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.

John C. McGinley, Star of Scrubs Flies with the Blues

One of my favorite actors, John C. McGinley (whom you may know from Scrubs, Platoon, The Rock, or even Point Break) had the opportunity to take the press flight with the Blues recently.

He seemed to be properly impressed, and amazingly enough not nearly the wise ass he portrays in his many rolls.  I was a bit disappointed actually I would have loved to hear what Dr. Perry Cox would have had to say about breaking the sound barrier, or pulling six and a half G's in the break over El Centro.

Either way it's a fun Video... Enjoy...

 

Still petitioning for my ride!!! 

-ED...

Safety Checker Would Have Liked a Fresh Coat of Non-Skid!

A safety inspector on board USS Kitty Hawk gets a little too close the line of Blast from a VAQ-136 EA-6B... and goes for a slide!  Click the video below. [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!"

"We're Not Breeding Any New Intruders!"

These words were spoken numerous times throughout this year's Intruder Reunion!  And... We're not! 

I had the honor this past weekend in San Diego to meet hundreds of gathered Intruder Pilots, BNs, Tech Reps, their families and friends. I listened to their stories accurate as a Cracker Jack Prized Watch, laughed at their jokes, smiled with them as their joy overflowed at the first sight of long ago friends and comrades not heard from in 30 years, and I cried with them too as they raised their glass to missed friends left long ago... eternally young.

The compassion in the rooms was tangible, hugs and vice grip handshakes abounded.  These men are INTRUDERS and always will be.  And there is something to be said and yes even possibly envied for being able to claim that moniker.  At least one sure felt that in their company.

These men flew and fought in a truly unique aircraft.  Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder... or in this case the crew of an Intruder!  The A-6 in its many variants with the exception of a few bumps here, and a few radio fins there, and a giant chin pimple called a TRAM, the overall airframe remained throughout its historic career much as it was when she first rolled off the Grumman Iron Works assembly line in 1960... she was a flying DRUMSTICK!

But despite having looks only a mother could love, the A-6 piloted by heroic crews, earned a reputation, even legacy, no other aircraft can match.  And I do mean Crews... the Intruder is a 2 man aircraft, Pilot and Bombardier Navigator  (BN) and it takes these two to make this aircraft the formidable weapon she became known as.

Featured Speaker, and A-6 transplant (from Vigilantes of all planes!), Admiral Fox Fallon, alluded to the uniqueness of this great airplane in that the crew sat side by side instead of the more common tandem arrangements familiar to most in NAVAIR since WWII.  This seating allowed for unique communication between Pilot and BN, one could recognize trouble or confidence in a simple look exchanged between crewmates.   Navigation advice could easily be exchanged without the need for the later "Banana on a Broomstick" method employed NFO's in F-4's and F-14's.  Also, the Intruder's mission often required single aircraft going in a night, low level, without the benefit of today's modern conveniences of NVG's or FLIR's... without their crewmate they would indeed be "Alone."  This is also why a number of Intruder crews would be lost without benefit of a clear accounting for the causes or knowledge of their final resting.

It was these unique men, that openly shared their stories of, "Aw Gee, we were just doin' our job... that black night... on one engine... inverted... with the RADAR crapped out... in the mire... and both generators sounding like coffee grinders, when we dropped all 18 slicks in the smoke stack of that there COMMIE power generator!"  "Shur was a fun firework show that night!"... "Then Sheeeaught, we had to return to the damn dutch rollin' boat... by the way, Paddles is STILL A LYIN' SUMBITCH! I was not high! The hook skipped!"

As I mentioned there were not only crewmates here, there were also the wives and other family members of these fine men here as well.  And believe me the stories to be heard from these women were equally awe inspiring, albeit from a different perspective.  The trials and tribulations these women had to endure being Officer's Wives, CO's Wives, Mom's to their own kids as well as in many cases a Mom to the Newlywed JO's wives in a world that would be foreign enough had it simply been Naval Aviation... without the war, demonstrated a different breed of heroics, but recognizable none the less.  There were many tears at seeing the wives not seen in these many years as well... but most of our tears were shared for one cherished wife especially... Tonya Clark.

February 18, 2004

Lieutenant Alan Clark was in the last Navy plane shot down in Vietnam; remains identified January 2004 and he was buried at Arlington National Cemetery.

