 August, both Ticonderoga and Constellation received urgent requests for help from Turner Joy who believed PT boats were attacking the DeSoto Patrol ships again. This PT attack was later proven imaginary but seemed real to some on-scene at the time. These action(s) became known as the Gulf of Tonkin Incident. President Johnson’s order to strike targets on the North Vietnamese mainland in retaliation, Operation Pierce Arrow, on 5 August enlarged the battle from the sea, where we had been providing South Vietnam in-country air support, onto the territory of North Vietnam.

Pilot Recollections: Ten of the known surviving VA-145 pilots contributed to these descriptions of preparations and flight actions on 4/5 August 1964. Their views from Ready Room 4 and A-1 cockpits are preserved as much as possible in the text of the action beginning in the next paragraph.

BuNo 135332 in Hong Kong: While the 2 August Gulf of Tonkin Incident was taking place, A-1H Douglas Skyraider NK507, BuNo 135332 was safely tied down aboard Constellation anchored by Green Island, Crown Colony of Hong Kong. The evening of 2 August saw many VA-145 pilots enjoying themselves at the Eagle’s Nest Bar at the top of the HK Hilton. About 2100, someone came to the party and informed the group that all leave and liberty were canceled and all hands were to report to the ship. Fortunately, liberty was granted the next day to allow the crew to collect their purchases from the Hong Kong tailors and the China Fleet Club.

 Constellation Underway: The ship got underway about 0800 on 4 August and headed for the Gulf of Tonkin. That evening, just after the movie in Wardroom One started, the three attack-squadron Operations Officers were tapped on the shoulder one-by-one and told to report to Strike Planning. Shortly after that, all the other attack pilots were pulled out of the movie to report to their ready rooms. In response to USS Turner Joy’s call for help, pilots were briefed on their new mission to fly cover for the destroyers for the night. Meantime, Flight Quarters was called away and the A-1s were loaded with four 260-lb. fragmentation bombs on the wings and a flare pod on the centerline. John Westerman had ‘the mother of all colds’ thus was Squadron Duty Officer on 4 August.

Destroyer Support Flights: Hal Griffith, squadron X.O., led a typical four-plane DD-support flight with Jim Crummer, wingman; Sam Catterlin, section leader;  and Tom Durant, his wingman. This flight launched around midnight and  

arrived in the Gulf of Tonkin above a low overcast only to be told by the destroyers ‘don’t come down here, we’re not sure what’s going on.’ Eventually the flight dumped their ordnance and headed home, logging 4.4 hours night time with 4.2 actual instruments. This flight was typical and at least one flight got beneath scattered clouds as the weather gradually improved toward morning but no pilots reported seeing any torpedo boats on these flights which continued through the night into mid-morning hours. The last DD-support flight that night was a section flown by Mel Blixt and Kenn Brooks. This was also Mel’s first flight as VA-145’s new C.O. They launched about 0400, logging an uneventful 5.1 hours, a quarter of it night time, and recovered a little after 0900.

Preparations for Pierce Arrow: Tom Durant, VA-145 Maintenance Officer, asleep after his night flight, was roused shortly before dawn [5 August] by the Maintenance Chief knocking on his stateroom door saying he needed Tom to test hop 135332 at first light. He logged a 1.5-hour test flight in 135332 and certified the aircraft now in UP status. Tom returned to the ready room midday and was greeted by the strike group getting ready to man aircraft. Tom recalled asking Jim Hardie where they were going and the response was, “Up to bomb some boat yard.” Kurt Anderson, the Squadron Duty Officer on 5 August, didn’t get to fly on this auspicious day but assisted preparations in Ready Room 4 for the historic flights.

BuNo 135332 Strikes Lac Chao: The squadron Operations Officer, Sam Catterlin, led a flight of four aircraft ordered to strike the PT boats located in an estuary at Lac Chao. The Air Intelligence Officer [AIO] gave them good aerial photos of the target and they launched about 1300 in partly cloudy weather. Sam led the flight, flying A-1H NK507/BuNo 135332, with wingman Gary Hopps, section leader Jim Hardie, and his wingman Dick Sather. They launched from Constellation with four LAU-3 [19 x 2.75” folding-fin aircraft rockets] pods each, plus full ammunition for their four 20-mm cannons. As soon as they had a little altitude, they could see smoke from the burning fuel depot at Vinh which had been hit two hours earlier by aircraft from Ticonderoga. As Sam’s flight approached the coast near Lac Chao, a thundercloud was between the target and the Spad division. Jim Hardie reported that they circled to the north and, as they cleared the clouds near Lac Chao, they spotted two larger gunboats about a half-mile from the coast and north of Lac Chao. The boats were firing at the flight as they approached. Sam led the flight to attack from northwest to southeast, pulling up out to sea. As they rolled in, the pilots saw three other boats to their north partly hidden by offshore rocks. Those boats were firing at the Spad flight too. The pilots attacked in single file but reported that they remained at fairly close intervals.

One A-1H Damaged, One Downed. On the first attack, Jim Hardie fired one rocket pod on the left boat and, as he pulled up, he felt a big ‘thump’ as if someone had kicked the underside of the aircraft on the port side. His hydraulic gauge fluctuated wildly so he pulled the hydraulic bypass handle. He then noticed fuel streaming by his port drop tank so he jettisoned the tank, fearing fire from tracer rounds. Jim reported his aircraft checked OK except for the hydraulics, so he turned back to attack the targets. Sam, Gary, and Dick were on their last rocket run from northwest to southeast when Jim saw an explosion in the air and the fireball crash into the sea. It was Dick Sather, the first Navy combat loss of the air campaign. Jim fired another LAU-3A pod as Sam and Gary were clearing to sea. Jim then reversed and went back to attack the boats again and saw both smoking and one dead in the water. He fired his two remaining rocket pods on the moving boat and cleared to sea; Sam reported that Jim’s rockets put the second boat out of action. Sam and Gary checked Jim’s aircraft visually and saw only one hole in the area of the port wing root.

Return to Ship: Meanwhile, four A-4’s from VA-144 arrived and put the other three PT boats out of action. The A-4’s left first to return to Constellation and Sam led Gary Hopps and Jim Hardie back to the ship. Jim landed last as he had no flaps or brakes due to his hydraulic system damage. Jim trapped and held in place by tension on the arresting cable while the flight deck crew and plane captain chocked his wheels and put ‘stiff knees’ on his landing gear. It was a long day’s activity; the Skyraider strike pilots each logged 5.5 hours of flight time. Jim commented that had he not made it aboard, he still had fuel to bingo to DaNang with gear and flaps down. Back in Ready Four, Jim was very upset with their squadron AIO, LTJG Jim Farquhar, who, before the mission, said the North Vietnamese gunners’ aim would be poor because of lack of practice.

Strike on Hon Gay: Hal Griffith led a second strike of four A-1s to the northern-most Pierce Arrow target at Hon Gay. Bob Hansen was his wingman with Jim Crummer section leader and Jim Thigpin as his wingman. Because of insufficient time, the ordnance gang was unable to load and fuse the desired ordnance load, thus this strike also went with a less than desirable load of four LAU-3 and full ammo for their 20-mm guns. The Spads launched first and proceeded at low level toward the targets; the A-4 Scooters launched later and were to arrive on station at Hon Gay for a coordinated strike. Unfortunately, the A-4s arrived early and started the attack. Buy the time the Skyraiders arrived the PT boats were underway and maneuvering. Antiaircraft fire was relatively heavy and varied from small automatic weapons to 37 mm, 57 mm, and some 85 mm weapons. The A-1H pilots reported doing the most damage with their 20-mm cannons. All four Spads returned safely after the 5.4-hour flight. A-4 pilot Everett Alverez was shot down and captured on this strike at Hon Gay.

BuNo 135332 Transferred & Stricken: After 3,455 flight hours of loyal service in seven Navy Attack Squadrons and WestPac deployments aboard four Attack Carriers, Douglas Skyraider A-1H BuNo 135332 was transferred to the USAF [MASCD] at Davis-Monthan AFB, Tucson, Arizona on 19 September 1967. She was officially stricken from Navy lists on 14 November 1967.

Above: BuNo 135332 is second one in from the left.

