Bien Hoa Air Base housed thousands and had only a few air conditioned trailers. About half of the troops lived in open-air hutches and half in tents. I felt a little guilty living in such comfort in a “war zone” while others of much higher rank, such as colonels and generals, slept in the open-air hutches. However, the decision regarding sleeping quarters for the U-2 pilots was made at a much higher pay grade than mine, and who was I to argue with that? With Coors in the refrigerator, I soon got over any guilty feelings.
Russian Surface to Air Missiles
The Russian Surface to Air Missile (SAM) sites in North Vietnam were centered in and around the Hanoi/Haiphong metro area. Their range extended across the Chinese border to the northeast, to about 70 miles north/northwest and west of Hanoi and extending south/southeast to the Gulf of Tonkin. This allowed us to enter a dead-end corridor from the west along the Chinese border to gather photo and electronic intelligence then exit back west while remaining out of the SAMs lethal range. Our SAM radar warning system consisted of a small four-inch scope, a flashing red light called the OS (Oh S**t) light and an audio alert beeping signal. In addition, our electronic defensive system jammed MiG and SAM radars if they were a threat or were attempting to lock on to our aircraft. When a SAM site started tracking us, we received a beep and a strobe line on the scope appeared in the general direction of the site each time the rotating SAM search radar swiped our aircraft. Three o'clock on the scope meant the SAM site was directly off the right wing. When the SAM site “locked on” with their height-finding radar, a beeping tone sounded and a flashing red light with white “OS” in the center alerted us to the critical situation. It meant the missile had launched, and the SAM site was “data linking” guidance information to the missile. When MiG fighters were airborne, our GCI sites would broadcast their approximate heading, altitude and speed on guard channel every few minutes. Guard channel was monitored by all aircraft and was only used by aircraft needing emergency assistance.
My Route
Following my departure from Bien Hoa Air Base, the planned route for the mission was northeast 110 miles to Ban Mo Thout. I turned northwest, crossed the northeast corner of Thailand, and then headed north into Laos over Vientiane, the capital city. I continued north until just short of the Chinese border and turned east northeast. Three miles south of the Chinese border, I crossed the Red River and continued east northeast. I turned southeast just short of the Chinese border, then headed southwest across the Red River again, and south over Dien Bien Phu and the Plain of Jars, the site of earlier French defeats. My route took me then southeast along the North Vietnam/Laos border covering the Ho Chi Minh Trail, across the DMZ, south to Ban Mo Thout, and finally southwest to return to Bien Hoa.
The MiGs
On May 5, 1967, just before I turned east toward the Red River, I heard GCI on guard channel reporting MiG information. “Two MiGs climbing eastbound from Hanoi.” A couple of minutes later, Guard Channel reported, “Still climbing, starting a right turn and accelerating.”
I was busy checking my position through the view finder and updating my log. The next thing I heard was, “MiGs flying northwest up the Red River above 40,000 feet.” This did not concern me because in the F-104 practice intercepts in the US, none were ever successful intercepting a U-2 at a 90-degree angle, the same angle the MiGs were flying in relation to my route.
To attempt an attack on a U-2 at over 70,000 feet altitude, a fighter had to be flying nearly Mach 2 at 45,000 to 50,000 feet. The fighter would have to be 25 miles directly behind and zoom up on the U-2 trading airspeed for altitude. In order to bring down a U-2 flying above 70,000 feet, the fighter would have to be ten to twelve miles directly behind just prior to reaching their max altitude of 58,000 to 60,000 feet and launch a heat-seeking missile before they started their own descent. The U-2 onboard warning system would alert the pilot who would then simply make a turn to foil the intercept. The pilot would also see the MiG contrails through the viewfinder. The MiGs could not see the U-2 as it was above the contrail level at approximately 58,000 to 63,000 feet in Southeast Asia. In short, fighters were not a realistic threat to the U-2. I was not overly concerned and I was not even sure the MiGs were attempting an intercept on me. Maybe the MiG pilots were en route to China for a little R&R (rest and relaxation).
