fall 2015 - volume 62, number 3 …the astronaut wives club by lily koppel review by janet tudal...

FALL 2015 - Volume 62, Number 3WWW.AFHISTORICALFOUNDATION.ORG

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Departments

Book Reviews

Features A War Too Long: Part IIJohn S. SchlightNew Sandys in Town: A–7s and Rescue Operations in Southeast AsiaDarrel WhitcombIvory and Ebony: Officer Foes and Friends of the Tuskegee AirmenDaniel L. Haulman

Dragons on Bird Wings: The Combat History of the 812th Fighter Air RegimentBy Vlad Antipov & Igor Utkin Review by Golda Eldridge

Richthofen: The Red Baron in Old PhotographsBy Louis Archard Review by Daniel Simonsen

The Ardennes, 1944-1945: Hitler’s Winter OffensiveBy Christer Bergström Review by Al Mongeon

The Medal of Honor: A History of Service Above and BeyondBy Boston Publishers, ed. Review by Steven D. Ellis

American Military Aircraft 1908-1919By Robert B. Casari Review by Joseph Romito

Believers in the Battlespace: Religion, Ideology and WarBy Peter H. Denton, ed. Review by R. Ray Ortensie

British Airship Bases of the Twentieth CenturyBy Malcolm Fife Review by Carl J. Bobrow

The Phantom in Focus: A Navigator’s Eye on Britain’s Cold War WarriorBy David Gledhill Review by Mike R. Semrau

Lords of the SkyBy Dan Hampton Review by Janet Tudal Baltas

An American Pilot with the Luftwaffe: A Novella and Stories of World War IIBy Robert Huddleston Review by Steve Agoratus

The Astronaut Wives ClubBy Lily Koppel Review by Janet Tudal Baltas

Malloch’s Spitfire: The Story and Restoration of PK 350By Nick Meikle Review by Steve Agoratus

U.S. Marine Corps Aviation Since 1912: Fourth EditionBy Peter B. Mersky Review by Joseph T. Anderson

Flight Badges of the Allied Nations, 1914-1918: Volume I—The French, Russian, and Romanian AirBy Robert S. Pandis Review by Carl J. Bobrow

Pogie 105: Story of MIA Vietnam Jet Pilot Colonel Dean “Pogie” PogrebaBy Maxine A. Pogreba Review by Scott A. Willey

The Curtis Papers: Canadian Aerospace and Joint Studies, Vol. 1, Books 1 & 2By Canadian Forces Review by Richard P. Hallion

Shot Down: The True Story of Pilot Howard Snyder and the Crew of the B–17 Susan RuthBy Steve Snyder Review by Steve Agoratus

Hell in the Heavens: The Saga of a World War II Bomber PilotBy David E. & Morton E. Tavel Review by Daniel J. Simonsen

Army of the Sky: Russian Military Aviation Before the Great War; 1904-1914By Gregory Vitarbo . Review by Carl J. Bobrow

The Dakota Hunter: In Search of the Legendary DC–3 on the Last Fron tiersBy Hans Wiesman Review by Steve Agoratus

I Won’t be Home Next Summer: Flight Lieutenant R. N. Selley DFC (1917-1941)By Ron Selley & Kerrin Cocks Review by Paul Jacobs

Japanese Fighters in defense of the Homeland, 1941-1944, Vol. IBy Leszek A. Wielicko . Review by Scott A. Willey

The Millionaire’s Squadron: The Remarkable Story of 601 Squadron and the Flying SwordBy Tom Loulson Review by Joseph Romito

Guardian Angel: Life and Death Adventures with Pararescue, the World’s Most Powerful Commando Rescue ForceBy William F. Sine Review by John D. McElroy

Books To ReviewUpcoming Events, Letter, and ReunionsNew History Mystery

COVER: F–105Ds of the 34th Tactical Fighter Squadron drop bombs on Vietnam.

2 AIR POWER History / FALL 2015

Board of Directors

Maj Gen Dale W. Meyerrose, USAF (Ret.)Chairman

Lt Gen Charles L. Johnson II, USAF (Ret.)First Vice Chairman

Lt Gen Stephen G. Wood, USAF (Ret.)Second Vice Chairman

Lt Gen Christopher D. Miller, USAF (Ret.)Secretary

Col Thomas A. Owens, USAF (Ret.)Treasurer

Col Scott C. Bishop, USAF (Ret.)Col William J. Dalecky, USAF (Ret.)Lt Col (Dr.) Dik Daso, USAF (Ret.)Lt Col Steven Gress, Jr., USAF (Ret.)Ms. Jonna Doolittle HoppesCMS John R. (Doc) McCauslin, USAF (Ret.)Mr. Daniel R. Sitterly, USAF SES

Editor, Air Power HistoryRichard I. Wolf

Editor Emeritus, Air Power HistoryJacob Neufeld

StaffLt Col James A. Vertenten, USAF (Ret.)

Secretary to the Board and Executive Director

Mrs. Angela J. Bear, Office Manager

Patron Members

Col Gerald F. Christeson, USAF (Ret.)Col Dennis M. Drew, USAF (Ret.)Maj Gen Charles J. Dunlap, Jr., USAFMr. Darrell DvorakCapt Robert Maxson, NOAAGen James P. McCarthy, USAF (Ret.)Lt Gen George D. Miller, USAF (Ret.)Mrs. Marilyn MollCol Bobby Moorhatch, USAF (Ret.)Col J Calvin ShahbazBrig Gen William L. ShieldsLt Col Kenneth W. SublettLt Col Raymond C. Tagge, USAF (Ret.)

President’s Circle

Col William J. Dalecky, USAF (Ret.)Col Wray Johnson, USAF (Ret.)

CORPORATE SPONSORS

Gold Level ($10,000 or more)Lockheed Martin Corporation

WingNorthrop GrummanMr. Michael Clarke

SquadronMaj Gen John S. Patton, USAF (Ret.)ROKAF Historical Foundation

FlightDr. Richard P. HallionLt Gen Christopher Miller, USAF (Ret.)Lt Gen Michael A. Nelson, USAF (Ret.)Col Wayne C. Pittman, Jr., USAF (Ret.)Maj Willard Strandberg, Jr., USAF (Ret.)Torchmark Corporation

The Journal of theAir Force Historical FoundationFall 2015 Volume 62 Number 3

EditorRichard I. Wolf

Editor EmeritusJacob Neufeld

Book Review EditorScott A. Willey

AdvertisingJim Vertenten

CirculationAngela J. Bear

Air Power History (ISSN 1044-016X) is pro-duced for Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter bythe Air Force Historical Foun dation.

Prospective contributors should consult theGUIDELINES FOR CONTRIBUTORS atthe back of this journal. Unsolicited manu-scripts will be returned only on specificrequest. The Editor cannot accept responsibil-ity for any damage to or loss of the manu-script. The Editor reserves the right to editmanuscripts and letters.

Address LETTERS TO THE EDITOR to:

Air Power History6022 Cromwell PLAlexandria, VA 22315e-mail: [email protected]

Correspondence regarding missed issues orchanges of address should be addressed tothe CIRCULATION OFFICE:

Air Power HistoryP.O. Box 790Clinton, MD 20735-0790(301) 736-1959e-mail: [email protected]

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3AIR POWER History / FALL 2015

In this issue, we are completing the story of the conflict in Southeast Asia, which webegan in the last issue. It is designed to complement the sessions that will be underway inOctober with the “Violent Skies: Air War over Vietnam” symposium, jointly sponsored b allof the services. The National Defense University is hosting this symposium on October 15thand 16th. Complete registration details are located at www.violentskies.org.

As a result of the impending event, our lead article is Part II of A War Too Long, by Col.John S. Schlight, USAF (Ret.), which carries the story from 1965 to the end of the conflict.We also have an article by Darrell Whitcomb about the introduction of the A–7 aircraft intothe “Sandy” role in Vietnam. It is the result of extensive research undertaken by the authorat the Air Force Historical Research Agency at Maxwell AFB, Alabama.

The third article departs from the theme, and is contributed by Daniel Haulman, one ofthe eminent crew of archivists and historians at Maxwell, who has written extensively onthe experience of the Tuskegee Airmen through the years. In this article, Dan has coveredsome new ground in greater detail as he discusses who helped, and who hindered, theAirmen during World War II. An interesting read.

As usual, we have an extensive collection of book reviews, some twenty in all, beginningon page 50. Our Book Review Editor, Scott Willey has noted that it is becoming harder to getpeople to review items for this publication. If you are at all interested in air power readings,take a look at page 61 and see if you have something to add.

Please take a minute to catch up with the state of the Foundation by turning to page 5and our President’s Message. It has all the latest news and information on Foundation hap-penings.

We conclude the issue with our normal lists of air power events and reunions, as well asa very nice, laudatory letter about our discontinued “History Mystery” and its author, BobDorr. But we also have a new version of the “Mystery” on the final page, page 64. Be sure totake a look. Please don’t forget to take a look at the details for the October 15-16 symposium.

From the Editor

Air Power History and the Air Force Historical Foundation disclaim responsibility for statements,either of fact or of opinion, made by contributors. The submission of an article, book review, or othercommunication with the intention that it be published in this journal shall be construed as prima facieevidence that the contributor willingly transfers the copyright to Air Power History and the Air ForceHistorical Foundation, which will, however, freely grant authors the right to reprint their own works,if published in the authors’ own works.

5AIR POWER History / FALL 2015

From the President

Dear Foundation Members and Friends:

As always, let me thank you for the part that each of you has played in the his-tory and legacy of air power, and for your generous support of our Foundation.

In our last message to you we shared the news of our great fortune, receipt of avery generous bequest from one our longtime members. As we noted, this gra-cious gift will go a long way towards ensuring a sound financial future for yourFoundation. In the months since the receipt we have spent a good deal of time insecuring and investing the funds: Selecting legal counsel, choosing a highlyreputed and successful investment advisory firm, and upgrading our financialauditing program. While this comes at some expense to the Foundation, webelieve it is entirely prudent and necessary to protect this precious asset. As wenoted in our last message, these funds solidify our position as an independentadvocate within the air power community. We now have the latitude to review our programs and member services withthe vision to grow our Foundation in a way that furthers our mission to “Know the past…Shape the Future.” However,we must continue to: operate on a tight budget; annually raise funds through sponsorships and donations; use our new,viable status for the betterment of our Foundation; and prove worthy of future bequests and support.

