Believe it or not, it's not just about Marines.
The United States is blessed with a fine military and it is not just the Marine Corps of which we should be proud.
So, in recognition of our brothers and sisters in arms, here are stories from other branches of the US military, including the one of which we are an integral part, the US Navy.
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VF-32 Final Tomcat Cruise
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The
following account of the Son Tay Raid to rescue American POW's
in North Vietnam has been provided by John Waresh,
who participated in the raid as a
Skyraider pilot.
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On Saturday night of 20 November 1970 a C-130 picked
us up from Takhli RTAFB where we had been
housed in the CIA compound since deploying from Eglin. The NKP flight
line was blacked
out, even the tower people had been relieved
and the tower was empty. The C-130 landed, without any lights on it or
the runway
and ramp, and taxied to the ramp. It had
already lowered the rear ramp, and when it came to almost a stop, ten of
us ran
out, two pilots for each of the five Fat
faces we were taking. It then continued on, pulling up the ramp, taxied
out and
took off. It had other people to deliver to
other locations. The only people out and about were the crew chiefs and
us.
Of course the Wing Commander met us and
followed me around like a puppy dog asking question after question.
None of which
I could answer much to his dissatisfaction.
After picking up our flight gear, we went straight to the
birds,
cranked up and taxied out. No taxi, runway or
aircraft lights were used and no radio either, total silence. (The
radio was
not to be used till over the camp.) Taking
off at the exact second we did a 360 over the base to join up. A C-130,
Talon
was to rendezvous with us there and lead us
on. Timing was everything. It wasn't there. We did two more 360's and
couldn't
wait any longer. We were, by that time,
about ten minutes behind schedule.
The backup plan was to
navigate ourselves
to Son Tay, following the planned route and
arriving at the appointed time, 0200 local Sunday, 21 November. No way
Jose.
We had agreed among ourselves earlier that
that was not a viable plan. We would fly the course until we got lost,
which we
knew we would, and then head straight for
Hanoi. Hold just south of the IP, which was the Black River straight
west of the
camp, and do our thing at the TOT. (Time Over
Target) The route was NKP, straight to Vientiane, straight North out of
there
and then drop to low level and weave through
the karsts and valleys all the rest of the way. Impossible at night for
A-1's.
A back up rendezvous with the Talon was over
Vientiane at the appointed minute, but because we had made an extra 360
over
NKP waiting, we were running late. We had
been unable to make up all the lost time, some of it but not all. We
hit Vientiane
a few minutes late, maybe five, no Talon. We
turned north and pressed on.
After Vientiane passed behind
there
were no lights, anywhere, ink black, and then
our worst nightmare loomed up. A cloudbank. Being lead I wasn't
worried about
being hit but the rest of the flight exploded
like a covey of quail, everyone in God only knows what direction.
Pushing it
up, I climbed straight ahead and soon popped
out on top. Not an A-1 in sight and no hope of joining up again without
lights
or radio. We were all on our own. After a
short time we noticed a speck of light far ahead. A star? After
watching it
a while we were sure it was below the horizon
and no Lao in his right mind would have a light on. Had to be
something else.
Heading straight for it, it took some time to
catch. A fully loaded A-1 is no speed demon.
Sure enough,
there
was our Talon with a teeny-weenie white light
on the top of the fuselage and a dim bluish glow coming from the open
ramp in
the rear. Couldn't see the bluish glow until
you were only few meters from it. There were already two A-1's there,
one on
each wing. We moved up and the left
one moved out, and we took our place on the left wing tip. A few
minutes later
the other two A-1's slowly pulled up and once
we were all in place the little white light went out, the bluish glow
went out
and the Talon descended into the black. From
there on it was hold on tight as it bobbed and weaved through the hills
and
valleys.
The Talon driver was
top notch. His power applications during climbs and descents and gentle
banking
allowed our heavy A-1 to hang right in there.
The three-day "Moon Window" we had for this operation provided good
night visibility, with one exception.
Several valleys we drove through were so deep that mountains, karsts,
trees, or whatever
eclipsed the moon. When that happened, it
was like diving into an inkwell. You could make out only a few feet of
wing tip
and that was only because of our own exhaust
flame. When turns or ups and downs occurred at those times it was
tough.
As we emerged from the backcountry
out over the Red River Valley it was almost like being over Iowa farm
country
with Omaha/Council Bluffs up ahead. (Hanoi)
Lights everywhere. Soon there after, the Talon started climbing, and we
knew
the IP was coming up. We had a controlled
altitude over the IP. The choppers, with their Talon, were going to be
under us
coming in from a different direction. They
should have been slightly ahead of us but one couldn't be sure everyone
was on
time. The control time was over the camp, so
IP times were adjusted for the different speeds.
