Hamfist Over Hanoi: Wolfpack on the Prowl (The Air Combat Adventures of Hamilton Hamfist Hancock Book 4)

by G. E. Nolly

  We also had to learn about a phenomenon called Mach Tuck. This occurred in the transonic region, just as the aircraft was accelerating to near-mach speeds. Changes in the center of pressure of the swept wing, plus movement of the shock wave on the wing, would create a pitch-down tendency. Similarly, decelerating rapidly through the mach would create a pitch-up tendency. There had actually been aircraft loss of control accidents when this pitch-up overstressed the aircraft that was rapidly decelerating through the speed of sound while in a turn, which had already created G-loading on the wing.

  After Transition phase, we practiced Air Combat Maneuvering. ACM was dogfighting, and we practiced numerous scenarios. One versus one, called 1-v-1. We practiced 2-v-2, and 4-v-4. Sometimes we would start by approaching the enemy from behind, and let him practice trying to get us off his tail. Then we'd swap roles.

  The more fun set-up was when we approached head-on. Then the fight would become a wild fur-ball. After I saw a 2-v-2 engagement from a distance, there was no question in my mind how aerial engagements had picked up the name “dogfight”.

  In addition to ACM, we learned to perform aerial refueling. Once I had developed the touch for formation flying, I found refueling pretty easy. The challenging part was learning the Breakaway Maneuver, the emergency procedure that would need to be executed without hesitation if there was any problem during the refueling.

  Unlike overseas, there were no MARS stations at stateside bases. That made it tough to get phone calls through to Sam. After I learned my way around base, I went to the Wing Command Post and made friends with one of the shift commanders, Major Spencer “Sam” Spade. Sam would let me use the autovon at night to make calls to Yokota. That worked out perfectly, since it was daytime in Japan when it was night at Homestead.

  In mid-November, Sam gave me a nice surprise.

  “Ham, guess where I'm going on TDY.”

  “I hope it begins with H.”

  “You hoped right. I will be arriving at Homestead in time for us to have Thanksgiving together. I'll be there for a little over a month. We'll have our anniversary together also.”

  “That's fantastic!”

  “Ham, I just can't wait to be with you again.”

  “Me too.”

  31

  November 22, 1971

  It was wonderful to have Sam with me while I was in training. At times, I had missed her so much I'd had trouble concentrating on my studies. And there was a lot of studying to do. Even though the flights only lasted a little over an hour, we briefed for two hours before every mission, and I usually studied for two or three hours before every briefing. And then I'd mentally re-fly each mission after every hour-long debriefing.

  Then there were times when I didn't perform so well on my flights, and it was really great to have my soul-mate with me to spill my guts to after I screwed up. Sam hadn't seen me under pressure like this before. When I had been flying one or two-day trips out of Yokota, there was no stress at all. And when I was flying my missions in Vietnam, she wasn't around me. So this was a new experience, for both of us.

  After ACM training, we learned how to drop bombs on the gunnery range. They weren't really bombs, they were training munitions called BDU-33s that somewhat simulated being bombs. The BDU-33 was a small blue bomb with a spotting charge that emitted a puff of smoke when the bomb hit the ground.

  The BDU-33s were mounted on bomb racks on the wings, called either TERs or MERs. The TER was a Triple Ejector Rack, that held three bombs. The MER was a Multiple Ejector Rack, holding up to six bombs. The bombs were released from TERs and MERs by small explosive cartridges.

  Once real bombs were released, they would arm only after a small propeller in the nose of the bomb had spun a sufficient number of times to arm the fuse. These propellers were prevented from spinning, and thus arming the bombs, while the bombs were on the aircraft, by wires that held them in place. When the bombs were dropped, the wires pulled out of the clips that ran through the small propellers and the bombs could arm.

  We learned early that on every bombing mission it was essential for each airplane in the formation to look over the other aircraft, to make sure none of the bombs had “spinners”. If there were spinners, the bombs would be armed while they were still on the airplanes, and any impact, such as a bird strike, would set off the bomb.