We again ask that you mark your calendars for the second week of this coming October. On Tuesday, October 13th wewill host our annual Awards Banquet. As in past years, we will recognize two individuals who have made a lifetime ofcontribution to the making and documenting of Air Force history and two who authored the best historical writings ofthe past year. The Banquet will be held at the Army Navy Country Club in Arlington, VA. This year’s winners are:

Spaatz Award Winner: General (Ret) Ronald Fogleman

Holley Award Winner: Dr. Richard P. Hallion

Air Power History Best Book Reviewed Winner: Dr. Dennis Okerstrom

Air Power History Best Article Award: Dr. John T. Farquhar

The Banquet will be preceded by the presentation of the Doolittle Award in a 4:00 PM ceremony at the Air ForceMemorial. This award recognizes an Air Force unit whose history exemplifies the air power contribution to national secu-rity, valor, esprit-de-corps, and superior mission execution exemplified by then-Lt Col Jimmy Doolittle, his 79 fellow air-men and their 1942 bombing of Tokyo, Japan. This year’s selectee is the 509th Bomb Wing, Whiteman AFB, MO.

Additionally, on October 15th and 16th, with our sister service historical foundations, we will co-host a joint symposiumentitled “Violent Skies: The Air War over Viet Nam.” The venue for this event will be the National Defense Universityat Ft. Leslie J. McNair in Washington DC. A distinguished group of panelists and speakers have been assembled toaddress the many facets of this conflict. . We invite your suggestions and recommendations to enhance the currency andrelevancy of the discussion. Of course, we would greatly appreciate your attendance at this much anticipated event, aswell as our award festivities on the 13th.

Dale W. Meyerrose, Maj Gen, USAF (Ret.)President and Chairman of the Board

AIR POWER History / FALL 2015 7

John S. Schlight

A War Too Long: Part II

attempt to change North Vietnamese policy, but thebombing tended to be directed against the flow ofmen and supplies from the North, thus damagingthe enemy militarily while warning him of the dan-ger of greater destruction if he maintained the pre-sent aggressive course.

Although the bombing campaign was taking onmore of a military coloration, forcing Ho Chi Minhto give up his goal of absorbing South Vietnam intoa unified communist state remained the underlyingpurpose. The change in the conduct of the air warwas not sufficient to satisfy LeMay and like-mindedmembers of the military leadership, who believedthat the United States could not end aggressionwith these strategies. The ill-conceived attempt tobomb Ho Chi Minh into being a good neighbor, inpart the product of a cultural bias that perceived amilitarily backward North Vietnam as succumbingto the use (if not the mere threat) of Americanmight, had failed. McNamara’s persisting in suchan effort, even in the form of aerial interdiction,served mainly to estrange LeMay and other uni-formed leaders from the civilian officials of theDepartment of Defense. In essence, the senior offi-cers argued that military considerations shoulddetermine the use of force, whereas the civilians,typified by Secretary McNamara, insisted thatselective pressure, controlled by them and combinedwith diplomatic overtures, would prevail and com-pel North Vietnam to call off its aggression in theSouth.

Within Congress, doubts about the McNamarapolicy mounted as the bombing dragged on withoutan appreciable effect on the leadership at Hanoi. Atlast in August 1967, after more than two years ofRolling Thunder, the Preparedness InvestigatingSubcommittee of the Senate Armed Services Com -mittee began to probe the conduct of the air war.Under the leadership of John C. Stennis, aDemocrat from Mississippi, the subcommittee pro-vided a sympathetic forum where the admirals andgenerals presented their case for stronger action. Inthe words of Democratic Senator W. StuartSymington of Missouri, a member of the subcom-mittee and the first Secretary of the Air Force,Rolling Thunder resembled an attack on an octopus;he, along with the other members of the subcom-mittee and the uniformed witnesses, believed ingoing for the head, which would mean an escalationof the bombing in terms of targets and tonnage. Incontrast, Secretary McNamara argued unsuccess-fully that attacking the head of the octopus was notnecessary if all the tentacles were pounded to apulp, as he maintained the limited bombing wasdoing. The consensus of the subcommittee was thatthe policy represented by Secretary McNamara had


The second air war took place in the skies overNorth Vietnam. Between March 1965 and theend of October 1968, Air Force and Navy air-

craft conducted Operation Rolling Thunder, a bomb-ing campaign designed to force Ho Chi Minh toabandon his ambition to take over South Vietnam.Over the objections of many Air Force leaders, theoperation began primarily as a diplomatic signal toimpress Hanoi with America’s determination,essentially a warning that the violence would esca-late until Ho Chi Minh blinked, and secondarily asa means to bolster the sagging morale of the SouthVietnamese. In the view of the Air Force, the cam-paign had no clear-cut military objective nor itsauthors any real estimate of the cost in lives andaircraft. General LeMay and others argued thatmilitary targets, rather than the enemy’s resolve,should be attacked and that the blows should berapid and sharp, with the impact felt immediatelyby the North Vietnamese Army on the battlefield aswell as by the political leadership at Hanoi.Secretary McNamara favored the measured appli-cation of force and was convinced that the war couldbe won in the South. He initially emphasized strikesagainst the extended battlefield, which consisted ofSouth Vietnam and the areas immediately beyondits borders, instead of proceeding directly againstthe targets many deep within North Vietnam advo-cated by LeMay. When Rolling Thunder failed toweaken the enemy’s will after the first severalweeks, the purpose, though not the pace, of the cam-paign began to change. By the end of 1965, theJohnson administration still used air power in an

(Overleaf) A group ofF–105s are refueled by aKC–135 over Vietnam in1965.

Col. John S. Schlight, USAF (Ret.) graduated from St. Vincent’s College in 1950, and earnedMA and Ph.D. degrees in History from Princeton. After serving for five years as a navigator, Col.Schlight spent the rest of his career until 1976 in academic military positions, nine years at theU.S. Air Force Academy and three years at the National War College. His final position was asthe Deputy Chief of the Office of Air Force History, where he retired in 1983. After that tenure,he moved on to the U.S. Army’s Center of Military History until his civilian retirement.

Secretary of DefenseRobert S. McNamaradefends the bombing ofHanoi and Haiphong, whichwere designed to deprivethe North Vietnamese mili-tary of essential supplies.

THE CHANGEIN THE CON-DUCT OF THEAIR WARWAS NOTSUFFICIENTTO SATISFYLEMAY ANDLIKE-MINDEDMEMBERS OFTHE MILI-TARY LEAD-ERSHIP

failed and that purely military considerationsshould prevail in selecting and attacking targets.Nevertheless, the hearings resulted in little morethan an expansion of the target list, for thePresident undertook no dramatic escalation. Thesecret sessions did, however, destroy what remainedof McNamara’s credibility with Congress, contribut-ing to his disenchantment with the war and edginghim toward resigning, which he did early in 1968.

Besides opening divisions within theDepartment of Defense, the bombing contributed insome measure to the increasing opposition to thewar and to the way it was being fought. Thoseamong the populace who believed that the UnitedStates was doing too little could point to RollingThunder as an example of how American service-men were risking their lives in operations thatcould not bring victory. At the opposite pole werethose who felt that Rolling Thunder was unworthyof the United States, a form of war that unleashedthe latest technology of violence against the civilianpopulace of North Vietnam. As the then-secret tes-

timony before the Stennis subcommittee madeclear, the nation’s uniformed leaders did not advo-cate warfare against the population of the North,but attacks on undeniably military targets incrowded cities could not help but maim and kill non-combatants. Complicating any dispassionate judg-ment of the air war was the enduring myth that aer-ial bombardment was capable of unerring accuracy.Tracing its roots to the bombs-in-a-pickle-barrel leg-end of World War II, this myth had been reinforcedby recent references to the surgical precision of aer-ial attack and by President Johnson’s ill-advisedremark that, whereas Viet Cong steel was plungedinto flesh and blood, American bombs were directedonly at steel and concrete. When an Americanreporter permitted to travel in North Vietnam sentback dispatches describing civilian casualties andthe destruction of homes, the abiding belief of theAmerican people in the precision of aerial bombingreinforced the enemy’s propaganda.

When Rolling Thunder began in March 1965,strikes were limited to specific targets south of 20degrees North latitude, but the area of operationsrapidly expanded and the nature of the attackschanged. Within a few weeks Air Force fighter-bombers were flying armed reconnaissance in thatsame area, hitting targets of opportunity. The firsttarget north of the 20th parallel was bombed inMay, and by November a few strikes had beenauthorized north of Hanoi against the rail linesentering the country from China. Because it repre-sented a use of military force for diplomatic pur-poses, Rolling Thunder was controlled directly fromWashington. Targets were chosen in the WhiteHouse, at times when the President was havinglunch with a few key advisers. At first, squadrons inSouth Vietnam and Thailand carried out the strikesapproved for the Air Force, but after the construc-tion of new airfields in Thailand, all the raidsagainst the North originated there. The fleet of air-craft the Air Force operated from Thailand grewfrom 83 to 600. At first, the main burden of carryingthe air war to North Vietnam fell to the F–105, butthe F–4C joined it in mid-1965 and the F–4D some-what later; the F–111, the operational version of theTFX, served briefly in 1968. The first of the fewB–52 strikes directed against the North during thisperiod took place in April 1966 and pounded theinfiltration routes exiting into Laos; the Air ForceChief of Staff, General McConnell, did not want tosend these bombers against the Hanoi-Haiphongregion where the defenses were strongest.

Until November 1965, Air Force and Navy air-craft alternated in attacking Rolling Thunder tar-gets throughout the North, but beginning thatmonth, six armed reconnaissance areas, called routepackages, were created, with each the responsibilityof one of the two services. During April 1966, wheninfiltration into the South increased through thedemilitarized zone, responsibility for strikes in theroute package abutting the zone was turned over toGeneral Westmoreland as part of South Vietnam’sextended battlefield. Meanwhile, attacks continued,with certain exclusions, in the rest of North


BESIDESOPENINGDIVISIONSWITHIN THEDEPARTMENTOF DEFENSE,THE BOMB-ING CON-TRIBUTED INSOME MEA-SURE TO THEINCREASINGOPPOSITIONTO THE WAR

Vietnam. At various times, aircraft could not strikethe potential targets within a thirty-mile radius ofHanoi, those within ten miles of Haiphong or thirtymiles of the Chinese border, the MiG bases, and,until they demonstrated that they were actualweapons and not mere tokens of Soviet support, thesurface-to-air missile sites.

The lists of authorized targets and exceptedareas changed throughout the bombing campaign. InJune 1966, for instance, fighter-bombers flew a seriesof powerful attacks against seven major petroleumstorage areas, destroying some seventy percent ofNorth Vietnam’s tankage. The air war escalated fur-ther in February 1967 when aircraft hit powerplants, military airfields, and railway yards withinthe buffer zones around Hanoi and targets along theChinese border. Nevertheless, Rolling Thunder wasfought in flurries, with periods of escalation or inten-sified activity separated by pauses in the bombingdesigned to facilitate a North Vietnamese responsethrough diplomatic channels. In actuality, the pausesallowed the enemy time to bind up his wounds.

