Chapter two
August 9, 1967
USS Columbia sailing for San Diego
7pm Squadron Officer's Opening Briefing, Ready Room Five
The room was full as Dad walked in and was stopped by the room clerk, Petty Officer Dan Elseberry who handed him a packet of stapled paper. Some of the guys were clustered around the coffee and doughnuts table Elsberry set up at the front of the room while others were gathered in their "usual gang groups" of close friends. Dad stopped Marvin Long to point out a piece in the packet...
"We're going to be looking through people's mail now?" Dad asked.
"Not exactly." Marvin replied. "We are to remind the Sailors to be "tactfully efficient" in their communication of information back home."
"Lieutenant Nate Marsden walked by..."We're to warn them not to call LBJ a dumb ass." (Lyndon Baynes Johnson "LBJ" the President)
"That's the politically sensitive way to put things?" Marvin snorted. "But about accurate."
Three years into the Vietnam War, the concensus of most of my Dad's fellow pilots was exactly that...Lyndon Baynes Johnson was...(insert swearing here) dumb ass. He started the war in 1965 with something called "Operation Rolling Thunder" which by 1967 was known better as "The Rolling Blunder".
"Rolling Thunder" was supposed to be a slow progressive escalation of pressure on North Vietnam to stop supporting their partners and forces in South Vietnam; except you couldn't bomb Hyphong Harbor, where the majority of North Vietnam's war materials were coming in and you could not bomb much of Hanoi where all the war materials were being stored for eventual use. You couldn't bomb much of Hanoi where North Vietnam's industry was based nor could you bomb many of their airfields near the Vietnamese/Chinese boarder. To be honest? You could bomb only 5 percent of the 100 percent of North Vietnam's capabilities and the list of authorized targets changed every five minutes from the sound of Dad's frustration...
Not exactly the way to fight or win over your adversary. My wife is more blunt, had LBJ been a Zentradi? The women would have shot the stupid bastard for treason. With things the way they were back then with their form of media and communication; bad news traveled better than good news and by 1967 the people in America were getting enough juicy bad news between reporters and letters from the troops that they were starting to get more than upset...which is why the military was now being told to casually monitor what soldiers and sailors were writing to family back home.
Dad went over to the coffee table, got his cup full and two fat pills and sat with Andy quickly scanning over the rest of the packet before things got started.
"So we "in-chop" Dixie Station on the 31st?" Andy said as he pointed. "We're going to over-lap Midway's transit to Yankee for two weeks."
"Probably going to be conducting some major ground operations in the South and they want two carriers during that time slot." Dad replied. "Oh look...finally we're going to get up to date maps for Southeast Asia!"
"Hmph...the Pentagon probably sent a professional dick sucker to cry to National Geographic. Did you hear about that? Some of the guys in VA-175 were actually using photos of a National Geographic map of Vietnam to guide by. At least it had all the villages and hamlets in the right places."
"Of course it did." Dad replied. "Didn't you know all the pricks at the National Geographic Society were hard core Communists?"
"ATTENTION ON DECK!" Petty Officer Elsberry shouted as the Squadron Skipper and the Executive Officer entered the ready room. Now tell me any of us in Vermillian Squadron would have snapped to attention for Commander Hunter? You know Rick, he would quickly tell us all to sit down and stop being tight assed morons. Back in Dad's day, even a Master Chief got respect or you'd be busted to a mop handler.
Commander Charlie Saffell flew propeller driven A-1 Skyraiders or "Spads" before he flew Intruders and before that he flew F4-U Corsairs in Korea. He was the only other pilot to have killed a MIG jet with a "Whistling death" as the gull wing Corsair was called. This would be his first Vietnam War deployment with the Intruder.
Executive Officer Lieutenant Commander Charlie Goodall was making his second Vietnam deployment with the Intruder having flown once with the Sunday Punchers with an unfortunate distinction...he shot himself out of the sky.
Actually...his bombs shot him out of the sky. When Charlie flew in 1965 on the Independence, his Intruder was equipped with mechanical bomb racks like the one's the Spad guys flew with in Korea. Problem was...the racks didn't work well with the jet Intruders and when Charlie went to drop his load...it "came live" and blew up right under his plane...blowing the wings and most of the belly apart.
Charlie and his B/N had to eject over the Southern end of North Vietnam and went through two weeks to reach the safety of the south...only to get wounded by a nervous South Vietnamese soldier when both of them tried to approach the perimeter of the man's base. They both lived but it took a while before Charlie was ready to have another go at the cockpit and by them he was full of piss for vengence.
Saffell and Goodall took their places at the front of the ready room as all the officers took their seats...
"Evening Rams!" Saffell belted out.
"Ooooo...BAH!" The collection of officers replied with the Ram "Bah" call.
"So by now you've all had a chance to do a breeze of the papers so you have some idea of the work coming up for us when we get on the line. And yes...there is some expectation of another "pause" in the action as far the North is concerned...as in the usual, we pause for good will and the enemy pauses so they can fuck us all."
The comment enlisted a share of negatives before Saffell waved his arms. "Ours is not to cry and all that other stuff...we will still have plenty of work in the South to do, trust me. Now where is Ghost?
Lieutenant Anthony Casper stood up. "Here Sir."
"Get up here you miserable hoodlem?" The Skipper gestured. Casper quickly replied and stood before the podium.
"Would you care to face your adoring fans?" The Skipper asked.
"As you are all aware by now..."Ghost" has gained a fleet wide reputation for egregious acts of animal cruelty. During our last long stand in Whidbey? Mister Ghost decided that a spur of the moment low level air show over the village of Coupville was required to impress upon the local gentry how efficient their tax dollars were being used for national defense. Ghost just happened upon a heard of prize Holstein cows owned by one Mister Robert Minder of the Minder Meats franchise and thought these would be greatly awed by the low level display of Intruder 507." The Skipper snickered at Casper. "Well? Tell us what resulted you despicable cattle driver?"
People started laughing and calling Casper all sorts of names.
Anthony replied to the Skipper. "I impressed the cattle so much sir that I impelled one prized bull to chase my plane...unfortunately...sed animal forgot the rope secured around his neck and...well there was a cliff sir..."
Saffell remained serious which is amazing..."A cliff? So the prized example of Bovinian glory...committed suicide?"
"Yes Sir..." Ghost replied. "With my assistance."
"And just how did Mister Minder know the exact numbers on your plane there Mister Ghost?" Saffell asked.
"I uh...flew a slow pass over the farm Sir?" Anthony replied.
"Turn around and face me you sick, disgusting, animal murdering hoodlum!" Saffell snapped angrily. "If it were me you depraved bovine executioner? I would hang you from the tall mast and render upon you proper justice to appease the eternal torture of the excellent example of bovine manhood you maliciously murdered but the United States Navy seems to see your indiscretion as beneficial. You are out of uniform you silly dumb fuck!"
Commander Saffell took a box from the XO and removed two silver oak clusters from it. "You are now by the authority of the Navy and the President you magnificent flying slaughterhouse...Lieutenant Commander Anthony Casper. In the name of French BBQ, I kiss you...you ass hole."
The room lost it, the laughter was hillarious. Rest assured myself and our squadron under to command of Commander Rick Hunter have never done such debauchery...
And please don't ask how we made a jeep full of beer fly through the air. That never happened.
Commander Saffell continued..."Sterling, Boyer and Hoover...you've completed your section leader quals, good on you all. Enlisted Evaluations are due on the 15th for the upcoming advancement examinations in September, all of you Division Officers need to have them to me by the end of day shift on the 13th. If you're not very adept in putting "sweetener" on those evals? Go see Petty Officer Elsberry and I mean that seriously; our clerk has very good command of a thesaurus and punctuation usage...he doesn't keep those books on his desk just for display."
"Now...to the business end of our job. Those of you who have not been "in country" as of yet? We have enough talent who have been over the beach one or two deployments so pick their brains...better still if you're their room mate and for you experienced pilots? Show the new-bees the ropes of "Indian Country". South Vietnam as you know is unrestricted warfare, North Vietnam...I won't hide the opinions of many senior flight officers... absolute cluster-fuck. Trust me...I know all the bitching and it won't help us, it's not our job to make policy...we just carry out what the civilian leadership dictates...no matter how stupid they are or from what corner of bum-fuck Texas they reside in."
LTJG Roach stood up and snapped. "Sir! That's just wrong! I'm from Austin and damn it, my home's not "bum-fuck"."
Saffell threw up his hands..."Mister Roach? Did I say that all of Austin, Texas is Bum fuck? Sheesh...don't dare insult the Alamo around this guy."
