Thud Ridge (22 page)

When you are in the spot of leading both wings and are also the flak suppression flight for your own wing, the first one in on the target, you can't help feeling a tremendous sense of responsibility. In this situation, more than any other, you know that the responsibility for the whole tribe is in your lap. More than that, you know that the success or failure of the strike itself is your baby doll. No matter how well it is planned and no matter how many instant experts are sitting on the ground ready to advise on something they have never done, you have the ball. Your word is sought after in the confusion of the departure. You call the shots as men and machines struggle to the end of the runway and fight to leave the arming area in proper order. Your burner light is the infallible signal to all concerned, "Yes, this is it, we're really going," and the degree of confidence, calm and expertise that you exude does more than you know to determine the results, and even the survival of your troops.

This was brought home to me most clearly during a discussion with one of the docs who was working on a potential fear-of-flying case. Actually the guy had the fear, and it seemed like every time he moved he got exposed to something else to increase his fear, but he was a good man and he utilized every bit of smart and stamina he had, and while I am sure that he never beat the fear, he controlled it and stuck with the task. While trying to help this pilot, the doc was discussing the emotions of people faced daily with the violent loss of those they sweat next to and he said something to the effect that all rational men had a sense of fear. He said, "Don't you think the colonels who lead you in this wing feel fear?"

The pilot responded in amazement, "You mean they actually get scared too?" It's what you do with the emotion that counts.

Geeno picked up his specific responsibility for this Saturday morning mission the evening before. When the frag arrived there was always much interest in what we were doing the next day and a shuffle to see who would fill which spot. In a wing like ours where the leaders led, you always had to give the boss first crack at the next day's work. Depending on who had to meet the visitors the next day—and there were almost always visitors—who had what meeting or what additional duty plans, the boss would decide on his availability and choice of mission time. Other things being equal, that 0200 wakeup was not too popular with those of us in the command bracket. It is great to be skimming along when the sun conies up, and you get the feeling that you are in the saddle on this new day and that you are running things and all will be good. You also get a feeling of accomplishment when you land early and know that before most people have stirred you have done a good job. And you get so tired you hurt. The primary duty jocks who have been flight planning most of the night could sneak away to the sack for a few hours, but the leaders always had something to make that move inappropriate, and the next thing you knew you had worked yourself out of daylight and into night. We all gave the continuing early schedule a try at one time or another, and we all managed to get falling-down sick doing it. So on this particular Friday afternoon, both the boss and I declined and the early one rotated to Geeno, the next squadron commander in line.

Immediately after the stand-up briefing he gathered his flight leaders and his planners in the big briefing room and they started through the mass of detail necessary to select and chart the route for the next morning. Every detail of ingress and egress was probed and once the mission commander was satisfied with his plan of action, the selected individuals from each participating flight set to work to prepare the maps, charts and cruise data for their flight members. This particular planning session did not have to get too involved as most everyone knew the area and the target quite well. There was not too much freedom of choice on routes, and there was nothing new to say on defenses in that area. They were all still there and everyone would get to see all of them in the morning. Having put his charges to work there was little else for him to do.other than to make sure he knew each and every particular of the route he had selected as well as the details of the drill he would employ in marshaling and leading the next day.

Very little went right in the morning. The first problem was getting enough aircraft in commission. After much hassling and .reconfiguration the last-minute efforts of the flight line people and the harried schedulers paid off and aircraft numbers, pilots, flight call signs and bombloads started to fall into place. It is most important that all the scheduled blocks be filled and that each flight performs as a flight of four. The maintenance troops are always hard pressed to get enough of the occasionally recalcitrant monsters all the way in commission, with all systems working. Should they fail to do so, which they seldom do even under the worst of time compressions, it results in more than a departure short one or two aircraft, worse than an effort launched with less than planned bomb coverage on target. It becomes an effort wherein one or more flights are no longer self-sustaining portions of the strike, since they cannot render mutual support between the elements of two. The offensive as well as the defensive plan is short one pair of eyes and one man and machine combination that fits perfectly into the jigsaw of mutual support. The flight short one man automatically becomes a pair plus a straggler, and Thai Nguyen who was no place for stragglers.