During Rolling Thunder, Air Force and Navyaircraft frequently attacked the highway bridge atThanh Hoa, but the raids proved futile. Workmenswarmed over the bridge by night or in weather toobad for follow-up bombing and repaired the dam-age, with traffic rerouted across a nearby underwa-ter bridge whenever the steel structure could not beused. A captured naval aviator, whose aircraft wasone of sixteen shot down during the attacks on theThanh Hoa bridge was blindfolded and in the darkof night placed in the back of an open truck. After ashort drive, the truck stopped, his captors removedthe blindfold, and he found himself in the middle ofthe river at Thanh Hoa, the truck parked on theunderwater bridge that American intelligence hadnot yet detected. The Paul Doumer bridge, whichcarried the railroad and a highway over the RedRiver at Hanoi, came under attack during theenlargement of the target list that resulted from thehearings of the Stennis subcommittee. Air Forcefighter-bombers succeeded in dropping three of thespans, but North Vietnamese laborers immediatelyset to work on an underwater replacement bridge.

Besides struggling successfully to repair bombdamage, whether to bridges or to power plants,North Vietnam responded to Rolling Thunder bybuilding a modern radar-controlled air defense sys-tem, perhaps the most formidable ever devised.Shortly after the bombing began, the number ofNorth Vietnamese antiaircraft guns of all calibersdoubled to 2,000. The proliferation of these weaponsforced the fighter-bombers after the first few weeksto change their tactics from low-level, high-speedbomb runs to higher altitude penetrations. Thedefenders, however, acquired a weapon, the surface-to-air missile, that could engage higher flying air-craft. Reconnaissance craft detected Soviet-suppliedsurface-to-air missiles for the first time in March1965 and had identified fifty-six sites by the end ofthe year. Complementing the guns and missiles, theNorth Vietnamese Air Force had about 100MiG–17s and MiG–21s, as well as a few MiG–19s, acollection of interceptors that began, during the fol-lowing year, to pose a threat to the Americanfighter-bombers.

By the summer of 1966, the North Vietnamesewere defending their territory with a radar-directedsystem of aerial defense that included interceptors,surface-to-air missiles, and antiaircraft guns. Ingeneral, the enemy used his interceptors to harrythe approaching fighter-bombers, forcing them todrop their bombs earlier than planned to rid theiraircraft of the drag that impeded them in dogfightsagainst the MiGs. To avoid the surface-to-air mis-siles, which were deadly at high altitude but couldnot change direction readily, the F–105s and F–4sdived sharply, a maneuver that placed them in thekilling zone of the antiaircraft guns. The weakestlink in the enemy’s defenses proved to be the radarthat controlled the surface-to-air missiles and thelargest of the guns. The Air Force exploited thisweakness with a Navy-developed missile, theShrike, that destroyed the transmitter by homingon the radar signals. Later, an improved missile ofthis kind, the Standard Antiradiation Missile,replaced the Shrike as the normal means of forcinghostile radar to shut down. In addition, the AirForce used jamming transmitters, mounted in orbit-ing aircraft or enclosed in pods hung from thefighter-bombers, to conceal the genuine radarreturns and confuse the North Vietnamese opera-tors. Using antiradiation missiles and the electroniccountermeasures, pilots neutralized the surface-to-air missiles, enabling the attackers to remainbeyond the reach of antiaircraft fire.

Along with the formidable defenses, the restric-tions on targets helped determine the tacticsemployed by American air power during RollingThunder, for the pilots had to avoid trespassing inChinese air space or damaging non-North Vietna -mese shipping at Haiphong or some other port asthey carried out the contradictory mission of per-suading Ho Chi Minh that North Vietnam could bedestroyed, without actually destroying it. The AirForce at times compensated with unusual tactics ortechniques for the defenses and the prohibition, butnot for the basic contradiction. Since airfields in


A fully loaded F–105D.

ROLLINGTHUNDERWAS FOUGHTIN FLURRIES,WITH PERIODS OFESCALATION…SEPARATEDBY PAUSESIN THEBOMBING

BY THE SUMMER OF1966, THENORTHVIETNAMESEWEREDEFENDINGTHEIR TERRI-TORY WITH ARADAR-DIRECTEDSYSTEM OFAERIALDEFENSE

North Vietnam were at times exempt from attackand those in China always so, the attackers couldnot destroy the MiGs on the ground, and aerial com-bat was inevitable. To improve the odds, radar-equipped EC–121s, military versions of the Lock -heed Constellation transport, orbited over the Gulfof Tonkin and warned American pilots of theapproach of hostile jets. A favorite maneuver of theNorth Vietnamese fighter pilots was to climbsharply, forcing the F–105s to jettison their bombsin expectation of a dogfight. Radar in the EC–121sdetected these tactics, and a screen of F–4s, armedwith heat-seeking missiles and flying at an altitudelower than the F–105s, could intercept theapproaching enemy.

Perhaps the most spectacular tactical innova-tion occurred in January 1967, when fourteenflights of F–4s posed as bomb-laden F–105s byusing the appropriate radio call signs, approachroute, altitude, and speed. Anticipating easy kills,the North Vietnamese attacked, and the Phantoms,primed for battle and unencumbered by bombs,destroyed seven of the MiGs in twelve minutes.Four days afterward, this time masquerading asweather reconnaissance craft, the F–4s again luredthe MiGs into attacking and destroyed two more.Having learned the danger of overconfidence, theNorth Vietnamese began to rely on hit-and-runattacks, firing heat-seeking missiles from behindtheir intended victims, then bolting for safety.

For air-to-air combat, the Air Force normallyused the multibarrel 20-mm cannon and threekinds of air intercept missiles the AIM–9 Side -winder, AIM–7 Sparrow, and AIM–4 Falcon—allsupersonic and accurate at ranges varying from twoto ten miles. The Sidewinder, first used in combatby Chinese Nationalist pilots over the Taiwan Straitin 1958, was a heat-seeking missile developed bythe Naval Ordnance Test Station at China Lake,California. The Sparrow, developed by the Ray -theon Company for the Navy, relied on radar forguidance. The Hughes Aircraft Falcon came in sev-eral models, some with radar in the nose to trackthe victim, whereas others homed on the heat gen-erated by engines. To enhance the accuracy of the

Sparrow and the radar-guided versions of theFalcon, McDonnell Douglas fitted fire control radarin the F–4 to help highlight the target. Since the airintercept missiles were ill-suited for close-in fight-ing, some F–4Cs and all subsequent models of thePhantom carried a 20-mm gun either installed in apod attached to the airframe or built into the air-craft.

After the Wise Men recommended against fur-ther escalation of the war, President Johnson con-ceded that Rolling Thunder had failed to make HoChi Minh relent. Hoping that a reduction of thebombing would succeed where intensification hadfailed and entice Hanoi into negotiating a settle-ment of the war, the President on April 1, 1968,ended the bombing north of the 19th parallel andhalted it altogether on November 1. Col. RayBowers, who had studied the campaign whileassigned to the Office of Air Force History, summedup the accomplishments of Rolling Thunderbetween the spring of 1965 and the fall of 1968when he told an audience at the Air Force Academy,“Measured by its unsatisfactory outcome and bythe…planes lost in North Vietnam, the controlledapplication of air power that was Rolling Thunderstands as a sad failure.”

During the air war against the North, Air Forcetactical fighters flew 166,000 sorties and the Navy’scarrier aircraft 144,500. The B–52s, which strictlyspeaking were not a part of Rolling Thunder, sawlimited action, flying just 2,330 sorties. The enemydowned 526 Air Force aircraft; fifty-four fell victimto surface-to-air missiles, forty-two were destroyedby MiGs, and the remainder succumbed to antiair-craft fire. Of the 745 Air Force crew members shotdown on missions against the North, 145 were res-cued, 255 were known to have died, 222 were takenprisoner, and the fate of 123 others was unknownwhen the operation ended.

The air war along the trails of southern Laoscomplemented both Rolling Thunder and the airwar in South Vietnam. The objective of this third aircampaign was to impede the flow of men and equip-ment from North into South Vietnam; in 1965 thistraffic was estimated at 4,500 men and 300 tons of


The AGM-45 Shrike anti-radiation missile.

PRESIDENTJOHNSONCONCEDEDTHATROLLINGTHUNDERHAD FAILEDTO MAKE HOCHI MINHRELENT

THE AIR WARALONG THETRAILS OFSOUTHERNLAOS COM-PLEMENTEDBOTHROLLINGTHUNDERAND THE AIRWAR INSOUTHVIETNAM

cargo each month. The Air Force, the Navy, and theMarine Corps all participated in this air war; theAir Force with F–100s, F–4s, F–105s, and B–57sfrom both South Vietnam and Thailand. The weightof the aerial effort varied with the weather, whichcleared over southern Laos during a dry season thatnormally lasted from November through April andfacilitated both road traffic and air operations.Although the campaign in this region came to beconducted year-around, initially the activity all butstopped with the onset of the monsoon rains, as thefocus of aerial interdiction shifted to the demilita-rized zone where the tempo of infiltration increasedwith the beginning of dry weather.

Like Rolling Thunder, the interdiction of the HoChi Minh Trail in southern Laos was subject topolitical constraints. The settlement negotiatedbetween the communist and noncommunist fac-tions in 1962 banned a military headquarters inLaos, and the United States used its embassy atVientiane for that purpose, with the ambassadorfunctioning as the military authority in the king-dom and the military attaches as his staff. Decisionsas to the number of sorties, targets, and ordnancereflected the need to preserve the nominal neutral-ity of the Laotian prime minister, SouvannaPhouma, who did not object to the air war as long ashis loyal subjects were not endangered and his gov-ernment not involved to the extent that mightinvite North Vietnamese retaliation. The JointChiefs of Staff approved each of the recurring inter-diction campaigns, the Seventh Air Force providedthe aircraft and nominated the targets, and theambassador vetoed any target that in his judgmentmight jeopardize noncombatants, capturedAmericans, or the appearance of neutrality on thepart of Souvanna’s government.

The original Barrel Roll campaign, begun inDecember 1964, gave way during the following Aprilto a more extensive interdiction program calledSteel Tiger. As the rains abated, infiltrationincreased and the number of air strikes multiplied,concentrating on the part of Steel Tiger closest tothe South Vietnamese border, a region called TigerHound. Aircraft hit trucks, storage and bivouacareas, bridges, buildings, and antiaircraft sites. InDecember 1965 B–52s dropped their first bombs onthe Ho Chi Minh Trail.

Although American aircraft had by the end of1965 claimed the destruction of more than 1,000trucks, along with structures of every sort, includingbridges, few results could be verified and the num-ber of the enemy killed could not be determined.Infiltration continued not only through Laos, butalso by way of Cambodia and the demilitarized zoneand by sea. As time passed, the carefully camou-flaged network of roads and trails, waterways andpipelines, depots and bivouac areas steadilyexpanded in southern Laos, and the enemy estab-lished a logistics complex in Cambodia.

