dick schaffert 
Goodnight Paris . . . Farewell Naples . . . Good Morning Vietnam!
In April 1965, I had the honor of flying #6 in Silver Step Leader Phil Craven’s “Diamond of Diamonds” over Orly Field Paris, during their annual air show. I appreciated having that low a number, and being that far forward, in the 16-Crusader right echelon formation at 37,000 feet en route. RF-8 photo escort film showed it was pretty challenging out there at #16! Cracking a bull whip comes to mind. We later descended until we were on the deck with 50 miles to go to Paris. Apparently, we weren’t on the Frenchies radar and we hadn’t made any inbound calls, so the Air Show Announcer told the crowd it appeared the 12:30 event, a flyover by aircraft from an American Navy Carrier in the Med (Shangri La), would be canceled. According to on-the-ground observers, he had just made that announcement when Phil Craven loosened the rivets in their hangar roofs! Frenchies were so embarrassed they made an international incident out of it and prohibited any US military fights over their territory for a couple weeks.
Recognizing the lure of an RON in Paris, at the Moulin Rouge, the Air Wing Commander had earlier notified VF-62 Skipper Craven and VF-13 Skipper Jim Foster that all participants would recover on board Shangri La off Marseilles. Failure to return aboard would be not be acceptable. Phil had taken us around Orly a couple times, and fuel was scarce, when we finally returned feet wet and found the Shang turning into the wind. One of our guys (who shall go nameless) told Primary he was below bingo and requested a steer to Marseilles. Skipper Craven over-rode Primary’s transmission with; “Stay in formation or I’ll shoot you down myself!”
The Mediterranean in ‘65 was a “hoot,” especially when compared with the incredible challenges being met every day on Yankee. There wasn’t a pilot in our Shangri La Air Wing 10 who didn’t recognize at least one name of a guy already in the Hanoi Hilton. Our nine-month deployment was scheduled through late fall, but in mid-summer the word finally came down that we’d “share the wealth” with Air Wing 16 on the Oriskany. In accordance with the NAVAIR declared policy of “every pilot getting a shot before anyone made two combat deployments,” volunteers from Air Wing 10 would be chosen to replace about a third of Air Wing 16. The transfers would be made during the winter, when both the Shang and Oriskany were back in CONUS. We submitted “volunteer” letters to our Skippers and they made the decisions. Jim Foster gave me a bad time about my wife and four kids; but in the end he named me along with bachelors Randy (Iceman) Rime and Bob (Sledge) Grammar.
We were high on energy, but like most “peace-time” fighter pilots, very short on live ordnance delivery experience. With over 2,500 hours in Tactical Aircraft, I had fired only one Sidewinder missile, and that was for an Air Show in the Med off the Intrepid in an F-11F: With a 5” HVAR rocket on one wing and an AIM-9B on the other, I flew by the ship at 500 feet, began a zoom climb, fired the HVAR, and, as soon as I had the Sidewinder tone, fired the Sidewinder; which caught the HVAR easily. Spectacular visuals for the Dignitaries, but not much in the way of training. My next three Sidewinders were fired six years later, in the heat of a 6-on-1 (me) battle near Thai Binh at 1630 hours, 14 December 1967. Watch the re-enactment on Discovery Channel’s Last Gunfighter. The first “Winder” I fired at a MiG-17 flew by his right wing tip without fuzing. I fired the second in a tight turn and it apparently didn’t hack the high G corner required to track the target. I had a better set-up for the third shot, but was too busy to watch what happened after I fired the missile. Two MiG-17’s, 1,000 feet behind me and hammering away with two 37mm and four 23mm cannons, were demanding my undivided attention.
My lack of air-to-ground ordnance experience was even more pronounced! Achieving the second of my enlistment goals (I’d already married a girl who made Grace Kelly look like a boy), my firing of two 5” HVAR’s off an F-5F Panther in the training command in 1957, and blowing up some South Padre Island sand, was the only “live” ordnance I’d ever flung at Mother Earth. Now, at 0730 hours on 30 June 1966, I was pre-flighting two huge NAPALM tanks dwarfing my F-8E Crusader on the deck of the Oriskany. Had no idea what I was looking for, and the First Class Ordnance guy cautioned me: “Please don’t try to land back aboard ship with these, Sir.”
I rendezvoused my flight of four NAPALM-laden Crusaders, and we went feet dry to look for our Forward Air Controller, somewhere 50 kilometers south of Hanoi in the midst of the Mekong Delta. “Bird Dog?” Was that his call sign . . . too far back to remember . . . but I do remember he was flying very low in a slow moving aircraft and darn hard to see in the morning mist that frequented the Mekong. I felt like King Richard during the Crusades, arriving with all that firepower under my control, and Bird Dog was happy to see us. “Tally Ho, Bird Dog, this is Old Nick 206. Directly overhead at Angels 5. I’ve got 4 Fast movers with 2 Naps and 400 rounds of mike mike each. Where can we put it?”
Bird Dog had prime targets for us, described as over a hundred heavily armed Viet Cong camped under the jungle canopy covering a 500-meter-wide and 1,000-meter-long peninsula jutted out into the Mekong. It was easy to find. Smoke was still rising from the farming village a kilometer to the north, which the VC had “raped and pillaged” the day before. “Brown Bears, check armament switches hot!” Under my breath I muttered a little El Cid: “For God, Country, and those poor damned farmers!” We were setting up for our run-in, when I suddenly began sweating profusely. I was about to kill every living thing in a large patch of Vietnam jungle! I nervously requested Bird Dog to mark the target for us. I felt like an absolute idiot when he replied something to the effect that this was not his day to die. If the bad guys, with their fingers on so many triggers, watching him orbit in his little kite, thought he was about to bring the wrath of the US Navy down upon them, he was Dead Meat!
