by G. E. Nolly
“He got an assignment to fixed-wing school with a follow-on assignment to a front-seat F-4. Most of us get assignments for stateside rescue units, but Vince had a lot of really high-visibility rescues, including yours. He was told he could pretty much write his own ticket.”
“That's great! Any idea where he's going in F-4s?”
“Not really. He didn't know his final base assignment when he left here. He was totally pumped to go fixed-wing. I don't think he really cared where he would go.”
I was getting hungry. It was breakfast time.
“Jeet jet, Charlie?
“No. Jew?”
That was a pilot-speak inside joke. What I was saying was, “Did you eat yet, Charlie?” and his response was, “No. Did you?”
“Where's the best place to get breakfast?” I asked.
“Follow me.”
We went to the O'Club and had a great breakfast and a great conversation, and I really got to like Charlie. It dawned on me that it wasn't just Vince. All of the Jolly Green drivers I had met were really a special breed.
10
June 7, 1970
I was finally back at Yokota. This TDY had seemed to last a long time, although it had only been a little over three months. I was enjoying the flying, and feeling a real sense of accomplishment, doing an important job, but I missed Sam terribly when I was away.
I wished I hadn't made a commitment to Tom to wait a full year of engagement before we got married. I wanted to cement our relationship, make it something permanent. Something recognized and sanctified.
I had to admit, though, that going to pre-marital counseling had been really helpful. Our marriage would be stronger for having gone. I just wished we could start the marriage sooner.
This date marked three years since my graduation from the Academy. A lot had transpired during the intervening three years. I'd been to pilot training. I'd been to combat. I'd lost friends, too many friends. And I'd finally been commissioned long enough to be promoted to Captain.
When I was in Vietnam, I served with numerous guys who had been required to wait five years or more to make Captain. When the waiting period to Captain was lowered to three years, around the time I graduated from the Academy, there was a lot of resentment among the guys who had waited longer. By now, there was just tacit acceptance.
This was a special date for me for another reason. I had been advised a week earlier to report to the Fifth Air Force Commander's office in my dress blue uniform at 0900 on June 7th. I asked Sam if she knew what it was all about, and she just smiled.
“You'll see,” she said, “But I suggest you get a haircut.”
I sent my uniform to the dry cleaner, and when I picked it up I carefully put my new Captain bars on the shoulders – this would be the first day I would officially be a Captain – and put my wings and ribbons above the left pocket. Sam helped me arrange the ribbons in the proper order, carefully checking Air Force Regulation 35-10 to make sure they were correct. I was starting to get a pretty nice selection of “fruit salad” for someone with only three years of service.
I went to Fifth Air Force Headquarters at 0830, and walked up to Sam's desk at the Judge Advocate General Office. Sam's face lit up when she saw me. We stood around and made small talk for a few minutes, then she accompanied me to the Fifth Air Force Commander's office.
Nancy, the General's secretary, looked up and recognized Sam.
“Good morning, Captain Marcos.” Then she looked at me. “You must be Captain Hancock!”
To be honest, it kind of caught me off guard being called Captain. I'd been “Lieutenant” for the past three years, and when I heard “Captain” I felt like looking behind me to see who Nancy was talking to.
“Pleased to meet you, Nancy, I'm Hamilton Hancock.”
“It's a real pleasure to meet you, sir,” she responded.
The telephone on the desk rang.
“Excuse me,” Nancy said, picking up the phone. After a short pause, she answered, “Right away, General.”
She turned to me.
“Please come with me, Captain Hancock.” She looked at Sam, “You too, Captain Marcos.”
We followed Nancy to a large briefing room. There was a long table with about twenty chairs around it, and about thirty chairs lined the walls. There was an officer, most of them Field Grade, in every chair. There was a slightly raised stage at the far end of the room. The Fifth Air Force Commander, Lieutenant General “Wild Bill” Cody, was standing on the stage, along with his aide and a staff photographer.
