Ten minutes later Col Huddleston and Sergeant Major Richard D. Finn (a giant if I ever saw one; he was at least six feet nine inches), pilot and co-pilot picked me up in a Huey on the ramp at Bien Hoa. Before takeoff Sergeant Major Finn handed me a flak jacket which I started to don. He smiled broadly and said, “We usually sit on these.” I quickly got the idea of what to protect! But there were several lying on the floor, so when we got to the Hot Area and everyone got busy, I surreptitiously slipped one on. Maybe Special Forces guys thought they were bullet proof, but I wasn't in their league.
Sergeant Major Finn and the pilot talked on the radio to the team on the ground, organizing the pickup point of the “13.” I tried to stay out of the way while watching the expert retrieval of our prize. The problem was that there was no suitable landing place in the jungle. The pilot determined the only choice was to let down into a bomb crater to avoid the trees. The chopper actually had to hover over the crater a few yards from the troops on the ground. However, before the pickup was made, a reward was sent in. The Special Forces fellows had sized up the Montagnards and determined a couple dozen pairs of combat boots and a couple cases of Coca Cola would make a suitable reward. All the booty was attached to a cable and winched down to the waiting guys below.
The men on the ground attached the chopper's lift cable to the System 13 and Sergeant Major Finn started to winch the package up to the chopper. I had told the chopper pilot not to move the bird out of hovering position until the package was safely onboard. I was afraid something unscripted would happen, like the thing would come loose and fall back into the jungle. As soon as the box was tied to the cable, the dumbass pilot put the chopper in high gear and took off with the “13” swinging in the breeze on a 50-foot steel cable. Finn kept winching while I held my breath; I figured we only had one chance at this. He wore a harness that was tied to a ring in the floor. As soon as the package was near skid level, he climbed out on it, grasped the package and pulled it up with his foot to pause it there. Col Huddleston handled the lines, making sure they didn't get fouled.
We continued on for ten minutes with Finn hanging on to the “13” with one hand, holding on to the chopper with the other while standing on the skid. The chopper continued to a small clearing in the jungle used by the Forward Air Controllers and other “special activities” as a landing strip. We landed and met an O-1 aircraft and pilot, where I transferred with the “13” for movement to Bien Hoa. I radioed to OL Operations, gave them an ETA and asked for the U-2 mobile control officer to meet me on the ramp in front of the control tower. We were exhilarated to have that baby back in our hands; at least I was. We delivered our lost “13” back to the Sferics Shop and took the rest of the day off. Well, there was one more task before taking a break.
Special Forces officers on the team.
Team members on the move.
Montagnard soldier.
I reported to the OL Commander, Col Rafferty, that the mission was successful. I don't remember if he said anything at all. He just looked at me, then turned away. But that was fine with me, everyone else was happy. I knew he had been burned badly, and in his mind, it was all because of me. He would never forgive or forget that I had caused him such indelible grief. Later events would bear that out.
After Action Report
The next day I called Col Huddleston to express our thanks for the great job he and his Special Forces troops had done in recovering our lost System 13. He had set up a meeting with participating parties. Capt James “Bo” G. Gritz, team leader of the ground troops, came to Bien Hoa from the field and was present in the meeting. He reported they located the equipment four miles south of Song Be, the capital of Phuoc Long Province, and sixty miles north-northeast of Saigon. Gritz told me the jungle was so dense the searchers were crawling on their bellies, parting the undergrowth with both hands. When one of the searchers pulled back the jungle growth, he spotted the box imbedded in the soft jungle floor, only partly visible above the mud. Locating and recovering this valuable defensive ECM equipment was so incredible, it defies belief. But the photos tell the story.
Contrary to other accounts on the recovery of the System 13, there was no raid on the Special Forces camp by the Viet Cong, nor was it taken to their camp, nor was there a firefight in which the “13” was liberated by ground forces.
The Air Force was grateful to have this valuable equipment returned, and later issued a Letter of Appreciation to the Special Forces detachment in recognition of their successful completion of Operation Black Box.
