Gunfighter-3

Gunfighter -Part 3

PRODIGY(R) Service Personal Message 02/11/96

To: AFWA58C From : AFWA58A

Subject: Gunfighter -Part 3 Date: 02/11/9602:43 PM

* * * * * Gunfighter -Part 3 * * * *

After being at DaNang for almost a month, my schedule had become a very long routine of 12-hour shifts and seven-day weeks that ran into each other without end. Daily, I briefed strike crews as they prepared to fly their missions over South Vietnam. (At that time, the 366th Tactical Fighter Wing didn't have responsibilities in the north.)

Every night, you could see the AC-47's (Call sign "Spooky") dropping their flares several miles around the perimeter of the field so that they could see enemy patrols trying to get within attack range of DaNang. The Spooky aircraft mounted three gatling guns, 7.62 millimeter, aimed out the side windows. After lighting up the area with flares, they could circle above suspected enemy and rain down spectacular and deadly, very accurate fire on targets they found. In spite of their efforts and the ground patrols of an entire division of Marines, the Viet Cong managed about every other night to fire off five to ten 122-millimeter rockets at us. The nights were dark and the jungle was thick. There was never a way to completely prevent rocket attacks. But anything that came under attack by Spooky's guns was completely devastated.

I often wished that I could have made pictures of the gatling guns' stream of fire. As deadly as they were, it was a beautiful sight to watch. Tracers were loaded about every fifth shell and the guns each fired at the rate of 4000 rounds per minute. The effect was almost a continuous line of fire from the air to the ground in five to ten second bursts. Since the aircraft was in a continual turn, it looked almost like the modern-day mathematical formulas that produce continuously changing patterns on a computer screen-saver. Along with the visual scenes, came a deafening roar with each burst of the gatling. I'm sure, too, that much of its appeal at the time was the knowledge that they were defending us. We slept better just knowing they were there, even if they couldn't get them all.

After 28 days, I had pretty well settled in to this pattern of working all-day and sleeping very anxiously at night. During the many rocket attacks, I would tumble off my top bunk and get flat on the cold, concrete floor. Many times, I would find myself on the floor and not realize that I had heard the sound of "in-coming" in my sleep and automatically made the right move. You learned to differentiate between "out-going" (the almost continuous artillery fired at night toward suspected enemy positions) and "in-coming" (122 millimeter rockets).

At this one-month point, the Wing Commander called me in for something that would change my life. Col. Robert W. Malloy was a typical fighter pilot who flew his share of missions along with his men. (He later was shot down, ejected from his F-4 and sent home with a neck injury resulting from the ejection.) I saw him daily at his "stand-up briefings. " (They called it "stand-up" because no one ever sat.) I had no idea what he could be calling me to his office for. When I reported to Col. Malloy, he asked me a few things about my days in Strategic Air Command and my knowledge of avionics (all of the electronic black boxes that make modern aviation what it is today.) He then told me that he had a major problem in his avionics squadron and had decided to replace his current squadron commander in charge of avionics. Squadron morale was very low. Maintenance performance was at it's lowest and it was really hurting overall Wing performance. He asked me if I would consider taking the job. Well, I thought for all of about 10 seconds and accepted the assignment. (Actually, it was all that I could do to keep from jumping up in the air!) Becoming a squadron commander was a prime assignment anywhere, but especially so in a combat situation. It was really too good to believe! For the next 11 months my life would be totally changed.

The next morning, I met my new squadron staff. My Maintenance Supervisor (a young Captain at that time) took me around to meet all squadron personnel. We had over 400 young men in the squadron and our maintenance buildings were scattered from one end of the field to the other. Even with about the middle of the runway, was an old French hanger that had electronic shops built into long rows along each side, leaving an open space in the middle (like you would expect in a hanger.) At the back of the building were the administrative offices, including my own office. On the northern end of the runway were my flight line maintenance shops. They had "bread-van" maintenance trucks that responded to calls for avionics maintenance on the parking ramp. While we primarily supported F-4s, we actually provided maintenance for any aircraft that came into DaNang.

On the southern end of the runway, were my electronic warfare maintenance troops. They kept the complicated ECM (electronic countermeasure) equipment operating. Since their "black boxes" protected each F-4 crew from antiaircraft fire and attacks from other aircraft, they were quite popular people in the wing.

Also on the southern end of the field, were the troop barracks. This, it turned out, was one of the reasons for low morale. The perimeter fence came within a couple of hundred yards from the barracks, making them very easy to come under attack. In the weeks before my arrival, the previous commander had ordered removal of "unsightly" sandbags that were stacked four feet high around each barracks. Now to be fair, they were going to be replaced by some very nice plywood boxes filled with sand and would probably be safer than before. The problem was that, in the interim, one stray rocket landed on an unprotected barracks (not one of mine) and several people were killed. Even after the better sand-filled revetments were installed, many of the troops (particularly those on the second floor and unprotected) slept poorly and were near panic. (I could well understand their feelings!)

The targets of Viet Cong rockets were the aircraft, but the rockets were very inaccurate and were set up and fired by largely peasant soldiers with little experience in such things. They were more of a nuisance than a real threat, but just try to explain that to someone trying to sleep a few yards from where one just landed a week or so before. My work was really cut out for me.

After walking around to each shop to meet the troops, I ended the day by walking through each of my four two-story barracks. That way, in one 24-hour period, I had met each man in my squadron. Because morale was a particular problem and many of these men felt that they were not being cared for, I determined to turn that around.

I made a number of changes in squadron operation. To get a handle on our poor maintenance record, I established weekly inspections where I walked through each shop and made a show of checking on their performance. Actually, with my background, though I knew a lot about avionics maintenance people, there was a LOT I didn't know about the technical aspects of their job. What I did was simply to get to know very well as many people as I could, on the job and off. I praised them for the least little thing that deserved praise and I daily sought feedback on what they would like to see in the squadron to improve things.

Every day, I would begin my walk around from one end of the field to the other (two miles on foot). I started one hour before end of the night shift and continued until one hour after the day shift. (That made for 14-hour days, but did a LOT for morale. The men felt that someone was behind their efforts.) In the evening, at least a couple of times a week, I would walk through each of the barracks and talk to those I found there (almost half of the squadron). This made an impact, because nighttime was "rocket time." The barracks were on the most exposed part of the field. My casual walks (without flak vest and helmet) made them feel that, "hey, this can't be all that bad." (I didn't tell them of my own fears at times.)

Because I knew that my guys were right on "ground zero" when they worked the flight lines at night, I wrangled flak vests and helmets out of the Marines for each man. Maintenance improved amazingly after that and I knew of at least one life saved when a flak vest blocked a piece of rocket shrapnel.

* * * *Next time...an operational breakthrough * * * -

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