"With all do respect Sir." Roach snorted. "The Alamo is in San Antonio? You ever been to San Antonio Sir?"
"No Mister Roach, I have not." Charlie replied.
"Then you don't know what bum-fuck is. San Antonio? Now that is bum-fuck."
The room broke out laughing.
"Alright Roach...due noted." Charlie replied. "Another thing I want to impress. Emergency procedures. We have a lot of time between now and "In Country" so I want everyone to eat and sleep and shit NATOPS emergency procedures. Quiz each other during down times, when you're not tearing up sky, when you're walking through the Hanger Bay...get those procedures in your heads because "In country" they could make all the difference between falling 5 miles behind enemy lines or 5 miles in friendly territory. Ask the X.O...even with a shattered plane he and his B/N kept their cool and were still able to get close enough to the DMZ to escape alive...sans friendly who fragged them."
The X.O. Replied. "I tried the standard phrase..."G.I. Joe in need of pussy and beer." I think the ARVN (Are-Vin was slang for Army of South Vietnam) heard "Yo! I'm a big dick bear!)
The officers laughed. Military pilots have to be a little light with humor, I mean look at Commander Fokker...absolutely no humor. How did Rick ever put up with him being so serious and smug? Every time Commander Hunter tried to play a prank on his older brother no matter how innocent? Fokker was like a Tasmanian Devil looking to chew up a tree. I tried holding him a couple of times from pounding on Commander Hunter...got the lumps to prove it too.
Saffell continued. "We might visit Pearl (Pearl Harbor) on our way to Vietnam but events will determine where we go from San Diego. We will certainly do port visits in Subic Bay during the line periods; that too being determined by events. In the mean time? Morale is a priority of all officers and Chief Petty Officers not just division officers, don't be afraid to spend time with the troops and peek their interest in our work, make them believe that what they do has a solid purpose and that we depend on them to do everything right the first time at every time. Sell up the squadron history, why are we "Rams", what's the purpose of Medium Attack? What's the end game? Right now for us the purpose is simple...as fucked up as the Republic of South Vietnam might be too some, at least it's not Communist. Our whole mission in life is to hold the Communist at bay and fill graves with dirty Communists. If your elisted men have any doubts, just show them those films of what the Communists did to the people of Aun Kei and Dak Ken hamlets in 1966...show them the little girls those bastards raped and stuck on bamboo like meat or the babies they fucken beheaded...that should make things clear enough. That's what the Communist will do if they ever get all of Southeast Asia."
I looked into the history of what happened when America left Vietnam in 1975. What happened in Cambodia from then into the 1980's when the then Communist Vietnamese ran Pol Pot out of power. Commander Saffell wasn't kidding. Even the Zentradi are not that wicked. It's one thing to pour weapons down on people from an altitude, it's totally different when they're being brutalized, raped and tortured in cells then shot to death in mass graves. When I showed my normally stoic Zentradi wife the pictures of skulls and bones stacked in temples in Cambodia? She actually got sick to her stomach. What happened to Southeast Asia...happened because the Vietnam War was so messed up by America's leaders. The common soldier though? He understood clearly what the consequences were going to be. Communism has no place nor tolerance for self-thinking people; which is why to achieve total control? The Communist regime has to kill the opposition...or brutally rape and murder it to put a population into submission.
So the first ready room meeting broke up and Dad decided to walk down to the Air-frames Division shop in the hanger bay. As Division Officer, Dad was responsible for the smooth order and function of 80 enlisted people who worked to maintain the structural and flight control aspects of the Intruder. Back then it was 100 percent hands on manual labor where today we mostly use robot repair stations where you just walk your battleloid into a spot and reticulated arms and computers perform all the needed upkeep. Dad walked into a compartment that smelled like a mix of coffee, oil, grease, sweat and smoke with enlisted guys dressed in green shirts and olive drab green pants in various stages of appearance. The first guy he ran into was a 3rd class Petty Officer named Steve Vance who was the "night shift lead" under the night shift Leading Petty Officer, First Class Petty Officer Elliot Rickten or "Ellie" as Dad sometimes called him...
"Evening Mister Sterling." Vance said as he stood at a vice shooting oil into a stubborn hydraulic actuator.
"Petty Officer Vance" Dad replied with a wave. "Where's Ellie?"
"Out on 510 working over the re-fueling basket. You know how that thing's been a pain in the ass?" Vance said.
"Does he have the evals ready?" Dad asked about the enlisted evaluations that were due. Vance walked over to the metal desk and pull a stack of papers from a drawer.
"Right here." Vance said as he handed dad the stack. "I'm not privy to the deep details Sir, that's between Ellie and Chief Magkasi."
Dad thanked Vance and walked out into the hanger to see if he could find Chief Andrew Magkasi, the Philipino Chief who ran air-frames as the senior enlisted division head. He found him with another enlisted man; teaching the junior about changing aircraft tires...
"Evening Chief." Dad said with a wave. "Got a second?"
The Chief told the junior enlisted man to wait as he followed Dad a few feet away. "So here's the evaluations, we have five people going up for 3rd class, three for 2nd class and 2 for First class?" Dad asked the Chief. Can you put these in order from top to bottom?"
Chief Magkasi scanned through the paperwork and gave it back to Dad. "There..."
"Thanks." Dad said. "Anything I should be made aware of?"
"Yeah...I think we finally have Davis settled down and out of trouble since the last ass whooping he took to correct his attitude. Simmons is a radar dot though...mother's not doing to well and naturally he's having focus issues."
Dad nodded. "It is hard for him. Probably the first time he's really been away from home for a big length of time. You've talked to him?"
"I've given him the "pep talk", told him that we can always schedule MARS grams for him to ease the strain a little bit. He's a good kid, very respectful...maybe an added boost from you will perk him up?"
Dad replied. "I'll do that. Let's plan a full shop meeting for shift change tomorrow and I'll fit in an after talk?"
"Great." Chief Magkasi replied. "Just a little warning? They might appreciate a little talk about Vietnam from your side, how you see it as a pilot."
"That's a problem." Dad replied. "I haven't been there yet. The best I can tell them is the standard "Ray team Ray" talking points but I'll do my best to add emphasis to why they turn the wrenches. I'll see you then."
The time was 8:30 in the evening so Dad returned to his stateroom where he found John sitting on the upper bunk tuning his guitar...
"Yo." John said. "If I bother you? Let me know?"
Dad pulled the chair from the writing desk and sat down. "Let me bother you if I may?"
"Sure." John replied. "What about?"
"What the Skipper said tonight." My Dad asked. "About "Indian Country"
"Exactly what Charlie said." John replied. "The only changes in the North are small outside targets around Hanoi and Haiphong Harbor and even there? It's a fucken nightmare porcupine as the reports call it. The only safe place for us is at night. You heard about that mission the Main Battery flew against the Ferry Slip in downtown Hanoi?"
"No." Dad replied.
"Two guys...Lieutenant Lyle Bull and Commander Charlie Hunter flew through downtown Hanoi at Gnat ass high with SAMs chasing them up the ass at 50 feet AGL. That's what Lyle wrote in his report. Every ass hole with a gun came out of the wood work. Chuck and Lyle plastered the slip with thousand pounders, blew the shit out of it and got out with their plane looking like it had done a low level over Nazi Germany. Chuck says the NVA fired 13 SAM's at their ass. The SAM's that arrive everyday unmolested in Haiphong and that sit unmolested in the Hanoi restriction zone till they come out to be shot at our guys. That's what LBJ and his gaggle of fuck tards have done in this whole crazy war. Down south? We do our share of the work, the enemy is getting slaughtered on the surface so the "Cong" (Short for Viet Cong, the Communist gorillas fighting in South Vietnam) is digging tunnels all over the place around Saigon. Down south we're clearly winning but the whole thing is mathematically not in our favor."
Dad rested his chin on his hands..."Fuck."
"Yeah." John replied. "For us to even the odds? Old LBJ has to go and man has to step into the oval office and rip up the Rolling Blunder playbook. Till then we'll mostly work over the South except on occasion LBJ wants to try and "impress" the North. So far? I don't think Ho Che Minh is too impressed."
"So what do we carry over the south?" Dad asked.