A destroyed A-1E Skyraider at Bien Hoa AB, May 12 1967.
Just as I crossed the Red River, the SAM warning system lit up indicating a radar lock-on. The warning system also indicated I was directly over the SAM site, and the next signal was the missile launch OS light. Immediately I disconnected the autopilot and started a right max rate turn. At maximum altitude we flew 3 to 4 knots below high speed buffet and 5 or 6 knots above low speed stall. In a bank or turn this difference decreased because of increased wing loading required to turn. Above a 12-degree bank a pilot would have been in a high speed buffet and a low speed stall. This situation was commonly known among pilots as the “Coffin Corner.” In order to recover from the coffin corner, the pilot had to descend and/or decrease bank angle. With a missile launched toward me, decreasing angle of bank or leveling out was not an option. I lowered the nose and extended the speed brakes and landing gear. Pulling the throttle back even a small amount would have risked a flameout, not where I wanted to be with a missile on the way. I lost a couple thousand feet as I turned the buffeting/stalled U-2 westbound. Suddenly all the warning lights and tones were silent. I re-engaged the autopilot and scanned the area below and behind for the telltale sign of a missile, a vertical contrail and a “telephone pole”, as the fighter pilots called a SAM missile. I saw none. I did see two arching contrails below and behind me at about 55,000 feet crossing from my left to right. GCI reported, “The MiGs have crossed into China and are no longer a threat.” I transmitted my abort code and picked up my remaining route back to Bien Hoa. At debriefing the intelligence officer and navigator who planned the mission said there was no known SAM site located near the Chinese border. They were stunned when the recorders confirmed my report. The next day we drove to Tan Son Nhut Air Base where the camera film had been developed and evaluated overnight. After careful review, it was concluded there was no evidence of a SAM site in the area.
Major Bob Birkett at Bien Hoa AB, May 12 1967.
The intelligence analyst concluded the North Vietnamese/Russians had set a trap. They knew we would observe a SAM site under construction as we did in Cuba, and we would avoid the area prior to it becoming operational. They had apparently moved just a radar transmitter to the border area. The intelligence analyst speculated that if they had waited five minutes longer to turn on the transmitter, I would have been trapped. He asked what I would have done. I would not have flown back over what I had to assume was a new SAM site and violating the Chinese border for any reason was absolutely prohibited. I would have had to fly within the SAM warning rings on my map to attempt to escape the pocket I would have been trapped in. I would have had a few minutes to think about it while circling within the trap. I told them I would probably have made a run for it to the southeast and the Gulf of Tonkin, staying as close to the Chinese border as possible for the following reasons. Flying southwest I would have been within range of SAM missiles on both sides and if I did get hit, the last place I wanted to bail out was over North Vietnam near the Chinese border. By flying southeast, any SAMs would only be coming from my right. Turning into or toward any SAMs and with the onboard jammers, my chances would have been much better. Plus, I figured if I was hit and had to bailout, with a little luck the prevailing westerly winds would have carried me toward the Gulf of Tonkin and friendly US Naval rescue forces. But all that was speculation because I had avoided the trap.
Lt Col Bob Birkett, Akrotiri RAF base, Cyprus, 1976 - his last flight.
Buddy L. Brown
Knoxville, Tennessee
My Busiest U-2 Mission
I say this was my busiest mission, but it would be more correct to say this was “one” of the busiest missions. There w
ere a couple of northern missions out of Eielson AFB, Alaska using celestial grid navigation that also got my attention. The worst thing about flying north and using grid navigation was the need to out guess the gyro precession rate and in which direction. Would they precess in the direction forecasted for the next rating period? Also, remember, once over the extreme northern latitudes, every direction is south. The gyro should indicate the correct south longitude heading for the next flight route segment, not one headed south. This happened to Chuck Maultsby, but that is another story.
