AIR RESCUE MISSION, VIET NAM, 25 NOVEMBER 1965
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” This is Zulu Two over Thanh Hoa. Zulu One
and Zulu Two have been hit by flack. We are bailing out! Mayday!
Mayday!
These sounds came crackling through my headset as we cruised down the
coast of North Viet Nam. It was 25 November 1965. We were at 5000
feet and 20 miles off the coast and 30 miles north of Thanh Hoa. We
were an unarmed Gruman Albatross, twin engine USAF Rescue sea plane.
Two US Navy A-1E Propeller Driven Fighters, our armed escorts, had
been flying in formation with us for the past several hours.
We dropped the nose of the Albatross, added power to both engines and
increased our air speed from a comfortable 130 km to well past 200
knots approaching the air speed limit of this lumbering relic from WW
II.
We had awaken at 0200 hours that morning, crawled out of double bunks
in a crowded tent at Da Nang Air Base, South Viet Nam. We pulled on
our soggy combat uniforms and walked through the rain puddles to the
Mess Hall for our breakfast of powdered eggs, reconstituted milk and
toast. The three officers, myself, my copilot Frank Linseisen and
my navigator Carl Lemon stopped by the Intelligence Tent where we
picked up the mission summary for the day. The US Navy Aircraft
Carrier, the Bonhomme Richard, was in the Gulf of Tonkin with
missions scheduled for Haiphong and Hanoi at the northern end of the
gulf.
By 0400 hours we had completed our pre-flight inspection of the
aircraft and briefed the seven man crew which included, in addition
to the officers, a radio operator, a flight mechanic, and two para-
rescue medics. We slowly accelerated down the runway at Da Nang,
grossly overweight, with full main fuel tanks, full drop tanks under
each wing and full float tanks. It was scheduled to be a ten hour
mission along the coast of North Viet Nam and we need all the fuel
we could carry!
As we slowly climbed out over Da Nang Harbor we could see the lights
of dozens of anchored cargo vessels awaiting dock space to Da Nang.
It was said that the waiting time for some of these ships was as long
as thirty days. We contacted Monkey Mountain Radar Control for a
vector to our two A-1E escorts for the day. They were armed with six
in-wing 50 caliber machine guns and two under the wing rocket pods.
Each pod contained twenty four 2.5 inch rockets. The A-1Es were
always a welcomed sight but I'm not too sure how effective they would
be against the North Viet Nam's Russian MIG-17 Jet fighters which
occasionally showed up on our radar.
We had circled off Haiphong as the morning missions were carried
out. Intelligence had provided us with the radio frequencies to
monitor as the missions took place. At about 1000 hours we heard
that the bridges at Hanphong and Hanoi had been take out. The Zulu
Flight was then ordered south to strike the bridge at Thanh Hoa.
Although our designated orbit was off the coast at Haiphong, I
requested my navigator to give me a heading for Thanh Hoa, one
hundred miles to the south
“Duck Butt Charley (my rescue call sign) this is Zulu Two. I am in
my life raft in the water just off the coast at Thanh Hoa. Zulu One
bailed out over the city of Thanh Hoa. There are armed junks
approaching me. What is your estimate for my position?”
“Roger Zulu Two, we are about ten minuets out. I will send myA-1E to
you.”
“Escorts you are cleared to leave us and proceed to Zulu Two.”
The A-1E were much faster aircraft and could reach the downed pilot
quickly.
“Duck Butt Charlie, we are over the downed pilot and the Junks are
rapidly approaching him.
Are we cleared to open fire?”
“Roger, you are cleared to defend the downed pilot!”
As Mission Commander I was responsible for all decisions during the
actual rescue.
En-route I had made a quick open-sea evaluation. How high are the
waves, how far between the swells and what direction was the wind
blowing. Landing an airplane on the open sea is one of the most
difficult maneuvers a pilot can face. With the swells out of the
East and the wind out of the North. I selected a landing direction of
North East.
As we approached the down pilot I could see one of my escorts fire a
round of rockets at the armed Junk that had approached to within just
a few hundred yards of the pilots' raft. The Junk lifted out of the
water and floated away.
As we settled into the landing pattern, I jettisoned the wing drop
tanks. The explosive bolts went off like rifle shots and the tanks
tumbled toward the sea. Splashing down beside the life raft, I
maneuvered the aircraft along side the downed pilot. He was US Navy
Lieutenant Junior Grade Frank Harrington.
My two para-rescue men pulled him into the aircraft through the right
side hatch. My flight mechanic had mounted the two JATO rockets on
each side of the aircraft. Opening the throttles, I placed the hull
on the step and fired the JATOs. We were back in the air in less than
fiver minuets after landing. We later learned that Zulu One had
bailed out over the walled City of Thanh Hoa and was captured and
spent the balance of the war as a prisoner.
That night after Lt. Harrington was released from the hospital we had
a big celebration at the DOOM Club. The name of our club was much to
prophetic for many of our fellow airman but it actually stood for Da
Nang Officers Open Mess. A tragic note to this rescue was that Lt.
Harrington, the pilot plucked from the arms of the enemy, was killed
a month later at Kadena Air Base Okinawa. He had unsuccessfully
attempted to eject from an F-8 jet aircraft, on take-off, when a fire
warning light came on in the cockpit. To make it more tragic, the
accident investigation board determined that it was a malfunctioning
warning light and the aircraft could have taken off successfully.