He was the love of her life. Her husband. Her soulmate. Her everything.

"I just didn't want him to go," says Tonya Clark.

Alan Clark went. He went to Vietnam. And before it was all over, the A-6 Navigator based out of Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, would make history.

His shipmate from the USS Midway would write about him in his book: "I felt the tears pouring down my cheeks," Jim Horsley says.

Alan's wife would be haunted by the question: What if? What if the war had ended just two weeks earlier?

January 10, 1973. Lieutenant Alan Clark's plane was shot down. It was the last Navy plane shot down in the war. Pilot Jim Horsley searched for the two Navy flyers.

"With my oxygen mask on, I'm sobbing tears," says Horsley.

They found nothing. Two weeks later, the Vietnam War ended. Troops started coming home.

"I remember when the guys came back. It was so hard seeing them flying in and they had the missing man formation and that was just so difficult," says Tonya.

For the next 31 years, Navigator Alan Clark and his pilot remained missing.

"When you go to war it's a hard thing," says Clark. A hard thing leaving your wife -- your pregnant wife -- to go to war.

Tad Clark was just two months and 10 days old when his father was killed in Vietnam.

"He never got to hold him and see him!" Tonya said.

Tad never met his father, but he would do something that would have made him proud. He followed in his footsteps. Tad Clark is an Air Force Pilot and Thunderbird!

"He just wanted to be a fighter pilot all of his life," says Tonya Clark.

... Tonya always had faith that one day, the military would find Alan.

And they have. Alan Clark's remains were finally found and identified through DNA. In 2004, his shipmates and family helped bury Navy Lieutenant Alan Clark, the recipient of the Purple Heart, at Arlington National Cemetery.

"You just can't help by feel grateful and say 'Oh God this is so amazing' It is amazing," says Tonya Clark.

Tonya's soulmate; her best friend; her everything, is home.

Tonya was as beautiful as ever, and we were all thrilled to see her there!

The Intruder is long gone, now relegated to a museum piece or a gate guard, or a reef in a nearby ocean.  But these crews are still with us, to share with us their knowledge, their humor, their warmth, their love of flying, their love for their fellow man... But we're not breeding any more of them.  So I highly recommend getting to know these men while you can, the tales are great, and 100% truthful. ;-)   Below are but a sampling of the images of this reunion. 

YHS had the opportunity to intrude on VA-115's special moments (nepotism will do that, right Hoagy?) thus many of the photos are of the men and wives of the ARABS of 1972-73.  But if you have good digital images of friends at the Intruder reunion, please send them to me, I am compiling and creating a public image gallery of as many as I can gather.  I will post all there for free download for all!  Captions and info about the subjects of the images are very welcomed.

 

 

Ready Room 5 Dedication, complete with ship's bell calling to order, and Red Bull Air Races off the port side competing for our attention!

VA-115 Circa '72-'73

And finally Tonya Clark!  Our Hero!

UPDATE:  Thanks to folks like, Larry Yarham and Paul Barrish we are beginning to add to our collection of Reunion Photos!  And rather than posting them all here I have created a repository Gallery of all of the submitted photos for your viewing pleasure!  Click the hyperlink below and visit the gallery...

Intruder Association 2008 Reunion 

Please feel free to add your comments for clarification of individuals in the images, I will work to update the captions accordingly.  Also once in the gallery simply click on the larger image to see a variety of size options available for free downloads and if you are not computer savvy you can also order prints direct from the site!

Here's a few for a taste...

PLEASE! If you have other photos of the Intruder Reunion, please send them to me at carmichaelj@comcast.net I will gladly write an addendum to this article and include them in the planned gallery which I will identify here once I have it established.

Thank you Intruders!  It was a blast!

Editor, John Carmichael

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 leading a strike on downtown Hanoi, targeting pregnant women, children, dikes, dams, and pagodas. A single A-4 was loaded out with every weapon on the pilot's weapons weight card, which they had retrieved: napalm, mines, rockets, CBUs, and HE down to the Mk 76 practice bomb. It related incipient mutinies on board ship, anti-war pilots defecting, and pilots loading up on whiskey for liquid courage. My laughter stopped when he informed me that it was my confession to be given in the Hanoi soccer stadium. His response to the observation that such an attack never took place and that I had never even pulled liberty in the town made a certain measure of sense. "No matter; somebody did it. It might as well be you."