Because of the troops and cargo that traveledthe infiltration and supply routes, the tempo of thefighting in South Vietnam continued to increasedespite an enemy death toll that rose from an esti-

mated 35,000 in 1965 to as many as 181,000 in1968. Realizing the importance of the Ho Chi MinhTrail through southern Laos in sustaining the warin South Vietnam, the United States early in 1966intensified the air campaign against this route andexperimented with a number of new interdictiontechniques. Until the rains arrived in May, AirForce, Navy, and Marine Corps aircraft flew morethan 6,000 sorties, cratering roads and destroying1,000 trucks, along with buildings, antiaircraft sites,and boats. World War II vintage A–26s began hunt-ing and attacking trucks; the Combat Skyspotradar, which had proved effective in South Vietnam,began directing strikes in southern Laos at nightand in bad weather; and AC–130 gunshipsequipped with special detection devices to locateand attack trucks moving by night saw their firstaction early in 1967. At times, South Vietnameseground reconnaissance teams were flown by heli-copter to the vicinity of the trail to locate targetsand call for air strikes.

Meanwhile, the B–52s began making a greatercontribution to the interdiction effort, flying some400 sorties against portions of the trail opposite thefive northernmost provinces of South Vietnambetween April and June 1966. Westmoreland soughtto expand still further the use of the bombers byinaugurating a systematic campaign against themountain passes leading from North Vietnam intoLaos. The ambassador, however, vetoed the pro-posal, doubting both the effectiveness of the bomb-ing and his ability to sell such a program toSouvanna Phouma.

The North Vietnamese reacted to the interdic-tion campaign by strengthening the antiaircraftdefenses and by assigning troops and laborers torepair damage and build new routes, some of whichwould remain undetected for months, even years,under the jungle canopy. By mid-1966, Air Forcereconnaissance craft had identified about 300 anti-aircraft sites bristling with guns, mostly 37-mmtypes; the labor force by this time totaled an esti-mated thirty-eight North Vietnamese engineer bat-talions and 16,000 civilian laborers, many recruitedlocally. A North Vietnamese transportation divisioncontrolled the entire operation, which included waystations, guides and food, and communications allalong the roads and rivers.

This transportation division attempted to makethe Ho Chi Minh Trail secure, and devised manytechniques for avoiding detection from the air. Asmuch as possible, trucks moved by night; in daylightthey were camouflaged with green paint, tarpaulins,and tree branches. Whenever aircraft approached,moving trucks darted onto side roads and waited forat least an hour after the intruders had disappearedbefore resuming the journey. Bicycles, oxcarts, boats,and human porters supplemented the trucks in car-rying supplies. Troops destined for the battlefields ofSouth Vietnam also used the Ho Chi Minh Trail,usually traveling on foot in small groups. The sol-diers were warned not to discuss their travel, makeany unnecessary noise while en route, or leave litteron the road in short, to avoid any action that might


THE INTER-DICTION OFTHE HO CHIMINH TRAILIN SOUTHERNLAOS WASSUBJECT TOPOLITICALCON-STRAINTS

THE NORTHVIETNAMESEREACTED TOTHE INTER-DICTIONCAMPAIGNBYSTRENGTH-ENING THEANTIAIR-CRAFTDEFENSES

reveal their schedule or betray their presence. If air-craft did appear, the individual infiltrators eitherfroze in their tracks, threw themselves down, ormoved off the trail into the rain forest. The jungleproved a valuable ally of the North Vietnamese, forby binding together the tops of trees, the enemy cre-ated an extensive trellis to hide his movements andhis installations from searching aircraft. Trucks andinfiltrating troops crossed rivers and streams with-out being detected on pontoon bridges, hidden byday, or on underwater spans made of sandbags.Telephone lines were strung along five-foot polesthat were too short to cast the telltale shadows thatmight alert photo interpreters to the course of thetrail. This sustained effort, requiring the full-timeactivity of tens of thousands of soldiers who mightotherwise have been fighting in South Vietnam,seemed proof that the bombing of the Ho Chi MinhTrail had disrupted the North Vietnamese wareffort.

In the summer of 1966, when the seasonschanged and the infiltration shifted northward tothe demilitarized zone, the aircraft assigned to oper-ations in Tiger Hound followed suit and beganbombing in the Tally Ho area just north of the zone.Early in 1967, when the dry weather returned tosouthern Laos, the Air Force stepped up its bombingattacks, its efforts at night interdiction, and its sup-port of ground probes of the Ho Chi Minh Trail.These operations, and the attempt to turn the roadsand trails to mud by seeding the clouds to causerain, failed to significantly reduce enemy infiltra-tion. The Air Force attributed this failure to theneed to consult the ambassador at Vientiane, whichmade the bombing in southern Laos, like the airwar against North Vietnam, a tentative, stop-and-go undertaking.

In the meantime, Secretary McNamara, losingconfidence in Rolling Thunder as a means of forcingthe enemy to end the aggression in the South andnegotiate an end to the war, began seeking a substi-tute for the bombing of North Vietnam less costly inlives and aircraft. He proposed, instead of intensi-fied attacks on the heavily defended North, that airpower join in a systematic effort to choke off the flow

of men and equipment across the demilitarized zoneand through southern Laos into South Vietnam. Heordered the establishment of what sometimes wasdescribed as McNamara’s Wall—a barrier of barbedwire and defensive strongpoints sealing the routesacross the demilitarized zone and a field of elec-tronic sensors detecting infiltration west of the zonethrough southern Laos. Work on the barrier alongthe demilitarized zone began during the second halfof 1967 but was never completed; beset by shortagesof transportation and materials and by poor roads,the project soon collapsed in the face of determinedenemy resistance. Meanwhile, the electronic portionof the wall began to take shape. Under the guidanceof the Air Force, Task Force Alpha came into being,its brain an electronic surveillance center built atNakhon Phanom, Thailand, on the border withLaos. To monitor the movement of trucks and menalong suspected segments of the Ho Chi Minh Trail,aircraft dropped acoustic and seismic sensors, alongwith thousands of tiny button bombs to help acti-vate them. Orbiting EC–121s relayed signals fromactivated sensors to Nakhon Phanom, where com-puters matched the information with previouslystored data, and controllers requested strikes byelements of General Momyer’s Seventh Air Force.

Aircraft especially equipped for the operationsof Task Force Alpha began arriving at NakhonPhanom late in 1967. The Navy contributed asquadron of Lockheed OP–2E patrol bombers,which joined Air Force CH–3C helicopters in plant-ing the sensor fields. Besides the helicopters, the AirForce supplied a squadron of F–4s to drop sensors inareas too heavily defended for the helicopters or theOP–2Es and eighteen A–1Es to dispense the tinybombs that, when driven over or stepped on, emit-ted a noise that activated the sensors. A detachmentof forward air controllers in O–1s arrived to directboth the placement of the mines and sensors andthe strikes launched in response to the electronicdata. Despite successful tests of the system on thetrail in December, the full-scale inauguration of theprogram had to be postponed when the assignedaircraft were diverted in January to the defense ofKhe Sanh. The marines manning the base bene-fited, however, from the sensors in pinpointing hos-tile movements and acquiring targets for air strikesor artillery.

Between December 1964 and the end of 1967,American aircraft flew 185,000 sorties of all kindsagainst the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Of this total, 80 per-cent were the work of the Air Force, which lost 107of the 132 aircraft shot down over southern Laosduring this period. As a result of the reduction andthen the termination of Rolling Thunder, resourcesbecame available to transform the air campaign insouthern Laos from essentially a dry-weatherattempt at interdiction into a succession of sensor-assisted air campaigns, called Commando Hunt,that tried throughout the year to impede the infil-tration of men and supplies.

The air war fought over northern Laos had alower priority than operations over South Vietnam,North Vietnam, or southern Laos. Neither the com-


An EC–121 Constellation.

EARLY IN1967,…THEAIR FORCESTEPPED UPITS BOMBINGATTACKS

AIRCRAFTESPECIALLYEQUIPPEDFOR THEOPERATIONSOF TASKFORCEALPHABEGANARRIVING ATNAKHONPHANOMLATE IN 1967

munist Pathet Lao nor their opposition couldrecruit the forces or obtain the outside aid thatwould bring victory. North Vietnam used the PathetLao to protect the western flank of the Ho Chi MinhTrail; the United States hoped to safeguard theradar sites in Laos that directed the bombing ofNorth Vietnam and, at the same time, tie downNorth Vietnamese resources that might be used togreater effect in South Vietnam or in southern Laos.The main antagonists, therefore, were more inter-ested in keeping their Laotian factions in the fieldand fighting than in winning. Victory, after all,might require the diversion of men and materielneeded for more important operations elsewhere.

Disagreements arose over how air power couldbest sustain the forces loyal to the government andopposing the Pathet Lao. The American ambassadorat Vientiane wanted to control the air supportneeded by the government forces and the irregularsrecruited by General Vang Pao from the Meo tribein the mountains of Laos. He tried repeatedly topersuade the Air Force to set aside aircraft for hisexclusive use in providing close air support for thetroops in northern Laos, but General Momyerresisted attempts to assign fighter-bombers to theambassador or to the Laotian generals. Momyer’sresponsibilities extended from the Mekong delta tothe demilitarized zone, including the roads andtrails of southern Laos, and embraced every kind ofair support from battlefield strikes to long-rangeinterdiction. He was determined to retain the free-dom to use his aircraft wherever and however hedeemed best. Instead of continuing to maintain afew jet fighter-bombers on alert for operations innorthern Laos, as his predecessor had done,Momyer preferred to allocate sorties from his over-all force in response to requests from Vientiane.Although the Air Force increased the number ofB–26s and A–1s assigned to Southeast Asia, typesof aircraft well suited to the kind of war beingfought in northern Laos, the ambassador did notbecome his own air commander.

The fighting in northern Laos remained largelya war of proxies, with few Americans (or NorthVietnamese, for that matter) serving there. TheNorth Vietnamese provided supplies and a smallcore of disciplined soldiers for the Pathet Lao. Aneven smaller contingent of American airmen actedas forward air controllers for Vang Pao’s army oroperated the scattered radar sites that directedstrikes in southern Laos and North Vietnam. Udornin Thailand functioned as a pilot training centerand maintenance depot for the fledgling RoyalLaotian Air Force, and a C–130 flying out of thereserved as an airborne command post for operationsover northern Laos.

