Solo (16 page)

A pilot in an aircraft behind Rob’s reported that only Rob ejected, and his parachute opened, but he drifted into the fireball made by the crash of his aircraft.

An investigation found that fire had burned Rob’s parachute shroud cords, releasing him from his parachute—too high in the air for him to survive the impact.

I was asked to be Rob’s summary courts officer, meaning it would be my job to inform Rob’s family of his death, to gather his belongings together—in short, to take care of things for him.

I sent a telegram to Linda and then wrote her a letter. The officer at the morgue gave me Rob’s belongings, including his boots, which were torn at the seams from impact, and his watch, which was stopped at 4:17. The morgue officer asked me if I wanted to see Rob.

I said no.

Linda wrote me back. I remember these words from her letter: “I never before knew the meaning of despair.”

S
IX OTHER PILOTS
died in aircraft accidents at Yokota during my eighteen-month assignment, but none were friends. At least two more who were friends died in noncombat crashes within a few years. Another pilot from Yokota, Dave Grant, upgraded to the front seat, went to Vietnam, became a POW, and was released in 1973.

After Rob died, Jake Brooks said to me, “I get his radio.”

I looked at him funny.

“Oh,” he said, “you haven’t been to Vietnam, have you? I was kidding. That’s how we handled it.”

It made sense. I realized that any reaction—from me—
to Mike Tressler’s death, early on in my Japan tour, had been muted. And now with Rob’s death, a much closer friend, I’d somehow been unable, perhaps unwilling, to do anything that resembled mourning.

A
S WE FINISHED
our F-4 days in Japan, I awaited word about my new assignment. I’d be going to Southeast Asia for sure, but in what airplane?

Staying in the F-4 meant upgrading to the front seat and remaining in the Air Force two years beyond my five-year commitment, so I applied for an OV-10, mainly because of the buzz about this new little twin-engine turboprop aircraft. It looked odd but was very fast and fully aerobatic (meaning you could fly it upside down). The T-37, T-38, and F-4 had been aerobatic, and I didn’t want a step-down.

The OV-10, a tandem two-seater, a reconnaissance and “strike control” aircraft, would get me into the front seat, alone. The OV-10 backseat was used for instruction only. The mythology of the World War I and II aces, who flew alone, was still strong.

Before my last flight in the F-4, news came: OV-10 to SEA.

P
REPARING
FOR
C
OMBAT

I
CAME HOME FROM
Japan in the early spring of 1970. My schedule for the remainder of the year would be as follows: I’d spend three months, from March to May, in air-gunnery training in the T-33, an old jet trainer, at Cannon Air Force Base in Clovis, New Mexico, in preparation for three months, from June to August, checking out the OV-10 at Hurlburt Field, Fort Walton Beach, Florida. In September I’d go to the Philippines for five days of jungle-survival training, and in October I’d be assigned to Southeast Asia for a year, as a “FAC.”

FAC meant forward air controller. A FAC directed fighter-bombers against enemy ground targets. My main combat job would be to shoot a white phosphorus smoke rocket at a target and then radio information to fighter-bomber aircraft. When the rocket hit the ground, smoke billowed up from the impact, and once the smoke was sighted by fighter-bombers high overhead, my job would
be to say exactly where the target was in relation to the smoke, and then clear the bombers (give them permission) to drop bombs on the target, which might or might not be clearly visible. After the fighter-bombers left, I would visually assess the damage and report that to headquarters.

The OV-10 could also shoot high-explosive rockets and strafe with four internally mounted machine guns if necessary during a battle or rescue attempt.

In Southeast Asia we’d be stationed in South Vietnam, where the mission would be to direct bombing during ground battles between troops,
or
in Thailand, where our mission would be to direct bombing of the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos. No U.S. or South Vietnamese troops were allowed in Laos (or so I then believed), thus there would be no close air support of troops there.

As to my thoughts about the war, they were about the same as they’d been several years earlier. I realized this when I was home in 1970 and read the words of a letter I’d written from Laredo in the summer of 1967. My father had advised me
not
to go into the military. He had never been with me to an airport. He was not a pacifist, but he had little room in his life for risk. From early on he didn’t want me to play football, wanted me to stay out of deep water. He himself would not board an aircraft or a boat, nor would he drive a car in the mountains.

My mother and aunt, who wrote to me often, underlined words for humorous effect—old sayings, malapropisms, and so forth—and I’d picked up the habit.

Here’s the letter from flight training in 1967:

Well Hello,

Hope all is going well at home. I’m doing just fine.

The trip this weekend [a solo cross-country flight] was really nice. California and the Sierra Mountains, etc., were all beautiful from the air. I took a bunch of pictures and will be sending home a bunch when I get them back.

The yearbook is coming along pretty slowly right now. We’ve really got a lot of work to do before Sept. 15th. That’s when we should complete our layout to send in to the publisher. I’ve got 3 or 4 guys helping me with it.

All that food from the garden is really something—it sure sounds good.

Daddy
, it would be better to talk to you about this and maybe we can talk it over in Oct. but all I can do now is write:

I have no idea now about what my assignment will be when I get out of here in about 6 or 8 weeks. I will write down the list of airplanes I want to fly in order of preference, for example: (1) F-100, (2) F-102, (3) F-101, (4) F-4C, (5) C-130, (6) C-141. Then those in charge of assignments will give me the highest on my l        i        s        t that they can—
depending on openings.
Now of all the planes I can put down, some of each kind are being used in Viet Nam. That’s not my choice, that’s just the way it is: The Air Force is using some of just about every type of plane they have in Viet Nam. So I very well might get an airplane of a type that’s being used in Viet Nam; however, I could very easily be assigned
to Germany or England or Florida or even Virginia instead of Viet Nam. (Because not all of every type is being used in Viet Nam.)

