100 Missions North

Ken Bell

Description

A harrowing personal account of the extraordinary dangerous missions the author and his comrades flew over North Vietnam in 1966-1967. At that time, American airmen were faced with unprecedented defenses and the highest pilot loss rate (exceeding 25%) since the early days of the US strategic bombing of Europe during World War II. This thrilling book tells what it was like to muster the courage to climb into the cockpit day after day as you watched your comrades fall one by one.and how the pilots fought back.

Sujets

• PTSD
• Histoire
• Vietnam
• Military
• Posttraumatic stress disorder
• History of the United States
• Viêt Nam
• History
• Trouble de stress post-traumatique

Informations

• Publié par: Turner Publishing Company
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2000
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781618587091
• Langue: English

Extrait

TURNER PUBLISHING COMPANY 412 Broadway • P.O. Box 3101 Paducah, Kentucky 42002-3101 [phone]
 
Copyright © 2000 Kenneth H. Bell. Publishing Rights: Turner Publishing Company.
 
Turner Publishing Company Staff: Editor: Bill Schiller Designer: Herbert C. Banks II
 
Library of Congress Card Catalog No: 00-13694
9781618587091
 
This is a Limited Edition. Printed in the USA.
 
This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced without the written consent of the author and/or Turner Publishing Company.
 
This publication was produced using available material. The publisher regrets it cannot assume liability for errors or omissions.
Table of Contents
Title Page Copyright Page Dedication PROLOGUE 1 - GETTING THERE 2 - CROSSING THE PACIFIC 3 - CHECKING IN 4 - NUMBER ONE 5 - WARMING UP 6 - STAN/EVAL 7 - VIET TRI FERRY 8 - IRONHAND IN SIX-ALPHA 9 - MIGS EVERYWHERE 10 - “QUEEN FOR A DAY” 11 - TEXAS LEADER TO THAI NGUYEN 12 - “IN BETWEEN” 13 - JCS 76.00 THE HARD WAY 14 - A QUIET SUNDAY 15 - SON TAY ARMY BARRACKS 16 - KNIFE LEAD TO HANOI 17 - WABASH CANNONBALLS 18 - VENOM FLIGHT: THREE FOR THE PRICE OF ONE 19 - THE MAGIC NINETIES 20 - CHAMPAGNE ON THE RAMP 21 - SWEEPING UP EPILOGUE REFLECTIONS GLOSSARY INDEX
“Dedicated to those who flew and fought so valiantly over North Vietman-especially those who did not return. KHB 2000
“A MAN IS NOT COMPLETE UNTIL HE HAS FOUGHT A BULL, RAISED A SON, PLANTED A TREE AND WRITTEN A BOOK”.
 
— Spanish Matador
PROLOGUE
Time: 1015 15 June 1967 Takhli Royal Thai Air Force Base Thailand
 