What respect and admiration I felt for these Special Forces soldiers, and what a spectacular task they had accomplished, truly a mission impossible. They started with only an educated guess to begin the mission. An “X” on the map marked the likely spot where the “13” landed. The ground team probed many square miles of dense jungle for a box two feet long by one foot square, half its length buried in the mud, their task had been sketchy at best. Even today it boggles the mind: The assembly and transport of a group of Montagnard soldiers almost a hundred miles to secret bases during the night; the highly effective search pattern employed; the incredible discovery of the crown jewel “13;” the delivery of the jewel to the chopper; and the organization to meet the O-1 at another clandestine base and transfer the prize to that aircraft for safe return to USAF custody.
What a helluva show! I will always be in awe of the US Army Special Forces’ unequalled professionalism and effectiveness.
Epilogue
At the end of our various tours of duty in Vietnam, we all went to other assignments mostly within our own services. I never saw Col Huddleston again, or any of the other Special Forces troops. Col Rafferty died shortly thereafter on a handball court in Tucson of a heart attack while on active duty.
Cozier Kline
Pottsboro, Texas
Wife: Jan
Roger Cooper's Emergency Landing on a Frozen Lake in Canada
During my four years of flying the U-2, I never had anything happen that was unusual. However, I was flying on that winter day when Roger Cooper lost power over the middle of Canada. Roger called me over the radio the minute he flamed out. We had previously talked about such an occurrence. At that time we agreed we would enter into a circle flight to glide down so that in case of a failed air start we would have a pretty accurate position. I made a notation on my mission planning green card of the exact time he called me with the flameout.
After 35 minutes, when I thought he should have had his first chance for attempted air start, I began calling on the SSB radio to the SC-54 flying behind us. I was exactly one hour in flight behind Roger, so I decided to start a flight circle over our route exactly one hour after he called me.
Meanwhile, I finally got a response from Barksdale SAC Command Post on the SSB radio; no one else would answer. I asked Barksdale to call the Laughlin AFB Command Post and start a relay between us to see if they could contact the SC-54 rescue aircraft; Barksdale complied. I passed on the exact time of Roger's flameout and my best estimate of the coordinates of his position as Roger and I were flying the same routes. By proceeding ahead exactly one hour on my flight plan, I thought I could be of help to Roger.
I arrived at my estimate of Roger's position and started circling. By my calculations I would have about 15 minutes flying time left when I got back to Minot AFB. About 30 minutes after circling, I was able to talk to the SC-54 on SSB radio and told them when Roger flamed out. The SC-54 needed to go to full military power on their aircraft and get down to Roger's location. The SC-54 said they had received a radio call on SSB radio and were already “balls to the wall” headed to where they thought Roger would be. The SAC command posts were already on the ball at getting the Canadian people involved. It turned out the Canadians had a helicopter that supplied the information of who might be near Roger's projected location. The helicopter located and rescued Roger.
I was entering the landing pattern at Minot AFB when the Tower called and said there was a Colonel f
rom SAC Headquarters who wanted to talk to me. I told the Tower to tell him I was too damn busy right then and I was flying on fumes. I told the Tower I would call him back after I had landed. The Colonel only wanted to ask me about everything we had in our survival pack, in the seat pack and a bunch of other stupid questions.
The final chapter to this story was that Ray Haupt flew to the frozen lake. He took Roger's U-2 off on a bulldozed short runway on the frozen lake, and flew 300 miles to the nearest Royal Canadian AFB. There further checks were made on Roger's U-2. Ray flew it back to Minot and we put Cooper's plane in the hangar. About 2:00 a.m. the next morning, we got a call at the BOQ that one of the U-2s had smoke coming out of it. We all rushed down and towed it out of the hangar for the fire trucks to extinguish the fire. There were some wire bundles that had chaffed bare and that may have been the source of Roger's problem.
