by Tom Wilson
"SAM sites don't fly, Benny. You're not going to start trying to shoot down the missiles, are you?" He laughed. "You start dogfighting with SAMs, I'm staying home and drinking beer."
"Listen. They limit us to one Weasel flight for each strike mission, right? But now that we've got more Weasel birds, we can always put a Weasel flying in number one and number three, like we're doing today."
"That's so if one Weasel's equipment goes out, the other one can take over," the Bear replied.
"Let's say the equipment on both Weasel birds is good. We fly in toward a site, split the flight into two independent elements, and come at them from two directions. When they shoot at one element, the other bombs 'em. What do you think?"
"Maybe."
"No maybe to it. I think it'll work."
The Bear thought about it. "What if there's three or four sites shooting?"
"Then you've still got two Weasel flights for them to worry about, and it's easier to maneuver with a two-ship element anyway." He sounded excited.
A Firecan radar came on the air. Back to work, thought the Bear. "We got a tracking gun radar at ten o'clock. Powerful," the Bear said.
"That's Yen Bai. They're starting to shoot."
They watched flak clusters over the town.
"Take him out," urged the Bear.
Benny turned hard right, to gain separation. After a minute, he swung back in a 180-degree turn to prepare to fire a Shrike missile at the radar.
"Hatchet flight," he called, "we're on the attack."
29/0630L—Thanh Hoa, Route Pack Four, North Vietnam
Benny Lewis
On Thursday they led the Weasel flight to Thanh Hoa, a city forty-five miles south of Haiphong at the mouth of the Ma River and North Vietnam's second busiest port city.
It was a maximum effort, an all-out attack on the petroleum storage area at Thanh Hoa, and quite a different mission from the day before. The Weasels flew high, well in front of the force, presenting a fat target for the SAM operators so they would fire their missiles at them rather than the strike force. The Bear was calling threat signals as fast as he could digest them. Benny spent his time jinking, turning, diving, and pulling up to evade the SAMs and flak.
"Gun radars at two and six o'clock. SAM at nine, tracking. He's no threat yet. Still have the gun at twelve, Benny. Oops, new guy at five o'clock. He's coming on strong."
"SAM?"
"Yeah. Still getting stronger and we're centered in both beams. He's looking at us."
"SAM activity at five o'clock, Red Dogs," called Benny.
"High PRF," said the Bear. The SAM commander had doubled the pulse rate of his radar so he could track them more precisely. "Missile beam's on. . . . Okay, we got a valid launch at five o'clock!"
Benny reefed the stick, turning hard right. "SAM launch at five o'clock, Red Dogs," he grunted over the radio. "Get ready to take it down." "Take it down" meant he was about to perform a violent split-S maneuver to evade the missiles.
"Another tracking Fansong, Benny. Six o'clock, going to seven."
"Shit!"
"SAM launch at seven o'clock!" said the Bear.
Benny saw missiles coming up from their three o'clock and knew he had to worry about them first. He kept turning and put them at two o'clock, watching them closely, nose slightly down and in afterburner. The airspeed jogged through 600 knots, increasing.
"I got a visual on the SAMs at our eight o'clock," said the Bear. "They just dropped their boosters. Tracking true."
"Shit," Benny muttered again. "Get ready to maneuver, Red Dogs," he radioed. He waited for a few seconds more, then rolled over on his back, continuing to watch and wait as the first covey of missiles accelerated smoothly through the sky toward them. They were damned close! He sharply pulled the stick back until they were diving, beginning the split-S maneuver. The Thud was shuddering under the strain.
Three seconds later Tiny Bechler called, "Missiles are clear, Red Dog lead!"
Benny abruptly rolled wings level and, breathing hard into the oxygen mask, looked for the covey from the other site. The first missile was abeam them and had no chance. He saw the second missile close up, skidding through the air as the computer down below transmitted intercept corrections. He yanked the stick and kicked the rudder into a gut-wrenching right turn, causing his g-suit to inflate tightly against his legs and abdomen. The second, then the third missiles slid by, not detonating until past them.