This particular predawn scramble paid off and the full force was launched as planned. Geeno ran into weather on his refueling effort but managed to get the job done in style, and all his charges dropped off the tanker, and headed for Thud Ridge. As they approached the target area the weather they had experienced during refueling was still with them and by now had become a threat to the success of the mission. From the river on in, the area was covered with a middle layer of broken to overcast clouds. While a cloud layer of this kind is not in itself too difficult to penetrate, it makes a great difference in your tactics against the defenses and your actual run on the target. Whether you stayed above the clouds, went below them, or tried to hide inside them, you were in for trouble.

If you stay on top on the way to the target you can look for Migs, but you cannot see the ground for that extra double check on your approach, nor can you see the Sams as they kick up a boiling caldron of dust when they leap from their launch sites. If you can't see them on the way up when they are relatively slow and straggling both to accelerate and to guide, you are in trouble, for by the time they come bursting up through the undercast, accelerated and guiding on course for you, your chances of evading them are slim. If you duck just under the clouds you have a better visual shot at the Sams and better visual navigation, but you give both the Sam people and the ground gunners a perfect silhouette of your force against the cloud backdrop, at the same time telegraphing your exact altitude for both sighting and fuzing purposes. If you go far below the clouds, up goes the fuel consumption and up goes the exposure to smaller guns on the ground. About the only other piece of airspace available is inside the clouds themselves, and herding a large formation of heavily loaded machines through uncontrolled airspace that is full of turbulence and rocks, thundering blindly into and over an area where the defenders have no qualms about firing guns or Sams into the clouds if they or their radar even think you are there, is not a generally approved tactic. Those who have inadvertently found themselves in this thrilling situation usually do their utmost to avoid a repeat

Geeno was in the process of initiating a gradual descent to a position under the clouds that appeared to be the best compromise available under the conditions when Sam helped him to expedite both his decision and his descent. Three Sams launched and headed directly for the lead flight like lumbering white telephone poles. It quite obviously does not take them too long to get out of that lumbering stage and the closer they get and the faster they go the more rapidly you must react. Geeno still had visual contact with the ground and was able to spot this flight of three en route toward his charges. He bellowed out the warning on the radio and took his flight down to the deck, under the approaching missiles. You can practice all you want and brief all you want, but when those things are pointed your way, the old adrenaline flows, the palms get sweaty and the voice gets squeaky. If you are worried about your circulation, a few rides in that area will convince you that the old pump is really putting out.

The rest of the force had been well alerted by Geeno's call and were able to watch the air show as he and his flight parried the Sams and continued on toward the target. There was little doubt that the defenses were ready that morning and when you started getting tapped that far out you could bet the rest of the ride would be wild. In one way it sort of helps to have some successful action of that kind before you get right on the target, as it seems to act almost like a warm-up session before a deadly ball game. As long as you win that first one you have some feeling of accomplishment along with the definite knowledge that the ball game is on. It does not do a thing for the radio chatter, however, and a lot of people immediately have a great number of important things that they just have to say right now. This was the worst possible time for a garbaged-up radio channel. You want the air clear for calls alerting the rest of the flights to the posture and actions of the defenses. There is no telling how many people and aircraft we have lost simply because some blabbermouth was making a worthless transmission that blocked out a warning call. It was a problem requiring constant attention and it was not uncommon to have to chew some guy out on the radio and tell him to shut up.