Then the
Talon
transmitted the code word. First of anything
we heard on the radio all night. I can't remember the word but it was
to be
picked up by a high orbiting EC-135 over
northern Laos and relayed back to wherever. It meant we had crossed the
IP. (We
were two seconds off. The best anyone had
done during practice was ten minutes. Of course we didn't have Talons
for the
practice.) The Talon then accelerated out
and up like a shot and disappeared in the night. The heading to the
camp was 091
and trying to reset our DG by a giggly
whiskey compass was an effort in futility. You remember the high tech,
latest hardware
we had on board. Good thing all the towns,
cities and roads were lit up. With the target study we had done it was
like being
in your own back yard.
Next
number 5 pealed off to the right. He was backup in case anyone was shot
down and
was to orbit a large hill just south of
course until called in. As it turned out the hill was an Army artillery
practice
range and it wasn't long before they started
taking a few rounds. They moved off to somewhere else, probably closer
to the
camp, don't know where. Just another example
of the brilliant Intel we had.
Then 3 & 4 pealed off
to the
left to hold just short of the camp till
called in. The plan was to call them in when we had expended 50% of our
ordnance.
Then they would do the same with us, each
time expending 50% of what you had left. That way, if someone went
down, there
would always be aircraft in the air that had
some ordnance left for support. Then 2 dropped back so we could set up a
two
aircraft Daisy Chain around the camp.
It was like a precision ballet, a computer simulation would not
have been
better timed. Just as I rolled into a bank
along side the camp two flares popped right over it, having been
released from
one of the Talons. At the same time Banana
(HH-3 with Blue Boy assault team aboard.) crashed landed inside the camp
compound
and the first Apple (CH-53) opened up with
mini-guns on the watchtowers and the guard quarters. The towers either
blew apart
or caught fire, as did the guard quarters.
We didn't want the big fire consuming the two story quarters, attracts
attention,
but it was too late.
At that
time we had nothing to do except to make sure no one approached the
camp. No one
did. We could see the sparkles from a Fire
Fight Simulator, dropped by one of the Talons on the other side of town
as a distraction
and soon a large explosion and fire where
another Talon dumped napalm on an infantry base armory a few klicks to
the south.
Then the shit hit the fan. Gear Box (The
Command and Control team) started yelling about losing Axle. Axle was
Col. (Bull)
Simons' personal call sign. "We've lost
Axle," he kept yelling. "God damn, Simons has been killed, we're
all in deep shit." At this point I'd like to
say that I think the Universe will collapse in upon itself in the Big
Crunch
before the Army and Air Force will ever be
able to talk to each other on a radio and have each other understand
what's going
on. He wasn't lost like being dead in AF
jargon, they just didn't know where he was, couldn't find him.
Then
the radio erupted with chatter from
everywhere. The second Apple, carrying half the assault force and Bull
Simons, had landed
the troops in the wrong place. They're
heading had been one degree off coming in from the IP (whether pilot or
equipment
error I don't know) placing them several
hundred meters south of the camp. When the time ran out they saw a
building
that didn't quite look like the guard
quarters but it was the only building around, so they landed. That's
where the infamous
"Fire Fight at The School" took place. We
called it a school because it looked like a school, regardless of what
it really was. You couldn't just keep
referring to it as the white building south of the camp. There were
lots of buildings
south of the camp. Everything had to have a
name. That way everyone knows what you're talking about. The liberal
media,
though, had a small Field Day with that name.
I remember some time later a female TV reporter asking Col. Simons if
he had
killed anyone at The School. He said
something to the effect, "I was approached by a big fella, and I had a
tracer as
every third round in my M-16 and saw three go
through his middle." The reporter didn't have a follow up question.
The troops in the wrong place were
screaming, Gear Box was screaming and all the Apples were screaming.
The FM
and VHF radios were almost impossible to read
let alone get anything in of your own. The UHF was kept for AF use to
call
the MiG Cap or Weasels if needed or to talk
among us. The Apple that had dumped the guys in the wrong place,
was the
closest so he did a 180 and went in to pick
them up. All the others took off and headed for the School as well just
in case.
No one has figured out yet why there wasn't a
midair. The troops at the school were in a fierce firefight the whole
time
they were on the ground. Right after they
landed people came pouring out of the building. Most were too large in
stature
for Vietnamese. The guess was Chinese or
Russian but no one had time to check. The kill estimate ran from seven
to seventy,
and again, no one had time to count. Bull
Simons and the rest of the assault force made it back to the camp
without a casualty.