Our run-in formation was line-breast, with 1,000 feet of separation between aircraft; designed to disintegrate the entire peninsula with NAPALM; directly into the morning sun. Not the best of all worlds; but we did it perfectly! The VC were indeed heavily armed, and four Crusaders made a hell of a lot of noise in that quiet jungle! As we crossed the Mekong River bank, streams of tracers blazed up through the green canopy. Three hundred feet of altitude and 350KTS. “Brown Bears, drop on my mark! One, two, three, drop!” (and to myself, “Please Dear God, forgive me. Thy will be done”). Eight billowing hideous flaming swaths of liquid fire destroyed everything unfortunate enough to have been down there on that quiet morning in South Vietnam. We didn’t have time to think about it! As we pulled up from tree-top level, we were suddenly in the midst of what seemed like a hundred helicopters. I remember I was screaming into the mike and I heard Bird Dog swearing in a language that would indeed make a Sailor blush. It turned out to be an attack force inbound to do business near where we had just dropped our ordnance. On our way out, Bird Dog explained the helos had arrived 15 minutes too early. Fog of war? Above 5,000 feet, and clear of all the choppers, we rejoined and Bird Dog began to assign us another target. I interrupted that we were napalm zero, but we did have 400 rounds of 20mm each that we could lend to the fray. He didn’t take our offer; most likely the Skipper of all those helos had ordered him to get us the hell out of there.
I was back in the “NAPALM barrel” again the next day. Bird Dog found us a good target and we again did it right; but I also ended up with a trip to Tan Son Nhut, and a free cup of coffee, when one of my NAPALM’s would not drop on the target, nor jettison over the water. I had to bingo to Saigon to download it. While sitting in the airport terminal waiting for that to happen, a PAN AM 707 taxied in with a load of Fresh Meat for the battle, all dressed in clean and neat Army fatigues. I recognized one of the PAN AM crew as Dave Hamon, from my VF-13 squadron aboard Shangri La almost exactly one year earlier. Over another cup of coffee, he asked how much I was making flying combat. I told him $55 a month, which was hazardous duty for about every one at that time. He laughed and informed me he was getting hazardous duty pay also, for being on the ground in Vietnam . . . $90 an hour.
In retrospect, American Taxpayers had given me a great weapons system and the opportunity to use it, and I appreciated it! I survived, and made a contribution with 276 missions over the North, which is proof that I was a quick learner! However, I’d certainly have been more effective during those first few months (of Rolling Thunder) if I’d been provided with the opportunity and equipment to do a little realistic training before hand.
That became very clear to me on my first Alpha Strike over the North, nine days after the NAPALM. I led a section of VF-111 Sundowner F-8E “Flak Suppressors” off Oriskany; loaded with two MK-83 thousand-pound bombs, equipped with Daisy Cutter fuzes designed to explode 4 feet above ground and “suppress” the deadly Vietnamese gunners defending Vinh’s rail yard. Going feet dry a half-mile ahead of the main strike group, we had no trouble picking up our target. As the Vietnamese 37, 57, and 85mm guns began firing, it reminded me of a Western Nebraska wheat field on fire, a long line of brilliant orange flame and a dark cloud of billowing smoke. As we approached roll-in at 12,000 feet, all that fire on the ground transferred to the air around us. JINK? Like a wild man! So much maneuvering that, when I looked down to check my roll-in airspeed, I was down to 250KTS! I hit the afterburner to regain airspeed, rolled inverted, pulled the 50 mill ring on the windscreen gunsight down to the blazing gun barrels . . . and forgot to come out of burner. I understood the maximum release speed for the Daisy Cutter bomb fuzing system to be 450KTS. Exceeding that could result in a failure of the fuze’s arming propeller. Diving through release altitude of 3,500 feet, I checked my speed . . . 700KTS. Ah, damn! I came out of burner, adjusted my gunsight lead from 50 mils to pipper-to-target, and pickled. Following partial black out from an extremely high g pullout, I glanced back and was rewarded with two beautiful plumes from those MK-83’s doing their job. The Ordies later laughingly told me the bombs had to go off when they hit the ground that hard. We must have made the gunners cover their heads just long enough, because we didn’t lose anyone on that major strike. However, flak suppression by a few tactical aircraft against the thousands of modern Soviet and Chinese rapid fire weapons in North Vietnam approached being ridiculous; often described as being as effective as “urinating on a forest fire!”
Unfortunately, exactly two weeks later, VA-163 Old Salt Skipper Wynn Foster was hit by a 57mm cannon in that same area. Blew his right arm off, but “Captain Hook” (as he was later known) incredibly flew his crippled Skyhawk back towards Yankee Station to eject alongside a Destroyer, and to complete a courageous and productive career in Navy Blue (with a little Congressional intervention in passing the annual physical). Was it Michener who wrote, “Where do we get such men?” I’m so very fortunate that I was chosen to say “goodbye” to the Moulin Rouge in Paris, and the El Sombrero Bar in Naples, and “good morning” to Vietnam, and to have the opportunity to have served with “such a man” as Skipper Wynn Foster!
Very Respectfully Submitted, Dick Schaffert aka Brown Bear