USAF & VNAF Service: For the next five years she served in Air Force units at Hurlburt Field, Florida and in Southeast Asia mostly training Vietnamese Air Force [VNAF] pilots. BuNo 135332 was transferred to the VNAF on 25 August 1972 and operated by them until the demise of the U.S.-backed government in April 1975, whereupon she was evacuated to the Royal Thailand Air Force Base Takli.

Rescued and Given to Smithsonian: On 9 August 1978, a U.S. Air Force letter transferred aircraft ownership from RTAF Takli to “Yesterday’s Air Force” [YAF], a California aircraft preservation group. Three other A-1Hs were also rescued from the RTAF at that time. Mr. David C. Tallichet, YAF & Military Aircraft Restoration Corp., flew 135332/N39148 from Long Beach to Andrews AFB and traded our Spad to the Smithsonian on 2 May 1983 for a C-123K his group wanted more.

Status of BuNo 135332: This Skyraider has been at NASM’s Garber facility for 25 years and still sports the USAF Sandy camouflage she wore during her last years of service. Navy veterans have interacted with NASM over the last four years to advance the cause that the most significant, documented historic action of this aircraft was her 5 August 1964 Pierce Arrow mission with the Navy and to urge her refurbishment and display to the American people accordingly.

Responses have fairly consistently stated that the decision on presentation of the aircraft will not be made until the new restoration building of Phase II at Udvar-Hazy Center near Dulles is completed in 2011 or later and that the decision will consider “all relevant facts related to the rich history of this particular artifact…” Thus, as of mid-2008, we are at an impasse concerning the fate of our historic Navy aircraft, BuNo 135332.

History of BuNo 135332:
Delivered to US. Navy as 135332, Aug. 1954.
– Accepted by BuAer Rep El Segundo under BuAer Contract No. 52960, Aug. 12, 1954.
– Transferred to FasRon 12, NAS Miramar, Aug. 17, 1954
– Transferred to VA-125, NAS Miramar, Oct. 18, 1954.
— Total flight hours 183.
— VA-125 deploys for WestPac cruise aboard USS Hancock (CVA 19), Aug. 31, 1955.
— VA-125 back at NAS Miramar, March 14, 1956.
– Transferred to Overhaul & Repair Facility, NAS Alameda, March 27, 1956
– Transferred to VA-96, NAS Alameda, Aug. 8, 1956
– Transferred to VA-196, NAS Alameda, Feb. 27, 1957
— VA-196 deploys for WestPac cruise aboard USS Bon Homme Richard (CVA 31), June 12, 1957
— VA-196 back at NAS Alameda, Dec. 9, 1957
– Transferred to Storage Facility, NAS Litchfield Park, May 19, 1958
— Total flight hours 1,534.
– Transferred to Overhaul & Repair Facility, NAS Quonset Point, Aug. 16, 1963
– Transferred to VA-145, NAS Alameda, Feb. 16, 1964
— VA-145 deploys for WestPac cruise aboard USS Constellation (CVA 64), May 31, 1964
— Pierce Arrow strikes against North Vietnam; Gulf of Tonkin Incident response. Aug. 5, 1964.
— VA-145 back at NAS Alameda, Feb. 28, 1965
– Transferred to VA-95, NAS Lemoore, May 25, 1965.
– Transferred to VA-122, NAS Lemoore, June 21, 1965.
– Transferred to Naval Aircraft Repair Facility, Quonset Point, Feb. 4, 1966.
– Transferred to NAS Lemoore, May 9, 1966.
— Total flight hours 2,665.
– Transferred to VA-52, NAS Lemoore, May 20, 1966.
– VA-52 deploys for WestPac cruise board USS Ticonderoga (CVA 14), Oct. 15, 1966.
– Transferred to NAS Cubi Point, April 28, 1967.
— Total flight hours 3,455.
– Transferred to MASCD, Davis-Monthan AFB, Tucson, Sept. 19, 1967.
— Total flight hours 3,455
– Stricken from Navy lists, Nov. 14, 1967.
Transferred to US Air Force as 135332, 1967.
– Served in 4410th and 4407th Combat Crew Training Squadrons and
    1st Special Operations Wing at Hurlburt Field, FL
— Used to train Vietnamese Air Force [VNAF] pilots, 1967-1972.
— Deployed to SEASIA.
– Transferred to VNAF as 135332, Aug. 25, 1972.
— Flown to Thailand to avoid capture.
— Transferred by USAF letter from RTAF, Takli, to “Yesterday's Air Force".
    Mr. David C. Tallichet [YAF] also rescued three other A1-Hs from the RTAF, Aug. 9, 1978.
Yesterdays Air Force, Chino, CA, 1978-1983.
– Registration N32612 reserved but not taken up.
– Stored in original military configuration, Long Beach, CA, Jan. 1980-1983.
Military Aircraft Restoration Corp, Chino, CA, 1983-1992.
– Registered as N39148.
– Ferried by David C. Tallichet from Long Beach to Andrews AFB, April 30 to May 2, 1983.
National Air & Space Museum, Washington D.C., 1983-2008
– Traded to NASM for C-123K.
– Stored, awaiting restoration at Gerber Facility, MD.

Ten surviving pilots contributed to this record and are listed in order of appearance in the text. Those that contributed pilot narratives are indicated by ***. Their personal recollections are blended into a third-person presentation herein with as little editing of their original words as possible.

Pooooowwwwwwer!

Good thing there is no ramp!

M-Press-ive! (Photo Credit seems to come from here: gfydad):

 

For more information on the Mars Fire Bomber I recommend this Flight Journal Article. Mars Attacks!

And from our own Steeljaw Scribe his great historical essay here: 

Martin XPB2M-1 & JRM Mars

Hey! It used to be a Navy Bird! 

 

Back in the day... (from wikipedia)

The Martin Company effectively scaled up their successful PBM Mariner patrol bomber design to produce the prototype XPB2M-1 Mars.^[1] After flight tests with the XPB2M between 1941 and 1943, she was passed on to the Navy. The original patrol bomber concept was considered obsolete by this time, and the Mars was converted into a transport aircraft designated the XPB2M-1R. The Navy was satisfied with the performance, and ordered 20 of the modified JRM-1 Mars.^[1] The first, named Hawaii Mars, was delivered in June 1945, but the with the end of World War II the Navy scaled back their order, buying only the five aircraft which were then on the production line.^[2] Though the original Hawaii Mars was lost in an accident on Chesapeake Bay, the other 5 Mars were completed, and the last delivered in 1947.

Named the Marianas Mars, Philippine Mars, Marshall Mars, Caroline Mars, and a second Hawaii Mars, the 5 production Mars aircraft entered service ferrying cargo to Hawaii and the Pacific Islands. The last production airplane (the Caroline Mars) was designated JRM-2, powered by 3,000 HP Pratt & Whitney R-4360 engines, and featured a higher maximum weight and other improvements. On April 5, 1950, the Marshall Mars was lost near Hawaii when an engine fire consumed the airplane after her crew had evacuated. The remaining "Big Four" flew record amounts of Naval cargo on the San Francisco-Honolulu route efficiently until 1956, when they were parked at NAS Alameda.^[1]

VO-67 No Tailhook but a Great Naval Aviation Tale

This is a previously-hidden true-story about the Navy VP (Patrol Aviation) community. A Navy P2V squadron, VO-67, recently received a PUC (Presidential Unit Citation), 40 years after their heroic deeds. Read on . . .
OBSERVATION SQUADRON SIXTY-SEVEN (VO-67) by Larry W. Gire

At the height of the Vietnam War, a secret Navy 12-plane squadron arrived at the Nakhon Phanom Air Commando base in Thailand. The squadron aircraft were old, retired from service, P2V-5F anti-submarine patrol planes that had been considerably modified into armed, jungle green, gun ships. Of course, every would-be comic that saw them at Nakhon Phanom asked, what’s the Navy going to do, hunt for subs in the Mekong River?