Fortunately, the chatter died rapidly or Geeno would probably never have made it to the target. He was now definitely committed to an approach under the clouds and the countdown proceeded as the tick marks fell behind on the run-in line on his map and the exaggerated pencil mark alongside his course line said silently that two minutes from now all hell would break loose above the rail yards. This was where you liked everything smooth, so you could navigate perfectly and get the approach and roll-in that you wanted without slinging some poor wingman off by himself as the speed built toward maximum. But there were no smooth skies available at the two-minute marker that day. A second volley of three Sams hurled clouds of dust and dirt on their masters and leaped eagerly toward the lead flight. Navigation be damned, you had to beat those Sams or the navigation would be of no value, so Geeno sounded the alarm again and hauled all of his flights down to the treetops at breakneck speed. The maneuver was too much for the Sams' stubby little wings trying to accept their radar's guidance, and two of them stumbled hopelessly, only to stall themselves out and tumble earthward, while their lone companion screeched ballistically skyward, ever accelerating, to explode in isolation at the end of its snow-white contrail. But the Sams had accomplished one thing: they forced Geeno into a major decision at a time when he would just as soon have had nothing to think about but the mechanics of the attack. He had to decide whether he would blast that Sam site or continue as planned.

By this time in our war, a Sam site that revealed itself was fair game, one of the targets we liked to destroy. This guy was wide open and had showed his colors to an entire strike force loaded for bear. The three dust pillars from the launch pad stretched upward like three large surveyor's poles saying, here, right in the middle of these three, here is Sam, and nothing Sam's masters could do would make those indicators disappear for several minutes. It was a great target, the kind a fighter pilot loves. There would be guns protecting the site, more missiles on the launch rails and maybe more in concealed storage, and that silly little control van in the very center. A few loads of bombs could do a lot of good in the middle of that site. It would have been a legal decision nobody could criticize, but the thought wouldn't go away that he was the leader, the guy who had to get this wing and another wing in and out of that gruesome rail yard. He was also the guy they were depending on to draw that flak at the yards and then paste it good so that all following could have a better chance of completing their runs. He knew it was going to be hard as hell to straighten this gaggle out after the Sam-evading maneuvers and get a decent run at the target, but the yards were the target, the one they had briefed on for so long, the one they wanted to knock out so badly so they wouldn't have to come back here for it again. The decision was instantaneous and automatic and Geeno squared his forces away and pushed for the yards already coming into view at 600 per.

(I faced a similar one about that time when I was suppressing the flak around a cozy little spot closer to town. The flak was fierce and my course took me right over the hallowed sanctuary of Phuc Yen airfield, which was still off limits. As I pulled up there were four Mig-21's in run-up position on the end of the runway, getting ready to take off and jump the guys behind me in the force. They, of course, were taboo as their wheels had not yet bounced off the concrete, but I had weapons on board that would leave no big pestholes for identification and it would sure be great to knock those four out all at once. But the guys behind me could probably outdo the Migs, one way or the other, and I knew that the flak in front of me would get nothing but more accurate unless I hammered it for the guys behind me. I pressed on to suppress the flak. As advertised, they rolled down the runway, sucked up their gear, made a 180-degree turn, and were all over the second flight behind me. It's probably a good thing that I didn't cream those four Mig-21's as somebody would have squawked about it, and with my luck they would have court-martialed me. I'm so dumb about things like that, I probably would have told the truth anyway. Hindsight is wonderful.)

Geeno's problems were compounding rapidly and as he reached up for bombing altitude he found the cloud deck lowering right over the target and another decision was upon him. The weather wasn't as good as it had looked and the flights were coming up from behind like sue hundred. Was it good enough? Could these pros get in under here, knock the target out and get back out with their skins? The microsecond evaluation by the trained eye said yes—yes they could change the mechanics of their prebriefed attack, they could convert dive angles and airspeeds and sight pictures to change the amount of lead angle required to get the bombs in there. They could get whatever altitude the clouds and the gunners Would give them and as they rolled in, they could tell how high they were and what the angle was to the desired impact point and they could tell when it looked just right and bomb and get the hell out of there. Yes, it was a go, and Geeno so announced on the radio.