American aerial activity in northern Laos var-ied in intensity over the years. As an immediateconsequence of the peace accord of 1962, the UnitedStates shifted its attention to South Vietnam andlimited its activity in northern Laos to providingmilitary aid, conducting the occasional show offorce, and carrying out clandestine operations.These circumstances contributed to the creation of

a loosely structured operating organization forwhich the embassy, the Central Intelligence Agency,and the military shared responsibility. Two yearslater, when civil war erupted despite the settlementof 1962, the United States sided with the RoyalLaotian government against the communist PathetLao. After 1964 the fighting intensified, but by 1968it had more or less settled into an annual pattern inwhich the Pathet Lao advanced onto the Plain ofJars in northern Laos during the dry season (win-ter), exposing its forces to air attacks that inflictedcasualties and hacked away at the supply and com-munication lines extending from North Vietnam. Bythe coming of the summer rains, the drive had spentitself, and the initiative passed to the governmenttroops as the communists fell back to restock andregroup. In this annual cycle of combat, the Laotiangovernment came to rely more and more on airpower, both American and its own, and on the guer-rilla army of Vang Pao.

Air Force pilots became proficient in the kind ofclose air support on which the Meo tribesmendepended. The first such strikes, delivered during adry-season offensive by the Pathet Lao in 1965,demonstrated that Air Force units could workdirectly with the Laotian forces, whether regularsor Vang Pao’s guerrillas. Laotian reliance onAmerican air power increased during 1966, afterthe commander of the Laotian air arm launched anunsuccessful coup that undermined the morale andeffectiveness of his organization as well as the gov-ernment’s confidence in its air force. The Americanshad no choice but to supply the needed sorties untilthe Laotians could again fly them.

The reduction and later the cessation of thebombing of North Vietnam in 1968 changed all fourof the air wars in Southeast Asia. The greatestchange was in the North, where for more than threeyears American aircraft were authorized to go onlyto fly reconnaissance missions or to retaliate forsome action by the enemy, usually an attack onreconnaissance craft. In the South, air powerbecame a shield for the American disengagementand withdrawal. In Laos, the purpose of air opera-tions remained interdiction in the south, preventingthe enemy from building up for a final onslaught asAmerican strength in South Vietnam declined, andtying down resources in the north that the NorthVietnamese might otherwise use to turn theAmerican withdrawal into a rout. As a result, airpower no longer used against North Vietnam foundready application in South Vietnam and in the twowars being fought in Laos.

By imposing a limit on American participationin the war—the effect of the decisions made follow-ing the Tet offensive of early 1968—the administra-tion of President Lyndon B. Johnson began modify-ing the partnership between the United States andSouth Vietnam. The ultimate objective remained afree and independent South Vietnam, but theUnited States no longer pursued that goal by meansof a bombing campaign in the North and by a war ofattrition in the South fought largely by Americantroops. Instead, the United States began to train


THE FIGHT-ING INNORTHERNLAOSREMAINEDLARGELY AWAR OFPROXIES

AIR FORCEPILOTSBECAMEPROFICIENTIN THE KINDOF CLOSEAIR SUPPORTON WHICHTHE MEOTRIBESMENDEPENDED

and equip the South Vietnamese to take over thewar, while at the same time engaging in negotia-tions with the enemy to end the fighting andacknowledge the right of South Vietnam to exist.North Vietnam proved willing enough to talk; inMay 1968, after Rolling Thunder diminished inscale, the Hanoi government entered into prelimi-nary discussions at Paris that involved the UnitedStates, South Vietnam, and, after much haggling,the political leaders of the Viet Cong. Not untilJanuary 1969, after Rolling Thunder had ended andwhen Richard M. Nixon, a Republican, was about totake the oath of office as President, did the prelimi-naries end so that the negotiators could beginaddressing issues of substance. The discussionssoon revealed that North Vietnam, although willingto participate, would make no major concessionsthat might jeopardize the ultimate conquest of theSouth; fight and talk became the national policy,which persisted after the death of Ho Chi Minh inSeptember 1969.

The Nixon administration took over the basicstrategy adopted by President Johnson and namedit Vietnamization, a label proposed by Secretary ofDefense Melvin R. Laird. The original choice, de-Americanization, had seemed not only less eupho-nious but also hurtful to South Vietnamese pridesince its use acknowledged that the United Stateshad indeed taken over the war. Ideally, asVietnamization progressed, freshly equipped andnewly trained South Vietnamese would in anorderly fashion assume full responsibility for fight-ing the war. The Americans in the ground forces,which contained the greatest share of draftees andsuffered the most casualties, would be the first todepart as the South Vietnamese took over. In this

way, the toll of Americans killed and woundedwould decline sharply; and this benefit ofVietnamization would affect a large segment of thenation’s populace, the families of the draftees, thusencouraging widespread support, if not of the waritself, at least of the manner in which it was beingliquidated. However, the reduction of Americancasualties, and the resulting political effects, soontook precedence over the difficult job of fitting outand training the armed forces of South Vietnam.Henry A. Kissinger, the national security adviser toPresident Nixon (and after August 1973 theSecretary of State), warned early in the process ofVietnamization that troop withdrawals wouldbecome “salted peanuts” for the American people,with each one whetting the public’s appetite foranother. Kissinger was correct. He acknowledgedyears afterward that by late summer of 1969, “Wewere clearly on the way out of Vietnam by negotia-tion if possible, by unilateral withdrawal if neces-sary.”

The emphasis on bringing the men home rep-resented an attempt to placate the antiwar move-ment in the United States, which since 1965 hadmounted several large public demonstrationsagainst American policy in Southeast Asia. Themotives of the demonstrators varied from a sincerebelief that the war was morally wrong to a fear ofbeing drafted and possibly serving in SouthVietnam. By embarking on a well-publicized courseof disengagement and withdrawal (and later by eas-ing the impact of the draft preparatory to abolishingit altogether), the Nixon administration boughttime for negotiation but at the same time relaxedthe pressure on North Vietnam to respond. TheUnited States clearly was leaving South Vietnam,


Secretary of DefenseMelvin Laird briefing on theresults of Vietnamization.

THE REDUC-TION OFAMERICANCASUALTIES,AND THERESULTINGPOLITICALEFFECTS,SOON TOOKPRECEDENCEOVER THEDIFFICULTJOB OF FIT-TING OUTAND TRAIN-ING THEARMEDFORCES OFSOUTHVIETNAM

but North Vietnam had no intention of doing so. TheAmerican withdrawals thus represented a conces-sion by the Nixon administration to the antiwar fac-tion rather than a reaction to concessions by thecommunist side in the peace negotiations. Not evena series of secret discussions between Kissinger andrepresentatives of North Vietnam could persuadethe communists to accept a program of mutualtroop withdrawals.

Vietnamization in all its aspects—disengage-ment, withdrawal, and the strengthening of SouthVietnamese forces—permeated American efforts inSoutheast Asia, affecting all four of the wars inwhich the Air Force was engaged: the fighting overNorth Vietnam, South Vietnam, northern Laos, andsouthern Laos (which came to include Cambodia).From late 1968 until the spring of 1972, when aNorth Vietnamese invasion of the South caused areorientation of air operations, every undertakingby the Air Force overt or secret, authorized or unau-thorized, inside South Vietnam or outside the coun-try was designed to facilitate in some way the with-drawal of American combat forces, their replace-ment by South Vietnamese, and the negotiation ofan end to the war. During 1965 air power had pro-tected the build-up of American ground forces inSouth Vietnam; now it formed a shield for theirwithdrawal.

In South Vietnam, throughout the years ofVietnamization and withdrawal, air power, rangingfrom strikes by fighter-bombers to the batteringdelivered by B–52s, helped defeat the enemy or holdhim in check in a number of battles. The fightingoften erupted at fire support bases or other out-posts, but the most significant action of this periodtook place at Ap Bia mountain in the spring of 1969during a raid on the supply depots within the AShau Valley. An initial probe revealed that themountain was an enemy stronghold; air power andadditional troops had to be employed for its capture.The soldiers fighting there began calling the objec-tive “Hamburger Hill,” as troops were fed into whatseemed to them like the military equivalent of ameat grinder. The mountain was finally conqueredat the cost of fifty-six Americans killed, with morethan ten times that number of North Vietnamesedying in its defense, but the victors promptly with-drew. Lt. Gen. Phillip B. Davidson of the Army, atthe time a staff officer with the military assistancecommand, declares in his book, Vietnam at War,that the battle “catapulted the doves into shrillflight,” but what troubled opponents of the war likeSenator Edward M. Kennedy, a Democrat fromMassachusetts, was not so much that fifty-six sol-diers had died capturing an important mountaintopas that the objective had been abandoned once itwas overrun. In Kennedy’s opinion, this latestsearch and destroy operation had given away whatAmericans had sacrificed their lives to capture, anobjective that might well have to be taken again atfurther cost. Apparently the Nixon administrationshared the senator’s concern that lives were beingsquandered, for the Chief Executive in the after-math of the Hamburger Hill fighting instructed

Gen. Creighton W. Abrams, who had succeeded Gen.William C. Westmoreland as Commander, U.S.Military Assistance Command, Vietnam, to limitAmerican casualties.

Davidson argues in his volume that the battlefor Ap Bia mountain and the resulting Presidentialdecision to hold down casualties marked anotherturning point in the war, since it deprived theAmerican forces of a sense of purpose by acknowl-edging that this was indeed a “no-win” conflict.Beginning in 1969 and accelerating in subsequentyears, morale and discipline did decline, in partbecause the war was being liquidated. Put asstarkly as possible, no one wanted to be the lastAmerican killed in Southeast Asia. Other factors,however, affected the armed forces during theperiod of Vietnamization and withdrawal. Some,like racial strife and the abuse of alcohol and drugs,were embedded in contemporary American society;others, like opposition to the war, had shallowerroots. Although the opponents of the Vietnam con-flict remained a small, if articulate, minority, theAmerican public was undeniably becoming indiffer-ent toward the war, and servicemen felt that theirsacrifices were barely acknowledged, let aloneappreciated. Conditions in Southeast Asia put aunique stamp on these behavioral problems and onthe growing sense of alienation. For example, mem-bers of the different races, who had cooperated incombat to survive, might be at each other’s throatswhen not in danger from the common enemy; butracial animosity was not the only problem to surfacein the rear areas. Boredom punctuated by fear ofrocket or mortar attack, isolation from what wasfamiliar and pressure from peers, and ready accessto alcohol and drugs created a subculture of depen-dency. Addiction to drugs represented a problemthat the services had not encountered previously;when punishment did not work, treatment pro-grams had to be established.

During this turbulent time, the armed forcesfell woefully short of their standards for disciplinedbehavior. Orders were disobeyed; and in the groundforces, unpopular officers and noncommissionedofficers were attacked, even killed. At My Lai in1968, scores of unarmed villagers believed to haveaided the enemy were shot to death. Scandalserupted involving kickbacks and thefts at militaryclubs, and an Air Force transport assigned to theembassy at Saigon was used to smuggle drugs. Badas these times were, the armed forces survived asinstitutions, in part because the war ended with itthe strains that had contributed to alienation anddemoralization but also because of the positiveeffects from the efforts made to improve race rela-tions, treat drug addiction and alcoholism, and rootout crime and punish the criminals.