The North Vietnamese were moving massive amounts of munitions by truck and troops down the Ho Chi Minh Trail undetected in mid-1966. Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara was opposed to attacking North Vietnam military targets and infrastructure and to stopping the movement of war materials into North Vietnam by mining their harbors as advocated by the military. In the fall of 1966, he ordered the military to submit a proposed plan for an anti-infiltration system designed to stop or greatly reduce the flow of men and war material from North Vietnam into South Vietnam.
The quickest solution available was to modify and employ the Navy's sonobuoy (a listening device used to detect submarines underwater). Implanting sonobuoys in the jungle canopy could detect the movement of NVA trucks and troops. The converted sonobuoys, dubbed 'Acoubuoys', were camouflaged jungle green and parachuted into the jungle, where they snagged in the top jungle canopy, and hung unseen high off the ground. Sensitive microphones that replaced the hydrophones could pick up the sound of truck and troop movement below.

The Navy had a number of older anti-submarine aircraft in its inventory with sonobuoy racks installed and capable of delivering the modified listening devices. The Navy determined that available P2V-5Fs would be the quickest and the best delivery platform to modify for implanting the modified sonobuoys along the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

By this stage of the war the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) had heavily fortified the trail with highly mobile ZPU-23mm, 37mm, and some radar controlled 57mm guns. Survivability of the slow, lumbering P2V-5F in this environment was questionable. But the need was urgent; our troops in South Vietnam were taking heavy casualties. The Defense Department decided to deploy the P2V-5Fs to provide an interim capability until Air Force F-4 jets could be modified to take over the task.

The initial overhaul was done in three phases at the Martin Aircraft Company in Baltimore, MD. This overhaul and replacement of electronics included installing new self-sealing bladder fuel tanks (capable of holding 2800 gallons of fuel and sustaining small arms and shrapnel hits), and painting the aircraft a flat, jungle green. After this modification, the aircraft were re-designated as an OP-2E.

Modifications to the aircraft continued well into the deployment and operational phase of the squadron. Much of the modification work was done by the VO-67 squadron maintenance organization. The APS-20E submarine search radar, with its large radar dome, and the MAD gear and  boom (used to magnetically detect submerged submarines) were removed. Wingtip tanks were removed and extensive armor plating was added, primarily in the bombardier's nose station, cockpit, flight deck, and the aft gunner's stations to protect the crews. Two under wing SUU-11 six-barreled mini guns were installed. A 'Chaff' dispenser was added aft where the MAD boom had protruded. LORAN C, a new version of the Long Range Aide to Navigation, replaced the old LORAN system used by the Navy at that time, and was used to drop sensors during the monsoon season. Internal mounts for M-60 machine guns were installed at both hatches in the after station of the OP-2E aircraft. These hand-held 7.62mm guns fired 550 rounds.

To facilitate egress for the crew forward of the wing beam to bail out, the deck hatch to the nose gear tunnel was enlarged. Threat-detection electronics and terrain-clearance radar were added. Bomb bay racks were fabricated to carry additional Acoubuoys. A Norden bomb sight was installed in the Plexiglas nose of the OP-2E. This was the result of the added mission of implanting the Air-delivered Seismic Detection Sensor (ADSID) that presented a problem that the old P2V aircraft was not equipped to handle. The addition of the J-34s to the P2V-5Fs had reduced the under-wing launch stubs from 16 to 8 stations. VO-67 overcame this shortage of stations by using MER weapon racks that could hold three ADSIDS on each of these eight stations. However, the real problem was the lack of an accurate delivery system for the ADSIDs. Navy patrol plane pilots dropped sonobuoys and torpedoes at low altitude by sight or timing and needed an accurate means of dropping the ADSID from 2500 feet or higher.

The Norden bomb sight had been used extensively in WW-II and had been installed in the Navy's PB4Y-2 aircraft. VO-67 requested Norden bomb sights and after demonstrating their accuracy at Eglin AFB, Pentagon officials agreed that the Norden bomb sight was what was needed and had the Rock Island Arsenal overhaul twelve bomb sights (for this they had to locate and recall retired WW-II Norden bomb sight technicians).

An Air Force Norden bomb sight instructor, Lt Col Conrad Brown, was found and sent to Alameda to help train the bombardiers. Lt Col Brown located a battered copy of a WW-II training film on the Norden bomb sight at the Smithsonian Institute. He had it shipped PRIORITY ONE to VO-67 and used it to train the Squadron bombardiers. Lt Col Brown deployed with the squadron to continue training the VO-67 third pilots who developed into qualified bombardiers.

The first flight of three OP-2Es departed Alameda on 6 November 1967 for Nakhon Phanom Royal Thai Air Force Base (NKP) in Thailand led by CAPT Wallace 'Wally' Sharp. The last flight of three OP-2Es arrived at Nakhon Phanom on 15 November 1967. Much credit for the smooth deployment must be given to the Air Force Military Air Transport service for the professional job they did in moving the rest of the squadron.

Eighteen C-141s arrived at Alameda right on schedule. Because of the runway landing-weight limitations at Nakhon Phanom, each C-141 was limited to 45,000 pounds of cargo. One after another they were efficiently loaded and departed with loads ranging from large electronic vans to administrative files. In all, they airlifted 629,021 pounds of VO-67 personnel and cargo to NKP.

The personnel compliment of VO-67 when they arrived at NKP was 1 Captain, 8 Commanders, 3 Commander Selectees, 5 Lieutenant Commanders, 40 junior officers, 23 Chief Petty Officers, 220 rated enlisted personnel, and 14 Airmen. They also had 5 civilian representatives attached to the squadron; 1 from Lockheed, 1 from Hazeltine, 1 from Martin Marietta, and 2 from Sandia Lab.

On arrival at Nakhon Phanom, the VO-67 pilots immediately began flying combat missions with the Air Force FACs (Forward Air Controllers) in the small Cessna O-2A (Nail) aircraft to familiarize themselves with the Ho Chi Minh Trail and enemy gun emplacements. The Air Force FAC pilots helped the newly arrived Navy pilots tremendously. The FAC pilots became a valuable intelligence asset to the VO-67. CAPT Sharp initiated a close working relationship shortly after VO-67's arrival at NKP by inviting the FAC pilots to a party with the VO-67 pilots at the NKP Officer's club. The FACs flew every day and night and kept track, for their own survival and that of the strike aircraft they marked the targets for, of where the North Vietnamese moved their antiaircraft guns. The FACs that had flown the night before provided the latest NVA triple-A firing positions for the following day's VO-67 combat missions.

Close friendships developed among the Air Force FAC and Navy pilots; two of them were highly instrumental in the later rescue of seven VO-67 crew  members after their plane was hit by AAA fire and they bailed out over hostile territory. The Air Force O-2A FAC, A-1E, and Navy VO-67 pilots at Nakhon Phanom quickly bonded into a mutual respect support group.  Each VO-67 crew was responsible for planning their own assigned missions. They studied the NVA triple-A gun positions and terrain to determine the safest flight path and altitude profile in and out of the target area. Some missions were as simple as diving from 12,000 feet on the sensor implant heading, leveling off at drop altitude, slowing to drop airspeed, laying the sensor string, and climbing back to 12,000 feet and heading home. Drop altitude for the Acoubuoys was always 500 feet. The ADSIDS were dropped from 2,500 feet and later 5,000 feet.

Missions in heavy areas of enemy AAA concentrations required the crews to use terrain masking wherever possible. The high karst outcroppings in some target areas were ideal for this tactic. Some called for jinking dives to sensor implant altitude and numerous heading changes to the target to avoid the anti-aircraft gun emplacements. Acoubuoy drops in heavily defended areas were made by running into the area at tree top level, popping up to 500 feet, laying the sensors, dropping back to the deck and flying the safest route out.

On 11 January 1968, the VO-67 Executive Officer (XO), CDR Dell Olson, was on an Acoubuoy drop mission over the Ho Chi Minh Trail; at 9:57 AM radio contact with his aircraft was lost (the FAC working the mission had also lost visual contact with the OP-2E). Two other OP-2Es were working the trail that morning. They tried to reestablish radio contact with Crew 2. One OP-2E went under the overcast and spent three hours searching the area. There were some karst outcropping in the area but it was mostly dense jungle. The base of the overcast was above the highest terrain in the area so they were able to search the whole area. The jungle was so dense in most places that a plane crashing into it would not leave a discernible entry point and the crash could not be seen from the air. No trace of the Crew 2 aircraft was found by the searching VO-67 aircraft.