Jim Qualls would also remember our 100-plus days on Okinawa where we flew only System IV night missions into the northern reaches of the Sea of Japan. Landing the next morning, we would have red, blood-shot eyes. For any non-technical folks reading this, in the mid-1950s, the U-2s had no high tech navigation systems. Our primary navigation tool was simply the sextant.
Now a little explanation for those same non-technical folks, the System IV was a signals intelligence electronic detection system or SIGINT. It consisted of a large number of antennas to cover frequencies the Soviet Union used for command and control, missile tracking, aircraft control, radar frequencies, etc. Information collected was stored onboard the U-2 and later analyzed to determine how far the Soviets had advanced their electronic technology.
Okay, back to my original story. I forget the exact date Jerry McIlmoyle and I flew these particular missions, but I vividly remember it was winter. The purpose of the mission was to collect SIGINT into the Bering Sea in order to map the Soviet radar order of battle. The equipment bay of the U-2 was loaded with a specially designed System IV – a SIGINT package that expanded the frequency spectrum. I think the project code name was “Venice Lake II.” I vividly remember the mission planning for it was rather complicated. It got complicated because it was a coordinated mission with a C-121 radar aircraft to monitor us and ensure that we did not deviate outside a very narrow corridor. The C-121 was originally a Lockheed Constellation converted to a Navy aircraft with Airborne Early Warning (AEW) capability. During our pre-mission briefings, several local SAC permanent staff personnel sat in and made useless suggestions that had nothing to do with these missions.
However, the C-121 would be monitoring our collection leg once we were in the target area in the Bering Sea off the Kamchatka Peninsula. In the briefing, it was determined that the C-121 would send coded messages consisting of a bunch of numbers. We had to write down the numbers and evaluate whether we were north or south of our track, left or right of course and how far in either direction. So at each celestial plot, in addition to taking three star fixes and plotting the position based on celestial information, we now had to write a bunch of numbers from the sextant and evaluate whether to throw out the celestial information and use the C-121 plot or vice versa. As if that wasn't enough to do, we had to copy all of the Fox Trot “do not answer” high frequency transmissions. A Fox Trot message was a coded SAC Headquarters communication to control a particular mission using a series of numbers transmitted at high frequency. Using a translation device in the cockpit, the numbers were converted into a coherent message. The Fox Trot message would give instructions to continue the mission, to abort the mission and land at a designated recovery base, to be alert for Soviet fighters being scrambled, etc. Response to Fox Trot message commands did not require an answer, just compliance. It also kept electronic transmissions to a minimum to avoid giving away the aircraft's position. The C-121 monitored our position via radar tracking to maintain the designated course, thus the comparison between our celestial and the C-121 plot.
I remember Jerry McIlmoyle and I sat in the briefing room and listened to the dialog between the C-121 jocks and the permanent SAC staff; we were shaking our heads. At one point, one of the SAC guys said, “I don't know how you're going to do all this stuff.” Those were my thoughts exactly.
Well, the briefing was finally over and I was scheduled to fly the first mission; I think Jerry flew in the C-121 to monitor my mission as it progressed. Looking at my map boards, I had little pieces of paper stuck all over my route with the numbers the C-121 may or may not transmit while I was in the sensitive area.
My takeoff time was about 10:00 p.m. in the dead of winter in Alaska, so it was an all night mission. The U-2 had a specially designed System IV installed. Marshall Hughes was a civilian electronic whiz employed by Ramo Wooldridge, the company that built the System IV. Hughes had designed an array of new antennas to collect some special intelligence from the Kamchatka Peninsula. Kamchatka, located west of Alaska bordering the Bering Sea on the east and the Sea of Okhotsk on the west, was the location of most all of the Soviet ICBM experimental test facilities and several fighter bases. To operate the System IV wasn't too difficult; when flying north, turn the antenna switch to the left. When flying south, turn the switch to the right. Heck, even I can remember that one.