On the phone you didn’t ask me how I felt about going to Viet Nam. I think it’s very important how I feel about it (
and I know you do
) and I’ve given it very much serious thought and heard and read about many different viewpoints. Captain Dunning spent a tour (1 year) in Viet Nam. Also there are about 5 instructors in our flight who have been and there are many other instructors on base who have been. Some missions in Viet Nam consist of carrying supplies to Army camps. Some missions consist of carrying medical supplies. Major Stricker, who is a member at Capt. Dunning’s church, flew medical supplies, food, etc., around to different villages. There are also reconnaissance missions (picture taking). Then of course there are the combat missions. Some Viet Nam tours last 1 yr. and some last 6 months and some last for 100 missions. At present, no pilot has to serve more than one tour except on rare occasions or when he volunteers.

I do not agree with everything the United States is doing in V.N. At least I don’t agree with the
way
some things are being done, but I
do
believe we should be there because I have
studied
the reasons we are there and I know the basic cause of the trouble and
very simply
stated it’s this: Those leaders who are behind the communists are determined to do everything possible to take over Viet Nam, then Thailand, then other countries in Asia, Africa, South America, Latin America, and the final goal is the U.S. That’s exactly what
they want (can and might do it) and what they are fighting for. And thanks to UNC and what I’ve read I know enough about communism to understand that it’s bad.

If I thought that this has nothing to do with me and that I should stay away from it I would stop flying tomorrow and say, “Give me another job. I don’t want to take a chance on going to Viet Nam.” And that’s exactly what they would do. They would relieve me of my flying duties, and I
would not
have to worry about
going
to Viet Nam. It’s called SIE: self-initiated elimination, and I have that right to quit.

I cannot do that tho, because I would be going against what I
believe
and what I
feel.
I’m
not
afraid
of going to Viet Nam if it comes to that, and if I
said
I was afraid of going and if I tried to get out of going, then I’d be living a
lie
and I can’t do that.

I hope you sorta see how I feel. I respect your ideas very much and am very much interested in what you think about what I do. Likewise I want you to see and understand the way I feel. I’m not going to
try
to get a Viet Nam assignment, but if I’m given a Viet Nam assignment I’m not going to say, “Oh, no, I don’t want to go.” I’ll simply say, “I’m ready.” And the reason I’ll say that is because it’s the
truth
. I
am
ready if it’s necessary for me to go. I’m not afraid.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX [something crossed out]. Oh, well, enough about all that. I might just end up back here in Laredo as an instructor. Frankly, I think 3 more years (instructor assignments are 3 yrs.) here would drive me out of my head. It has advantages tho.

Listen, Daddy, be sure to vote Republican in ’68
and maybe this country will get straightened out and finish up in Viet Nam for good. I’ve been telling you all along that Republican is the only way to go. Ha.

We’ll talk it all over in October.

                                                Your son,

                                                Clyde

P.S. I sure feel better after writing this!

P
RELIMINARY GUNNERY TRAINING
in the T-33 would teach us how to shoot rockets and drop practice bombs from a front seat. We’d also learn about problems that fighter-bomber pilots might encounter on bombing runs in Southeast Asia while we, as FACs, directed them from the OV-10. Those of us who had already flown fighters were not exempt from this training.

Among the T-33 trainees were older pilots who’d flown all kinds of airplanes, including single-seat fighters. There were also youngsters straight out of pilot training, and a few of us who’d flown backseat in the F-4. The T-33 was the trainer version of the then-ancient P-80, the first operational jet fighter (1945) in U.S. history.

My having to do this T-33 gunnery training was like Brer Rabbit’s being thrown into the briar patch. I knew I was going to love it because it meant flying alone, flying formation, and flying bombing-range patterns.

A range pattern works like a traffic pattern: the aircraft
flies in a big rectangle and drops bombs or shoots rockets or strafes with machine guns during one of the legs of the rectangle.

The rocket and bomb patterns are from higher altitudes than traffic patterns for landing, and the strafing pattern takes the aircraft closer to the ground than either bomb or rocket patterns. After bombs are released or rockets or bullets are shot at a make-believe target, the aircraft comes out of its dive and climbs to pattern altitude to fly around for the next ordnance (jargon for bombs, rockets, or bullets) delivery. The target for bombs and rockets is a large bull’s-eye on the ground. Observers in a tower nearby (but not too near) measure the accuracy of each bomb or rocket and call out, “Fifteen at six” (meaning the bomb or rocket hit fifteen meters to the six o’clock position of the bull’s-eye), “Thirty at nine,” and so forth. And if a bomb or rocket hits the bull’s-eye, the pilot hears, “Shack.”

The target for bullets from machine guns was a soccer-goal-like device that automatically counted the number of bullets entering the goal.

Groups of us in our class were assigned to instructors. Mine was a Dustin Hoffman look-alike named Riley Porter, a captain, and an instructor who loved to laugh and call his students “plumbers.” “You’re a plumber, Edgerton,” he might say after a flight in which I’d made a mistake. “Is he a plumber or what?” he’d say to other student pilots. But Porter was not a screamer. He was the only humorist I ever had as an instructor. It was all fun and games. But intense. We had to learn to fly this old bird in a week or
so and then within the remainder of our three months become proficient at air-to-ground gunnery.