  Our bombing training was performed at the Avon Park gunnery range, in central Florida. A Range Control Officer sat in a high tower and oversaw operations. From the tower, the RCO and his assistants would observe the white puff of smoke from each bomb delivery and, by observing from several vantage points and triangulating the impact position, would give us our score.

  Typically, the score would be a distance and direction from the target, which was a prominent metal pyramid about 10 feet tall. Every now and then, someone would score a “shack”, a direct hit. More often than not, our bombs would miss the target, but the distances for our misses gradually got smaller.

  We all religiously kept track of our bomb scores, and computed our CEPs and CEAs after every gunnery mission. The CEP is the Circular Error Probable, the circular distance from the target that 50 percent of the bombs fall within. The CEA is the Circular Error Average, an arithmetic average of the circular distance from the target of all bombs dropped.

  After learning to drop practice bombs on the manned gunnery range, we graduated to the Tactical Range, also located at Avon Park. The Tac Range was a man-made battlefield, with bunkers, tanks, trucks and other targets scattered all over the huge complex. Forward Air Controllers, usually student FACs, would control us on these targets and simulate actual combat conditions.

  Late into our ground attack training, we practiced Full Scale Weapons Deliveries. For each FSWD mission, we carried 500-pound Mark-82 bombs with inert warheads. These were the same size and shape as real Mk-82s, with the same ballistics, but were filled with concrete instead of high explosives. The FSWD was our first introduction to heavy weight takeoffs, and takeoff speeds were higher, much higher, than we had experienced previously.

  Well into our training we started night flying, practicing night formation and night weapons deliveries. Since most of my flying as a FAC had been at night, I assumed that this would be a piece of cake. There's a good reason for the expression, “Never assume”.

  I was totally out of my element. Other than knowing about dark vision adaptation and cockpit lighting, I was really a fish out of water. There are precious few references for maintaining proper formation position at night, and turning rejoins were especially challenging. The F-4 was equipped with electro-luminescent lighting, which consisted of glowing strips on the wingtips and fuselage. That helped somewhat.

  For our night weapons deliveries, we again worked with FAC students, who dropped ground markers and parachute flares. Frequently, the parachute flares, which would provide illumination for a few minutes, would extinguish just as we started our roll-in for the delivery. In an instant, the scene would go from bright illumination to pitch black. This was the real deal. It was something we'd be doing for a living in a few more months. It was tough, but it was great training.

  In addition to air-to-ground and ACM, we did other air-to-air training. Since a lot of the guys were going to Europe, they had to be prepared to intercept the Russian bombers that would be ingressing Western Europe when the tanks crossed the Fulda Gap. So we learned how to perform intercepts and complete a maneuver called the Stern Conversion, in the clouds, relying solely on the radar.

  Other than ACM, the most fun was firing on the dart. The dart was a wooden airfoil, 12 feet long and 4 feet wide, that was dragged 2000 feet behind the tow aircraft, another F-4, by a steel cable. Over the ocean gunnery range, we would approach the dart from a few miles behind, then make strafing passes with our 20 mm cannon. We took turns firing at the dart, while the tow aircraft stayed in a turn, so he wouldn't get hit by stray rounds. The dart was painted silver, and when it was hit it would sparkle as pieces of wood broke off.

>   Selecting the gun engaged the Lead Computing Optical Sight System. The LCOSS changed the gun sight pipper from a stationary dot to a constantly-moving aim point, changing with every movement and G-loading of the aircraft. As I went into a turn, the pipper would depress, to allow the gun to lead the target. It took a bit of time to get used to it

  The plan was to make a dry pass, a pass without firing, for our first run, just to get a feel for the pacing. I was the first airplane to make a pass. Speedbrake, my IP in the back seat, got a radar lock on the dart, and was reading range information to me. We went through the weapons delivery checklist, which included selecting the Vulcan and moving the Master Arm switch to ARM, which allowed the Trigger Transfer Relay to prioritize guns over missiles.