Nancy escorted me up to the stage. Sam held back, standing against the wall. I wasn't sure what I should do, but I knew one thing for sure: when you meet a General, you salute.
The General returned my salute, then the aide spoke in a loud voice.
“Room, atten-hut!”
Everyone stood snapped to attention.
The aide opened a blue folder and withdrew a very formal-looking document, a certificate.
“Attention to orders.
The President of the United States of America, authorized by Title 10, Section 8742, United States Code, takes pleasure in presenting the Air Force Cross to Captain Hamilton H. Hancock, United States Air Force, for extraordinary heroism in military operations against an opposing armed force as a Forward Air Controller of the 20th Tactical Air Support Squadron, DaNang Air Base, Vietnam, in action at Chavane, Laos, on 21 December, 1969. On that day, Captain Hancock conducted an airstrike as a Forward Air Controller and then effected the rescue of a downed aircrew member under extremely hostile conditions in his lightly-armed O-2A aircraft. Using all tactical air support available, and finally his own aircraft ordnance, Captain Hancock, in desperation, disregarding extremely intense and accurate anti-aircraft fire, made repeated devastating low level attacks which stopped the hostile advance short of capturing the downed pilot. Captain Hancock then landed his heavily damaged aircraft in hostile territory to rescue the downed pilot. Captain Hancock's achievements were recognized by the Pacific Air Force Commander as having personally saved the senior Air Force officer. Through his extraordinary heroism, superb airmanship, and aggressiveness in the face of the enemy, Captain Hancock reflected the highest credit upon himself and the United States Air Force.”
As General Cody pinned the medal on my chest, the photographer was snapping one picture after another with his motorized Nikon. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see tears streaming down Sam's face. They had taught her well at Officer Training School – she remained at attention the whole time.
Then General Cody saluted me. After I returned his salute, he held out his hand.
“Congratulations, Hamilton,” he said with a smile. “Or should I call you Hamfist?”
“Either name, General. Thank you, sir.”
The General turned to the audience.
“At ease, lady, gentlemen. We have some cake and drinks over here,” he gestured toward the left front of the room, “and I'd like each of you to meet the recipient of the Air Force Cross, the second highest medal that can be given, second only to the Medal of Honor.”
Sam and I went over to the table, and I stood there as a line formed and everyone came up to me to introduce themselves and congratulate me.
It was a really great day.
11
August 30, 1970
I was back in Vietnam with the Scatback operation, not due to return back to Yokota until December 2nd. I had real mixed emotions about the constant TDY to Vietnam.
Financially, it was a really good deal. I was getting TDY pay, combat pay and tax exemption. BX prices were much better than prices at the Yokota Exchange. And the cost of living was negligible.
But I really hated being away from home this much without even getting credit for another remote tour. The way the personnel system worked was that, if you got 180 continuous days TDY to a remote location, like Vietnam, you would get credit for a remote tour. Since I was always going for 93, maybe 94 days at a time, I didn't get remote cre
dit, even though I exceeded 180 TDY days in a year.
When I would get back to Yokota I would have a couple of days off, then fly out on 2 or 3-day missions, usually to Korea or Okinawa. And just when I was finally getting used to being home, it would be time to deploy again. And all the time, I just couldn't wait to get back to Sam. I was starting to see the reality in the expression, “If the Air Force wanted you to have a wife, they would have issued one to you.”
But I was doing what I had asked to do. Just because it didn't turn out to be what I had expected was nobody's fault but mine.
I would just have to learn to suck it up.
12
December 25, 1970
Christmas was an important date for me. It was the day I had left for Vietnam on my first tour. And the day I had met Tom, Samantha's father. And, of course, it was the day I had proposed to Sam.
So it was natural that we should be married on Christmas day. My mother had flown in a week earlier with Phil, my dad's war buddy. Mom was staying with Tom and Miyako, and Phil stayed at the Sanno, a military officer hotel in Akasaka.