The whole incident only lasted a few minutes,
but it put the entire ground operation off schedule. The two parameter
teams,
Red Wine and Green Leaf, headed out to do
their thing but Blue Boy, the assault team inside the prison compound,
had already
searched most of the prison. As soon as
Simons got on the radio he asked Blue Boy for a status report. The
answer was "No
Packages so far, still searching". A Package
was the code word for a prisoner. Simons then told us to take out the
footbridge to the Citadel.
We
called a group of buildings surrounded by a small moat the Citadel. It
was a few
hundred meters southeast of the Camp and had a
small footbridge over the moat on the camp side. Intel told us it was a
military
cadet training facility and probably had a
small armory for small arms. We didn't want anyone coming across that
bridge armed
and get within rifle range of the camp.
Jerry and I put two WP bombs on it and when 2 came in and saw the bridge
was wiped
out, he dropped short to get anyone that
might have already come across. In the process taking out a few blocks
of a housing
area between the camp and the citadel. WP
does a real number on wooden structures; the firestorm was not small.
About this time the sequence of events
gets all jumbled up. I have no idea what happened first, second and so
forth.
About the time Simons and the troops got back
to the camp the first SAM took off. You cannot miss a SAM launch at
night.
It's like a mini Shuttle launch, lights up an
area for miles in all directions. The first few were called "SAM, SAM,
DIVE, DIVE" but that soon became silly.
There were so many launches that you couldn't call them. There seemed
to be
about four launch sites within a few miles of
the camp on the West side of Hanoi. The rest were further east and we
didn't
think they were a threat to us. Most of the
SAM's went high, after the MIG Cap, Weasels and the Navy's two hundred
plane
faint coming in from the East. The idea was
to make them think there was a major raid on Hanoi and not bother with a
few
planes on the West side. It worked,
NSA told us later that their Air Defense Commander screamed, "Fire at
Will",
shut down the net and went off the air.
We were at our briefed 3 thousand feet until the SAM's started
coming
our way. Intel told us we wouldn't have any
trouble with SAM's at that altitude. A lot some pencil pusher knows.
We all
hit the deck and kept an eye on the launch
sites close to us and sure enough, someone decided to try for the guys
to the West,
us. The site closest to us, just a few miles
to the Northeast launched one that never got to the horizon. I watched
it rise
and almost immediately it leveled off. Then
the thing stopped moving on the windscreen. You know what that means,
collision
course. We dove into the Red River and
turned west. Jerry was flying, and I was turned around keeping an eye
on the damn
thing as it charged at us over my right
shoulder. I kept bumping the stick forward saying, "Lower, lower."
Jerry
kept bumping the stick back saying, "We're
going to hit the water." When the rocket plume on the thing seemed as
big as the A-1 I yelled break left. We went
up and over the riverbank, about fifty feet, and leveled off at phone
poll height
going straight South.
We never
saw the thing again. It either hadn't had time to arm or buried itself
in the
water/mud so deep that the flash of
detonation was masked. That's another thing you can't miss at night.
The detonation of
a SAM. It's a lightening bright flash, quite
large. They were going off over us constantly and when you got used to
them
you didn't even bother to look up. For about
a thirty minute period there were no less then three SAM's airborne at
any one
time and other times so many you couldn't
count them. I've never heard an estimate of the number fired that night
but it
has to be in the dozens. All the SAM misses
would self detonate, either at a pre set altitude or motor burn out; I
don't
know which.
Like I said, you
wouldn't look up at a SAM detonation because they were so numerous
unless something
was different. Then there was something
different. The flash was yellowish instead of bright white. Looking up
there was
a large fireball with flaming debris falling
from it. "Damn, someone got nailed." Then suddenly there was a flaming
dash across the sky heading southwest, then
another and another. Three dashes were all I saw, couldn't spend any
more time
looking up.
Later we learned
that a SAM had detonated close to a Weasel and filled his bird with
holes. Fuel
was streaming out and his AB was igniting it
in dashes across the sky. Since he was losing all his fuel anyway he
left it
in AB till he ran out. He got to the
southern PDJ before bailing out. About this time Blue Boy calls Axle
and says, "Search
complete, negative packages." Silence, then
Simons asks for a repeat. "Search complete, negative packages, repeat
negative packages." More silence.