I was having the last laugh; I was going to the land of the big PX, and he had to stay.

What are the lessons I learned?

1. Don't volunteer for nothin'.
2. Long deployments enhance marriages (thirty-two years) since they cut down the amount of time your wife has to smell your cigars.
3. Never land in the same place you just got through bombing and straffing.
4. If you cannot take a joke, you should not be wearing a set of wings.
5. Jettison Aero 7D rocket pods without nose cones as soon as you get out of sight of the ship.
6. Americans seeking publicity who appear in enemy capitals during a shooting war are giving aid and comfort to the enemy (treason), no matter what the press tells us.
7. Unattended Navy brats tend to go Marine Corps.
8. The A-4 ejection system works at 2,000 feet, 220 knots, nose down, without a tail, and in a spin.
9. Practice your final words, so that you do not embarrass yourself and your family in front of your shipmates when you buy the farm; you can do better than "Oh Sh*#!"

You can tell folks you learned this from "The Mad Bomber of Hanoi."

Dick Stratton

The Saints of VFC-13 Bringing Goodwill to Grand Junction...

In an article posted here a week ago I told the story of Jordan Jones and his fight against Testicular Cancer and the tremendous outpouring of love, care and support from the local Grand Junction, CO community, Tailhookers, the "Cowboys" (VMFA-112) and the "Bloodhounds" (VX-30).  I also mentioned Doug Thompson and the support he has always provided the Navy in accomplishing our mission.

Well VFC-13 led by Cdr. Rob "Thumper" Modderman, paid a bit of a surprise visit to thank Doug for all he as done for US Naval Aviation in his FBO support efforts. 

 

Now understand when VFC-13 or any NAVAIR Transient comes to "NAS GJT" as it is unofficially referred to, there is no other place to go unwind after a full day of ACM, than The Schmoldt Ranch! 

Where the hospitality provided by Kathy and Hans Schmoldt is Legendary... Ask any of the aviators that have made the stop, and you'll understand! (That's Kathy "The BOSS" in heaven among the Saints!)

Many of the pilots wanted to stop by and see how Jordan was doing too.  On the way from the airport to Casa de Schmoldt, several of the 'Saints' stopped off at Jordan's house to visit with him, as he was not feeling well enough that day to go to the airport.  Jordan was thrilled!

However, when they took off the next day, his dad, Jeff, took Jordan to visit with the aviators and watch the departure! Again, it provided some touching moments... captured in photos by our own Kathy "The Boss" Schmoldt! 

Kathy sent me these photos with the following message:

"Thought you would like to know that the "Tailhook Community" and the pilots are continuing to support Jordan and his family."

You're damn right we do!  Thanks Kathy, the work you and Hans do for Tailhook is tremendous and we cannot thank you enough!

 

 

Thanks again Kathy, Hans, Doug, Thumper and all of the Saints!  And.. Most of all... Jordan!  Keep fighting!  We're here for you!

Surf's Up!

Making the rounds today, ran across this over at Instapinch!  Provided for those of you who yearn to get back to sea!

 

I can't wait for the stories of Midway's 35 Degree Roll!  or The Coral Maru taking "Blue Water" over the bow! or Ranger Danger's propensity to Dutch Roll herself right out from under yon returning aviator!

 

Looking for articles, pictures and "There I was tales" good folks, great stories of the Great Blue (Sea and Air) feel free to send them here.

Eurofighter -vs- Bugatti Veyron

Now here's an interesting drag race (of a sort)... No Tailhook required, but still fun for a Friday!

Here's the gist:  It is a horizontal vs vertical race.  Each have to cover a cumulative 2 miles, up and back (literally for the Eurofighter).  The car must accelerate down a mile length of runway, turn around... then hustle back to cross the start-finish line. The Eurofighter... in full blower must accelerate, climb into the vertical clear 5,280 ft(AGL) over the top, point earthward and return to cross the same Start-Finish line at a respectable minimum safe altitude. 

Now mind you, the Bugatti is quite the capable car...

