Phantom Leader Part 22

When Morelli finished the briefing, the four men got their equipment, refilled their water bottles, and climbed into the blue van. At his F-4, Court helped Mac Dieter strap in, explained the ejection sequence, then showed him how to align the INS, how to set up the radar, and how to do the BIT (Built-In Test) check.

Ten minutes later Morelli called on the radio.

:'Silver Flight check in."

'Lead, this is Three Two. You've got to scratch me. I've got hydraulic problems and there is no spare." Joe Jensen sounded let down.

"Roger, copy. There goes our CBU," Morelli said. "Silver Three Three, you are now Three Two," he transmitted to Court.

After flying south for forty minutes, Paris Control handed the two planes off to their FAC, Beaver Two Two, who was flying an O- 1. Morelli checked in with the lineup. He orbited over their rendezvous point, using the Tan Son Nhut Tacan.

Channel 41, the Can Tho Tacan, was still off the air. A solid overcast blocked any view of the ground.

"Roger, Silver," Beaver Two Two said. "Glad to see a Phantom down this far south. Here's the situation. The Can Tho runway runs east and west. The bad guys are spread out parallel to the south side of the runway. The operations building and the radar site are on the north side." He unkeyed, then keyed again. "The good guys are in bunkers and trenches along the north side. They say the VC have heavy mortars and recoilless rifles that are hammering them pretty bad. They've repelled one charge but don't think they can hack another." He unkeyed.

"What's the weather down there?" Morelli asked.

"Double delta sierra. The cloud bases run from five hundred to fifteen hundred above the ground. There's a strong surface wind from the west that's really moving this stuff around. By the regs, I'm afraid I can't bring you guys down."

Although the terrain in this part of South Vietnam called the Delta was flat and near sea level, F-100s had no radar to guide them on a letdown.

Nor could they use the ground facility, the Can Tho Tacan, to make a weather penetration.

Beaver Two Two had said the weather was delta sierra. That meant it was dog s.h.i.t, double dog s.h.i.t.

Court spoke up. "How bad is it down there?"

"Stand by, stand by. They're talking to me now."

All FAC aircraft had several radios: FM to talk to ground troops, UHF and VHF to talk to fighters and helicopters.

The FAC monitored all radios at all times via a jack box that fed whatever he wanted into his headset. Neither the ground troops nor the pilots could hear the other. Many times the FAC heard multiple transmissions. A good one never had any trouble sorting out who was who. After a few minutes Beaver Two Two came on the air.

"Looks bad. The mortars and sh.e.l.ls are rolling in. They think a charge is due any second. They've had it. I'm orbiting north at eight hundred. I can barely see the runway.

Rainstorms all over the place, s.h.i.t. They've had it."

"I've got radar in this beast, I can get us down there,' Court transmitted. "If you will clear us, Two Two, I'll put lead on my wing and come on down."

"They're dead men without you. You're clear," Beaver Two Two said.

"How about it, Silver Lead?" Court asked Morelli.

"Just tell me what wing you want me on," he said.

"G.o.d, Court," Dieter said from the backseat. "I haven't a clue how to handle the radar."

"Just put the switches where I tell you and we'll be fine. I have a scope up here." Court told him where to put each switch, signaled Morelli onto his left wing, and told Beaver Two Two he was coming down.

"Roger, Silver. I'm still north at eight hundred, No bad guys up here so there's no groundfire. Come in from the northeast quadrant and you'll be okay. Highest terrain around is only eighty feet,"

"Copy, Beaver. I'm going over to Paris for one." Court switched frequencies. Paris Control answered his call and identified him on the scope. Court explained what they were going to do, then asked if there was any traffic in the air flying in the clouds.

"Silver, Paris. Negative traffic. We can paint you down pretty low.

Maybe down to fifteen hundred. We'll keep an eye on you and give you a growl on Guard if anything enters your area." Court thanked him and switched back to the strike frequency.

"Silver is on the way down to the northeast," he told the Beaver FAC, throttled back, and started down. Morelli hung in close formation on his left. Court gave Dieter one more switch instruction, then monitored his own radar as he let down into the clouds.

Four minutes later he was level at 1,500 and had the outline of the runway and its radar reflectors on his scope.

They were still in the clouds.

"Okay," he said to Morelli, "I don't think we'll break out.

I'm going to ease on down until I see the ground."

"Press on."

At 900 feet, Court saw tantalizing glimpses of the ground directly below.

