dick schaffert 
7 June 1966, the Sundowners were packing up and shipping out from Miramar. The checking in of a new officer from the east coast F8 training squadron almost went un-noticed. In fact, most of us didn’t meet Lieutenant Junior Grade Bill McWilliams until our first AOM aboard Oriskany underway to Yankee Station via Hawaii. He was introduced by our new Commanding Officer Dick Cook and promptly assigned as my wingman. Bill was only my second “official” wingman; the first being the amazing Larry Durbin, who didn’t seem to “get enough” as my student at NAS Kingsville and followed me to VF-13 aboard Shangri La, where he was both my wingman and my Personnel Officer. What’s that old saying; “A demon for punishment?”
A few days later, we arrived off Hawaii and began our Operational Readiness Inspection. With Tooter Teague and myself (350 gunnery flights in the F-11 at Kingsville), we easily defeated sister squadron VF-162 in the air-to-air competition. Bill’s first flight as a Sundowner was a carrier qualification renewal. He did just fine. A hell of a lot of pressure on a guy who hadn’t been in the cockpit for a couple weeks while changing duty stations!
The Oriskany pulled into Pearl Harbor and the Air Wing headed for Ft Derussey, the Banyan Tree, and more Mai Tai’s than we could handle. Unfortunately, it all proved too much for Bill and he ended up “drunk as the proverbial skunk.” He became quite obnoxious, especially to the pretty Hawaiian girls who frequented the club, and Skipper Cook quietly ordered me to take him back to the ship. At that moment, the little Irishman was standing on one of the tables and pulling his shirt-tail out of his trousers’ fly! I approached him from the side, but he fell off the table and landed flat on his back. Former Texas A&M football-player Tooter got there before I did and bent over Bill to help him to his feet. Bill responded by launching a sharp right hand to Tooter’s nose. It was clearly broken and blood was everywhere!
Fast-forward two days and we’re underway for Subic Bay, the PI, and Vietnam. Bill was, naturally, in hack in his room; but was required to make the many briefings in the Ready Room as we prepared for war. The Flight Surgeon had reset Tooter’s often-broken nose and it was heavily bandaged. When we got within Soviet Badger range of Vladivostok, we went on alert. During a lull in the alert status, when Bill and the other “Newbee’s” were getting some flight time, Tooter volunteered to man the alert aircraft. There were no known “inbounds” and he wanted to write some letters. He hadn’t completed his first page when the alarm went off. The Russkies were inbound! Seconds later, Tooter taxied onto the port catapult. His oxygen mask was hanging down from his helmet, because it wouldn’t fit over his bandaged nose! Tooter was ready to go, but the Air Boss wouldn’t launch him until he put on the mask. According to Tooter’s later debrief, the force of the catapult launch on the oxygen mask re-broke his nose and he was blinded for a moment by the tears in his eyes! He stuck with it and made the intercept, along with a VFP-63 guy in an RF-8A who took some great photos.
Two weeks later, on 30 June, Bill and I both flew our first combat mission over Vietnam. I had about 3,000 flight hours, with over 700 in the Crusader, and he probably had at most 150; neither of us had ever dropped live ordnance. When we manned our aircraft on Oriskany’s crowded flight deck, we happened to meet as we were pre-flighting those huge 1,000# napalm bombs. Bill’s eyes were as big as saucers and his only comment was “You got to be f***ing me!” We were a flight of four, and Bill was on my wing as number two. We found our forward air-controller, Bird Dog, orbiting near a burning village; which had been ravaged by VietCong, who were now reportedly relaxing on a small peninsula jutting into the Mekong River. Bird Dog vectored us into position as we joined in a line-abreast formation with 500 feet between aircraft. Our run-in was at only 350 knots, to stay well within Napalm release limitations, and we all pickled both bombs on my call to “drop.” That couple acres of South Vietnam jungle, and everything on it, ceased to exist! During the post-flight briefing, I could sense that a couple of the guys (me included) were a little “shaky” about what we had done, but “new guy” Bill was cool as a cucumber!
Oriskany moved north to Yankee Station, and on 9 July Bill was again my number two in a four plane flak suppression flight. Our mission was to protect an Alpha strike against the Vinh rail yard by hitting gun emplacements before the A-4 bombers arrived over the target. This time we carried two 1,000# MK-83’s with “daisy cutter” fuses designed to explode a few feet off the ground, and hopefully discourage the NVN/Soviet/Chinese gunners for hundreds of yards around. Those gunners had already taken out literally dozens of carrier attack pilots and we knew it would be a wild fight. I briefed Bill to just stay on my wing, about 50 feet away. He’d know when we were in our dive and should pickle his bombs when he saw mine come off my wing racks.