However much it may have contributed to thedecline in morale and the breakdown of discipline,the struggle for Hamburger Hill clearly signaled theend of the massive American search and destroyoperations that symbolized the war of attritionfought in South Vietnam. For the soldier or marinehacking through the undergrowth or the airman


VIETNAM -IZATION INALL ITSASPECTS…PERMEATEDAMERICANEFFORTS INSOUTHEASTASIA

bombing North Vietnamese troops within yards ofsome embattled outpost, the result may well haveseemed a distinction without a difference, but thefact remained that husbanding American lives nowtook precedence over killing the enemy. The statisti-cians continued their arcane work long after theresignation of Secretary of Defense Robert McNa -mara, who had relied so heavily on statistics. Theyturned from the standard yardstick of attrition, thekill-ratio of Americans to enemy soldiers, to chartsand graphs depicting progress in equipping andtraining the expanded armed forces of the Republicof Vietnam. The war in South Vietnam became arace against time, an effort to prepare the SouthVietnamese to take over the war before theAmerican withdrawal thrust it upon them.

In terms of aircraft for the South VietnameseAir Force, Vietnamization began (and ended, forthat matter) as a matter of quantity more thanquality. The number of operating squadrons dou-bled by 1972 from twenty to forty, but the additionalaircraft tended to be Northrop F–5s, which were notstandard fighter-bombers in the U.S. Air Force;A–37s, Cessna T–37 trainers modified for use asattack aircraft; helicopters provided mainly by theArmy; and old C–123 transports. Both the F–5 andthe A–37 were short-range aircraft suitable mainlyfor operations within South Vietnam. The only AirForce gunships made available to the SouthVietnamese, derived from the slow and vulnerableC–47 and C–119 transports, were useful mainly fordefending outposts against infantry attack, espe-cially at night. The modernization and expansionprograms that produced the forty squadronsexcluded aerial tankers, the more modern of thegunships, F–4s, and B–52s. Even the C–130 trans-port was a late addition to the South Vietnameseinventory of aircraft. The usual justification forwithholding aircraft was that the particular modelwas either not needed for self-defense or too compli-cated for the South Vietnamese to fly and maintain.

The American concern that South Vietnam’s airarm might be unable to absorb the most modernequipment was founded in fact, at least whenVietnamization began. Whether a more intensiveprogram of training might have made a difference isarguable at best, for instruction remained geared tothe equipment the South Vietnamese were receiv-ing and this effort encountered serious obstacles.When the Vietnamization of the air arm began inearnest in 1969, that service was an estimated twoyears behind the army, which had expanded in1967. Even as their instructors tried to make up forlost time, South Vietnamese training to be pilots ormechanics rapidly had to master highly technicalsubjects, a truly discouraging task since few of thetrainees had either the fluency in English or thetechnical background to absorb the instruction eas-ily. Training posed the most difficult obstacle toexpanding and equipping the South Vietnamese AirForce.

Whatever the problems that lay ahead, some65,000 American troops, including slightly morethan 2,500 airmen, left the country in 1969, as the

actual American strength in South Vietnamdeclined from a peak of almost 550,000 early in theyear to 484,000 by the end of December. Tactically,the proportion between air and ground reflected thefact that air power had to compensate for the dimin-ishing size of the ground force, but other considera-tions were involved. The Air Force not only sufferedfewer casualties than the combat arms of the Armyand Marine Corps but also relied on volunteersrather than draftees, although some of those whodonned its uniform had no doubt been motivated byfear of the draft and possible combat service in theinfantry. The death or wounding of a comparativelyfew volunteers—a proportion of them pilots, whowere long-term or career officers—seemed likely tohave less impact on the public than more numerouscasualties among draftees.

For the U.S. Air Force, Vietnamization got un -der way in 1969 when the air arm of South Vietnamgrew from 17,500 officers and airmen and 400 air-craft to a total strength of 36,000 with 450 aircraft.The disparity in growth between manpower andaircraft resulted from the time needed to train mento service and operate the new airplanes. Theprocess of learning took many forms. For example,the Air Force arranged for South Vietnamese andAmerican airmen to serve side by side in the airsupport centers of each corps preparatory to atransfer of responsibility for the entire tactical aircontrol system. At the same time, South Vietnameseforward air controllers and air liaison specialistsassumed a greater role in directing air strikes,including those flown by American aircraft. Thenumber of sorties by South Vietnamese forward aircontrollers increased during the year from 505 inJanuary to 1,083 in December, expanding from tento twenty-five percent of the total flown. A similarlyencouraging increase took place in the aggregatesorties flown by the South Vietnamese; from 55,000in the first quarter of 1969 the number rose to74,000 during the last three months of the year, atribute to improving maintenance as well as to fly-ing skill. Meanwhile, the infrastructure of baseschanged to support South Vietnam’s increasedshare of aerial operations. By October 1969 the U.S.Air Force had virtually turned over to the SouthVietnamese the air base at Nha Trang, and by earlythe following year airmen of the two nations workedtogether at Da Nang, Pleiku, Bien Hoa, Binh Tuy,Soc Trang, and Tan Son Nhut.

Growth continued throughout 1970. By year’send, the South Vietnamese Air Force had thirtysquadrons organized into five air divisions, ten tac-tical wings, five maintenance wings, and seven airbase wings. The greatest increase in aircraft hadcome in helicopters, with transfers from the U.S.Army raising the total from 112 to 310. More impor-tant than numbers of aircraft, the South Viet -namese flew half of all the strike sorties in theirnation. The greater participation by South Viet -nam’s air arm was necessary because more wasbeing demanded of air power and fewer U.S. AirForce units were available to respond; during 1970,150,000 Americans departed, including more than


FOR THE U.S.AIR FORCE,VIETNAM -IZATION GOTUN DER WAYIN 1969

GROWTHCONTINUEDTHROUGH-OUT 1970

10,000 airmen and eleven of the twenty fightersquadrons based in the South, reducing the totalAmerican strength in the country to 334,000.

The withdrawal of American forces continuedinto 1971, with an additional 50,000 leaving in thespring, en route to a year-end objective of only184,000 Americans still serving in South Vietnam.Since the need of an aerial shield for the dwindlingground force continued, so too did the expansion ofthe South Vietnamese Air Force. The air arm endedthe year with 1,222 aircraft, including 500 heli-copters, a second squadron of AC–119 gunships, andthree squadrons of C–123s added to the two onhand when the year began. Although the number offighter squadrons remained at nine throughout theyear, pilots gained experience as they flew sixty-three percent of all strike sorties in South Vietnamand thirty-nine percent of those in Cambodia,where the fighting had spread in 1970.

Despite the greater burden being assumed bySouth Vietnamese airmen, the United States per-sisted in its refusal to equip them with the latestaircraft, particularly for air defense and interdic-tion. A surge in MiG activity over Laos during late1971 persuaded the Department of Defense to accel-erate South Vietnam’s acquisition of fifty-sevenF–5Es fitted out for air defense. The SouthVietnamese had not received the means to interdictthe Ho Chi Minh Trail because of the tacit assump-tion that the Commando Hunt series of attacks insouthern Laos would continue, but Secretary ofDefense Laird insisted in 1971 that SouthVietnam’s air arm be given an interdiction forcethat, although not the equal of the American opera-tion centered at Nakhon Phanom, could to someextent disturb the flow of men and supplies fromNorth Vietnam. The Americans proposed thatground patrols sow modest-sized sensor fields tofind targets for a five-squadron fleet of single-engine mini-gunships. Testing began in Florida of ashort-takeoff-and-landing airplane, the FairchildPeacemaker, which was to serve as the gunship.Neither the Air Force, the Military AssistanceCommand, nor the Pacific Command displayedmuch enthusiasm for the project; the addition of amultibarrel machinegun made the aircraft over-weight and dangerously unstable; and by the timethe idea was ready for a combat test, the enemy hadoverrun the area from which the gunships were tohave operated. Consequently, South Vietnam neveracquired the means for aerial interdiction.

The South Vietnamese, besides lacking a satis-factory weapon for aerial interdiction, did notreceive the training or equipment necessary to con-duct the kind of search and rescue operations thatin the course of the war saved 3,883 persons fromdeath or capture. Excluded from Vietnamizationwere the HH–3 and HH–53 helicopters and theHC–130P, a combination airborne command postand aerial tanker. Although all three served theAmericans well, the Air Force did not transfer theseaircraft to the South Vietnamese. Even so,Vietnamization interfered with the American res-cue forces, which were displaced by an expanding

South Vietnamese Air Force from their normal oper-ating bases close to the likely scenes of aerial action.

Although the South Vietnamese air arm couldnot interdict traffic on the Ho Chi Minh Trail or res-cue downed airmen, it continued to progress inother fields. By early 1972, for instance, it hadassumed virtually full responsibility for the tacticalair control system within the country. Officers andenlisted men trained by the Americans ran the con-trol centers and also served as air liaison specialistswith ground units. The Air Force forward air con-trollers turned most of the country over to theirSouth Vietnamese counterparts and continued tooperate only in the vicinity of Bien Hoa and DaNang.

Until the spring of 1972, when North Vietnaminvaded the South, the Commando Hunt series con-tinued in dry season and wet, as the Air Forcefought its war in southern Laos. Over the years,marauding aircraft, often responding to sensor sig-nals, claimed to have damaged or destroyed a vastnumber of cargo-laden trucks, as many as 25,000 ina single dry season, and to have touched off tens ofthousands of secondary explosions, which served asproof of successful attacks on supply caches. Yet,these claims and the impact on the enemy defiedverification. Cameras and most other airborne sen-sors could not penetrate the jungle canopy; and withthe passage of time, stronger defenses on theground made it increasingly difficult for intelligencepatrols to move into the maze of roads, trails, water-ways, pipelines, supply storage areas, and troopbivouacs of the Ho Chi Minh Trail in southern Laos.Improved aerial sensors like infrared detectors,radar, and low-light-level television proved effectiveover the more exposed portions of the trail; and evermore devastating firepower that included laser-guided bombs, 40-mm cannon instead of 20-mm,and a 105-mm howitzer installed in some gunshipsincreased the likelihood of destructive hits. Despitethe greater potential for detection and destruction,comparatively few truck carcasses were seen andthe level of enemy activity in South Vietnamremained essentially constant. In an attempt todetermine the effectiveness of the Commando Huntcampaigns, analysts carefully studied the patternsof sensor activation, listed as destroyed only thosetrucks seen to explode or burn, subtracted only thatnumber from the estimated North Vietnameseinventory, and assigned an arbitrary weight ofcargo, depending largely on the direction of travel,to each truck that air power eliminated.Unfortunately, even this analysis proved a bettermeasure of effort than of results.