He leveled again. "Point me at that last one!" he yelled.
The Bear grunted, working his controls, then said, "Okay, he's on your attack scope."
The strobe flickered on his scope and he corrected toward it. The Shrike needles activated and he followed them, correcting again, then dipped the nose to get a quick approximation of the depression angle, so he could compute the range of the SAM site. Needles centered.
"Tracking SAM at nine o'clock," said the Bear. "Signal's getting stronger. He's going to launch missiles."
When they landed back at Takhli, Benny felt cheated. They had launched their two Shrikes, and Dave Persons, flying number three with Dutch Hansletter, had also launched two radar-homing missiles. But the entire time they had been on the defensive, and the Bear said none of the missiles had hit. No wonder, Benny thought, for he had been too busy dodging missiles to take time to properly launch the Shrikes. Just as the last SAMs had launched, Benny and the flight had dumped their bombs on a concentration of 85mm guns. He felt shitty about that too, wishing they could have found a better target.
29/1000L—Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
Colonel Mack, who had been mission commander, saw them coming out of the intelligence debriefing and clapped Benny on the shoulder. "I hear you guys are going on R and R in the morning?"
"Yes, sir."
"You deserve it. You and the Bear did good work up there today, Benny."
"I don't know, boss."
"We got good bombs on a tough target with no losses. You kept 'em off our backs. That's good work, Benny. My flight didn't have a single SAM launched at us. How many'd you have?"
"I counted four sites. That's twelve missiles. Bear thinks there was another launch we didn't see."
Colonel Mack grinned. "Feel like a magnet for SAMs?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you kept them off our asses. You may not be happy about it all, but I'll fly with you anytime, Benny."
When Mack had left the room, Benny turned to the Bear. "What do you think?"
"I think we dodged a shitpot of missiles."
Benny agreed. "Every time I tried to find out where the missiles were coming from, they'd either shoot like hell or fire more missiles."
They were outside now, and watched a U-2 make its laboriously long, straight-in approach. The U-2's were part of the covert operations going on across the field, where the Air America C-130 operation was also set up.
"What're we gonna do, Benny? They shoot the fuckers, we've got to dodge 'em. That may take some heat off the strike force, but it'd take heat off everyone if we could kill the sites."
Andy Schumacher approached, wearing his habitual grin. "How'd it go up there today?"
"In a word, shitty."
"We're leading the Weasel flight back to the same area this afternoon," Andy said.
They went back inside and found a table where they could spread out a map.
"Thanh Hoa's tough." Benny explained the defenses then, marking the general locations of four sites on the map.
He tapped one of his marks. "I had this guy's location down pretty good. I was getting set up to bomb him when we got a SAM launch from another site and had to break off."
"Awfully flat over near the coast," Andy said. "No Thud Ridge to hide behind there."
"Every radar in the world can see you," Benny agreed.
"Well"—Andy's grin was more nervous than before—"guess I better get started with my flight planning. Thanks for the information."
"Wish I could be more help."
After An
dy had left, Benny thought for a moment. "Let's find Pudge Holden. He's damned good with air-to-air tactics. I'd like to work some on that split formation."
Holden was in the squadron lounge, drinking soda and bullshitting with Lyle Watson.
Benny sat down beside them, thinking about his idea.
The Bear mumbled about having to get some things to take on their R and R to Bangkok, then he and Lyle Watson took off in the direction of the on-base Thai market.
"How'd it go?" asked Pudge.
"The missiles were thicker than flies up there. We were up against six or eight SAM sites today, and so many Firecans it'd raise your hair."
Pudge shook his head in wonder.
"We've got to come up with a way to protect the strike force at the same time we find and bomb the sites."
"What about Ries's trip to Saigon? Maybe the brass will approve his plan."
"Maybe, but I don't think we can just sit around waiting for something that might happen. The SAMs keep getting thicker every week. We've got to destroy some of the sites, Pudge. We didn't scare anyone up there except ourselves today."