"Mostly 250 pounders and 500 pound snake-eyes with a rack of cluster bombs for trucks and armor if they venture south. We fly to support the Marines, the Army and the Navy River Rats in the Meikong Delta. Biggest ground fire threat down south is medium caliber automatics like 20 or 30 Mill (Millimeters) and small arms stuff. Up North there's sporatic SAM sites except up around Hanoi and Haiphong. Most important thing to remember when you fly up North is that you and your B/N have to be tight and eyes open, both trusting the other. And don't go sight seeing when you're up North...drop your shit and haul ass at full power...down low and don't slow down. And don't worry a whole lot about MIG's. The Vietnamese scramble only a few because they're precious and you'll never go in without Phantoms unless its' a single "in chop" and then the MIG's are lousy because they depend on their GCI radar's (Ground Control Intercept) to tell them where you're at. They fly some MIG 15's, more MIG 17's and some MIG 19's. They have a couple of MIG 21 squadrons but they tend not to send them out."
Dad nodded. "You know a lot."
"I've flown 58 missions. Bull and Chuck have more, about 100 plus so far. This isn't like World War II where you did fifty and went home to cake and pussy." John said. "I'll be open to take people up to Operations where we can all scan over the most current planning maps."
"That would be a great help." Dad replied.
August 13, 1967
USS Columbia Departs San Diego
I didn't think I needed to write every single mundane detail about the deployment. San Diego was a three day in port visit so the Columbia would take on the rest of the Air Wing that was based out of Southern California around Coronado ; The A-4 Skyhawks, The F-4 Phantoms, The E-2 Hawkeyes, The Helicopters, The EA-3D Skywarriors, the COD supply planes...in all the Air Wing added another 3000 people to the Columbia's normal 2500 man crew for over 5000 people and 130 combat capable aircraft. Now contrast that with the size of the SDF-1 and all the people we packed into it and the Columbia's nothing by a 40 foot cabin cruiser. Still...space aboard a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier was a premium. You'd pack everything you could into any space that might take it.
That's where Dad's ship took aboard the sister squadron, a Marine Intruder squadron; VMA (Marine Fixed-wing Medium Attack) 204 "The Shepherds" who's tail flash was the black silhouette of a German Shepherd head. They actually nicknamed themselves the "flying truffen hounds" or "Hell Hounds" which is what the Germans in World War I called the US Marines when they ran into them at Belleu Wood. They weren't as big as Dad's squadron, only six planes to Dad's 18 but with Marines traditionally small's not a bad thing. Marines are always good at doing more with less stuff yet squadrons with the same type of plane were encourage to share for the good of the Wing. Rick Hunter was all about that, lending screwdrivers, fuel and the occasional "not authorized" brand of help.
Now fully at sea and steaming Westward for Asia, the Columbia started getting into what made her the business end of American foreign policy; flexing both the flight deck and the flight crews in working up towards the first call to go over the beach and rain steel. The flight plan for the day was always posted 24 hours in advance and Dad's first flight from the Columbia was set for the morning of the 14th at 7am, a regular deck evolution of catapult launches and arrestments to be follow at 8pm by a night launch and night recovery evolution. If landing on a carrier in broad daylight can be somewhat stressful? Then landing in pitch dark is not much better even with the best equipment. I may show confidence like a flashlight in combat but trust me I am all knuckles when it comes to landing a Veritech on earth, on a ship in pitch black darkness with no moon when you are the one who has to do it and not the automatic system. Dad's Intruder had ACLS (Auto Carrier Landing System) back then but it was a touchy system to trust and most pilots felt better off "tit feeling" their way onto the ship.
So Dad and Andy met up in the morning, had breakfast, discussed the "Milk run" affair of the two flights or "hops" they would carry out, grabbed their flight gear and walked up to the flight deck where 503 sat among the other A-6's in "Truder-park" which was the designated slice of flight deck you'd park all the active Intruders for the day's flying. As the Skipper instructed, Dad and Andy quized each other silly with NATOPS emergency questions...
"Loss of compass." Dad asked Andy as they came out of the Island.
"Open the canopy and piss into the wind." Andy replied smirking.
"Seriously Andy?" Dad snorted.
"Secondary compass and spindle compass on the canopy frame to back up the information from the radar and Navigation computer." Andy replied. "Need to untighten your ass again. My turn...aft temperature light illumination, cause?"
"Leak in the bleed air duct." Dad replied as they neared 503.
"Leading to what failure?" Andy pressed.
"Electrical, Hydraulic and electronic failures in the aft tail section." Dad replied..
"Isolate the air conditioning system. Deploy the RAM turbine. Land ASAP. If under combat? Pickle everything but one fuel store tank if you have one and EGRES out ASAP." Dad replied.
Andy tapped his helmet. "See? You and I we gel."
Airman Sandy Boyard met Dad and Andy and took their flight bags. "Morning Mister Sterling...Mister Mercado."
"Morning Sandy." Dad replied as he started walking around the plane. "What's the skinny?"
"You have full main bags, full wings and a full centerline tank for 18K of gas. No big gripes, everything's set." Sandy replied.
"Good man." Dad stopped to look back at the tail and frowned..."Sandy? Dd you go out on the tail and pull the sock off the pitot tube?"
Sandy replied. "Yes I did Sir."
"Haven't I warned you before about doing that? One slip and you'll be swimming. Next time you have the plane pulled over the deck or I might just report you for disobeying an order." Dad said sternly. The Intruder had a long tail which on the ship, stuck out precariously over the water. There was this probe that stuck out of the vertical stabilizer called the air speed indicator probe or "pee-tow" in French. I wonder if that mean's "heated dick" or something stupid only French people come up with. Any way...a red safety cover was usually slipped over the probe on deck to keep out debris and salt and many a plane captain took their chances walking out on that tail to pull the flag off. One slip of course and you were going swimming which wasn't exactly a fun activity. Sandy looked like a whipped puppy when Dad turned back to him...
"Buck up Sandy...I only say that because you're a good man and you're not good for shark food. Sharks deserve shit, not quality meat." Dad said.
"Actually he really wanted to say your skinny ass isn't desired." Andy snickered.
Sandy put the flight bags in their place and watched Andy and Dad scale the boarding ladders and get into the plane as the Air Boss called over the flight deck communications system...
"Now hear this! Let's get everything ready for the first launch of the day! Crews man your planes. Flight deck crews check your safety gear, your shoes, your headgear. Sweep your bodies and the deck for FOD (foreign objects) "Cat" crews do your final inspections and test fire the bow cats. Let's spin em up! Flight Deck officer, the show is yours!"
Andy looked across at 505 with LT John Casserotti / LT Garrett Burgess and tapped his helmet..."Garrett? You guys will be on us right?"
"Yeah..." Garrett replied. "Just so you know? Five's Navaid system is being a quirky little bitch. Likes to drop so I might defer to your time skills. Do you do all that in your head?"
"It's a curse." Andy replied. "My dad's a bookie for the Columbo crime family."
Dad patted Andy as Sandy started to hook up the external starter tractor. "Here we go. Cranking left engine."
"Starting alignment procedures." Andy replied as he went through the buttons, switches and dials to "tie" the Intruder to the ship and a satellite. "Platform selector switch to standby position, compass switch to "mag", MA1 Switch to frequency acquire..."
Now-a-days...GPS (Global Position System) is so easy. You don't have to do hands on setting like they did. For 25 minutes the Intruder was "tied" or "mated" to a monster on-board computer on the Columbia which had to search for a satellite to "hook" too in order to tie ship to shore and ship to plane and plane to ship so the Intruder could navigate and keep track of the carrier or "Home Plate" as it sailed around the ocean. The system was vital when the whole fleet was in a condition of security where radio's were limited and pilots had no signals or TACAN to follow back to their ship.
It took twenty minutes for the whole system to become "Symbiotic" and you could loose it suddenly or have someone prematurely cut it off by pulling the yellow cable that ran from the Intruder to a "bank" along the flight deck catwalk...which is why Sandy was standing below in front of the cable hook up like a little attack dog on a mission. Just for fun, Dad waved a milk bone at Sandy's face and the airman gave him the finger back. By this time, the entire flight deck was full of noise from jets in various stages of starting or taxing up to the bow.
Andy waved at Dad and gave him the "pull cable" signal showing that 503 was now "mated" with the ship. Andy pulled the cable from the plane panel, secured it and threw up the pilot boarding ladder before tapping his head and turning the Intruder over to a yellow shirt plane handler. Sandy and two blue shirts then ran under 503 and pulled the remaining tie down chains from the landing gear.
"Ram three...FDC (Flight Deck Control) you are clear for taxi to the bow." The radio cracked.
"FDC...Ram three...roger." Dad replied. As he slowly began to roll the Intruder out of her parking spot. The Columbia's forward bow cats were into their work throwing jets skyward...one plane every four minutes or so depending on if they had to be briddled to the catapult with a thick cable or they had nose launch bars which would engage the shuttle.