I
don't know what anyone else was thinking then but for me it was setup,
ambush. But hell, we'd already been there
twenty minutes and they'd have sprung it by then. So then it turned to
"What
the hell are we doing here?" And "How the
hell are we going to get our asses out of here intact." Simons
must have been thinking the same thing. He
called for the parameter teams to pull back and the Apples to come in
for pickup.
Then he told us to take out the Big Bridge.
All sounds very simple but it sure wasn't. First of all we
had no
hard ordnance and couldn't take out the Big
Bridge. We had no more WP bombs and that was the only thing that would
have damaged
a wooden bridge. The bridge was Red Wine's
objective and they were supposed to blow it, but because of their late
start hadn't
reached it before the pull back order.
A little poop about the Big Bridge. The bridge was a few hundred
meters
Northeast of the camp on the road that ran in
front of it. It was about a hundred feet long, heavily constructed and
could
carry any vehicle up to a tank, we were told.
Red Wine was supposed to blow it and hold the road while Green
Leaf went
Southeast and held the road there.
During
training the engineers said twelve pounds of C-4 would take out the
bridge. However, to be sure they were going
to double it and use twenty-four pounds. Col. Simons said that he
wanted to
be doubly sure and doubled that to
forty-eight pounds then added two people would carry forty-eight pounds
each making it
ninety-six pounds of C 4. I would have liked
to see what ninety-six pounds of C-4 did to that bridgebut it wasn't to
be.
What made things worse was that
the out bound and pull back routes for the parameter teams were
different. Since
each team out bound had to take out any
possible threats they didn't want to retrace their steps and possibly
run into someone
they missed. He would have been one pissed
off Gomer. There was a lot of housing just outside the camp. Intel
said it was
for the camp commander, married officers and
maybe some camp workers. The teams outbound went house-to-house making
sure no
one was going to be a threat. It was a slow
process so between starting out ate and an early pull back they had no
chance
of reaching their goal.
Since
they hadn't got to the end of the outbound route there was no way they
could follow
the pull back route. The radios went bananas
again. "There's part of Red Wine's team in Green Leaf's area of
responsibility
and part of Green Leaf's team in Red Wine's
area. Do not fire without identification." This was repeated over and
over
again. So much so that the teams couldn't
get in to acknowledge. They were so out of breath that they couldn't
say but one
word between two or three panting breaths. It
wasn't fun to listen to.
Some time during all this we had
expended
50% of our ordnance and called in 3 and 4.
They had done the same and called us back. We dumped the Rockeyes on
the bridge.
The Rockeye is a Navy fast mover ordnance we
had to certify the A-1 to carry while in training at Eglin. It's a
multi-munitions
thing with gobs of little shaped charges to
take out vehicles, even tanks I guess. Not very good for bridges. We
put a lot
of holes in it though. After that we laid
down continuous strafe till everyone was in the Apples and on their way.
I might add we never saw any vehicles or
people moving anywhere near the camp. There was a lot of traffic on the
East/West
road along the Red River, about a klick
north, going in and out of Hanoi, but no one turned toward the camp.
Also about this
time, the SAM launches were slowing down but
the MiG calls were increasing. Roughly twenty minutes into the forty
minutes
this took, we started picking up MiG calls.
Intel told us they had no night-qualified pilots so we would have no
trouble
with MiG's. Right. There was one call of an
air-to-air missile firing. Said it zoomed right past his plane. I
don't know
who it was and never saw any myself. That
was the only call of a firing I remember hearing, but the MiG warning
calls from
Collage Eye, or whoever makes those things,
were coming regularly.
Once the Jollies were off and
running, we
putted along above and behind them, guessing
where they were since it was dark, and no one could see each other.
Everyone
was to call the IP outbound. One by one we
heard the calls, thank God. Then we hear this voice "Is everybody out?"
"Who are you?" "This is Apple
something or other." "Where are you?" "I'm back
at the holding point waiting to be sure
everyone got out okay." "God damn jerk." We told him to get his ass
airborne and head for the IP as fast as his
funny machine would take him. He acknowledged. By this time we had
nearly reached
the IP ourselves. Jerry and I looked at each
other and said, "We don't have a choice." With possible MiG's around
a lonely Jolly all by himself makes for a
pretty good target. We turned around, climbed to a nice MiG target
altitude, three
or four thousand, and went Christmas tree.
Every light we had was turned on, and we slowly drove back to Hanoi.