On 23 January an Air Force A-1 located a suspected crash site. On 25 January an O-2 from Nakhon Phanom photographed the site. Photo interpretation determined that the wreckage was that of BUNO 131436, Crew 2's aircraft. It was located on the north side of a cliff, 150 feet below the 4,583-foot ridgeline. Due to the hostile environment in the crash site area, it was decided not to insert an Investigation and Recovery team.

On February 17, 1968, CDR Glenn Hayden and his Crew 5 were dropping Acoubuoys over the trail in Laos. He had two F-4 escorts out of DaNang and an O-2A FAC spotter. After coming off his first target run, CDR Hayden reported that they had been hit by small arms fire in the starboard wing but were continuing on with their second assigned target run. During the second run, the fighter escort radioed to the OP-2E that its starboard engine was on fire; CDR Hayden acknowledged and reported that he was aborting the mission and returning to base.

The F-4s climbed through the overcast with the intention of joining the OP-2E on top and escorting him back to base. The last radio transmission they heard from the OP-2E was, 'We're beat up pretty bad .....' The F-4s dropped back down below the overcast and found the burning wreckage of the OP-2E; no parachutes were seen nor were emergency beepers were heard.

Ten days later, VO-67 suffered its third combat loss on 27 February. CDR Paul Milius's OP-2E was shot down while implanting sensors in Laos. The aircraft was flying at 5,000 feet above the jungle tops.

There weren't any 57mm radar controlled guns reported to be in the area of his drop, but if it wasn't that, it had to be the best 37mm gun crew in the world. No flack was spotted before the aircraft was hit, so it almost had to be a direct hit on the first salvo. The aircraft was hit in the radar well area where the old APS -20E radar had been removed. One crewman, PO2 John F. Hartzheim, was killed instantly. The hydraulic and electrical systems were severely damaged and the aircraft immediately filled with acrid smoke and fumes. CDR Milius ordered his crew to bail out. He remained at the controls of the stricken aircraft until the remaining seven crewmen had successfully bailed out.

One O2 FAC pilot, Major Sam Weaver, flew alongside MR-7 as the crew bailed out and kept a plot where each crewman had landed. Another FAC pilot, Major Phil Maywald also came to assist in the rescue. The 'Sandy', A- 1H aircraft, that provided fire protection for downed airmen, and the rescue helicopters, better known as the 'Jolly Greens' and 'Buffs', were soon on the scene. Sandys were from the 602nd Fighter Commando Squadron and helicopters from the 37th Air Rescue Squadron at Nakhon Phanom participated in the rescue along with other Air Rescue Recovery Squadrons from DaNang and Udorn. The FACs vectored the helos to each of the downed crewmen. Since they were in a very hostile area, the helos wasted no time in picking up the crew and getting out of there.

CDR Milius was seen to bail out, but never located and listed as MIA. He was promoted to the Rank of Captain on 1 July 1972. On 26 April 1978, he was officially pronounced 'presumed killed in action' and posthumously awarded the Navy Cross. On 23 November 1996, the Aegis Guided Missile Destroyer Milius (DDG 69) was commissioned in his honor at the Ingalls Shipbuilding, Pascagoula, Mississippi.

On 29 February 1968, two days after MR-7 was shot down, the last one of the 12 fully modified OP-2Es arrived at NKP. With the three losses, VO-67 was now a nine-plane squadron. MR-11 was repainted to MR-7 and the rescued members of Crew 7 continued to fly as a crew.

The North Vietnamese Tet offensive of 1968 was an all-out effort to take the U. S. Marine Base at Khe Shan. On 22 January 1968 VO-67 commenced implanting extensive Acoubuoy sensor fields around the combat base and its approaches to assist in lifting the siege of the Marine stronghold.
The special bomb bay racks to hold additional Acoubuoys in the OP-2E were used for the first time in the close-in support of Khe Shan. These Acoubuoy flights were classic mission profiles of Squadron developed tactics and what they had trained for in California and Florida. The OP-2Es came into the area skimming above the jungle tree tops or rivers, popped up to 500 feet, laid their string of sensors, dropped back down on the deck, and got the hell out of there as fast as the old, lumbering patrol planes would take them!

Estimates of the number of North Vietnamese that took part in the siege of Khe Shan vary, but most agree there were upwards of 20,000 NVA troops supported by tanks and anti-aircraft weapons. The latter accounted for eight U.S. aircraft during January and February. VO-67 flight crews that participated in implanting Acoubuoys in defense of Khe Shan were awarded the Navy Commendation Metal with Combat 'V' for missions that were, '-- of the very highest priority' and for achieving their goals, '-- despite poor weather, rugged terrain and enemy defenses which included surface-to-air missiles and anti-aircraft guns'.

On May 25 1968, the Chief of Naval Operations set the date for the disestablishment of VO-67 as of 1 July 1968. At that time the mission was to be taken over by the Air Force's 25th Tactical Fighter Squadron.

In June of 1968, the squadron received a message from the Navy disestablishing VO-67. As of 1 July 1968, the squadron no longer existed; personnel were ordered to return to the States for further assignment. The last squadron combat mission implanting sensors was on 25 June 1968. VO-67 lost 25% of its aircraft in combat and 20 crewmen, less than half of what the planners had expected and predicted. This was due to the outstanding airmanship of one of the finest multi-engine squadrons ever assembled.

However, a large part of the credit must be given to the Air Force FAC pilots at NKP and the training and intelligence they provided the VO-67 pilots. They taught the VO-67 pilots the Ho Chi Minh Trail and how to survive in the air spaces over it. The FAC pilots returning from night missions would mark the maps in NKP Intelligence with the location of the AAA guns they saw firing. This knowledge was an invaluable contribution to the survival of the OP-2E missions the next day.

CAPT Sharp became fast friends with Lt Col Palaster, the Commanding Officer of the O-2 FAC Squadron, as did many of the VO-67 pilots. He was so respected that when he was promoted to full Colonel while at Nakhon Phanom, the officers of VO-67 threw him a traditional Navy 'wetting down' party and made him an Honorary Naval Aviator. The FAC pilots flying the little O2 aircraft came from Air Force fighter, attack, and even SAC commands and their daring and courage was respected by all the Air Force, Navy, and Marine pilots in the Vietnam War. The Navy and VO-67 owe a deep debt of gratitude to these brave pilots and good friends.

How many American and South Vietnamese lives were saved by the courage and sacrifices of VO-67 in successfully planting sensors along the Ho Chi Minh Trail and around Khe Shan will never be known. The Air Force reported that truck kills tripled, for a like period, after the sensors were implanted and used to detect and pinpoint targets. Senior Marine officers estimated at casualties at the siege of Khe Shan would have been double that experienced if it had not been for the sensors implanted by the VO-67 Navy crews.

________________________________

U. S. To Honor Members of Squadron in 'Secret War'
By Chris Vaughn, Star-Telegram Staff Writer

Not many men in the military are eager to join a brand-new unit, where they don't know people, don't know what they'll be doing and don't have a proud unit lineage.

But the Navy assured the men it would be good for their careers. So some men volunteered and a lot more were drafted to join Observation Squadron 67, so named because that was the year it was born.
After a while the men took to calling themselves "the Ghost Squadron" because they felt forgotten, participants in a secret war that neither the U.S. nor the North Vietnamese wanted to acknowledge was being waged next door to Vietnam.

Silenced for decades by their classified missions over Laos, the men finally in recent years began to speak publicly of their war, a decision that would ultimately lead to a rare historic correction by the Navy.

Forty years after the squadron's actions, VO-67 has been awarded the Presidential Unit Citation, the highest decoration for combat valor a unit can receive. Some of the surviving 300 members of that squadron will be on hand for the ceremony in front of the U.S. Navy Memorial.

"It's special after all these years," said John Forsgren, a young sailor who served in the squadron and lives in Arlington. "But it's also bittersweet. How do you get proud of something that you did 40 years ago? There's a bit of a feeling of 'Why didn't they recognize the unit 30 years ago?'"

The Presidential Unit Citation is reserved only for the most valorous combat units, and it's worth noting that far fewer of them were awarded for the Vietnam War than Medals of Honor. A unit receiving the citation is the equivalent of every man receiving a Navy Cross.