  Speedbrake called out range to target as we closed, and I set up for a firing solution, chasing the pipper and finally getting it right on the dart as we got in range. Speedbrake had been counting down distance to in-range, and then said, “Fire!” and I squeezed the trigger for a short burst. The dart sparkled.

  “Shit!” Speedbrake shouted over the interphone, “You were supposed to make this a dry pass. Well, at least you scored a hit.”

  I felt like an idiot for getting so fixated on the target that I had forgotten the instructions to make the first pass dry. But at the same time, I felt pretty good about scoring a hit.

  After every live pass, we would perform a loose rejoin on the dart to see how many holes it had. At the end of the training period, the tow aircraft released the dart and it parachuted into the ocean.

  It turned out I was the only student in our formation to score a hit, and I only got that one hit, on my first pass. Firing at a moving target was a lot tougher than it looked like in the movies.

  32

  December 25, 1971

  We had a quiet anniversary celebration. It was nice to have a few days off, since I had been studying and flying pretty much nonstop the whole time Sam was at Homestead. At the same time, Sam had been staying pretty busy working out of the JAG Office on base.

  We went to a nice restaurant, then got a room at the Hilton. Because the Billeting Office assigned two officers to each VOQ room, it had been hard for us to get private time for any degree of intimacy, other than renting an occasional hotel room.

  Graduation was approaching, and my performance had been marginal, at best. I had felt immense pressure because of what Colonel West had told us about how some of the guys would wash out. So far, nobody had.

  My bombs had been absolutely average. Not the best, not the worst. My ACM was about the same. I had hit the dart, but it was on a pass I wasn't really supposed to fire from. All-in-all, I was a really mediocre fighter pilot.

  The Ops Officer, Major Dunkle, called each of us into his office for a private chat toward the end of the course.

  “Well, Hamfist, I have to be honest with you. I'm a bit disappointed in your performance, from what Speedbrake had told us about you.”

  I really felt inadequate when I was around Major Dunkle. He was the epitome of the fighter pilot, and he consistently won all the money we wagered every time we went to the gunnery range. And, during the few times I'd done ACM against him, he'd smoked me every time.

  “To be honest, sir, I'm disappointed also. Like everybody else, I had hoped to make Top Gun.”

  Major Dunkle looked through my training folder. Top Gun was the award for the best gunnery scores.

  “Not a chance. You're right in the middle of the pack. You're not going to wash out or anything, but I gotta tell you, I don't think you'll ever be one of the guys who gets a MiG.”

  I bristled a bit at that. Like everyone else in the class who was headed to Vietnam, I was hoping to get, no, I was going to get a MiG.

  “Well, Major, I think you're wrong about that, but time will tell.”

  “Okay, Hamfist, best of luck.”

  He shook my hand.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I saluted and started to leave his office. Then I turned to him from the office door.

  “By the way, sir, after I return from Vietnam with my MiG-kill, I plan to come back here and wax your ass in ACM.”

  Major Dunkle broke out into a broad grin.

  “I'll be waiting.”

  33

  February 20, 1972

  Sam had gone back to Yokota after the first of the year, and we had been flying an eclectic mix of missions the final two months until graduation.

  Because our class was so small, graduation was a really casual event. We all assembled in the squadron briefing room, and Colonel West came in and addressed us.

  “Gentlemen, I want to congratulate you. You're the first class with a 100 percent graduation rate. That's a testament to your hard work and to your instructors.”

  He gave a glance of acknowledgement to the back of the room, where the instructors were assembled.

  “You're now fully-qualified fighter pilots. That means you have a license to learn. With luck, you'll be flight leads in a year or two. I wish you all good luck and safe flying.”

  Then Colonel West stepped down from the podium and shook each of our hands. Next thing I knew, he was leaving the room.

  “Room, atten-hut!”

  We all snapped to attention, then, after Colonel West left, we shook hands with each other, and with each IP. Speedbrake came over to me and gave me a big hug.