The Veyron is the quickest production car to reach 60 mph in approximately 2.46 seconds. This boils down to an average acceleration of 1.18 G.

Performance

Top speed
408.47 km/h (253.81 mph) (average)
0-60 mph (97 km/h)     2.46 seconds

0-100 mph (161 km/h)  5.5 seconds
0-150 mph (241 km/h)  9.8 seconds

0-200 mph (322 km/h)  24.2 seconds
0-250 mph (402 km/h)  55 seconds

Standing quarter-mile 10.2 seconds at 143 mph (230 km/h)

Who wins?  Click play and find out.  Either way very cool stuff for gearheads and fighter jocks! 

From a standing start!

VAQ-136 CO Tells the Tale of He and His Crew's Ejection Off the Coast of Guam on February 12th!

Today, The Tailhook Daily Briefing is fortunate enough to be able to present a "First Person" accounting of exactly what happened a couple of weeks ago when the crew of a VAQ-136 EA-6B was unexpectedly required to "Log Some Rocket Time!" off the cost of Guam.

We are privileged to receive this information from none other than the Gauntlets' CO, and pilot of this particular Prowler, CDR Joel "Henny" Jungemann.

I wanted to say thanks to everyone for their emails, prayers and support over the last few days, and especially for getting in touch with Susie to see how she was doing. It's been a pretty wild 72-hours and I am now back in Atsugi.  The mishap board has convened and will be the final word on what happened, but since I've already given them my statement, I thought I'd give you a quick idea of what happened on February 12th.  If you are part of or familiar with the Prowler community, this will sound all too familiar.

We were the second jet of a flight of two EA-6Bs scheduled to take off from Andersen AFB, Guam, shortly before 1600 to participate in a Large Force Exercise with the rest of our Air Wing.  The weather was beautiful and the takeoff and initial climb-out was normal.  Climbing through about 13,000 ft about 25 miles from the field, we heard a loud bang from the left side of the aircraft. I looked out the left side of the jet and could see positive indications of an engine fire.  I went through the emergency procedures and also let our lead aircraft know we were on fire.  The right engine was still running and I was just about to begin a turn back towards the field when we experienced a second, much more violent explosion from the right side of the jet.  The flight controls immediately stopped responding to my inputs and within a second or two the nose yawed to the right and then pitched up and departed controlled flight back to the left.  It was pretty obvious that the jet was beyond hope at this point and I made the eject call 3 times to the other 3 crew members.  My recollection is that the jet was inverted with about 150-degree angle of bank and 40-50 degree nose down when we pulled the handles.

We ejected through the canopies beginning with the left back seat, followed at .4 second intervals by the right back seat, front right seat and then my seat.  My guess is that from the first indication of fire until we pulled the handles was no more than 10-15 seconds.

All 4 of us got good parachutes and we had about a 10-minute ride down to the water.  We landed a couple hundred yards apart and spent about an hour in the water with our lead circling above us before two Navy helicopters from Guam picked us up and flew us to the Naval Hospital.

We spent the next 8 or 9 hours there getting X-rayed, CAT-scanned, poked, prodded, etc. I was pretty beat by the time we returned to the hotel lobby at about 0100, but in true Naval Aviation fashion, all the aircrew in our squadron were waiting for us with a couple cases of beer and, I have to admit, it tasted pretty darn good.

We were all pretty sore and the front right-seater had some back pains initially, but none of us suffered any serious injuries.  I had my mask hanging from one side of my helmet and wasn't able to get it put back on before we ejected so I got some cuts on my face and a nice black eye.

The docs had me on crutches because of a chipped bone in my foot, but they figured out a few days later that it was from an injury 10 or 15 years ago.  I hope to be flying again within 3 or 4 weeks depending on how long all the paperwork and board processes take.

The true heroes in this story are our parachute riggers and life-support technicians who maintain our ejection seats and survival gear in impeccable condition.  Everything worked as advertised when we needed it. The helicopter folks also got the helos into the air extremely quickly and the swimmers who came in the water and pulled us out were complete professionals.

I was amazed at how quickly the news traveled and humbled by the amount of emails and calls that Susie and I both received.

Thanks again for your thoughts and prayers.

Sincerely,
Joel

CDR Joel "Henny" Jungemann
Commanding Officer
VAQ-136