Ensign Laura Stegherr said Navy Secretary Donald Winter received "relevant, new and verified" information about the squadron's actions in Laos that warranted the decoration.

VO-67 wasn't really an observation squadron, though they pretended they were. Their unit patch reflected the ruse, showing an airplane sending signals to the ground. In reality, it was the opposite -- the squadron was listening to what was happening on the ground, not interfering.
"It was so secret that not many top people in the Navy knew the squadron existed or what we did," said Ed Landwehr of Fort Worth, a navigator and bombardier on Crew 4.

The idea came from Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, who was unhappy with the results of the bombing campaign in North Vietnam and wanted some other way to interdict supplies into South Vietnam. His answer was "Igloo White," the code name for his plan to create an "electronic barrier" at the Demilitarized Zone.

The Ho Chi Minh Trail was largely under triple canopy jungle, hard to detect and busiest at night. Using dropped microphones and seismographic sensors would be a way for the military to gain intelligence on what was moving down the trail, when and how much. Then they could call in air strikes.

"We didn't find out what we would be doing until right before we deployed," said Herb Ganner of Hurst, a navigator and bombardier on Crew 1.

What the pilots and crews had to do sounds simple enough -- take off from an airfield in Thailand, fly a short distance into Laos and drop the camouflaged sensors along the trail. The men flew only in the day, usually every other day, and could expect to be airborne no longer than a couple of hours.

But the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the lifeblood of the war for the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong, was a very hostile place for air crews, particularly slow-moving, virtually defenseless ones flying at only 500 to 1,000 feet.

"The missions were short-lived, but they were adrenaline-pumped," Ganner said.

The Navy prepared for a loss rate of upward of 60 percent to 70 percent, which the men found out about while they were in Thailand.

"They tried to reassure us that the loss rate was not necessarily those killed," Ganner said, "but that it meant the airplanes would be so damaged that they would be out of commission."

It never got that bad. But within a span of six weeks in 1968, it felt like it was. Twenty men from three crews died in January and February 1968, the time of the huge Tet Offensive.

After all these years, the survivors of VO-67 still wince at the memories of Jan. 11, when the first crew did not come home.

Tony Bissell of Bedford was a petty officer on another plane that day, and he can still remember the awful silence on the radio as Crew 2 did not answer any communication. Later that night, the officers' club was packed wall to wall with men getting stupid drunk. Nine men dead in a second.
"We didn't have to buy a single drink that night," Bissell said. "The Air Force guys were very sympathetic."

Interservice rivalry seemed to take a back seat to the men's shared missions and misery. To this day, the men of VO-67 credit the Air Force forward air controllers in Thailand for saving their hides many times because of their knowledge of the trail.

Each crew had its own identity, and rarely did they ever share with each other their specific missions. The less the men knew the better.

"We knew how susceptible we were to getting shot down," Ganner said. "I used to carry a Geneva Convention card and my ID tags. I never took my wedding ring, my wallet, anything personal."
At least once the "Ghost Squadron" came out of hiding to participate in the acknowledged war. In January 1968, the Marines at Khe Shan were under siege by thousands of North Vietnamese. VO-67 was ordered on low-flying missions to drop sensors around the Marine base, so more accurate fire could be leveled. Their citation says they "contributed to saving countless lives."

As for their careers in the Navy, the men said VO-67 failed to help them at all. In fact, most of them believed it hurt their promotion chances because no one in the Navy had heard of it.
Still, the belated recognition matters to many of them, for both reasons large and small.
"I've talked about it recently with my wife of 19 years, and she will say, 'I don't believe you,'" Forsgren said, laughing. "This is vindication."

The men flew the Lockheed P-2 Neptune, a 1950s-era anti-submarine patrol airplane. The squadron's planes were heavily modified for the mission, including the addition of M-60 machine guns, an armored belly and a jungle-green paint scheme.

The squadron was based at Nakhon Phanom Royal Thai Air Force Base, just across the Mekong River from Laos. Their primary mission was over the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos, but they also performed missions in South Vietnam.
Twenty men of VO-67 died in Southeast Asia in three incidents. One is still missing in action, Cmdr. Paul Milius, who earned a Navy Cross for allowing seven crewmen to bail out of their badly damaged aircraft before going down. The Navy named a destroyer for him in the 1990s.

The squadron flew combat missions for nine months and sustained a 25 percent loss rate. It was disestablished in July 1968, and the Air Force took over the mission until 1972

____________________________________

For more great information on VO-67, visit the VO-67 Association at their website here: http://www.vo-67.org/vo67_opening.html.  Special thanks goes to the association and Larry Gire, the association's historian for the story and the opportunity to share with Tailhookers around the world. ED.

Not a Good Week for the Air Force... Are Improvements on the Way?

The Junior Service had a difficult week this past week... The culmination of conflicts in policies and investigations into lessons not learned relating to Nuclear Weapons policies.

Earlier in the week Sec Def asked for and received the resignations of both the Secretary of the Air Force, Michael Wynne and the Air Force Chief of Staff Gen T. Michael Moseley.

The onus for these resignations really boils down to an unacceptable "Culture" in the Air Force established at the top.  The sitting Administration is looking to focus the Air Arm on the current conflicts at hand, managing the need for more logistics, UAV's, UCAV's and managing the dynamics of a guerilla type conflict we are fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.

However the brass at the top of the Air Force continually fought this seemingly short view of the needs of the air arm.  Many Policy leaders of the Air Force continue to focus on expensive programs that those in the administration and congress do not necessarily see the immediate need for, ie expanding production of the the F/A-22 Raptor.  This is too bad really because the Air Force leadership is by design tasked with the reality of fighting today's conflicts and planning for and equipping our forces properly for the possible "Next" conflict.  Who that might be with is anyone's educated guess.  So the task laid at the feet of the Air Force Brass is indeed daunting and in the face of the fickle whims of an oft uneducated short sighted Congress-- possibly unmanageable.  Will history prove one of the two strategies correct?  Probably will depend on the writer's POV. 

Having said that...

This is not the only reason for the resignations.  Probably the largest reason is someone has to be held accountable for the most egregious of sins in the US Military, the mishandling of Nuclear weapons!  Not just mishandling but complete breakdown in the chain of custody requirements.

From Newsweek's John Barry:

The proximate trigger of Gates' decision to ask for these resignations was a report on the circumstances that led up a B-52 carrying six nuclear-tipped missiles under its wings on a flight down the length of the United States last summer—without the bomber's crew even realizing the missiles had warheads. (Fortunately, the warheads weren't live, so there was no danger of a nuclear explosion, even if the B-52 had crashed.)

The post-mortem—following an inquiry handled by a Navy admiral—remains unpublished. But it is widely said to be "scathing" (as one civilian official, who requested anonymity discussing sensitive matters, put it) about the sloppiness of the procedures which gave rise to the incident—as well as the unruffled response from the Air Force in the face of the screw-up. The attitude seemed to be that the incident, while regrettable, reflected merely low-level failures to follow established procedures for handling nuclear weapons. (In the subsequent uproar, officials discovered more or less by chance that four Air Force ballistic missile fuses which arm the nuclear warheads had been mistakenly shipped to Taiwan in 2006—and not retrieved for 17 months.)...

Gates took a more systemic view: if the Air Force is sloppy about nuclear weapons, what isn't it sloppy about ? The evident failure of Wynne and his top aides to take the incident as seriously as he did was the last straw.

You would think the Air Force would Re-Double their efforts in light of such an error!  But as recently as this week another report surfaces that illustrates that the Air Force may still have yet to learn it's lesson (this from the Air Force Times):

5th Bomb Wing flunks nuclear inspection

By Michael Hoffman - Staff writer
Posted : Monday Jun 2, 2008 18:13:28 EDT

The 5th Bomb Wing at Minot Air Force Base, N.D., has failed its much-anticipated defense nuclear surety inspection, according to a Defense Threat Reduction Agency report.

DTRA inspectors gave the wing an “unsatisfactory” grade Sunday after uncovering many crucial mistakes during the weeklong inspection, which began May 17. They attributed the errors primarily to lack of supervision and leadership among security forces.

Inspectors from Air Combat Command also participated, but the Air Force refused to provide specifics on their findings.

