Boy in a Skyhawk

Flight Journal, Dec 2002 by Powell, Robert

"GOING DOWNTOWN" IN AN

North: north to the land of SAM. North, where the triple A was measured in tons of exploding metal. North. where there were no friendlies on the ground. North, where the MiGs prowled.

Looking back, I was a boy. Oh, nothing like WW II teenage lieutenants: I went from high school straight to university on an NROTC scholarship to the Navy training command and gold wings, through A-4 replacement training at NAS Lemoore and to a squadron that went to Vietnam when the air war was hot-the summer of '67.

My first mission was supposed to be into South Vietnam. That's what the experienced guys said. That is what they did the year before: a line period-maybe two-down on Dixie Station. Ease into the war; get used to it. Not for me. Not for Air Wing 10.

Worse yet, keyed up after all the expectation and all the excitement, my first mission was a failure.

The rendezvous with the strike group went well. Thinking back, that was the hardest part. There were 24 to 28 jets circling, trying to find squadron mates, section and flight leaders. I was Hawk 2 and finally got tucked in on Hawk lead's wing, heading to the beach. Going "feet dry," I increased separation and began to jink. As a "wingy," I had only moments to find the target-a bridge, if I remember-- before rolling in. Timing was good, lead and I were on different headings; Hawk 3 and 4 were even farther on the circle, which made the ground gunner's job harder. I had a good bomb run that first time; solid tracking; the Vee-pipper dead on; altitude and speed good. Push the bomb pickle hard with my thumb. Nothing. Nada. There wasn't the expected thump, with my Skyhawk suddenly becoming lighter. I frantically look down to check the armament switches. They're all OK. Swear into 02 mask; pickle again-still nothing. I pull up late because of the distraction. Late means low, and low means bad-because the bad guys are shooting with every gun they have. I rendezvous on "Cork," Hawk 1, go "feet wet" and safe, but the bombs are too valuable to jettison. Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara insisted there was no bomb shortage. Reality on the line said otherwise. I divert to Da Nang-a red-hot tailhooker, and I don't even get to land on the ship.

Landing and de-arming at Da Nang went well. I later learned that the Marines not only took my bombs off but also immediately hung them on one of their A-4s. The nonexistent bomb shortage, you know. I trapped on Intrepid the next cycle.

That was my first mission. Dropped a lot of bombs and early cluster bomb units (CBUs), also fired rockets later with no problems. My squadron became the "Pouncers"-specialists in subduing the flak before the main strike group rolled in. I didn't fly over South Vietnam during that deployment.

LSO TRAINING

One of my flying-related jobs was as an LSO in training. I was on the platform during a recovery when one of those events occurred that makes you wonder about chance, fate and the odds. The recovery was going smoothly, and an A-4 appeared in the groove-no radio calls, it was simply there. As it flew closer, we could see that there was no nose. The bulkhead in front of the pilot's feet was all that was left-a big flat area. Another Skyhawk had just trapped. The air wing LSO had his arm with the pickle raised-the signal that the deck was foul. He was concentrating on the battle-damaged Skyhawk and waiting for the large light that showed the deck was clear to go from red to green. I had turned around to watch the deck and yelled, "He's hung in the gear!" The A-4 in the wires had his nosewheel cocked and could not move forward. The pilot brought the power up and "bounced" the brakes as he tried to straighten out. The bright red, flashing lights on the mirror came on, and the nose-less A-4 roared overhead as the one on deck sped forward.

The pilot knew he had top priority in the pattern and banked steeply to come around and try again. The LSO was shaking his head and saying, "So close. So damned close." Abeam the LSO platform, the Skyhawk's nose pitched down as the J-65 engine quit and the pilot ejected.

The plane-guard helo immediately picked him up, deposited him on deck and resumed its position. The rest of the air wing landed onboard. Ten seconds difference, and the airplane would have been saved and the pilot spared a risky ejection and swim in the Gulf of Tonkin.

THE BIG HS:

HAIPHONG AND HANOI

Part of the politics that permeated the war in Vietnam divided the North into six "Route Packages" with alternating Navy and Air Force responsibility that became vaguer as time passed. The infamous Route Pack Six was subdivided into A and B: Hanoi and Haiphong. By the end of the first line period, we were over the Haiphong suburbs. Next time back, we were over the Big H itself; some warmup.

Early in the deployment, we created the Society of SAM-SOS. We had a good-looking patch embroidered in Japan-blue background, orange explosion of an SA-2 missile with an A-4 silhouette coming out of the burst. By the time we went to Haiphong, having one SAM shot at you wasn't enough to qualify for the SOS. It was upped to two, then five. Finally, we just passed out the patches to all the A-4 pilots.