There's two different types of catapult systems in a naval service. The oldest and most reliable is the steam powered cannon shuttle where you build up thousands of pounds of high pressure steam behind a breech and then let it out all at once in a surge behind what's basically a steel bullet with the plane attached to it.
The steam powered cat is a brutal monster. Hard on planes and ships yet less prone to failure and you don't want a failed catapult shot. You have that with a veritech and its' not an issue, if Dad had a failure...it was punch out or ride the plane into the water and then have the big carrier run over you. Not fun.
The second system is the MAGLEV or Magnetic Levitation system which is what the SDF-1 had. Even though MAGLEV is a more forgiving system for planes, it's more prone to mistakes and failures and it's a complex system you actually need college degrees to keep it up...maintenance wise. Which is why Doctor Lang never seems to sleep. Then again if you've ever seen that guy's eyes? You wonder if he ever sleeps.
An F-4 Phantom flew down the deck and went airborne as the Jet Blast Deflector (JBD) panels dropped on the left forward catapult and dad rolled his Intruder towards the start of the track at the signals of the yellow shirt who stood with the "Cat track between his feet as the shuttle passed under him and stopped at the starting end of the 300 foot steam cannon.
Launching a combat jet from a "Cat" begins with a blue shirt running up with what's called the "Weight Dial board" which is a spinning number board displaying the reported take off weight of the plane now approaching the track. Dad would read the number and reply with a thumb up or down to show the number was accurate. Now the blue shirt turns and holds the number to the Catapult communication box between the bow tracks.
From the "Com box" the verified weight is reported below decks to the main catapult setting room where they perform a quick calculation and set the catapult to a pressure setting accounting for the aircraft weight and a ten percent "fudge factor" which assures that when fired, the catapult will throw the aircraft at the required end speed to go airborne. They set the cat, pull on an arming actuator (Akin to pulling back the slide on a pistol) and report back to the comm box that the catapult is primed and armed.
Meanwhile, Dad's Intruder has been hooked up to the cat at the front by his nose gear launch bar dropping into the mouth of the catapult shuttle. Behind the nose gear, a hold back bar has been attached to keep the Intruder locked into the shuttle by a steel alloy dumb bell shaped piece set between the Nose gear and the hold back. In case the catapult fails to fire properly, it's hoped that the dumb bell piece will hold long enough before breaking for the crew to jump out before their plane is pulled to a plunge at the end of the cat stroke.
With the Intruder now tied to the catapult shuttle, one final check is ordered by the flight deck catapult officer as he waves an arm around in the air and orders Dad to "Throw and dance the plane" by moving the flight controls around and indeed the Intruder shakes and dances as squadron troubleshooters dressed in white shirts with black checker board designs look for problems.
When everything looks good, the troubleshooters throw their thumbs up and the Cat Officer gives Dad an all fingers up with an upraised hand telling him to go full power on the Intruder's engines. One last time to run around the yard and make sure everything checks out. Dad locks the throttles to the end stop and pulls up the strut lock leaver to lock the nose strut in place and prevent it from flexing during the violence that was about to come upon 503 and her crew.
Everything was set. Dad turned to the Cat officer, saluted and pushed his body and head back into the ejection seat as the cat officer went "around the horn" checking the plane and the launch track one more time for readiness and safety before he saluted dad, dropped to deck then rose back into a sharp cracking gesture with arm strait out and hand pointing down to the end of the bow.
In the catwalk, an enlisted man pushed the red fire button on the catapult control which opened the large launching valve at the rear of the steam gun, surging a huge amount of pent up steam pressure all at once behind two long "bullets" as you might call the cylinders which ran down the length of the steam cannon. Within a tenth of a second, the pressure snapped the restraining steel piece on the hold-back bar and the Intruder shot forwards from zero to 225 Miles Per hour...in less than 20 feet!
"You don't do that with a normal plane." Dad told me once. "It's like being shot out of Red Rider BB Gun; any normal plane would fall apart under that kind of sudden shock. MAGLEV's not like that, then again a Veritech is not an A-6 Intruder, you don't need that kind of violence to get airborne and most of the time we'll just switch to Valkyrie and leave like that from a ship.
So it takes less than 2.5 seconds for the Intruder to travel the 300 foot track and go airborne and for a second the plane's control surfaces have to adjust to suddenly being airborne so Dad and Andy would feel this sudden weightless drop as if the Intruder was going to go swimming. Then it trims out and they finally climbed away.
"After a while? You just go "eh, what ever." and continue with business." The fun subsides and routine sets in. Then again, routine can kill. Dad told me once about a Phantom that had the unfortunate end of having a tool left inside the fuselage on a cat shot. Everything was working...until the cat fired and the gravital force threw the tool into the flight controls for the horizontal stabs, the elevators that control nose pitch. Locked in ascent position...the Phantom pitched up violently as it left the ship, flipped onto it's back in the air and slammed into the water where it was promptly run over by the carrier. The crew never made it out.
After ten minutes at 15,000 feet over the Pacific, LT John Casserotti LT Garrett Burgess in 505 came gliding up next to Dad on his left wing and they went through a few navigation challenges to evaluate their systems and their performance...
"Boy this thing is being a bitch on the rag." Burgess called to Andy. "The Magnetic Variance Indication (MVI) keeps phasing in and out."
"Select Norm on the PAL-NOM dial and positive on the GY-NAV." Andy replied.
"Better to have it act up now than over the beach in Nam." Dad said in his radio. "They just had to assign you guys with the cunt of the squadron. They should send it back to Grumman so they can replace the wiring."
"The wonders of modern technology." John snickered. "That's why we have maps that are obsolete. I'd do better with a sextant."
Just for laughs...Andy reached into his bag and whipped out just that thing. An old fashioned navigational sextant.
"Where the heck did you find that?" Garrett asked.
"Bought it at a store in Seattle. I told them I was actually going to use it." Andy said as he played with the instrument. "Sometimes you can't replace good old fashioned accuracy. It's good to have back-ups to all our back-ups you know."
Garrett sounded a little happier. "Where do you get these tricks Andy? Now the system works fine.
"Experimentation." Andy replied. "Showing resourcefulness is a requirement for NASA."
Dad replied. "It's the only way Andy will get laid."
"Fuck you?" Andy replied snorting.
"Right now?" Dad replied. "Only Astronauts seem to be getting laid. People are getting a little short with guys in uniform back home."
Dad's radio cracked. "Ram Three,...Ram Five...home plate. You may return and enter into the touch and go pattern. Enter holding pattern at 5,000 feet, ten miles out."
Dad replied. "Home plate...Ram Three roger pattern and distance."
Andy set the navigation markers and pointed to the DIANE display on Dad's side. "Course markers set boss."
Dad turned the Intruder towards the indicator on his DIANE and flipped the auto pilot switch. "NASA huh? Not a bad career move."
"Space is where things are going to happen eventually boss. Can't stay here on Earth forever." Andy replied.
"Of course...we must expand our horizons to other planets so we can exploit their natural resources and rape their women like rapacious cavalrymen." Dad snickered.
"To boldly go where no man has gone before." Andy giggled. "Space Subic Bay."
"Star Trek." Dad snickered. "Ever notice how everyone dresses on that show like people in Piccadilly circus in mini-skirts? Someday women are going to get sick and tired of being oogled like sex objects and men are going to be in big trouble."
"Like you're one to talk?" Andy snorted. "How many times have you embellished the story of how you and Cindy Met? Now there's this water fountain in a public park? Sheesh boss...if you're going to create a porking story? At least make it believable?"
I won't go into that story. Even I think Dad at times was a brilliant bull shit artist. Mom's face is enough to prove it was a ghastly made up lie...then again my mother also has a good poker face.
Dad and Andy went through three cycles of launches and landings before finally parking on the bow and heading off the flight deck for something to eat at the officer's mess before they rested for the night evolution. They joined a table with John and Garrett and Lieutenants Nate Marsden and Terry Wise. Wise was in a foul mood over the latest ship's news print out...
"Representatives of Hanoi returned our latest proposal for peace in a plain brown envelope." Wise read. It was Lyndon Johnson's explanation for the latest failure of attempts to convince the North Vietnamese to stop trying to overthrow the South...
"Of course they returned it ass hole." Wise snorted.
"Gentlemen? Senator Wise has the floor." John Casserotti said smiling.
"Well hell man...damn I wish JFK didn't get assassinated." Wise snapped. "You know Johnson had something to do with it."
"Not our concern." John replied. "We do what we're ordered to do and not for old Lyndon. Besides...I don't see him getting re-elected. We should talk about more important things like my Yankees."
"Fuck the Yankees." Nate snickered. "Mafia humping cheats."