Security broke down on multiple levels during simulated attacks across the base, including against nuclear weapons storage areas, according to the DTRA report, a copy of which was obtained by Air Force Times.

Inspectors watched as a security forces airman played video games on his cell phone while standing guard at a “restricted area perimeter,” the DTRA report said. Meanwhile, another airman nearby was “unaware of her duties and responsibilities” during the exercise.

[more]

So, on top of Secretary Gates' expressed vote of no confidence comes that news.  And the Air Force troubles do not stop there.  In this little gem from Aviation Week we learn of a break down in "BASIC" maintenance procedures documentation that lead to the crash of the B-2 on Guam:

Forgotten Lesson Caused B-2 Crash

Jun 6, 2008 

David A. Fulghum/Aerospace Daily & Defense Report 

Crews and maintainers never formally recorded information on a vulnerability involving the B-2’s air pressure sensors and the simple workaround crews came up with to mitigate it, a crucial omission that set the stage for a Feb. 23 B-2 crash in Guam.

Aircrews and maintenance teams learned about the sensors’ susceptibility to moisture during a Guam deployment in 2006. They also discovered that turning on the 500-degree pitot heat would quickly evaporate the water and the flight computer would receive normal readings.

But the information was not formally “captured” in maintenance or lessons-learned publications, said Maj. Gen. Floyd Carpenter, president of the accident investigation board and vice commander of 8th Air Force. The result was that by the 2008 deployment, the information was passed on by word of mouth so that “some people knew about it and some people did not,” he said during a Pentagon briefing June 5. Crews never encountered the problem at the bomber’s home base of Whiteman Air Force Base, Mo.

Maybe Gates has a point? 

And finally what may not on the surface look like a problem for Air Force might actually be... at least a few years into the future from now.

 

Again from Aviation Week (by Graham Warwick):

The US Air Force’s lack of progress with its electronic attack strategy is in growing contrast to the US Navy’s rapid progress with its EA-18G Growler. And questions about the widening gap should be getting louder. The agreement under which US Navy EA-6B Prowlers provide jamming support for US Air Force strike aircraft ends in 2012, and the USAF will have nothing ready to replace it...

...But the Navy is buying only 85 Growlers, enough to equip its 10 carrier air wings but not to also provide jamming support to the Air Force.

... Back in 2004, an analysis of alternatives concluded the DoD’s EA solution should be the Miniature Air-Launched Decoy – Jammer (MALD-J) and Joint Unmanned Combat Air Systems (J-UCAS) for stand-in jamming; the EA-6B and EA-18G for escort jamming; penetration escort using the jamming capability of the AESA radars on the F-22 and F-35; and the EB-52 Stand-Off Jammer (SOJ).

J-UCAS and SOJ were cancelled. The MALD-J was delayed and a production decision is not expected until 2011. The Air Force is still trying to get funding for a scaled-down Core Component Jammer for the B-52, focused on a narrower spectrum of radar frequencies and using receiver technology from the EA-18G to reduce cost.

...For now, the Growler uses a repackaged version of the ICAP III electronic-attack system in the Prowler. But the ALQ-99 jamming pods are proving much more effective on the EA-18G, says Navy F/A-18 program manager Capt Mark Darrah. This is because the Growler’s groundbreaking comm-while-jam datalink capability ensures the jamming is accurately aligned and the aircraft being protected are exactly on a line between the radar and the jammer. Channelized receivers also focus the jamming power more effectively.

These are capabilities the Air Force needs, despite the claims for stealth and AESA. Tough questions need to asked about when the Air Force will get its electronic attack house in order.

New leadership is exactly what the Air Force needs right now, certainly a leadership that our Civilian Leaders can have confidence in.  Leadership that will once again focus on true professionalism, dedication and accountability.  Those in the field are competent capable airmen, they deserve quality leaders that can insure the Air Force's proper proud future!

Flightdeck Friday: Midway Remembered - 66 Years Later

In every battle there is a moment when the combatants, and the world, seem to catch their breath. It is a fleeting moment, lost in the blink of an eye. But in that same blink, everything changes. Such moments are borne of desperation, of courage, of plain dumb luck. But they are pivotal - for what was before is forever changed afterwards.

Until 1019 on the morning of 4/5 June 1942, things had gone badly for the US and its allies. With few exceptions, the Allies were fighting a losing battle in the Pacific. Indeed, as events unfolded that morning, it appeared as of the rout was on. The attacks by land-based air forces from Midway had utterly failed culminating in the loss of many aircraft. The strikes by the torpedo aircraft were decimated - an entire squadron of TBDs shot down with only a sole survivor to claim witness. An entire airgroup missed the Japanese carriers and the battle altogether and of the remaining forces, they were scattered and disorganized. The future was looking grim. At 1019, Hiryu’s senior lookout shouted he had spotted dive bombers attacking Kaga from overhead. Despite being thrown into a hard turn, Kaga was struck by a 500 lb bomb and then successive strikes utterly crushed her…

At 1024 Soryu was struck a mighty series of blows…

At 1026, LT Dick Best led a flight of two other SBDs away from Kaga in an attack on Akagi. Attacking in a "V" formation from a right-hand turn, history held its breath as the first and third bombs dropped narrowly missed the carrier. But the second bomb, a 1,000 pounder from LT Best’s aircraft bore through the aft edge of the elevator and exploded in the upper reaches of the Akagi’s hangar bay, in the midst of the refueled/rearming aircraft parked there. In the blink of an eye, fate turned and three carriers lay burning.

To be sure the battle was not over and a dreadful price remained to be extracted from the American carriers. Likewise, Kido Butai had not seen the last of the Americans either and would pay the final price later that day.

Across a seaborne canvass that stretched over 176,000 sq nm, larger than the country of Sweden, the battle see-sawed back and forth. No other naval engagment has seen such breath-taking distances involved and few, short of a Trafalgar, have seen such a decisive turn of events. We honor, this coming week, our forebears who fought and gave their all in this signatory battle.

- SJS

Flightdeck Friday: T-2 Buckeye Memorial Day Edition

Sometime this summer an orange and white jet that bears a passing resemblance to a guppy or bullfrog, will drop out of a white-hot Arizona sky to the scorching pavement at Davis-Monthan AFB - aka the Boneyard. It will be the final flight, at least in Navy colors, of an aircraft that almost all of us who currently or have worn the Wings of Gold, be they with single- or double anchors, have more than a passing acquaintance with. (Link)

FIRST CARRIER LANDING

By Tom Bennett

Right up there, high on the list of the most memorable days of my life, was Monday, 9 August 1953. It was a clear, warm beauty of a day on the waters off Pensacola, Florida — the “home of Naval Aviation,” the place where the Navy trains its pilots. The date was the day I made my first carrier landings.

We had been working all summer on “field carrier” landings at Barin Field, one of the outlying fields of the Pensacola complex. The runways at Barin had been painted to resemble the deck of a medium sized aircraft carrier. We were judged on our ability to plop the aircraft down at the proper spot to catch the carrier’s arresting wires.

The Navy taught “full stall” landings, as opposed to other methods where the plane was guided to a gentle, smooth landing. The goal for the early carrier pilot was to have the aircraft run out of lift just above the flight deck at the right spot, cut power and crunch solidly onto the deck — a kind of controlled crash.

One of the standing jokes in aviation quotes the fearful mother who cautioned her aviator son to “always fly low and slow, so you won’t be hurt if you crash.” The Navy taught us to manage our air speed and altitude – and thereby not crash. Now we were learning to fly very low and very slow indeed. The SNJ training aircraft, which normally cruised at 120 knots, was to be flown at 57 or 58 knots at the level of the corn stalks.

During the hot months the Florida sun, beating down on fields, roads, buildings and runways, caused a confusion of thermals, which jostled the planes alarmingly — a bumpy, scary ride. When we finished with the field carrier landing training, and were going to do the real thing.

We were nervous, of course. Our nervousness was intensified by the fact that on the Friday before we were scheduled to make our landings, one of the training planes went over the side of the USS Monterey (AVT-2), the carrier on which we were to make our qualifying landings. There had not been an accident on the carrier for some weeks; the demonstration that something fearful really could happen made for a very jumpy weekend. My own jitters were intensified — early in the flight-training program, during basic training, my roommate had been killed in a mid-air collision. My wife's fears were multiplied because just a few days before, a transport plane full of Aviation Cadets had crashed, with all hands killed.