Ray B. Lodin
Glendale, Arizona
Wife: Sandra
I spent seven years supporting the U-2 program. I would have continued to serve the Air Force but I was forced into retirement in December 1964.
During my time with the U-2 program, I was assigned to Mission Planning in Flight Operations. My job was to assist the pilots in planning their missions, such as determining time and distance to their destination. I enjoyed the interaction with the pilots: Jim Black, Ajack Moon, Buzz Curry, Buddy Brown, Pat Halloran, Jerry McIlmoyle, Mike Pierce, Joe Jackson, Ray Haupt, Roger Herman and many others.
Ray Lodin, Bien Hoa Air Base, 1964.
While TDY in Australia, a lady friend took me down to the ocean to watch the small penguins return to their nesting spots. It was a fascinating experience. The beach was crowded with people watching them as we were. The penguins were so focused that they just walked among the people and headed for their nests. It was during the TDY to Australia that we learned President Kennedy had been killed. It was a sad ending to an otherwise pleasant TDY experience.
I enjoyed the TDYs and took advantage of new experiences. In addition to Australia, I was able to go to Puerto Rico, Alaska and Hawaii. In Saigon, Vietnam, I flew in, went to a French restaurant and witnessed the bullets across the river falling like fireworks.
During the Cuban crisis, I went to Florida to plan the pilots’ missions and coordinate time over the target for the best photos. Weather conditions were a big consideration in planning these missions due to the angle of the sun.
Charles (Chuck) Maultsby
(Deceased August 14, 1998)
The following is an episode from a manuscript edited by Chuck's widow, Jeanne.
Accidental Overflight of the Soviet Union
The latter part of September 1962 I was notified that I had been tapped for my second tour in Alaska. I didn't look forward to going back that time of the year because, unlike summer months when it is daylight 24 hours a day, the winter months are bitter cold and dark almost the entire day. I would much rather have been flying missions out of our Operating Location in Australia. It is summer there during our winter months in the US.
Off I went on a KC-135 back to Eielson AFB, Fairbanks, Alaska. Lt. Col. Forrest “Whip” Wilson was the Detachment Commander. Captains Don Webster, “Wee” Willie Lawson and I were the U-2 “drivers” and the three navigators who did our flight planning were Captains Billie Bye, Bob Yates and First Lieutenant Fred Okimoto.
The missions being flown were the same High Altitude Sampling Program (HASP) missions I had flown during my previous tour, with one exception. Don Webster was the first U-2 pilot to fly to the North Pole and back. He covered a distance of 3,000 miles. It was celestial navigation all the way, using the stars for a fix. The only radio beacon used was located at Barter Island, located off the north coast of Alaska. From there, the Pole was nothing but ice caps and polar bears.
“Wee” Willie Lawson was the next U-2 driver to fly to the North Pole. My turn would come later. I sat in on all the flight planning and briefings to be prepared for my own flight. Unlike the other HASP flights, this one was to be accompanied by a Duck Butt flight as far as Barter Island where they would orbit and wait for the U-2s return. Duck Butt was a search and rescue team flying a Douglas DC-4. If we were forced to bail out between Barter Island and the North Pole, they would make every effort to locate us. We understood the chances of a successful Duck Butt rescue were slim.
The team said if a pilot bailed out over the North Pole, they could make one orbit before heading for the nearest landfall. It was no use having the para-rescuer suffer the same fate. I asked one of the jumpers what he would do if he had to bail out over the Pole. He said, “I wouldn't pull the ripcord.” I was sorry I asked. With that in mind, I wasn't sure why the rescue guys tagged along after I heard that response. They couldn't land on those jagged ice caps. Even if they were lucky enough to find the pilot, by the time a ground party could reach him, he would either be frozen solid or decomposing in the belly of a polar bear.
“Wee” Willie didn't have to worry about either of the two prospects. His flight went according to plan and he returned with some of the most radioactive material collected to date. The Russians must have popped some mighty potent caps.