From the briefing, we headed for the BOQ to begin our crew rest period. The next evening after the pre-mission briefing which included a weather update and C-121 procedures, call signs, etc., I was fitted into my pressure suit and transported out to the bird. It had just been pulled out of the hangar and was ready for my arrival. The winter temperatures in Alaska remained at about minus 30 degrees to minus 50 degrees so the U-2 was kept inside the hangar until just before the pilot arrived. Once in the cockpit, I was hooked up, completed the cockpit check, replied to the challenge response, started engines and taxied out to the active runway. I received the “cleared for takeoff” signal, advanced the throttle and was on my way.
The mission was to fly from Eielson down the Aleutian chain to Shemya, then make a right turn in the northern direction into the Bering Sea and on into the corridor-collection area. The C-121 had taken off from Eielson hours before me in order to be in position to monitor my progress. I received one “Fox Trot” message from the C-121 that they were in position. The navigator/mission planner pre-computed all my fixes to be three-star fixes. It made for extra work but I was using the Rudd Star Finder (Computer RADAR AID, Type R-1) to plot my fixes so it cut down on time to plot and evaluate my position. (By the way, I still have that plotter.) We were told that “higher authority” directed us to stay within the corridor.
For the next three-plus hours, I was constantly writing down the C-121 transmitted numbers, evaluating their position information, taking three-star fixes and evaluating one or the other for my position. (Remember, this was in the dark of night and I was in a constrictive pressure suit.) Fortunately, the altitude winds were as forecasted and I had a stable platform for my celestial. As far as I knew, I copied all the Fox Trot messages designated for me. When the mission was completed, I returned to Shemya and back to Eielson AFB. When I started my descent for landing at Eielson, the weather was near minimums with heavy ice fog. I wasn't too concerned about flying a final approach at 80 knots, I couldn't get into too much trouble. I was cleared to start my approach and landing when GCA reported, “The field is now below minimums. Do you want to continue with your approach or proceed to your alternate?” I responded, “Continue approach.” I told the GCA final, “It's just you and me now anyway.” I was only going 80 knots, and by the time I got to the runway, it might be above minimums. I continued my approach and it seemed to take forever. I was really bushed, but I drank my last pint of orange juice just prior to my penetration so I could remain alert before I started my descent. Finally, the centerline strobes started filling my windscreen; the field was still zero-zero. As the strobes continued, GCA called out, “You're passing over the end of the runway.” I then put my head back against the headrest using my peripheral vision to keep the runway lights even on my left and right sides of the canopy. I continued my descent until I touched down on the runway. After the first skip, I held the aircraft off until it settled into the runway. I couldn't see much past the nose of my bird, but the mobile folks walked in front of me with their wands guiding me to the taxiway and back to the hangar.
When the next mission was flown, Jerry w
as primary pilot and I flew in the C-121 as observer. I remember the C-121 was an interesting flight, but it lasted about 10-12 hours. I sat in the back and watched the radar screen as Jerry's mission progressed; I could relate to what he was going through and how he would return to Eielson with blood-shot eyes. I believe the intelligence community got what they were looking for with these missions, but I don't think the C-121 monitoring was really necessary.
Bill E. Bye
Prescott, Arizona
Wife: Janet
I was assigned to the 4080th SRW in October 1961. My first recollection was standing in the Navigation Planning Room asking Bob Yates, “Where do we go from here?” I was thinking about career progression. Bob replied, “You have arrived.” Apparently I was the first officer assigned through normal channels. I recalled frequenting the flight line snack shop with Ed Schug; we both enjoyed miniature cigars.
My first TDY was to Eielson AFB, Alaska with John Wall and Buddy Brown. They were part owners of an older Chevrolet they named “Simone.” They had purchased the vehicle for local transportation there and had invested many hours of tender loving care restoring it. I wonder whatever became of Simone? One of those memorable events at Eielson was planning Don Webster's flight to the North Pole.
While on TDY at Bien Hoa, South Vietnam, Meteorologist Freddie Haman forwarded the high altitude wind information to me on scraps of paper. My thoughts were, “Here we are using low tech communications for this high tech operation.”
Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend Page 39