Although Sam and I were each billeted in BOQ rooms, we had already been assigned an apartment in the new high-rise base housing apartment complex on the east side of the base. Sam was really effective at getting things done, and she somehow got us our keys two weeks early, so we were able to take our time moving all of our clothing, plus the small furniture items we each had, into the apartment. The Housing Supply Office provided the rest of the furniture we needed to turn the apartment into a real home.
Tom and Miyako had planned every aspect of the wedding. Mom wanted to help out, but by the time she had arrived in Japan, there was very little left to do.
We had a ceremony at the Base Chapel with about a hundred guests in attendance, then we had another, smaller, ceremony in the Shinto temple in downtown Fussa. It wasn't really a religious ceremony, more a formality to acknowledge Sam's heritage.
While Sam wore a long white wedding dress to the ceremony in the Chapel, she wore a beautiful kimono for the downtown event. Then she wore a white silk cocktail dress to the reception at the Officer's Club. She looked gorgeous in every outfit.
When the reception was nearing its end, we said our goodbyes to our guests and headed to the limousine that would drive us to the Haneda Hilton. We would be leaving from Haneda early the next morning for our honeymoon in Tahiti.
The guests were gathered around, throwing rice at us, and Tom, Miyako and my mom were waiting by the limousine door to be the last to send us off. We gave big hugs all around, got into the limo and drove off to start our life together.
13
February 28, 1971
Our honeymoon had been short, way too short. We should have stayed in Tahiti at least another week, but we were only able to get two weeks of leave for Sam.
It was tough going back to work. I had asked to be assigned a few 2-day or 3-day trips in theater, but I was needed back in Vietnam for another 3-month deployment to Scatback at the end of the month. This constant TDY was really starting to grate on me.
I started my TDY assignment at Yokota, carrying a 4-star General from Yokota Air Base to Kadena Air Base. Then we would reposition to Clark Air Base, to begin our Southease Asia sequence.
I was paired up with Lieutenant Colonel Byers. When I saw his name on the schedule, I suspected I might have been getting a no-notice checkride. In a roundabout way, I was.
During our mission briefing, Lieutenant Colonel Byers told me he wanted me to meet the General at planeside and provide the inflight briefing. And, he wanted me to fly the aircraft from the right seat. I didn't really understand his reasons, but, as Tennyson said in the poem, “ours not to reason why”.
I performed the preflight inspection and made sure that the baggage was stowed properly and the four-star placard was positioned in the left side cockpit window. The General's aide had arranged for baggage delivery ahead of time. Then, just before departure time, I stood at Parade Rest by the aircraft steps, on the left side of the aircraft. At exactly departure time, a staff car with a four-star flag on the antenna pulled up to planeside. I snapped to attention and gave my best Academy salute as the General approached the aircraft. He returned my salute and climbed the entry steps.
Lieutenant Colonel Byers was watching, and he started the right engine precisely as the General set foot on the steps. The General's aide followed, along with a Major, and I entered the airplane behind them and closed and locked the aircraft door as the left engine started.
As soon as I got strapped into my seat, Byers said, “Your airplane,” and called for taxi clearance. We were pulling out of our parking spot less than 45 seconds after the General's staff car pulled up. Having a Code on board meant we got expeditious handling, and we were cleared for takeoff before we even reached the runway Hold Line.
I have to admit, my takeoff and climb-out were flawless. I had a General to impress, not to mention a Lieutenant Colonel who was probably evaluating me. After we reached cruise altitude, Flight Level 350, I made sure the plane was fully trimmed, then asked Lieutenant Colonel Byers if he wanted me to go back and brief the General.
“Good idea,” he said, “but I'm telling you right now, I'm not going to touch the controls, so I hope you have it trimmed properly.”
“In that case, sir, I need to give it a click of nose-down trim, since the CG will move a bit when I go aft.”
He smiled. He knew I was right. The T-39 Sabreliner was so touchy in trim that the Center of Gravity would noticeably change when a pilot – or passenger – walked the short length of the interior. And the T-39 had no autopilot.