Benny put three coke bottles on the bar counter to simulate SAM sites, and they began to wave their hands like airplanes and try to come up with new tactics.
Mike Murphy came into the lounge and saw Benny. "Where's Bear Stewart?"
Benny told him.
"Tell him he owes me thirty bucks for some earrings I picked up for his girlfriend. I dropped 'em off in his room."
"Will do."
Murphy said he was flying in the afternoon strike.
"Watch your ass. There's a hell of a lot of defenses up in that area today."
"No sweat, babes. Tell the Bear I'll get my thirty bucks tonight. I gotta tell him more about how to act with a nice girl. He's not great in polite company." Mike waved and left them.
"Who's leading this afternoon's Weasel flight?" asked Pudge.
"Andy Schumacher. I told him about the defenses."
"Andy's a good man," said Pudge. "I've known him a long time. They've got eighty missions now. That's more than any other Weasel crew in the wing."
"They'll be the first to finish with a hundred missions," said Benny. "No one else has made it."
"Let's talk tactics." They turned back to the Coke bottle SAM sites on the bar.
29/1430L—Thanh Hoa, Route Pack Four, North Vietnam
Andy Schumacher
"The SAMs are clear, Ragman lead!" called the wingman.
Andy watched the SAM's deadly orange and black blossom and yanked the nose of the aircraft farther around to the left and steeper into the dive.
"Launch at six o'clock!" came Larry Stark's voice from the rear cockpit.
"Ignore it," said Andy.
Benny's marks on the map had been accurate. They had fought their way through the continuous hail of missiles. Andy could clearly see the site below, a pall of smoke from multiple SAM launches hovering above it.
They were doing 570 knots and were passing through 9,000 feet. The dive angle was forty degrees.
"We're fast and a little shallow," he muttered.
Black flak bursts popped thickly around them.
Andy corrected his sight picture, bunting over and pulling the pipper down. He would release a bit low.
Larry's voice: "We've got a—"
An explosion! The airplane was wrenched sideward in the sky, coming apart, no longer flying.
The g-forces were tremendous. He grunted and strained to inch his right hand down, trying to find the ejection handle. Damn it! The g-forces tried to push his hands up, away from the ejection handles.
With great effort he located the handle, slowly rotated it, heard the roar of the windstream as the canopy left, then pulled the trigger. We're going too fast! was Andy Schumacher's final thought as the explosive charge blasted him from the cockpit.
Mike Murphy
"Weeep, weeep, weeep!"
"Ragman lead is down!" called someone. Mike glanced at the lineup card on his kneeboard. Andy Schumacher and his bear. More disjointed chatter told him they would get no SAM support from the rest of the Weasel flight.
Mike was leading Copper, approaching the target area behind the first strike flight.
"Watch for SAMs, Coppers," he radioed.
He was climbing to the offset point, glancing out to his left, when he heard the chatter of a SAM radar on his threat receiver. The sound had been almost constant since they had ventured out over the valley, but this one seemed stronger and more insistent. Then he heard the squeal in his helmet and saw the bright LAUNCH light.
The SAMs wouldn't be able to track him through the dive-bomb maneuver. Just a couple more seconds and he'd be ready.
He eyed the target, then rolled the aircraft over on its back. Two of the big fuel storage tanks were still billowing smoke from the morning's attack, but two more looked to be intact. A string of bombs from the flight in front of him ruptured one of the two. It spewed fire in slow motion, then erupted in a mighty explosion.
He hesitated for another heartbeat, then remembered the SAMs and called, "Copper lead is in."
"Copper lead, we got—"
A SAM explosion to his right, close by, and the Thud shuddered mightily.
Damn!
A searing pain in his chest!
He tried to tuck the nose down, for it was lazily wandering about, but the controls refused to respond. He thought about how quiet it was, then realized the silence was due to the fact that there was no engine noise. Slowly, and with effort, he unfastened his oxygen mask, coughing hard, spattering red onto the gauges.