"Awww...is the wittle wed Socker all pissed off?" John snickered back. "Maybe if they weren't from "Bah-Stan" they wouldn't choke so hard on our Kielbasa."
"If we're not fighting the Vietnamese? We're fighting each other." Garrett said as he played with his French fries. "Wise does have a thought though...I mean, who would benefit from Kennedy getting whacked? The Russians and the communists wouldn't have done it. Johnson? Most of the military support bases and technologies are in Texas. A four year war would be a load of financial benefit."
"Speak of financial benefit?" Wise asked. "How does combat and hazardous duty pay work when we get there?"
John Casserotti waved a hand. "Combat kicks in only when you're on a mission run. Hazardous only comes about when the ship itself is in threat. The Oriskany and Forrestal guys got hazardous because of their fires."
"How did the Forrestal happen?" Dad asked. The Forrestal only happened two weeks before the Columbia deployed. The fire and explosions that ravaged the "Stall" were the worst disaster on a single American warship since World War II. It would later be found that a static short caused a rocket pod on an F-4 parked on the flight deck to shoot off and strike other parked planes...all of which were fully loaded with fuel and bombs for an air strike.
As a consequence...Columbia wasn't going to take chances. Anytime a plane was going to be loaded with rockets? It would be parked in the far corner of the flight deck by itself. It also didn't help that the Navy was trying to empty all its store houses of old World War II bombs. The "Stall" was loaded with these fragile, unprotected weapons which were vulnerable to fire and prone to explode without much of a bump. There are so many ways a pilot can "buy the farm" in the military. You're more likely to die in your own plane than in your car after a day of work, that's how dangerous things can get.
August 20, 1967
USS Columbia passing Hawaii.
Dear Cin,
We've settled into our daily routines now of flying and doing other duties around the ship. We are without a doubt running full speed to get on station off Vietnam as soon as possible. I hope you and little Keith are doing alright, I know how stressful this must be, this first time I'll be away from you has its' weight on me as much as you, believe me. Try not to let the news fill you with worry, I've got Andy by my side so what could go wrong? Be sure to remind Keith to say his prayers at night.
It shouldn't last long, only the separation from you makes it go so slow. Keep up your spirits, I'm thinking of you and Keith every day.
With love,hubs.
Letters from deployments were short and simple, especially in transit or when the cruises really didn't have excitement built into them like a lazy six month'r in the Indian Ocean. Then again because of military duty and the responsibility you had to your fellow crewmen, you didn't say much outside the standard "Hello, love you, hugs you, kiss you, bye." sort of reminders. There was the constant fear that the mailman was a secret KGB agent you know.
On this day, Dad wasn't flying. He and Andy were going down to the Operations planning room where some of the pilots who'd flown previous missions over Vietnam were going to give the down and dirty brief about how things worked "in country" as far as how assignments were handled, missions were planned and flown and how much of a stupid soup sandwich the whole "war" had become. Dad and Andy walked into a full house where they had folded up the tables and chairs and put them to the walls to get more room. John Mackee was one of the pilots involved in the brief and he was busy laying huge maps on the floor (deck) of the room (space). Some of the pilots were from various squadrons and their specialty aircraft like Phantoms and Skyhawks.
"Ok...adjust yourselves gentlemen and try to let people see from where they are." John Mackee said as he waved a hand and held a pointer stick. "So I'm Lieutenant John Mackee from VA-6, one of the guys who's flown more than 50 missions over Vietnam. I'm one of those who's going to give you newbies your indoc into the South East Asian Disney land attraction "Vietnam, the experience"
"Where Minnie's an enemy prostitute in Saigon and Micky's a coolie on the Ho Che Minh Trail?" One Marine from the Shepherds yelped.
John continued as he pointed to a map..."So for the geographically ignorant? North Vietnam, South Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Burma. This is all Southeast Asia. North Vietnam, the communists, are trying to take over South Vietnam...chuckle...a Democracy. Laos is fighting the Communist Pat Tet Lau gorillas. Cambodia is fighting the Khumer Ruge Gorillas who are also threatening Thailand because of its' Khumer minority. Like I said...interesting brew of coffee here."
"Our business of course is Vietnam. We've been at this since oh 1957 and before us was the French and before them the Japanese and before them the French and before them the Chinese. We are not dealing with sand lot ball players, the Vietnamese are so fearless even China won't invade them. Mao Tse Tong once said..."A Japanese will bayonet you. A Vietnamese will tunnel under you and cut your balls off. At least the Japanese is a little bit humane. Don't go with all the racist crap beign slung by most grunts in Nam. These are not "Dinks", "Gooks", "Gomers" , "Rodgers", "Monkeys", or "slopes" these are Vietname and they have been fighting war since before Christ so give them your due respect.
"Down south of the DMZ between North and South Vietnam, it's all out warfare. Our principle tasking is ground support and contradiction, especially along the Ho Che Minh trail which runs from North Vietnam into the Laotian and Cambodian Eastern borders and into the Mekong Delta plain North of Saigon. For the Shepherds? This is your primary responsibility which is backed up by the Battle group commander...fuck the U.S. Air Force. And their Gaul for thinking they control the Marines. Marines support Marines, end of story there."
"For the rest of us attack guys, we have all of South Vietnam and Eastern Laos and Cambodia. North Vietnam? Pain in the ass."
John pulled back the map to show another map below...
Route pack assignments in Vietnam (1967)
John pointed around the map. "Here's the so called "Route Pack area assignments"" in North Vietnam that were supposed to "de-conflict" between the services...Yeah...works fantastic. Everyone say..."Bull shit!"
The officers replied. The way the war was being managed over North Vietnam in 1967, you wonder why the North Vietnamese didn't invade South Vietnam sooner before American air power got organized.
John continued. "Marines? You have number 1. Navy...5 and 6 Alpha. See the bulls eyes over Hanoi and Haiphong? We can't touch there unless approved by higher authority...I mean...the cock suckers who sit at their desks in Washington drinking 500 dollar martinis and throwing darts at pictures. It's about like that. Of course...Uncle Ho could give a fuck and thanks us for the protection we offer so he can get bullets and missiles and chuck them at us."
"Now...outside these areas we have the Alpha target list which is scrutinized by trained chimps at "Hah-Vad" as having the best impact on Vietnamese thinking. The purpose being? To communicate to the North our expressed request that they stop fucking around with the peaceful people of South Vietnam. Shake your heads if you think this is working?"
Most of the officers shook their heads no.
"Keep in mind everyone? Ours is not to question policy and leadership, ours is to do the best with what we have with what we've been "advised". Thankfully? Our leaders don't get "for life" positions. The people can replace them. Until then? We're fighting for our guys on the ground in the mud; that's our concern and contribution. With that I turn this over to Lieutenant Commander Long the Ram Operations Officer."
Marvin walked to the center of the ring of pilot and pulled the map away to show the next one...
"Gentlemen...this is the porcupine aka Han Noi, the Capital of the Democratic (laughter) People's Republic of Vietnam. This is the most...the most heavily defended piece of real estate in the world, there are more guns and missiles per each square football field sized chunk of dirt here than the Germans had guns over Berlin. They grow Surface to Air missiles here like broccoli. They have guns across the calibers from small arms to 120 millimeter cannons. They possess both radar and non-radar raged weapons. The principle SAM is the Soviet SA-2 Guideline which is cheep to produce but deadly as hell. No doubt the Intruder drivers head about Charlie Hunter's one plane show by now? He and his B/N weren't joking unless you need to see a picture of their plane when it came back to the Connie?"
Pilots were looking at each other as Marvin changed the map..."Han Noi...Hi Phong. The inner defenses are stiff but don't count out the out lying villages and towns, they're being brought up to speed thanks to President Johnson's lack of nuts. The Vietnamese run their air force out of bases in China and close to the ChiCom/Viet boarder where we can't fly without risking an international incident. The Vietnamese People's Air Force runs MIG 17's, MIG 19's and MIG 21's and don't knock the MIG's, they might be simple but they're fast turning, fast climbing and nimble little bullets. They'll give you pleasure if you like airborne fighter jock sex."
Lieutenant Danny Doherty, a Ram B/N, leaned over to Andy..."Can we outfly MIG's?"
"If we're slick? (Nothing on the stations) yeah. I'd like to see a MIG 19 try to hug low level with us. That might be fun." Andy replied.