“Takhli tower, Hot Dog leader on initial for a one-hundred mission pass, over.”
“Roger, Hot Dog, this is Takhli, you’re number one in the pattern, wind out of the south at five knots, altimeter setting 29.95, cleared for a pass, the field is yours, over!”
“Takhli, Hot Dog one mile out on the trees, tuck it in Two!” With that cryptic exchange, I began my long awaited one-hundred mission fly-by, a series of high speed, formation passes signaling the end of a combat tour in Southeast Asia.
The one-hundred mission pass was a unique privilege which each of us completing a combat tour in the F-105 fighter aircraft looked forward to with growing anticipation. It marked the successful completion of one-hundred combat missions over North Vietnam and the end of a dangerous challenge which was appreciated by everyone, pilots and ground crews alike. It had become the traditional way to end an action-packed and emotionally charged combat assignment and, in a symbolic sense, was a fitting way for pilots to sound their final clap of thunder in the air war against North Vietnam.
The one-hundred mission pass was also a celebration which let time stand still for a breathtaking moment. The danger of the past and the hope which had sustained us from our first mission were riveted together with the joy and uncertainty of the future. In my case, that moment would also mark the final chapter in my flying career as a fighter pilot, something I sensed at the time but did not fully appreciate for months to come.
My wingman was an outstanding young pilot. He had flown with me on several tough missions and I knew I could count on him to keep me out of trouble and hang in there during a final pass over the field. We discussed the maneuvers I planned for the fly-by but I cautioned him to be prepared for the unexpected. I was confident in his ability to stick with me through any maneuver but I knew that my instincts might respond to the enthusiasm of the occasion and I wanted him to be ready.
The one-hundred mission pass had become a very competitive game of flying one-up-manship. The commander’s policy was very clear; your choice, but don’t get hurt and don’t go supersonic! Nonetheless, each succeeding finisher managed to push the limits a little farther and those who turned out to watch soon came to expect it.
My adrenalin was pumping. At last, it was my turn to shine, to close my chapter of combat in the F-105. The day had come, I had faced the enemy and the stage was set for my aerial celebration. I was on top of the world and anxious to do the best I could to provide a triumphant and memorable air show.
“Takhli, Hot Dog approaching the field boundary!”
We were low and very fast. The runway markings disappeared quickly beneath the nose on the aircraft as I started a climbing turn to begin the fly-by. My wingman was glued in position and stayed there effortlessly through a series of tight, over-the-top maneuvers. We made three low passes crisscrossing the field from east to west followed by a formation roll down the runway as a final salute to the crowd.
For five glorious minutes, I basked in the spotlight of celebrated success. I had arrived. I had paid my dues and earned my wings as a combat veteran - a select fraternity of the world’s greatest fighter pilots. I was king of the mountain and had made the most of it. It was time to land.
“Takhli tower, Hot Dog one mile out reentering initial, request pitch-up for landing, over!”
“Roger Hot Dog, you’re cleared to land, call base leg with gear check!”
I pulled too hard in the pitch-up and had to adjust my landing drastically. The airplane touched down long and hot but the drag chute worked so I avoided the embarrassment of having to use the barrier to stop on my last mission. As I turned off the runway, I opened the canopy to cool my sweating face in the fresh morning air. The breeze felt good and it relaxed me.
Hot Dog Two closed into close formation off my wing tip as we taxied back to the parking ramp. The customary parade of fire trucks met us and led the way with their water nozzles pointing skyward. A welcoming committee had formed on the ramp. The wing commander was standing beside his staff car proudly awaiting my arrival. He looked pleased but a scolding twinkle in his eye told me I had pushed the fly-by limits too far.
As I braked to a stop in the blocks, the nose of the aircraft dipped sharply, almost ceremoniously. I stop-cocked the engine and began running through the checklist. A smiling and somewhat relieved crew chief climbed quickly up the ladder to the cockpit. He shook my hand and shouted, “Good show Major, how’s the airplane?” I gave him a thumbs up and he grinned broadly. The aircraft was scheduled for the afternoon “go” and another bout with destiny. I wasn’t.
The crowd was beaming with excitement and I couldn’t wait to join them. A bright red one-hundred mission welcome mat was rolled out and in place at the foot of the aircraft ladder. I gathered up my gear and carefully backed down the side of the aircraft. My feet touched the ground and I turned to stand proudly in the place of honor on the welcome mat where only a privileged few had stood before. The commander greeted me, we exchanged salutes and he shook my hand warmly. “You pushed a little hard Ken,” he said wryly knowing I understood him.
Someone handed me my ceremonial one-hundred mission flying suit replete with colorful patches. Instinctively, my eyes found the patch we coveted most. It was a large red, white and blue shield sewn atop the left sleeve. The bold embroidered words read, “North Vietnam - 100 Missions F-105.” It was beautiful and signaled the finale I had dreamed about. Without hesitation, I stripped down to my skivvies and donned the colorful flying suit. I was bursting with pride. The crowd cheered as someone poured champagne over my head from behind. The sweet bubbles ran down my face hiding the tears that were welling up in my eyes. I was overcome with joy and sorrow but felt very thankful.
After the celebration on the ramp, the next stop was a visit to the barber shop for a haircut, massage and shave. I could hardly wait to get rid of my bulletproof mustache. It had served its purpose and was a terrible nuisance.
Later that afternoon, I hosted my one-hundred mission party. The stag bar at the officers’ club was jammed by the time I arrived eager to out do my predecessors - another combat tradition. The party was a success but the bar outlasted me by several hours. My spirit was willing but my body was exhausted and I was emotionally drained. Reluctantly, I let my wingman help me to my trailer early in the evening as the party and the bar tab continued without me. By morning, I felt much better but the cost of the party startled me. Even at twenty-five cents a shot, the bill was staggering but I paid it gladly and counted my blessings.
As I walked back to my trailer, reality began to sink in. I realized more completely that I had flown my last combat mission and my part in the war was over. Without thinking, I passed by my trailer and continued across the airfield along a familiar path to the flight line. I wanted another look at the airplane I had flown on my last mission.
On the ramp, the ground crews were going about their normal duties, it was business as usual. No one noticed as I stood there quietly reflecting. I felt alone and terribly sentimental. In one short day, the celebrity was gone and I suddenly felt like a has been. It was a poignant moment and it ended my combat story - a story I would remember proudly.
1
GETTING THERE
In June of 1963, I received a Master of Science degree from the University of Colorado, and reluctantly began my career in the technical Air Force. Before attending graduate school, I flew fighter aircraft for six years - F-86D and F-102A interceptors - and I hoped to continue my career in the cockpit after graduation. I planned to go on to test pilot school as a prerequisite for training as an astronaut but the Air Force assigned me instead to the Gemini Program Office in Los Angeles as a project manager.
Ironically, I found myself as a project engineer managing the rocket engines on the Titan II launch vehicle which I had hoped to ride into space as an astronaut. In a professional sense, the job in the project office was an excellent opportunity but it was also a frustrating disappointment and the very tho