On October 25, 1962 Billie Bye, Fred Okimoto, Bob Yates and I planned my flight to the Pole for the following day. The same Duck Butt team sat in on the briefing that followed the flight planning, but I didn't ask them any questions. I already knew their answers and once was enough.
Since my takeoff was scheduled for midnight on October 26, I tried to get plenty of sleep during the day. It was next to impossible. Throughout the day, people were tromping in and out of the BOQ in their heavy snow boots. The harder I tried to sleep, the more awake I became. I finally gave up and went down to our Operations building and sacked out on a cot. No one would show up until three hours before my takeoff time.
I woke around 8:00 p.m. and went to the Officers’ Mess for a breakfast of steak and eggs. Bob, Billie and Fred were there. They didn't get much sleep either.
The preflight preparations were completed. I took off on time and proceeded directly to Barter Island. Duck Butt gave me a call on a prebriefed frequency and said we both should arrive at the same time over Barter Island. They wished me luck and said they would keep a “light in the window” for me.
Over the Barter Island radio beacon, I set course for the Pole and prepared to take the first fix. Right on the button. Our navigators were masters of their craft. All went according to plan until I was about halfway between Barter Island and the Pole. Streaks of light started dancing through the sky making it difficult to take a fix on the star I was shooting. This was my first experience with the “Aurora Borealis” or Northern Lights. It couldn't have occurred at a worse time. The further north I went, the more intense the lights became. I held my heading and hoped the star I thought I saw was the right one.
The last few fixes before reaching the Pole, if in fact I did reach it, were highly suspect. I had no reason to believe I was off course, despite the suspect fixes. I decided to go ahead and do a 90-270 degree left turn that would put me over the Pole. It was: 90-270 degrees turn, then left turn for 90 degrees, then immediately reverse the turn for 270 degrees until heading back along the same track, only in the opposite direction. This new track should have headed me straight for Barter Island. I was out of radio range with Duck Butt. There was not anything they could do, but I would have felt comfortable hearing a friendly voice now and then.
I had never flown over a landmass that had not a single light from horizon to horizon. Of course, there were no lights on the ice caps, but didn't the Duck Butt crew say they would “leave a light in the window” for me? The first two fixes I took after leaving the Pole were wishful hoping and I realized something was terribly wrong. I began calling in the clear, hoping somebody out there might hear me and steer me in the right direction. I thought I was on the right track for Barter Island, but the ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) was some time away.
It wasn't until I was out from under th
e Aurora Borealis force that I knew for sure I was off course, but which direction? I didn't bother to attempt to take any more fixes; I would just fly time and distance and hope for the best. I was approximately 300 to 400 miles north of Barter Island, or I thought I was, when the first radio contact with Duck Butt was accomplished. I even heard someone in our command post at Eielson calling over the single side band radio, but they couldn't receive my call. Surely I was in range of the radio beacon on Barter Island, but I couldn't pick it up. Had it shut down or what?
As the ETA for Barter Island wound down to 30 or 40 minutes, Duck Butt called and said they would start firing flares every five minutes. They started immediately. Duck Butt orbited over Barter Island and reported the radio beacon was operating okay. They received a transmission loud and clear. I didn't see any flare and asked them to fire another one. By this time I should have been over Barter Island and I should have been able to see the flare. They fired another flare. Again I saw nothing. It was all I could do to fight off a panic attack. I was either many miles east or west of Barter Island, but which?
The navigator aboard the Duck Butt called and asked me if I could identify a star. I told him I had the Belt of Orion constellation about 15 degrees left of the nose of the aircraft. Several minutes later the navigator called and told me to steer 10 degrees left. Immediately, I received another call from an unknown source, using my call sign, telling me to turn 30 degrees right. What the hell was going on? The navigator in Duck Butt didn't hear the latest call, so I was certain I was miles west of Barter Island. I received a call again from the unknown source with a definite Western-sounding voice telling me to turn right 35 degrees. I challenged him, using a code only a legitimate operator would know, but I received no response.
Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend Page 43