Marvin finshed his portion of the brief and handed the pointer to the Ram's X.O. Lieutenant Commander Oliver Goodale. "So two worst environments...going low and dealing with the guns or go high and deal with the SAMs. For those of us flying the Intruder, not so much a problem because of all the cool tronics Grumman packed into our ugly ass airplane. Both the Sheps and the Rams are due to get their first "B" model intruders when we in chop to Dixie Station. The "B" will give us SAM kill capability and I may add it will be better than the Air Force Thunderchiefs' (F-105) and their "Wild Weasels"." Oliver chuckled. "Wild Weasel"...sounds like a sex act a hooker in Subic would perform if you ask me."
The officers laughed.
"I didn't say it was funny did I gentlemen?" Oliver snorted. "And while on the subject of hookers in Subic? When we visit "happy go fun land" don't go blabbing about your job, your ship, your missions or your planes. The world's "oldest profession" is also a professional tid bit pot for the KGB and every other ass hole in the world wide communist union. The hookers know our deployment schedules better than the enemy."
"So what about the SA-2 or what we call "Ma Bell" because its' a flying telephone pole that reaches out to dead letter your ass. Well the Intruders have the best Electronic Countermeasures System in the Navy other than the A3-D Skywarriors and the A-5 Vigies. The rest of you? The A-4 and F-4 have low grade ECM and the "Buzbee Birdwells" the annoying aural alarms that detect missile guidance radar and missile conical scans. The best way to take on a Guideline is nose on nose then hard jinking turns in combination with punching chaff."
Note: Chaff was invented during World War II. Basically a cloud of aluminum strips thrown by a plane to fool a missile to chase a much larger and juicer target.
Oliver continued. "The Vietnamese you'll find have magnificent fire discipline, they don't shoot wildly because they have so little stuff available even with the donations from Uncle Mao and Cousin Joey. When they chose a target for SAM's they will often barrage on that one plane and don't think they're looking to hit. They want you to go low so their guns can chew you up, which is how most of our guys are ending up in the Hanoi Hilton."
"If you go low to avoid SAM's then you better shake your ass, you better be full throttle and throwing that plane around like a slalom skier because everyone with a rock or a gun wants your ass. A lucky peasant farmer outside Han Noi will make 20 grand for taking down an American plane so you can bet every kid rock slinger with a hard on will be looking for you.?"
Oliver looked around. "That's it for this little briefing. Now if you guys want to hang and ask questions? Fantastic...you can't learn enough. The more you soak in? The better your chances of going home. That's all."
As the briefing broke up. Dad and Andy walked over to Marvin Long. "So Marvin? You said that most of Hanoi is off limits save whatever is requested by higher authority? What big targets are in town?" Dad asked.
Marvin walked over to the stack of maps and pulled out the Hanoi map...
"Thank the men of great wisdom at D.C. who have made the Vietnamese job easier. There are two big targets that have been the off and on again pains in the ass for us in terms of little gain for a lot of pain. There's the Tong Ha bridge here and to the North the Paul Domer bridge."
The Paul Domer bridge over the "Red River" in Hanoi (1967)
Both bridges were built by the French in the late 1800's and both of them are like battleships. We've thrown up to 1000 pound bombs and some Bull Pup missiles at the spans and they won't go down. Add to that? The Vietnamese have parked enough guns and SAM's around them to make a walkway. These bridges are vital to Hanoi feeding its' forces with good quality gear and maintaining the flow of SAM's they're spreading all over the North; which is why the Air Force has been most active against them. Other than those two? There's not much else significant we could bomb that would change the progress of the war."
Andy asked. "Where's the Hanoi Hilton at?"
Marvin pointed down. "Building number 196...Pho Noi Prison.. Right now they have around 18 pilots that we know of, of the total numbers that have been shot down since a vacation spot any of us would want to find ourselves in so do your best not to get shot down over Hanoi."
Andy turned to Dad and sighed..."Puts that in plain English huh?"
"You will try extra hard not to get us shot down right?" Dad asked Andy.
"Your vote of confidence is so reassuring boss." Andy replied with a snort.
August 23, 1967
USS Columbia 2nd launch cycle
"Thump!" The jolt of the catapult end cycle shook the plane and 514 was climbing away and in a gradual right hand turn up to 20,000 feet. Today Dad and Andry drew the very mundane and very boring job of "Texico" in a KA-6D tanker. The "Kang-roo" was an A-6 stripped of all the bomber equipment and carried a hose and nylon drogue net or "shuttle-cock" in a mechanical spool assembly mounted to the electronic service hatch or "Bird cage" assembly under the plane's tail. The KA-6D carried 24,000 pounds of JP-5 jet fuel both for itself and for other airplanes; it's five weapons stations carrying five 3,000 pound fuel tanks. With 9,000 expected to be burned over 2 hours worth of flying, the KA-6B could provide 15,000 pounds of fuel to needy jets...usually fighters because the F-4 was a water hog on even normal days.
Once Andy set the navigation computer, he didn't have anything else to do until someone showed up needing gas so he did what station attendants do, pulled out a paperback book and sat reading it intently...
"The Outsiders?" Dad asked him. "Sheesh, I read that in high school."
"It's actually not a bad read." Andy replied as he turned a page. 'Glide path, Minimal Altitude. What's the presentation on the pilot's VDI screen?" Andy asked a NATOPS question...
Sky, ground with no road presentation on the ground side, centered reference marker and centered "pip" fall.
"Right" Andy replied as he kept reading his book.
"My turn." Dad replied. "The letter "S" in the NOMATS codex?"
"Static Air Pressure" Andy replied. "I need more complex questions...like some math problems."
"I'll have to write those out." Dad replied. "Hang fire on weapons station two. Six Mark 82 Bombs, selected 3 of six, three fail to fire. What do you do?"
Andy replied. "Select single, acquire and drop. If the single drops then its' a series selection problem between the computer and the station bus. EGRES out, pop and re-set breakers, re-select multiple, INGRES and attempt to drop again. If it fails, you've lost multiple selection. Complete selection failure? Punch loads and go home."
The radio cracked. "Ram Texico, Home Plate. About one five Mike you should have two phantoms from Six Guns with a request. Both need 2K (2,000 pounds) top off for landing cycle."
Dad replied. "Home Plate. Ram Texico. Total 4K for 2 Phantoms roger. Currently holding two, three, three, zero, zero bringing us to 19K over?"
"Affirm Texico." The Columbia's Air Control replied. "Sixgun Two, Sixgun Seven. Meet up with Texico at 20K feet at fifteen miles course 290."
Dad heard the Phantom drivers reply and set his tanker to fly slow under 230 knots so Andy could spool out the hose and drogue assembly.
"4K entered in an ready boss. We'll have 3K to give out after that for another ninty minutes." Andy said to Dad.
"Roger." Dad said as he set his auto pilot to fly the KA-6D on a large slow racetrack circle in the sky as the first Phantom came slowly up from below...
"Texico, Sixgun two. Gooood morning. Lieutenant Commander Barlow at your service." The Phantom pilot said.
"El Cad-ar, Lieutenant Sterling at your pleasure with 2,000 pounds of gas. Your windows look dirty and your covered in oil, I think you need to scold your Plane Captain more often." Dad replied. "Where's your wing man?""
"Behind you and about 75 feet below the basket. He's first for a top off, Lieutenant Greer." Sixgun two replied.
It must really have sucked to pull tanking duty. Now-a-days we have drones that do it and they can get close to combat areas because they have no crew to risk. Some would have thought drones would have taken over after they performed so well in the Unification Wars; however...some one probably complained about all the pilots having heart attacks and strokes from their non-plane flying lazy lives. No seriously, the drone age killed more people from hardened arteries and "fat ass-ee-yah" disease than anything else. Hence why there are no Veritech drones. Plus it might not have been due to so many "autonomous" drones blowing up their own stuff...at least that's the running rumors.
"Set him up Andy." Dad said as he switched his radio to Sixgun Two's wingman. "This is Texico. Speed Two Three Zero in a five degree port bank. Approach when ready."
"Texico this is Sixgun four coming up low and slow...contact in...three...two...one..."
Andy saw the drogue contact light come on and replied. "Contact. Transferring 2K now. Five minutes."
Dad looked over at the other Phantom. "Hey El-Ca-dar? You ever been up North in Vietnam?"
"Yeah...twice with VF-161 off the Midway in 66. I was with Mugs McCune when he downed the first MIG out of Kep airfield." The phantom pilot replied.
"Is it as bad as they say? Anti-aircraft wise?" Dad asked.
"For the Scooter drivers (A-4 Skyhawks) it's a nightmare. You Intruder drivers shouldn't have that much of a problem...if they use you guys right." Barlow replied.
"Very little chance of that unless it's poor weather in the day time. From what I read, they use the Intruders around the clock when we're better off at night." Dad said as he looked over at Andy to see him shutting off the fuel flow and signaling with the drogue lights for the other Phantom to detach from the shuttle-cock.