With MiG
calls coming every few minutes I was sweating
profusely. Don't know if it was hot, I was scared or just pooped out,
but I
was soaked. It seemed an eternity, but as
the camp and the West side of Hanoi were slipping under the nose, we
heard the
IP call. Lights out and Split-S. We beat
feet west for the IP on the deck. Getting away from the river valley and
into the
dark countryside, we climbed to a safe
altitude to clear the mountains en-route to Udorn. Then we started to
take care of
some pilot stuff. We had used up the left
stub tank getting there and most of the right. We were on internal over
the target
and used the centerline while holding. Time
to clean up the fuel mess. The right stub ran out almost right away,
just a
couple minutes were left in it. Time to
jettison. That's when the longest two seconds of my life occurred. I
hit the button
but instead of falling away it pitched up,
slammed back against the leading edge making it into a vee shape, and
came bouncing
along the leading edge of the wing toward the
fuselage. I can see it to this day, making four bounces and then
falling away
under the wing. It all happened in one or
two seconds; I didn't even have time to say, "Oh shit." I sometimes
wonder what would have happened to the right
horizontal stabilizer if it had decided to pass up and over the wing
instead
of under. I don't dwell on it though, too
scary.
The five Jollies, three carrying the assault force
and two
empty because of no prisoners, were all
together having had to hit a tanker in order to make it back. The A-1's
were spread
out who knew where but still in radio
contact. As we crossed the PDJ we picked up the beeper of the downed
Weasels and soon
made voice contact. They were both all
right. #1 was cool but #2 was a little panicky. Not because he was
being threatened,
but because he was all alone, in the dark, in
the woods, in Laos. I didn't blame him one bit.
Then we
made contact
with four Sandy's launched out of NKP in
answer to the Weasels May Day. They didn't know who we were because of
the call
signs. Took a hell of a while to convince
them that Peach and Apple really meant Sandy and Jolly.
The
call sign
battle had been long and arduous but in the
end we lost. I'll never forgive the Air Force for either picking them or
allowing
them to be forced on us. At least the Army
had call signs that if not macho were at least neutral. Blue Boy, Red
Wine, Green
leaf, Gear Box and Axle. What did the wimpy
Air Force come up with? A-1's, Peach; Jollies, Apple; the HH-3 that
crash-landed
in the compound, Banana; Talons, Cherry, and
the C-130 tanker, Lime. A damn fruit salad. It wasembarrassing, down
right
humiliating. I'll never forgive those pencil
pushing Air Force pukes for that.
Anyway, it was decided
that the
two empty Jollies would hang around with the
four Sandy's and make a first light pick up. From what I understand it
was uncontested
and pretty much a piece of cake. After
landing at Udorn, we were all rushed to debriefing, a building right on
the flight
line. As I walked in, I was met by a group
of Intel people with wide grins across their faces and seemed higher
then kites.
I thought they were lunatics. They asked,
"How many prisoners?" I said, "None, the camp was empty."
The grins disappeared and their faces turned
pale. "What?" I repeated it and thought they were going to pass out.
What had happened was after
leaving the target area the Army did a head count and got it all screwed
up. For a
while they thought someone might have been
left behind. For several minutes over the radio we could hear the
chatter between
the Jollies. "I've got thirty-three, I've
got thirty-five, I've got thirty-two, I've got thirty-one." Seemed to
go on forever. Finally they got it right and
no one was left behind. The high orbiting EC-135 must have been
relaying all
that back to Udorn, and the Intel people
interpreted it as a prisoner count. They all thought we had rescued
thirty some
prisoners.
Once that got squared
away, debriefing fell apart. People running every which way. I don't
remember
ever being debriefed and don't think anyone
ever was. What preparations had been made to receive prisoners I don't
know,
but they had to be considerable and now were
all down the tubes. It was almost a state of panic.
Col.
Simons,
Jerry Rhine, Dick Meadows and maybe others
were whisked off to meet with Gen. Leroy Manor at Monkey Mountain, Da
Nang. The
rest of us were left in the lurch and
forgotten about. The sun was coming up by then, and we all wandered out
onto the ramp,
and sat down on the cement cross legged,
Indian style, in circles of about ten. Us in our reeking sweat soaked
flight suits,
and the grunts with their blackened faces,
guns, grenades and what-have-you hanging off them. They were bleeding
from every
square inch of exposed skin from dozens of
cuts, scrapes and bruises. We all just sat mumbling to each other. No
stories
were being told. We had all just done it,
seen it, or heard it, and knew what had happened.
Then
someone came
out and handed a bottle to each of the
circles. Everyone took a sip and passed it around and around and around,
till it was
empty. All of us still just mumbling to each
other and ourselves. I can't attest to what was going on at the other
circles
but there wasn't a dry eye at ours. A tear
running down every cheek. A gallant effort with nothing to show. To
hell and
back for naught.
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