Our flight of student pilots was to board the Monterey at the pier in Pensacola. The planes were to be flown by another group from Barin field. They would rendezvous with the carrier and make their qualifying landings. Then they would turn the aircraft over to us.

We showed up at the pier dressed in our blues, with flight suits and helmets in our carry-all bags. My wife of three months drove me to the pier, and bravely wished me luck (At that time I was so immersed in my own anxieties that I didn't appreciate how frightening the experience must have been to a new bride. She had been suddenly thrust into this world where men went to work in the morning, but sometimes did not return at night.)

Once aboard we were assigned to a ready room where we could change into our flight suits, and smoke and sweat. I was luckier than the others: a college classmate was among the crew of the Monterey, and he met me at the gangway and offered the hospitality of the officers’ mess.

When we arrived there, films about Naval Aviation were being shown to a group of visiting VIP's. One of the films, now famous for having been aired  often on television, showed a series of crashes on carrier decks: one plane ran into the ship’s bridge and caught fire. Another broke in two upon landing. A third slid off the side of the deck and hung precariously over the water.

“My God what are you trying to do to me,” I hissed urgently at my buddy. “I'm nervous enough without seeing these disasters.”

“Watch carefully,” he answered, “watch the last second or two of each of the segments.” I did, and found comfort: those last few inches of film showed the pilot jumping out of the wrecked plane and sprinting across the deck.

“If they all survived their crashes, what harm can you come to?” he asked.

In time — about two and a half centuries it seemed — our aircraft appeared overhead and began their landings. Each pilot did his required six landings without mishap. We, watching from various perches, were comforted.

Then it is our turn, and the tempo changed. As each of the earlier group makes his sixth landing, one of us was hustled by plane captains onto the deck and into the aircraft. The routine snapped into my mind: Strap on the parachute, buckle up, plug into the radio. Hurry, hurry — the engines were not even being stopped.

I watch the flight officer with the baton — he signaled me to run up the engine to full power, with the brakes on hard. The plane shuddered and shook. Then the signal — off with the brakes and start the roll down the all-too-short deck. The end of the deck approaches — my God, I'm not going fast enough. I'm going to crash into the sea right in front of the fast-moving ship. A moment of sheer terror, then the plane lifted gracefully into the air. I had not remembered that the carrier itself was moving through the air at thirty knots, adding that extra speed to my own.

Now for the big test — landing. But no. We were ordered to orbit a mile off to the starboard side of the ship. A group of advanced students flying operational aircraft arrived from NAS Corpus Christi. They, with a tighter fuel situation, were to land before us.

A moment of comedy — after orbiting patiently for thirty minutes or so, our flight leader was called on the radio: “Blue Leader—What is your state?” That is carrier code for “How much fuel do you have left?” The answer should be given in minutes of flight time left. Our leader, a southern boy, hesitates, then answered: “Uh—Georgia?”

Now for the landings. We tightened up our formation — the eyes of the fleet were upon us. We flew up the centerline of the ship at a thousand feet, then executed a sharp “carrier break.” Each plane, in turn, snapped to the left, and came all the way around so that we flew in single file down the port side of the ship on a course opposite to that of the ship.

I completed the last few items of the landing check-off list: mixture full rich, prop at full low pitch, hook down. I started another left turn to come around behind the ship to line up with the deck. I found the landing signal officer (LSO) standing on a platform at the stem of the ship, watched the paddles with which he told me how my approach was going. Paddles droop — I’m low, add power. Too much — power back a mite. I'm in the groove ... all of a sudden I was almost to the stern of the ship — a half second to do it right.

The LSO gave me “cut,” a slashing movement of the right paddle across his throat. I jerked the throttle all the way back. The plane drops the last few feet — Bang! I crunch onto the deck! I did it!

Men run out to disengage and re-stow the hook, I quickly taxied forward — another plane is right behind me. Here was the flight officer, he signaled with his baton for me to run up the engine — the whole routine repeated, and again and again—six times. What a feeling — relief, triumph, exhaustion. I did it.

A not-so-funny footnote: After completing our six landings, we were ordered to make a seventh take-off and form up our flight again. We were to fly the planes back to Barin field. That had been the plan all along, but no one had told us. So back to Alabama we go-leaving our uniforms on the ship.

We were not allowed to leave the base wearing flight suits, and our dress uniforms, along with wallets and keys, were back on the ship. The fortunate ones, including me, were able to borrow clothes from bachelor friends who lived on the base, and to hitch rides back to Pensacola. The others pooled their funds, bought new shirts, trousers and ties, and hired a taxi.

In the meanwhile, my young wife had returned to the pier where she had dropped me off in the morning. She arrived in time to see the Monterey come in, tie up, and begin disembarking the VIP's and the student pilots who had flown out from Barin Field, and who came down the gangway in proper uniform. They had been forewarned to take their uniforms with them.

When the last few started down the gangway, she began asking,“ Have you seen my husband, Tom Bennett?” None of them had anything to say. Soon, the last had gone their separate ways — and no Thomas. She waited, a lonely figure. A half hour, an hour ...

After that bitter, tear-stained hour she headed home, expecting to find the Chaplain awaiting her with the bad news. Instead, she found me sitting on the front steps, my uniform, wallet, and keys still on the ship. I had to go and get them myself — she was too exhausted, poor girl, after her day of worry and fear. “You were scared,” I asked incredulously? “There was no need — it was a Snap!"

THE MAD BOMBER OF HANOI

The semi-official report of events leading up to Dick Stratton's capture on  January 5, 1967 read something like this:

SYNOPSIS: LtCdr. Richard A. Stratton was an A4E pilot and the maintenance officer of Attack Squadron 192 onboard the aircraft carrier USS TICONDEROGA (CVA-14). On January 4, 1967, he launched in his A4E "Skyhawk" attack aircraft at 0703 hours for his 27th mission on an armed reconnaissance mission over Thanh Hoa Province, North Vietnam to destroy the My Trach ferry. The ferry was not found; however, four large barges were located one mile up the river. LtCdr. Stratton rolled in on the barges and launched his rockets. Almost immediately, he began to experience a rough running engine and fire. It was suspected that foreign objects/debris (FOD) was ingested into the engine on firing his rockets. He immediately turned his aircraft for departure out to sea. His wingman did not see an ejection, but did spot a fully deployed parachute landing in a tree near a small village. An emergency beeper was heard for 1-2 minutes, and it was suspected that Stratton was captured immediately.

Personally, I like Dick's telling of it better!  I think you might too! [HT Proton]

This is a tale based on shipboard perceptions during a wartime deployment to Southeast Asia. The account claims no historical accuracy but reflects the mood and understanding of' a ready room on a 27-Charlie carrier in late 1966 and early 1967. Perceptions become reality to those who hold them. Remember that the raconteur is an ex-convict who distinguished himself by shooting himself down in combat. Caveat emptor ("let the buyer beware").

In the late fall of 1966, when the USS Ticonderoga (not the one sailing around now, but the one you are shaving with--CVA-14) hit Yankee Station, the philosophy of escalated response dominated all military strategy and tactics. Robert S. MacNamara and Lyndon B. Johnson were running the war from the basement of the White House. Rules of engagement were more protective of the enemy than of the American fighting man. Significant strategic areas such as major ports, the Chinese border, and the district of Hanoi were protected American-imposed restricted areas. These areas could only be targeted with permission from the White House.

The micro-managed, cost-effective. zero-defect war effort had resulted in a shortage of all kinds of equipment from flight suits to rockets and borings. Success was measured by sorties flown and tonnage dropped, the air war equivalent of body count on the ground in the South-measures of questionable utility and morality. Most of our time on station was spent chasing water buffaloes and bicycles up and down trails and planning for the three strategic targets allotted per month by the White House.

Rumors of an early end to the war abounded. The British Prime Minister was scheduled to make a swing through Southeast Asia, exploring the possibilities of peace. The word was going around that secret talks were about to be held between the United States and North Vietnam in our embassy in Warsaw. The bottom line was that the entire world diplomatic community was hyperactive in exploring peace initiatives. Meanwhile, a realistic assessment by military people on the ground in Vietnam gave a prediction of a twenty-year involvement at the current rate of commitment to attain an objective enabling the Republic of Vietnam to stand alone against the Northern invader.