"Thank you Texico. Sixgun four is out and down to port." Dad saw the Phantom veering away on his side as Barlow's plane began to slip down and towards the drogue.
"Texico this is Sixgun Two coming up low and slow...contact in...three...two...one..."
Andy saw the drogue contact light come on and replied. "Contact. Transferring 2K now. Five minutes."
"Hey Barlow?" Dad asked. "My B/N needs to find a female companion and I stress "Female" tell him what Saigon is like."
"The girls in Saigon look like they were pulled out of a classical Asian art print. No doubt they are the most beautiful women in the world...and...half of them are Viet Cong." Barlow replied. "Fight by day...fuck by night."
Andy shook his head. "Seriously?"
"No joke man." Barlow replied. "They're all Viet Cong till they climax. Mostly? They skillfully employ razors in their snatch to chop your cock off."
"Fuck!" Andy yelped.
"That is no joke dude, seriously as hell." Barlow replied. "Better sweep the battle space before you fire the heat seaker."
Dad was laughing his ass off. "Barlow? You're going to traumatize my B/N!"
"Mission successful...fuck!" Andy yelped. "I think my dick went into retraction mode here."
"Relax man." Barlow said. "Actually Saigon is a mainland fun town, the women aren't that bad. Take my advice and do your hunting away from the red lights, like around the University of Saigon? At least the whores have Doctorates in theology. They can bore you to death while they screw you."
Andy switched off the fuel. "And with that class in Asian sex education complete? You may retire professor "Horn Dog"."
"Thank you Texico. Sixgun Two is out and down to port." Dad saw the Phantom veering away on his side and waggled his wigs at Barlow and got a waggle back.
"We should hang with that guy if we port visit Saigon. What do you think?" Dad asked Andy.
"I think I should find out if they have steel vest for dicks." Andy snorted back.
August 24, 1967
VA-6 DRB (Disciplinary Review Board)
Subject: Airman Wade Sampress from Columbia Tenn.
Change: Physical and Verbal assault against one Airman Deshon Howard
Previous problems: Disrespecting a Chief Petty Officer and Hygiene issues
Dad hated DRB...then again most officers rarely enjoy similar hearings, I sure don't like them when I have to be involved. Mirya doesn't seem to have that problem in her division, then again Zentradi are not known for taking hooliganism lightly.
In Dad's case, a DRB was like the last prevention step before you sent someone up to the Executive Officer and the Commanding Officer which can seriously mess up a person's place in a command or their life. Officers hate these boards because in some way it will reflect back upon them as leaders which in my mind isn't fair because you can't control a person all the time...Commander Hunter! Now there is a DRB king for you, and somehow Rick always drags me and Ben along for the ride...not that we don't tag along with him as some way of preventing his excursions from becoming disasters. I refuse to talk about the jeep full of beer, that never happened thank you!
So at this DRB sat Dad who was the division officer, Chief Magkasi the leading chief of the division, Master Chief Earl Block, the Squadron's senior enlisted man and three wittnesses to Wade Sampress's latest act of stupidity. And it all started...over a stupid wheel chock left in the wrong place.
So Master Chief Block calls in Sampress before the table set up for the board and both Dad and Chief Magkasi in turn inspect his uniform and appearance, which to their shock was pretty good in order. Sampress was not well known for both hygiene or a well kept uniform. He got so bad at one point that some of the crew threw him a "blanket party" which pretty much involved getting his ass beat in his rack then dragged to a shower to get "force scrubbed" with bristle brushes. Back in Dad's day, you handled bad apples with fists and gang beatings not sugar and weakling shit like these days where if you even waved to a female aboard a ship? It might get you kicked out of the service as a sex harasser.
Case in point? We were conducting emergency drills and after which the crew was going to partake in a "pizza evening". Well Mirya's division leading enlisted man wanted to carry training over just another 15 minutes for extra emphasis and this female starts bitching at him, going on how she's going to miss "Pizza Evening" and that the extra training was against regulations and how she was going to report him and all this stupid crap. Well she didn't count on Mirya overhearing her bitching.
Mirya walked up, snatched the girl and almost jacked her off her feet..."You will shut up and perform the required training. You may never know if this will save your life but I promise you if you continue this bull shit of yours? I personally will be the first person that of shit does go down and you die? I personally will shove your fucken ass in a damned body bag! Do you understand me?!"
Well...sed now wet in the panties female ran to the "H.R." and filed a complaint, which Captain Global had to respond too. He gave Mirya a gentle reminder that we were a "kinder and gentler" military than the Zentradi and thus...we had to give place to being sensitive to the emotional needs of our people. He then asked her that next time she shouldn't jack a person off the ground unless she was able to score net points with their stupid ass.
Back in Dad's day, there had to be harsh discipline without giving overtly too much respect to any one person nor any group of people from some sort of "social status" a military is not a social club, this isn't the co-ed scouts, this isn't YMCA camp, it's an organization designed to break things and kill people; that's our entire function of existence and in Dad's case you have a ship filled with 5,000 people going to a country for the express purpose of blowing shit to bits and turning people into hamburger and the whole ship has to be pointed to that mission and to be so pointed, it had to function as a single mind tuned to work as one being and anyone threatening that single being got jumped upon like a cancer and dealt with in the most harshest way possible. Hopefully you set them back to rights and at the same time send a serious message to the other 4,999 bodies around you...do not FUCK with the order of things!
So it was that Master Chief Block stood up at his chair and read through the charging sheet...
"Airman Wade Sampress...on the 22 of August 1967 at around 1600 hours in hanger bay two, you got into an altercation with one Airman Deshon Howard where you used a racist epithet and threatened to "Kill" sed Airman by waving a wretch in your hand. Is that true? And please don't try lying to me son because I absolutely kill liars."
Sampress replied. "He pushed me off my feet and into an aircraft main gear Master Chief. The plane was up on jacks."
Master Chief Block looked at Dashon Howard. "Is this true Airman Howard?"
"The airplane was on jacks Master Chief. But I didn't push Airman Sampress. I tripped over some rubber tire chalks that were left lying on the hanger floor and fell into Airman Sampress. I said I was sorry."
Dad caught Sampress cocking his eyes away and up and stood at his chair giving the table a light pounding with his hands. "Mister Sampress? You have a problem with your eyes?"
"No Sir." Sampress replied.
"I'm sorry...Your little attitude display must have been my imagination? Do it again Mister and see what happens."
(Writers note: This is based on an actual Navy DRB)
Master Chief Block turned back to Sampress..."You have a problem with that explanation?"
"It wasn't my fault the chocks were in the way Master Chief." Sampress snorted.
"No one is accusing you of leaving them there Airman." The Master Chief replied. "You were working on that plane at the time of the incident correct?"
Sampress replied. "I was applying sealant to the bolt holes for the armor panels on the wings Master Chief."
"So...is Airman Howard lying about his description?" The Master Chief asked.
"He called me a no good Honkie." Sampress snapped.
"I called you that after you called me a fucken NIGGER!" Howard snapped back.
The Master Chief snarled..."Both of you at attention...NOW!" and both enlisted men turned into statues.
"Petty Officer Harvin from VA-187 (One of the A-4 squadrons on the ship) what did you see? You were working on a Skyhawk closest to the altercation.
Kevin Harvin stood up. "Master Chief...I saw Airman Howard trip over the chocks and land against Airman Sampress. Airman Howard started to say something which I only caught "Damn it...you stupid idiot." Then Airman Sampress recovered from landing against the landing gear of the plane and called Airman Howard a "Dumb fucken nigger" Then Airman Howard said "Fuck you, you stupid honky mother fucker." Then Airman Sampress grabbed a wrench and threatened to beat Airman Howard into a pile of bloody nigger meat and that's when I stepped in to dis-arm Airman Sampress."
The Master Chief turned to Howard. "Did you truly say sorry mister Howard?"
"No Master Chief." Howard replied. "I thought Airman Sampress had left the wheel chocks out on the deck."
The Master Chief turned to Sampress. "Did he call you a Honky before you called him a nigger?"
Sampress gave another quick eye pop and Dad tore into him..."You disrespectful little shit! You want to do that eye roll bull shit to my fucken face!" Dad stormed from his seat and got eyes to eyes with Sampress..."Do it again you little fuck! Move those fucken eyeballs up again! You are this close...this fucken close to a bad chicken dinner (Bad Conduct Discharge) you little fuck and I promise you? You won't get a fucken coffee let alone pump fucken gas when we kick you out on the street! You better wise your act up!"