"We're four miles out," he transmitted to Beaver and Morelli. "I'm going to dogleg it south, then run in east to west parallel and south of the runway. Stay tucked in and be ready to drop when I tell you, Morelli."

"Roger."

Court eased the stick forward just enough to start a 400feet-per-minute rate of descent. He held 400 knots indicated rather than the usual 450.

He adjusted his gunsight depression to account for the speed differential.

"I'll hold four hundred," Court said to Morelli. "I'll set lem up ripple. One pa.s.s, haul a.s.s. In this weather they won't see us coming."

Court could feel his pulse rate increase.

"Or going," Dieter responded.

Suddenly they were under the ragged clouds. House-sized wisps of dirty white flashed pa.s.sed the canopy.

"There it is," he said. Below and ahead he saw the strip of concrete and tiny holes and lines that could only be fighting positions. The hexagonal-sided low building that housed the Tacan was on the enemy side of the runway.

Court held a 5-degree dive parallel to the south side of the runway. No chance of a short round. He had a fleeting glimpse of figures running north toward the concrete strip.

He re-checked his switches, then he was on the targets.

"Ready, ready, PICKLE," he said. All six of his Mk-82 f high drags and both cans of Morelli's napalm slammed into the ground among the enemy troops. Six huge geysers of dirt erupted from the curling red-and-yellow flames of the napalm. Court pulled his flight up into the clouds.

"Hey, wow, s.h.i.t hot," Beaver Two Two erupted. "You got most of them.

You should hear the ground troops."

"I thought you were orbiting north," Court said as they climbed up through the clouds, Morelli tucked in as tight as a wingtip.

"Had to sort of slip down this way to see what was happening. Got to earn my pay, you know. Let you guys run strikes by yourself and I'm out of a job--oh oh." Beaver Two Two unkeyed. "Oh s.h.i.t, I'm hit, I'm hit .

. . engine burning ... going down right in the middle of them. Make a pa.s.s, make a pa.s.s. I'll run-"

"Okay, Morelli, break it off. Climb out on your own. I'm going back down."

"Roger," Morelli said as he continued his climb-out. fie didn't need radar for that. "But you don't have any bombs left."

"Or a gun," Dieter said from the backseat.

"I got four missiles," Court answered. He turned his plane back to Can Tho and set up his gun switch to missile. He told Dieter how to free up the firing circuit from the back so he could fire a missile "interlocks out" every time he pressed the pickle b.u.t.ton. The missiles didn't need to lock on to anything, but wouldn't guide either. Firing them was nothing more than firing huge 12-foot unguided rockets.

"How big are those warheads?" Dieter asked as Court slid back around in the same pattern he had just flown to the Can Tho runway.

"Not much, eighty-eight pounds. Better than nothing."

He concentrated on his scope and his instruments and lined up for another approach.

"Two Two, do you read?" he called. For a few seconds there was no answer, Then Court heard a tiny voice in his headset. d ... survival radio, in " Silver, this is Two Two on Guar ditch next to runway ... bad guys moving in Court didn't have time to reach down and switch his radio eard his to Guard channel to tell Beaver Two Two he had h call. He concentrated on his instruments. Then, as before, the runway came in view when he was down to 500 feet. In a split second he located the crashed O-1 - It lay south of the runway with a wing torn off. Court could barely make out figures running toward the plane and a figure in a ditch near the runway. The image froze in his mind as he slammed the stick forward to zoom down the remaining few hundred feet and ran the pipper of his gunsight down and into the running figures. He pressed the firing b.u.t.ton four times, then slammed the throttles forward and hauled back on the stick.

They were very close to the ground.

ackseat, "we're not ,COURT," Dieter yelled from the b going to make it. I'm getting out."

"NO, NO," Court commanded. He held in just enough back pressure to keep them from hitting the ground, but not so much as to cause a high-speed stall. The big Phantom cleared the ground with twenty feet to spare.

Green tracers split the fog and damp like ghostly fingers trying to bat them from the sky. In seconds they were in the safety of the low clouds.

"Bannister," Dieter said, "no wonder you have backseaters who can't keep their hands off the controls. My G.o.d."

Court climbed out on an easterly heading, then doubled back to the Can Tho area. Even though he could not see the ground below, the lat.i.tude and longitude coordinates of Can Tho that he had helped Dieter set in the INS before takeoff He crossgave him bearing and distance to the runway.

checked the TSN Tacan, then had Dieter switch the radar to air-to-air.