It was as expected! When we arrived over the target ahead of the A-4’s, the entire sky turned into huge orange and black explosions. I did one more violent jinxing turn, looked down and picked out a large concentration of muzzle blasts from 57 and/or 85MM guns, rolled inverted, and pulled my gunsight down to the target. I pickled at the briefed release altitude and looked around for Bill. After that wild maneuvering, I did not expect to see him; but there he was, and he had dropped both his bombs. I was extremely proud to be sharing the airspace with him at that moment! Only one of the Skyhawks we were protecting took a hit, and he made it back to the ship.
About a month later, after our first visit to the Philippines and the Cubi Point Club, a return to the “line,” and more than a dozen fighter-escort missions, Bill and I were again entrusted with two MK-83’s each. This time we were to take out the Brandon Bay Bridge in what was known as the “Hour Glass” region of North Vietnam’s Red River Valley, the “Valley of Death!” The idea was to go in low and fast, avoid detection, then pop-up to roll-in altitude and attack the bridge. Unfortunately, the weather man was on the side of the NVN that day, and, after popping up, there was nothing but a low layer of clouds below us. We adroitly leveled off, with SAM missile warnings blaring in our headsets, and headed north where we could see the end of the low clouds. As we reached that point, with some scattered 57MM bursts mostly behind us, we saw another bridge in front of us. A much bigger one than our original target! We accelerated and were soon at a reasonable roll-in point; where we were greeted by an unbelievable amount of flak, thankfully most of which was exploding above us. We dropped those MK-83’s, in a run that was admittedly too fast, and, as we pulled out over the top of a small hill, we saw all four them “cratering” the northern approach to the bridge. Yeah, if you were a student of North Vietnam geography, you’ve already guessed it. It was the Thanh Hoa Bridge! Thankfully, we were not added to the list of some 37 aircraft downed by its gunners!
Two months later, life in the supersonic lane came to an end for that courageous, all-guts, rookie Irish fighter pilot Bill McWilliams. At 07:25am, 26 October 1966, he and another junior Sundowner pilot Cody Balesteri (previously shot down and rescued) and our Flight Surgeon, the youthful Lloyd Hyde, were trapped in their stateroom when the flare locker exploded just one deck above and 30 feet forward of their location. They were not injured in the explosion, but the area where they were trapped was flooded during attempts to keep the fire from spreading throughout the interior of the ill-fated Oriskany. The entrance to their room was sealed with a water-tight hatch, which also prevented any air from reaching them. The water stalled the compressor that normally vented the compartment, and they were doomed. It seemed God needed those three brave young Sundowners for some mission in Heaven that morning.
When Oriskany limped into Subic a few days later, their bodies were off-loaded with those of 42 other valiant sailors who had fought to save the ship. Their body-bags were covered with American flags and placed reverently in the C-130 that would transverse the wide Pacific to return them to the nation that was their home, and to which they had all taken an oath to defend with their very lives.
The rest of us Sundowners walked off the ship and went to the Cubi Point Club. We arrived there in the early evening. We grouped around the piano and our piano-playing, ex-Blue Angel, Executive Officer Bob Rasmussen began leading us in song. We didn’t stop singing until sunrise the next morning. The only song we couldn’t really get all the way through was “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” I’m quite certain St. Peter has since heard it more than a few times from the tough little guy who once flew my wing, through hell and back!
With deepest respect, Dick Schaffert
Cornhusker Lutheran and a Sundowner forever
ps: My roommate Norm Levy, who was the squadron Administration Officer, was also killed in the fire. With previous experience in that billet, I replaced him and began the heartbreaking task of gathering up the loose ends to notify the families and friends of those whom we had lost. As required, we had all filed confidential envelopes to be opened in event of our demise. When I opened Bill’s, all the forms were blank except for one page upon which he had written, “None of your damned business!” Skipper Rasmussen was amazed when he saw me laughing in the midst of performing my very sad duties. Six weeks after our return to Miramar, Base Security showed up at our squadron offices with a sporty British “MG” auto, registered to Bill. His parents were not aware that he had purchased a car before his hasty departure to join the Sundowners. I understand they drove it back across America to the east coast, in celebration of a brief life, well lived!