Dad returned to his seat and brooded as the Master Chief asked Sampress again. "Did Airman Howard...call you...a honky...before you called him a nigger...Mister?"
Sampress looked like a whipped puppy..."No...Master Chief."
Master Chief Block looked around the room. "All are excused from this DRB except for myself, the DIVO, the Division Chief and Airman Sampress. As for you Airman Howard? You and I are going to have a little chat in my office when this is done...dismissed."
Dad said you could have heard a mouse chatting in that room for an eternity, that's how long the silence lasted...probably to Sampress who was by now sweating bullets or pissing himself...
Master Chief Block sat grinding his teeth..."Well Mister Sampress? I'd say you pretty much gone beyond FUBAR with this latest expression of yourself. The eye rolling didn't help you at all nor pissing off your division officer nor the lying...but...being that I am of the African persuasion...your express usage of the word "Nigger"...now that really pisses me off, not that your upbringing may or may not have had some influence in its' development but one would think that after even six months in the United States Navy you would learn that we're not thankfully like the rest of the country. We must work together, live together and get along with each other because if we can't do that then we all die...like the poor guys on the Forrestal. It seems these things did not sink with you because as you seem to forget when you get into trouble as you have? Your locker isn't your locker, your locker is the Navy's locker and when the Navy finds things in your locker that says things like "Dead Niggers" "Kill Niggers" and "Cook screaming niggers alive" well...that's that. Need I say anything more?"
Master Chief looked at Dad..."Yes...the eye rolls and the "fuck you" attitude sums it up. No...Mister Sampress...the proper term here is "Fuck...you."
Chief Magkasi was more blunt. "If you were in Subic right now? You'd be on a missing persons poster. The Nagreto people would love to boil your sorry ass."
Master Chief Block grabbed a sheet of paper from the table..."Airman Sampress. You are hearby turned over to ship's Master At Arms to await XOI, Captains Master or Courts Marshal." Two Master at Arms came into the room, read Sampress his rights, cuffed him and took him out of the room.
Dad looked like he'd been hit in the face with a hammer. "How in the hell do we get these kind of people?" He asked.
Chief Magkasi replied. "What do you want for the draft? Don't put this on yourself Sir. Usually guys like Sampress don't affect your evaluations unless you can be pinned as the cause. Some people just won't be helped no matter how hard we try. But the race problems are going to worsen."
"Don't remind me." Master Chief Block sighed..."Do you know what it's like trying to be a black man in authority trying to bounce his concerns for his people with the Navy's needs? Without my wife I am the loneliest black man in the Navy. I got other Chief's all stoked on this "black pride" and "Africa first" thing and dare me to say..."It's all well and good to love our heritage but pride and color won't put food on my family table dig?"
Dad smirked. "I always took you for a Malcolm X kind of guy Master Chief."
"They killed Malcolm, the black muslims, because he told the truth many black folks didn't want to hear. Man was more harsh on us than the white people. But you're right...the race problem is only going to get worse. We're going to have to push more effort into building a communal mindset and stomping these "race pride" ideas into the dirt. All it would take is one man to stab another on this ship and the whole powder keg will go up in our faces. I'll brief the CO and XO on it."
August 24, 1967
VA-6 Ready Room
7pm News tape and ballgame night
Dad got a bowl of chips and one of cheese dip and sat with Lieutenant Commander Darcy Benton and Lieutenant Andy Hoover as the news (days old) played on the ship's television. Now of course this is way before the internet, Facebook, Skype and all the modern (Modern? It hasn't been that long!) things we have that make news instant by the micro-second. The ship had radio but television was delayed by days or even weeks. You didn't get to watch the Super Bowl until a month later and by then so what? Oh I forget, back in 1967 you didn't have a girl from Hollywood losing her tit cover in a big time extravaganza of television porn. Back then in 1967, the Super Bowl was actually a real game with real people.
"In Ban Me Thout South Vietnam, A battalion of South Korean soldiers engaged in a fierce day long battle with Viet Cong gorillas for control of this vital town five miles East of the Hoe Che Minh trail just 60 miles North of Saigon. Backed up by air strikes from United States aircraft from Tan Su Naught airbase and B-52 bombers from Guam. The South Koreans routed a numerically stronger Viet Cong force with 65 confirmed South Korean casualties..."
Yeah...Vietnam was not an American only war. It actually had a sanction by the United Nations and drew in troops from Australia, Thailand, South Korea, Pakistan, India, Thailand, The Philippines, Singapore, Britain...all because of Communism. At least early on in the war. Most of these nations began to leave once Lyndon Johnson left office but the South Koreans and Philippinos stayed in the fight to the very end. Some of the last combat flights as the South fell in 1975 were flown by South Korean pilots. The remainder of 1967 in Vietnam looked to be intense, at least in the South. The next news report came as no shock to anyone, it had been whispered about for a month...
"In Washington, President Johnson ordered another period of limited action by American air power over North Vietnam as a gesture to compel the Communist leadership of Hanoi to come to the negotiations table to pursue an end to the hostilities and ensure the continued survival of the Saigon leadership."
"What's the definition of insanity again?" Darcy said waving a hand.
"Insanity...Lyndon, LBJ, Texan, President Johnson, LBJ the cattle fucker, The New Frontier." The people of North Vietnam thank Lyndon Bynes Johnson for the vacation from war. Fucken moron." Andy Hoover snorted. "There going to pause, re-stock their SAM's and then ring the fight bell. I mean...how many damn times can you pause the war expecting North Vietnam to suddenly play nice? They're laughing at us!"
"I think they are right now just as amazed as we are sitting here." Darcy said as he nibbled on a chip. "I mean nothing like this has ever happened in war, we didn't do this crap with the North Koreans and the Chinese in Korea did we? Stopped the offensive cold turkey to try and reason with our opponents? People like the Vietnamese who've been fighting for centuries must be beside themselves with confusion. You know that Bob McNamara says "we're speaking language with our bombs" right?"
Dad cocked his head. "What kind of silly bull shit is that?"
"That's what Bob said about the Cuban Missile Crisis. Our blockade was a new form of language. At least that's what you get from a sack of Ivy League college morons." Darcy snickered.
"Hey! I come from a long linage of Yale graduates there Darcy." Andy Hoover snapped.
"Keep in mind there Yale? You're addressing a superior officer. As for Yale? Now there's the reason for your latent homosexuality."
Hoover threw his cup of popcorn into the air and bounded over Dad's chair. "Oh fuck you and your rank you UCLA prick!"
"Shit!" Dad yelped as Darcy and Andy Hoover went at it...in his lap! "Damn it you idiots! Let me out of this!"
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!" Came the booming voice of the Skipper as he stormed from his office. "Mister Hoover! Mister Benton! What the hell?"
"I'm not part of this Skipper, I swear!" Dad exclaimed as he struggled to get free of the twisted ball of the two combatants...
"We were just...discussing the pros and cons of President Johnson's latest proposal Sir." Darcy said smiling. He made the grave mistake off pulling away enough to give Andy Hoover a good shot at his nuts with a flight boot!
"WHAM!" Hoover went for the uprights and sent Darcy sprawling to the floor!
"Lieutenant Hoover!" The skipper shouted.
"He insulted me and my family because of our Yale legacy Sir!" Hoover snorted.
The Skipper smirked. "I see..." He then took off his collar divices and gave Hoover a snicker. "Well for your information Mister Hoover? Yale is the producer of good quality transvestites and if you care to prove me wrong? You may show if you have balls to this Standford Legacy linebacker...bring it you little Yale sucking hump monkey."
Dad wisely walked out of the ready room as a coffee cup sailed by his head and smashed against the steel wall of the passaageway. Later that night, he met the Skipper... hobbling...in a passageway in officer's country...
"So did you supress Lieutenant Hoover Sir for the good of democracy?" Dad asked.
"What college did you go to Sterling?" The Skipper asked as he winced. Obviously he didn't do as well as intended against Hoover.
"Old Miss Sir." Dad replied.
"Old Miss? Sheesh the only things Ol' Miss produces is panty stealers and voyeurs. But right now I am in no mood nor condition to correct you on your gross mistake. Good night Mister Sterling." the skipper hobbled a few feet before Dad questioned him...
"Then I guess you had a set back or two with Lieutenant Hoover Sir?" Dad asked.
"Fuck you, you Ol Miss pervert. How the hell did they let sex offenders in my Navy any ways? Dismissed Mister Sterling."
"Good night Sir. Pleasant dreams." Dad said.
Kiss my ass." The Skipper replied. It wasn't always proper decorum and cleanliness aboard an aircraft carrier.:"