He found a solo blip. " Morelli didn't an "Silver lead, Three Two has contact.

swer. They were in the clear now, at 18,000 feet. ejoined "There he is, eleven high," Court said to Dieter. H up on Morelli's left-hand-orbiting F-100.

"How do you read?" Court asked when he joined up on his left wing.

"Boy, am I glad to see you. My antenna has vibrated loose," he said. It was a common occurrence in an F- I 00 for the antenna connection for the UHF radio to come unplugged. It was in the nose and unreachable by the pilot. "I can only transmit and receive to someone who is within a couple hundred feet. Was afraid you forgot about me. I don't have much fuel left, about to thrash home alone. You got the lead." He pointed his index finger at Court, then motioned him forward.

"Let's do a damage check," Court said. He slowly slid his airplane around Morelli's F- I 00, looking for holes. "You're clean," he said.

Morelli in turn checked Court out and p.r.o.nounced him clean of any holes, then slid into position off his right wing.

Court set a course for the Tan Son Nhut Tacan and contacted Paris Control.

"Squawk five three and Indent, Silver Three Two."

Court put a dial on his IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) to 53, and triggered another switch that sent a burst of energy to the screen of the Paris controller that showed up unmistakably as the coded blip for 53 on the controller's radarscope.

"I have positive contact, Silver Three Two. Be advised, the Tan Son Nhut weather has gone below minimums in heavy rain and thunderstorms.

Bien Hoa is still closed. Advise you divert to Phan Rang. Steer zero six five degrees."

"Stand by, Paris. Silver lead, you copy Paris?"

"Negative."

"Tan Son Nhut and Bien Hoa are closed. They want us to go to Phan Rang.

That's thirty minutes more. Can you hack it?"

"Negative," Morelli said. "I've got about ten more minutes of fuel, then it's nylon letdown time."

"I'll bring you down if you want to try it," Court said.

"Press on."

"Paris, Silver. My number-two man has no radio and a fuel emergency.

Bring us down and turn us over to GCA. I'll keep him on my wing down to touchdown."

"Roger, copy Silver. Be advised, the active runway is two five, altimeter is two niner eight eight, ceiling is one hundred cro in heavy rain, wind feet, visibility quarter of a mile to z from three zero zero at twenty-five gusting forty."

"Copy," Court said. He repeated the information for Morelli. The controller then said, "Silver, steer zero two zero, you are cleared to descend to two thousand feet."

Court eased his throttles back to 80 percent, held his alt.i.tude until the airspeed bled off to 280 knots, then gently lowered the nose of his Phantom until he had a 4,000-feetper-minute rate of descent. Just before they entered the clouds below, he looked over at Morelli, who gave him a thumbs-up.

"Glad you got a Hun driver in your backseat in case you don't remember the airspeeds," he transmitted to Court.

"Never fear," Dieter replied from the rear c.o.c.kpit.

After the penetration down through the clouds, Paris turned Court over to Tan Son Nhut Ground Controlled Approach. an Son Nhut GCA. How do you read?"

'Silver, this is T the turbu "Loud and clear." They were at 2,000 feet and fence had increased. The clouds were dark and angry. Court turned up his c.o.c.kpit lights and put his external lights on bright-steady for Morelli.

In the clouds, the bright flashing lights of the leader would blind and confuse the wingman trying desperately to stay in close formation using only visible indicators; the wingman visually aligns his leader's wing light under the star on the fuselage. These two tiny visual cues give the wingman proper positioning in the fore-and-aft and up-and-down planes.

Only experience can tell him how close to be. In clear weather the planes can spread out in the night sky and both turn their lights to Bright Flash. In bad weather, such as Silver was experiencing, the number-two man tucks in as close as he can and hopes he can hang on through turbulence that causes him to push and pull the pole all over the c.o.c.kpit while cursing and shoving rudder and throttle scant inches to stay in position and not get slung off. An inexperienced or rough leader can sling off a wingman in a heartbeat. A highly experienced pilot flying wing, however, will sit in his own airs.p.a.ce on the wing, monitor his own gages with quick sidelong glances, and let the leader thrash himself to death in his airs.p.a.ce--even if it is only three feet away.

"Silver, you're fifteen miles out. Slow down to approach speed. Be ready to lower gear and flaps. Be advised, there is a thunderstorm directly over the field. Steer two four five degrees."

"Silver, two four five,"

"Lower gear and flaps now, Silver flight."