“You have the airplane,” I said.
“Roger, I have the airplane.”
It was time for me to brief the General and, in the vernacular of the T-39 pilot group, to play “ball-bearing stewardess”, providing drinks and snacks to the passengers.
“Good morning, General. I'm Captain Hancock. Our flight papers specify a 1035 local arrival at Kadena. Do you have any amendments or changes to our arrival time?”
It was critically important that we arrive exactly on time. When a General was scheduled to arrive at a base, there was usually a large reception party waiting on the ramp. Typically, it would be the Wing Commander, the Base Commander, plus any other Colonels and other high-ranking officers that were deemed appropriate. At Kadena, the Wing Commander was a one-star General. If we were late, there would be hell to pay for keeping the arrival party waiting. And if we were early and arrived before the reception party was in place, it would really be bad.
The General looked inquisitively at his aide, who shuffled through a file folder. The aide found what he was looking for.
“Ten thirty-five is still good, General,” he said.
“Let's keep 1035, Captain.”
“Yes, sir. General, would you care for any coffee or juice, or anything to eat? We have donuts and sandwiches.” I paused for effect. “And we also have Orange Crush.”
When he heard Orange Crush, the General's face lit up. I had learned from the VIP Briefing Sheet that the General was a diehard fan of the Denver Broncos, nicknamed the “Orange Crush”. As a result, he absolutely loved Orange Crush soda. I had read the Briefing Sheet the previous night, and had gone to the BX and bought a large bottle of Orange Crush. The General was impressed.
I served Orange Crush to the General, and coffee and juice to the aide and the Major. No one wanted anything to eat. Apparently, they had attended some form of working breakfast. That meant Lieutenant Colonel Byers and I would have something to eat after the General deplaned at Kadena. Good deal.
I returned to my seat and resumed control of the aircraft. Our route of flight took us down the center of Japan, then south following the Ryukyo chain of islands to Okinawa. We were flying along airways, designated by VOR navigation stations that had Distance Measuring Equipment. I performed a DME groundspeed check from the Kagoshima VOR and compared it to our flight plan. We were maki
ng good time. Too good. We would be at least 13 minutes early at Kadena if we kept this speed. I took out my E6-B flight computer, which was really just a fancy circular slide rule with special aviation scales. I performed a quick calculation, and looked over at Lieutenant Colonel Byers.
“Sir, we need to slow to .74 mach to arrive on schedule.”
“Okay, Captain, you're flying. Make it happen.”
I adjusted the throttles to reduce the fuel flow by 200 pounds per hour, and after a few minutes the jet stabilized at .74. I saw a hint of a smile on Lieutenant Colonel Byers's face.
I performed groundspeed checks all the way down to Kadena. As we got closer, just prior to descent, I tuned the HF radio to WWV to get a time hack, and adjusted and set the aircraft clock. As we got close to the descent point, Lieutenant Colonel Byers started coughing.
“I'm having a hard time talking,” he said, in a raspy voice. “You handle the radios also.”
“Okay, no problem, sir.”
If I was able to listen and talk on three radios while controlling an airstrike, I could sure as hell fly and talk on just one radio at the same time.
Naha Center transferred me to Kadena Approach Control, and I advised them we had a Code on board and needed to touch down at 1032 local. That would give me 3 minutes to taxi to Base Ops, the parking location for high-ranking passengers.
It was a crystal clear morning as we descended over Okinawa. I marveled at the beautiful turquoise ocean and white sand beaches. The beaches were outstanding, and, I had to admit, the ocean was even more beautiful than the Gulf, near my home in Pensacola. I checked the time, and it looked like we might have been about a minute ahead of schedule. I decided to configure early, and lowered approach flaps.
“Kadena Air Base 12 o'clock, seven miles. Report airport in sight,” instructed the Approach Controller.
“Airport in sight,” I responded. I glanced over at Lieutenant Colonel Byers. He hadn't done a thing the whole flight.