Since an aura of uncertainty surrounded thecalculations of trucks and cargo destroyed, officialsin the Department of Defense proposed a new tar-get, manpower, that was judged more likely to affectthe resolve of the North Vietnamese and their lead-ership. However, American intelligence had tolocate the bivouac areas that the People’s Army ofNorth Vietnam used during the march southwardbefore the B–52s that normally attacked truckparks and supply depots could be directed against


THE WITH-DRAWAL OFAMERICANFORCESCONTINUEDINTO 1971

DESPITE THEGREATERBURDENBEINGASSUMED BYSOUTHVIETNAMESEAIRMEN, THEUNITEDSTATES PER-SISTED IN ITSREFUSAL TOEQUIP THEMWITH THELATEST AIRCRAFT

infiltrating troops. American officials believed thatthe impact of aerial interdiction could be multipliedif these areas were located and the bombing provedaccurate. Other communist states, these analystsreasoned, would replace trucks and their cargo,with no real cost to North Vietnam, but the killingand wounding of infiltrating soldiers would exact adirect penalty, forcing the North Vietnamese andtheir leaders to reconsider the wisdom of continuedaggression. During the testing period for the newconcept of targeting, the bivouac sites proved ashard to find as other components of the trail net-work; results were at best inconclusive when theaerial interdiction campaign ended.

Whether paying in lives or materiel, the NorthVietnamese did not shrink from the cost of keepingthe Ho Chi Minh Trail operating. Part of that priceentailed the deployment of more and deadlier anti-aircraft weapons, along with their crews, to protectthe logistics complex. During the spring of 1972, theproliferation of antiaircraft guns, the appearance ofsurface-to-air missiles within Laos, and the moreaggressive use of MiGs changed the nature of the airwar over southern Laos. Air Force fighters had toescort missions against the trail, not only to sup-press antiaircraft fire but also to deter the NorthVietnamese interceptors, and gunships had to be fit-ted with jamming equipment to blind the radardirecting the surface-to-air missiles. Despite suchmeasures, the enemy succeeded for a time in drivingthe gunships, certainly the deadliest of truck killers,away from portions of the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

The main purpose of the air war in southernLaos was to disrupt the enemy’s efforts to masstroops and stockpile supplies for an assault timed tocatch the Americans as their withdrawal fromSouth Vietnam neared its completion. The campaignof interdiction the Air Force conducted in southernLaos was extended secretly and on a lesser scaleinto Cambodia in the spring of 1969. TheCambodian ruler, Prince Norodom Sihanouk, in thehope of appearing neutral and thus preserving theindependence of his nation, attempted to accommo-date both the United States and North Vietnam.Taking advantage of Sihanouk’s ambivalence, theHanoi government established a supply line extend-ing inland from the port of Sihanoukville to a com-plex of military bases and storage areas onCambodian soil along the border with SouthVietnam. When a North Vietnamese defector pin-pointed the location of the headquarters inCambodia that directed operations along the borderand inside South Vietnam, General Abramsrequested permission for an air attack. PresidentNixon approved a secret strike by B–52s, deliveredon March 18, which, judging from the violent reac-tion when a reconnaissance patrol arrived at thescene by helicopter, may well have hit the intendedtarget. This raid served as the precedent for a seriesof secret bombing attacks against the six North Viet -namese bases within Cambodia, a campaign thatlasted fourteen months and totaled 3,875 sorties.

In keeping with his policy of appeasing bothsides, Prince Sihanouk did not object to the bombing

of a region dominated by the communists and nolonger under the control of his government, but heraised to the status of an embassy the Viet Congdiplomatic mission to Phnom Penh, his capital city,and made no move against the North Vietnamesesupply line passing through Cambodia. A group ofdissident Cambodian generals, headed by Lon Nol,took advantage of Sihanouk’s absence from thecountry and tried to put an end to the policy ofaccommodation by expelling the North Vietnamesefrom their bases. On March 18, 1970, the anniver-sary of the first of the secret strikes by B–52s, LonNol declared the absent leader deposed and movedagainst the enemy. Resources failed to match deter-mination, however; not only was Lon Nol’s armyunable to defeat the North Vietnamese and theirCambodian communist allies, his aggressivenessseemed likely to prod them into a counterattackthat might well overrun the entire country. Sincethe bases located along the South Vietnamese bor-der, besides threatening the American policy ofVietnamization and withdrawal, sustained opera-tions against Lon Nol, President Nixon approved aninvasion of this part of Cambodia. The Americanincursion, as the President preferred to call it,began on May 1, and lasted until the end of June;South Vietnamese troops then took over, butAmerican air operations continued.

The American attack into Cambodia had bothimmediate and long-term military effects. The oper-ation resulted in the destruction of a huge quantityof food and munitions stockpiled mainly for opera-tions in South Vietnam, including 7,000 tons of riceand weapons—enough to equip seventy-four battal-ions with rifles and twenty-five battalions with mor-tars and machineguns. Estimates of the short-termimpact on the enemy varied, but Kissinger con-cluded that the loss of food, ammunition, andweapons represented a fifteen-month setback forNorth Vietnamese plans. The cost in American livestotaled 338, with 1,525 wounded. Yet, even as itreaped these benefits for the near future, the UnitedStates assumed an abiding responsibility for thesurvival of the Lon Nol regime. The fate of theKhmer Republic, which Lon Nol proclaimed atPhnom Penh, depended in large measure on thesuccess of the South Vietnamese in preventing thereestablishment of the destroyed bases.Unfortunately the Army of the Republic of Vietnam,in spite of American air support, proved unequal tothe task. Supplied by the North Vietnamese, localcommunist forces advanced steadily, eventually iso-lating Lon Nol’s capital except for airlift and theconvoys, escorted by aircraft and makeshift gun-boats, that forced their way up the Mekong River.The Cambodian army, hurriedly expanded, armed,and trained, never outgrew its dependence onAmerican air power to hold the enemy at bay, andthe air war in Cambodia, undertaken to comple-ment the campaign of aerial interdiction in south-ern Laos, continued after the United States and thetwo Vietnams had agreed to a cease-fire.

In the United States, the political impact of theinvasion was sudden and violent, but also subtle


THE MAINPURPOSE OFTHE AIR WARIN SOUTHERNLAOS WASTO DISRUPTTHE ENEMY’SEFFORTS TOMASSTROOPS ANDSTOCKPILESUPPLIES

THEAMERICANATTACK INTOCAMBODIAHAD BOTHIMMEDIATEAND LONG-TERM MILITARYEFFECTS

and long lasting. Lulled by the American with-drawals just ten days before the attack, thePresident had promised that another 150,000troops would leave South Vietnam within 12months the antiwar movement erupted in outrageat this extension of the war. Not only did demon-strations disrupt college campuses throughout thenation, a number of government officials, ordinarilyexpected to support the administration, declaredtheir opposition and resigned or, like Secretary ofthe Interior Walter J. Hickel, were dismissed.During an antiwar demonstration at Kent StateUniversity, a contingent of the Ohio NationalGuard, which the governor had mobilized to main-tain order, fired into a crowd, killing four andwounding nine.

The invasion of Cambodia and the shootings atKent State further split an already deeply dividednation. An estimated 500,000 opponents of the warassembled in Washington, and, on the same day,150,000 marched in San Francisco. The administra-tion denounced those who demonstrated againstthe war, especially the students; the President’s sup-porters rallied to his cause and, in the case of con-struction workers in New York City, clashed withthe antiwar faction. The period of comparative har-mony that followed the announcement ofVietnamization and the first troop withdrawalsvanished, although temporarily. Further reductionsin American forces assigned to South Vietnam andthe first steps toward an all-volunteer armyrestored the calm, but the sudden outburst of oppo-sition triggered by the invasion of Cambodia cast along shadow. Throughout the remainder of the war,President Nixon remained concerned about a resur-gence of antiwar sentiment and its possible effect onCongress. His worries, moreover, were grounded infact, for the political aftermath of the invasion ofCambodia included the repeal of the Tonkin GulfResolution of 1964, at most a symbolic protest of theway in which the war had metastasized, and enact-ment of the Cooper-Church amendment and theWar Powers Act.

The Cooper-Church amendment began as animmediate response to the Cambodian incursion.Senators John Sherman Cooper, a Republican fromKentucky, and Frank Church, a Democrat repre-senting Idaho, offered an amendment to militaryassistance legislation prohibiting the further use ofAmerican forces in Cambodia without the expressconsent of Congress. The Senate adopted the rider,but the House of Representatives refused. By year’send, after months of debate, a defense appropria-tions act emerged containing a revised version ofthe amendment that ignored Cambodia, from whichthe American troops had withdrawn, and in effectforbade the introduction of ground forces intoThailand or Laos.

Unlike the Cooper-Church amendment, theWar Powers Act, from its inception, addressed basicpolitical questions rather than a transitory crisislike the invasion of Cambodia. Due to concern overthe involvement of the nation in the Vietnam Warand the expansion of that conflict, largely by execu-

tive action, Congress tried to assert greater controlover the military aspects of the nation’s foreign pol-icy. In October 1973, both the Senate and the Houseof Representatives passed legislation that requiredthe President to report within forty-eight hours if heshould commit American troops overseas or if hesubstantially enlarged an existing commitment.The military involvement would have to be termi-nated after sixty days, plus an additional thirtydays for withdrawing the force, unless Congressdecided otherwise. After warning that such a lawwould impose unconstitutional and dangerousrestrictions on Presidential authority and seriouslyundermine this nation’s ability to act decisively andconvincingly in times of international crisis,President Nixon vetoed the legislation. Congressvoted to override, however, and the War Powers Actbecame law.

Less than a year after the invasion ofCambodia, South Vietnamese forces, with theencouragement of General Abrams, attacked Laos.From Khe Sanh, which American forces had reoccu-pied to serve as a supply base, the assault troopsadvanced toward the site of Tchepone, a villageastride the Ho Chi Minh Trail that had long agobeen abandoned and bombed to rubble. After reach-ing Tchepone and destroying the materiel stock-piled in the vicinity, the South Vietnamese plannedto withdraw by way of the A Shau Valley, rooting outsupply caches and disrupting the passage of menand cargo through that conduit for infiltration. TheCooper-Church amendment limited the degree ofassistance that American forces could provide to airsupport and, as a result, the South Vietnamese divi-sions had to attack without their American advisersand air liaison parties.