  “Damn, it was great working with you, Hamfist.”

  “Speedbrake, I want to thank you for everything. I feel like I let you down by not doing better.”

  “Good, better, best are all relative. You guys, all of you, are head and shoulders above where I was when I first became a fighter pilot. You're going to do great over there. And I have confidence in you – you're going to join me in the MiG-killer club.”

  I was now a fighter pilot. I was no longer strapping into the airplane, I was strapping it on, becoming one with the plane. But I had no misconceptions about being the World's Greatest Fighter Pilot, like it said on the commemorative coffee mug that Speedbrake had given me. I had lot to learn, and I knew it.

  34

  February 21, 1972

  Ever since my flight with the Army Green Beret, Major Warner, I had decided that if I ever went back to Vietnam on a combat tour I'd carry a Browning 9 millimeter semi-automatic, called the Hi-Power, with me, instead of the issued .38 caliber revolver. I knew from reputation that the Tamiami Gun Shop was the place to get a good price.

  Early into my training at Homestead, I had stopped by the gun store and priced the Browning. It was $190 for the best model, the one with adjustable sights.

  “How much would it be if I ordered several?” I asked.

  “If you order 10, I can let you have them for $140 each.”

  It was time to see how good a salesman I was. I went around to all the guys in my class, and a couple of guys in the follow-on class, who were headed to Vietnam, and told them about the deal. I told them about my experience with the 6-shot Air Force issue revolver, and I explained how the Browning carried 13 rounds, and could be reloaded much quicker than a revolver, even when injured.

  It was an easy sell. Every guy I approached was interested, but they all had one big reservation.

  “How do I get the gun to Vietnam?” asked one of the Lieutenants.

  I was prepared for that question. I had gone to the Traffic Management Office and checked the shipment regulations. The Military Airlift Command regulations stated that we could ship our weapons in our hold baggage, the baggage that was sent ahead of us to Vietnam, as long as we had official orders authorizing shipment of a personal weapon.

  I went to CBPO, the Base Personnel Office, and asked how I could get “shipment of personal weapon authorized” included in our PCD orders.

  “Well, sir,” said the Master Sergeant, “if the MAC regulation authorizes it, we'll put it in your orders.”

  Okay, it looked like we had a sort of standoff. CBPO wouldn't put the authorization in our orders unless the MAC re
gulation permitted it, and the MAC folks wouldn't permit it unless CBPO had the authorization in our orders. It was time for me to tie the two ends together.

  I made a copy of the appropriate section of the MAC regulation and went to see the Officer In Charge of CBPO, Lieutenant Colonel Trapp.

  “Sir, I need some help getting CBPO and TMO to talk together. TMO says they won't authorize shipment of my personal weapon unless it's in my orders. Your people tell me they can't put it in my orders unless TMO authorizes it. Can you help me?”

  “Is this a joke?” he asked, as I handed him the copy of the TMO regulation.

  I shook my head.

  He read the TMO regulation over a couple of times, then dug out his regulation book and studied it for a few minutes.

  “I can make this happen, Captain. Leave it to me. When are you leaving for Vietnam?”

  “I graduate from RTU in February, sir.”

  He made some notes on a yellow legal pad on his desk.

  “I'll take care of it. Give me a call as soon as CBPO tells you they're working on your orders.”

  CBPO would be contacting me before cutting my orders, to see if I would be requesting leave prior to going to Vietnam. I would.

  “Thank you, sir. There will be other pilots who would like it in their orders, also.”

  “Okay, Captain, Let me know their names, and I'll take care of it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I left CBPO with a renewed respect for ground-pounders.

  I had a short meeting with the guys who were interested in buying Brownings, and ended up with eleven guys who wanted to buy the guns. I called the Tamiami Gun Shop, placed the order, and we all went by and picked up our weapons a few days later. Then I took the list of gun owners to Lieutenant Colonel Trapp and he got “Shipment of personal weapon in hold baggage authorized” included in our orders.