Mike looked over to his right to see his wingman moving in an S-maneuver, trying to slow down with him. His bird was slewing about wildly, refusing to respond to the controls, wandering in its own crazy path. Descending now, directly toward the city of Thanh Hoa. No chance to control the aircraft so he could glide out over the water. No more options.
Mike coughed again and saw the red spray. Messy.
He depressed the radio button, gasping. "Gotta get out. I'll see you, babes."
He rotated the handles, pulled the triggers, and scarcely felt the hard kick.
Mike Murphy watched dreamily as the parachute canopy billowed and flapped, filled with air, and jerked him up short. He floated earthward.
He thought of trying to steer his chute out over the water.
Streams of bright machine gun tracers arced through the sky, searching for him. He tried to twist away. The streams of fire found and settled upon him.
28/1635L—Command Post, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand
Benny Lewis
The right wing of Maj Andy Schumacher and Capt Larry Stark's aircraft had been torn away by an 85mm round as they were dive-bombing a SAM site. Both ejected, but they were going so fast that the parachutes streamered. The wingman had made a single low pass and thought he saw one of the chutes hung up in a tree with a body hanging underneath. It was the only tree around.
With no Weasels to draw the SAMs, the strike force had lost two more aircraft.
Mike Murphy had taken a SAM hit from the site Andy Schumacher had tried to bomb. He had ejected over Thanh Hoa, and the other pilots had watched tracers crisscrossing near the chute.
The other Thud pilot, a lieutenant named Capella, had made it out over the water before he'd ejected and was subsequently picked up by an Air Force SA-16 amphibious rescue aircraft.
After their debriefing, Benny talked to the crews about the mission, about the god-awful numbers of SAMs and guns, and how they'd been lucky to suffer only the losses they had.
He gritted his teeth, knowing something had to be done.
He found the Bear at the Ponderosa, packing away some things he'd bought at the Thai market.
"Mike Murphy got it," he told him evenly.
The Bear looked up at him and stood still for a long moment. "Mike?"
"Yeah."
The Bear paused for another heartbeat before going back to packing his B-4 b
ag. "How'd it happen?"
"Schumacher and Stark were going in on a site and got shot down. The site launched SAMs and bagged Murphy. He ejected right over the target, and they were shooting like hell. No one believes he had a chance."
The Bear nodded slowly.
"Just before he ejected, he made a radio call. He said, 'I'll see you, babes.' "
The Bear was quiet.
"Before he took off he said to tell you he'd gotten some earrings for Julie. Said he left 'em here in your room."
"I found them. Mike's better than me at knowing what women like. These have black star sapphires in them."
"He said they cost him thirty bucks."
The Bear nodded, continuing his packing.
They went to dinner, and afterward to the bar. At nine o'clock, when the full crowd had gathered, the Bear stood on a barstool and yelled for them all to quiet down. A few did.
"I owe Mike Murphy thirty bucks. Drinks are on Mike tonight!"
The Bear gave Jimmy the bartender thirty dollars and told him to keep passing out twenty-five cent drinks until the money was gone.
That would teach Mike, he told Benny, to get himself shot down.
Benny nodded, but he wondered. The Bear had lost yet another close friend, but he was acting as if none of it were real.
Was it real? he asked himself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Friday, December 30th, 1966—0815 Local, People's Army HQ, Hanoi, DRV
Major Nguy
He knocked at the door and stood stiffly in view of Xuan Nha. The colonel was busy scanning the daily report he had prepared. He finally glanced up and nodded abruptly for Nguy to enter.
Nha pursed his lips inquiringly. "You knock? You are my executive officer. Come in and take a seat, old friend." He looked down and continued to read.
Nguy sat stiffly, eyes ahead and no smile on his countenance. He was normally well groomed, for he was an orderly man, but today he had prepared himself meticulously. He wore a crisply ironed green uniform. His Hero of the Struggle for Independence and Shining Valor badges were gaudy on his chest. Two small blood-red stars indicated severe wounds he had suffered in combat. He wore the Soviet-style collar tabs recently adopted by Giap for his officers' uniforms.