All of this made little difference to deployed airwings who had learned to live from line period to line period, sortie to sortie, day to day. We were spending about forty days on the line, averaging- about 2.5 sorties per pilot, per day, and alternating between day and night sorties with our sister carrier. The thrills were the occasional Alpha Strikes against targets of strategic importance.

Two years into the war, Mr. MacNamara finally figured out that the uniservice, unisex pumpkin-orange flight suit was not contributin' to the longevity of airmen on the ground, evading in the jungle, and finally authorized new flight gear, which, of course, was not in the supply system by the time the Tico deployed. Pilots were permitted to buy their own gear, and I selected Marine fatigues as being my best shot at survival-I was to pay a price for this.

We were short of Zuni five-inch rockets and made up for the lack with Aero 7D rocket packs, many of which lacked effective speed brake, an advantage that a fully loaded A-4E does not really require.

Additionally, the 2.75-inch FFAR was not noted in the fleet for its accuracy or reliability--I was to pay a price for this as well.

In December of 1966, we were assigned a target within the Hanoi restricted area, the Van Dien Truck Repair Facility, which was in the district of Hanoi but not the city of Hanoi. The Alpha Strike went off tolerably well. I missed the show because of a nose gear malfunction and had to go back to the ship. Diplomatically, the strike was a bomb. Ho Chi Minh, the President of NVN, accused us of bombing the sacred city of Hanoi and hitting civilian targets. Harrison H. Salisbury of the New York Times rushed to Hanoi at the invitation of NVN and dutifully reported damage to non-military targets (shades of Peter Arnett in Baghdad). LBJ countered by denying the accusation and stating that those defective Russian SAMs had obviously fallen back upon the city.

Uncle Ho called LBJ a liar, not a very original accusation, and called off any and all peace initiatives, vowing to defend the motherland for ten, twenty, or forty years against the American imperialist aggressors.

MacNamara's response was to call another of the ubiquitous "bombing halts" for Ho to contemplate his navel or his sins. I never figured out which, and neither did Ho.

Tico finished up its line period and returned to Subic Bay for a stand-down. The Communists, of course, used the couple of weeks to resupply and rebuild their bridges. Our leaders flew up to Atsugi Base, conveniently near Tokyo, for a "planning conference," while we conducted FCLPs at Cubi Point for the replacement pilots. After the planning conference, XO couldn't get his bird started. So with true entrepreneurial spirit, he scouted the flight line and stole the best-looking A-4E from the Nippi Rework Facility flight line, a Marine Corps plane sans log books, and returned to the ship, now steaming back to Yankee Station. Our maintenance crew painted up the stolen steed just like a circus wagon with all the air wing colors, christened it "Double Nuts" (Modex 400) for the use of our CAG, and sent it into combat.

About the second day out, I got a call from my best friend Mike Estocin (later awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously) asking me to take his first hop of the morning since he had an Ops Officer meeting to attend with CAG. Not yet awake, I violated a cardinal rule of survival--don't volunteer for nothin'-and took his hop. It should have been a piece of cake as it was the weather hop. The only "weather" in the "weather hop" was that it didn't make any difference whether the weather was good or bad; we were going to fly anyway. The supposed minimums were five-thousand-and-five; the weather was below minimums that day, and they flew all day. The benefit to you, as the recruiters say, was that after checking the weather out at dawn, you could recce the coastline for any cargo-carrying junks that had not made it into a river mouth for daylight hours. MacNamara had a rule of engagement that said you could only attack a junk traveling from North to South and then only after you had flown by to verify with your own eyeballs that it had deck cargo, obviously enhancing your element of surprise. Well, my wingman and I found some targets. I made a run on a junk, using my five-inch Zunis, and then a short distance away I found a bridge section tied up along the shoreline and unloaded my Aero 7D packs on that hummer. (No, it was not a second run on the same target; my learning curve is not that flat.) True to form, the rockets fired; the stabilizing fins did not extend, causing instability in the rockets; and the rockets collided.

The warheads did work (good); however, the debris from the explosions went into the intakes (bad). The J-52 engine does quite well on air but has a problem with scrap metal! 

I developed an instantaneous love affair with the surface navy and turned seaward. The engine gave up the ghost, taking off the tail in the process. The A-4E is a wonderful, ever-loving, and forgiving flying machine, and a stable weapons platform, but without a tail, it has all the aerodynamic characteristics of a free falling safe.

I was at a decision point. I had just broadcast my farewell address to the entire Seventh Fleet-- "Oh S~!" --and was debating my next move. Why the debate? The A-4's ejection seat is powered by a rocket in front of a fuselage tank with 1,200 pounds of JP-5 in it, and I had just had an unfortunate experience with a rocket from the lowest bidder. I was moved to action by the echo of my wife's last words to me: "Don't you dare die and leave me with these three little bastards!" That's a commitment. I ejected. Did you ever have a bad day? I landed in the only tree behind the only house in five square miles and was a prisoner before I had my helmet off.

I was stripped to my skivvies and shown off at every crossroads, village, and hamlet within a four-hour walking distance. I was blindfolded, "executed" with a single rifle shot, and rolled into my grave for the afternoon. At dusk, I was on the road again by foot until about midnight and then transported on the back of a 2x8 to Hanoi, arriving at the Hoa Lo Prison (Hanoi Hilton) at daybreak. I foresaw no big problem, having been through SERE training twice in the Cleveland National Forest (sic!), assured that there was no such thing as torture, and convinced that I just had to tough it out for 48 hours to earn my way into the "bad guy's" camp. I would spend the rest of the war playing Hogan's Heroes until my great escape.

Ha!!

Interrogation started off as a piece of cake. I was frightened, but playing the game of name, rank, serial number, and date of birth. As I was to find out later, the interrogation followed a set pattern of five stages: the history lesson of the enemy's cause in converting you (boring); the exploitation of your perceived weaknesses (race, religion, rank, homesickness, family, etc); the appeal to your military discipline (you obey orders in your army, and you are now in our army; therefore, you will obey our orders); the application of physical force (no big deal for street fighters or contact sports survivors); and the application of torture (controlled infliction of pain with the objective of gaining compliance with something you find to be morally reprehensible).

Picture yourself being tortured to admit, as a squid, that you are a Marine. Remember the Marine fatigues and the stolen A-4? (The parachute seat pan had a sergeant's signature on the packing slip.) I have nothing against the Corps. I admired my PreFlight DIs (Sergeants Jones, Livermore, and Raphel-start NAVCAD Class 19-55, finish NAVCAD Class 36-55, learning curve on the obstacle course relatively flat). Two of my three sons and my daughter-in-law are Marines. But that was a bit much.

What were they after? A little bit of military information. What was the next target? I didn't know; that's why Mike had to go to CAG's meeting.

What new weapons did the Tico have? The Aero 7D Rocket pack with 19 independently targeted warheads, the destination of which even I did not know.

From what altitude did I drop my bombs? Beats the hell out of me. That's why I spent all that time on targets at NAS Fallon, developing my seaman's eye. Pick a number, any number, but whatever it is, stick to it.

It took me six months to figure out what it was they were after... propaganda. As the first bomber pilot to be shot down after the Christmas bombing halt and raid on the sacred city of Hanoi, I had been designated to be the "Mad Bomber of Hanoi." Of the guys captured in North Vietnam, 95% were tortured; 95% were not given the option of death; and 95% gave more than name, serial number, and date of birth-not bragging, not complaining, just a factoid that underlines the skill of the torturers. As they had me talking, hopefully a bunch of nonsense, they had a political cadre reviewing my production, adopting my "style" and, unbeknownst to me, writing my "confession." We named this guy the "Rabbit," in recognition of his distinctive ears and overbite. After two weeks of torture, beatings, and isolation, I was transferred to another prison--"the Zoo"--where I thought the worst was over.

About a month later, during one of the routine interrogations, the Rabbit showed me a confession and asked for my opinion; it was difficult to keep from laughing. It had an A-4 leadi