The attack, launched on February 8, 1971, waspoorly planned and badly executed. Despite precau-tions designed to preserve secrecy, the NorthVietnamese became aware, at least in generalterms, of the operation and redeployed their forcesaccordingly. Moreover, planners at the headquartersof the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam,overestimated the ability of low-flying helicopters tosurvive on their own in the face of hostile antiair-craft fire, which proved far more intense than antic-ipated, and had to call for help from Air Forcefighter-bombers and B–52s. The contribution of theAir Force varied from flak suppression so that heli-copters could disembark their troops, to strikesagainst North Vietnamese infantry closing in on theoutposts thus established, and ultimately to attackson tanks bearing down on the retreating SouthVietnamese. Bad weather hampered close air sup-port by the fighter-bombers, which on one occasionbroke off their support of a beleaguered SouthVietnamese strongpoint to participate in theattempted rescue of the crew of a downed F–4.Throughout the invasion, President Nguyen VanThieu of South Vietnam sought to avoid the kind ofcasualties that might undermine his nation’s sup-port of the war, behaving much as his Americancounterpart had in the aftermath of HamburgerHill. When the South Vietnamese leader judged


THE INVA-SION OFCAMBODIAAND THESHOOTINGSAT KENTSTATE FUR-THER SPLITAN ALREADYDEEPLYDIVIDEDNATION

LESS THAN AYEAR AFTERTHE INVA-SION OFCAMBODIA,SOUTHVIETNAMESEFORCES…ATTACKEDLAOS

that the losses were becoming unacceptable, hecalled a halt to the operation, a decision that left theinvasion force scattered and vulnerable to the dev-astating North Vietnamese counterattack.Although a raiding party did land by helicopternear Tchepone to create an illusion of victory, thewithdrawal became a rout as the enemy attacked,driving the South Vietnamese back across the bor-der in headlong flight. The operation had attracteda North Vietnamese force of perhaps 40,000, with asmany as 20,000 killed or wounded, mostly victims ofair attacks, thus easing the pressure on theAmericans who had not yet left South Vietnam.However, the number of South Vietnamese killedand wounded equaled from a third to a half of theNorth Vietnamese total, and the action only dis-rupted traffic on the Ho Chi Minh Trail temporarily.According to the reckoning of General Davidson, anintelligence officer for Generals Westmoreland andAbrams, after no more than a few weeks the enemyagain channeled men and cargo through the areaaround Tchepone. This latest operation in the cam-paign against the enemy’s supply lines in southernLaos had proved inconclusive at best.

The air war the Air Force waged in northernLaos resembled the fighting in Cambodia, as ahard-pressed ally came to rely more and more onAmerican air power. The combat in northern Laosflared sporadically on two fronts—the Plain of Jarsand along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. On the Plain ofJars, the Meo tribesmen commanded by Vang Paodepended on aerial bombing to stop the annual dryseason offensive launched by the communist forces,which over the years included an increasinglylarger proportion of North Vietnamese. Once thisattack had lost momentum, Vang Pao advanced, try-ing to take advantage of the mobility of his irregu-lars to isolate the strongpoints opposing him andforce a withdrawal by an enemy shaken by bombingand, because of air strikes against his supply lines,desperately short of food and ammunition. To thesouth, nearer the border with South Vietnam, othertroops loyal to the government of Prime MinisterSouvanna Phouma mounted an occasional threat tothe western fringes of the Ho Chi Minh Trail butwere unable to interfere with the traffic it carried.

The fortunes of war fluctuated with the season.At the onset of dry weather, usually in November orDecember, the Pathet Lao, spearheaded by NorthVietnamese soldiers, pushed boldly onto the Plain ofJars. The government at Hanoi, unwilling to ignorethe real prize, South Vietnam, did not divert enoughmen and material to crush the Meo; and by the timethe rains began falling in May or June, the commu-nists were bloodied, exhausted, and eager to fallback to their supply bases nearer North Vietnam.Vang Pao’s irregulars materialized around theenemy’s outposts at the beginning of the rainy sea-son when the annual retreat was about to begin.The subsequent pursuit produced varying results in1970: the Meo reoccupied almost the entire Plain ofJars and continued until Vang Pao’s tribesmen wereutterly spent, the communists had replenishedthemselves, the skies had cleared, and the cycle was

about to begin again. Over the years this processworked against the Meo general; since he obtainedhis soldiers exclusively from among his mountainpeople, the recruiting base was limited and subjectto steady attrition, forcing him to turn increasinglyto boys and old men. Reinforcements might comefrom elsewhere in Laos, but the royal army hadthus far shown little aggressiveness in its foraystoward the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

The situation seemed so bleak early in the dryseason of 1968–1969 that Souvanna in June 1969decided to make public both the presence of NorthVietnamese troops in his country and the Americanbombing along the Ho Chi Minh Trail and in north-ern Laos. The Laotian premier was careful, how-ever, to point out that American air power was theonly weapon that could hold the North Vietnamesein check. In commenting on Souvanna’s statement,which aroused no public controversy in the UnitedStates where the Nixon administration had justtaken office, the Department of State drew a dis-tinction between the two air wars being fought inLaos: operations against the trail were an extensionof the war in South Vietnam and would continue aslong as there was fighting in that country; those inthe northern part of the kingdom were directedagainst the North Vietnamese intruders and mightend in the unlikely event the Hanoi governmentwithdrew its forces. Souvanna failed in his attemptto dramatize his nation’s plight and gain interna-tional support, but the immediate military crisisabated and the annual pattern of warfarereasserted itself.

Because air power was an effective means ofchecking the North Vietnamese and economical interms of the loss of American life, the Air Forceundertook various measures to improve its ownoperations and those of the Laotians. During 1969,the Royal Laotian Air Force, recovered from theeffects of the mutiny of three years earlier, receivednew equipment like the AC–47 gunship and under-went a housecleaning as the American air attachá‚áat Vientiane tried to suppress smuggling. The mis-use of aircraft for this purpose could not be ended,but it was made more difficult by circulating a sched-ule of all administrative flights among the seniorofficers in the hope that those who were honestwould take action against the obvious abuses, suchas apparently purposeless flights to areas dealing ingold or drugs, while those who were not honestwould join in demanding greater control because theprofits were not being divided equally. In addition,Air Force instructors began training Meos to flyT–28s in support of Vang Pao’s troops, and thesepilots demonstrated a willingness to run almost anyrisk to help their fellow tribesmen on the ground.

In general, the weapons and tactical refine-ments employed by the Air Force reflected the grav-ity of the military situation and the dependence ofthe ground forces on air power. The use of laser-guided bombs increased and would increase evenmore as the years passed. The number of forwardair controllers flying in Laos grew, and some beganusing jets instead of O–1s. To facilitate the diversion


BECAUSE AIRPOWER WASAN EFFEC-TIVE MEANSOF CHECK-ING THENORTHVIETNAMESEAND ECO-NOMICAL INTERMS OFTHE LOSS OFAMERICANLIFE, THE AIRFORCEUNDERTOOKVARIOUSMEASURESTO IMPROVEITS OWNOPERATIONSAND THOSEOF THELAOTIANS

of fighter-bombers to meet emergencies in northernLaos, the Seventh/Thirteenth Air Force distributedlists of standby targets with enough information oneach so that a pilot arriving on the scene would havea clear idea of the target and its defenses. InFebruary 1970, with a communist dry-season offen-sive gathering momentum, B–52s flew their firstbombing mission in northern Laos, a disappointingstrike that produced 130 secondary explosions but,according to a reconnaissance team that examinedthe target, only 20 enemy dead. In May of that year,F–4s again began standing alert at Udorn inThailand, the revival of a practice abandoned byGen. William W. Momyer, when he commanded theSeventh Air Force. Other aircraft that saw action innorthern Laos included the AC–119K and AC–130gunships; the OV–10, a twin-turboprop aircraftdesigned by North American Rockwell for observa-tion and armed reconnaissance in counterinsur-gency operations; and for a time in 1972, the F–111.

Neither the arsenal of aerial weapons nor theuse of Combat Skyspot and other bombing aids toimprove accuracy could do more than buy time, andeven this delaying action became more difficult. Asthe American withdrawals from South Vietnamcontinued, fewer sorties were available for attacksin northern Laos. The North Vietnamese, moreover,began sending MiGs against American aircraftoperating in the region. The first intervention of thiskind, on December 17, 1971, resulted in the down-ing of three F–4s, victims of surprise and the inex-perience of their crews. Afterward, when the Soviet-built interceptors approached, propeller-driven air-craft like the gunships or OV–10s retreated west-ward and F–4s jettisoned their bombs to engage theenemy. During February and March of the followingyear, Air Force fighter pilots shot down three MiGs.

By the time the MiGs appeared, American airpower had once again halted the annual communistadvance, but the invasion of South Vietnamabsorbed the sorties that would otherwise have sup-

ported Vang Pao’s advance and harried the NorthVietnamese retreat. By the spring of 1972, air sup-port had become even more important to the Meogeneral, whose army was on the verge of collapseafter years of unceasing attrition. Vang Pao tried torally his exhausted force and inspire it to furtheraction, but the physical and emotional price exactedfrom the Meo over the years proved too great. Thesubsequent battles had to be fought mainly by animproved royal army, which performed well againstthe Pathet Lao and, when sufficient aircraft couldbe spared from higher priority operations in SouthVietnam and North Vietnam, could hold its owneven against the North Vietnamese. Victoryremained elusive, however; like the fighting acrossthe border in the two Vietnams, the struggle innorthern Laos ended in a cease-fire.

Throughout the period of Vietnamization andwithdrawal, the air war continued over NorthVietnam, though on a lesser scale than the RollingThunder campaign, which ended in 1968. Easily themost daring operation of this period was the SonTay raid of November 1970, designed to liberatesome of the Americans who were prisoners of theNorth Vietnamese. The treatment and ultimatefreedom of these captives, mostly airmen shot downover the North, had become the object of public andgovernmental concern within the United States.Like the North Koreans before them, the NorthVietnamese sought to use their prisoners for pur-poses of propaganda, in the case of the Hanoi gov-ernment both to reinforce the national sense of pur-pose and to gain sympathy throughout the world.They paraded captured pilots through the streets ofrecently bombed towns to demonstrate that theAmericans, in fact, paid a price for the damage theyinflicted and to channel popular emotion that mightotherwise have been directed against the commu-nist authorities, who demanded a seemingly endlesssacrifice of time, wealth, labor, and life itself. Againas in Korea, torture and mistreatment produced


The focus of Americanefforts as the conflictwound down was thereturn of POWs like these.

NEITHER THEARSENAL OFAERIALWEAPONSNOR THE USEOF COMBATSKYSPOTAND OTHERBOMBINGAIDS TOIMPROVEACCURACYCOULD DOMORE THANBUY TIME

filmed “confessions” of war crimes, usually deliveredwith expressions or gestures which made it clearthat the statement had been made under duress.

As the number of prisoners increased, theybegan to communicate secretly. One of the methodsof secret communication was suggested by Capt.Carlyle “Smitty” Harris, who remembered a lessonhe had been taught in Air Force survival school. Aninstructor there had told him that by tapping onwalls Americans imprisoned during the Korean Warhad been able to exchange information. Harrisintroduced to the prisons of North Vietnam this tapcode, which was based on the image of a square gridcontaining twenty-five letters of the alphabet (Kwas excluded), beginning at the upper left corner. Aseries of taps directed the listener down the grid toa particular row; then came a pause and other tapsthat led to the right and a specific letter. In this way,and through improvised sign language and care-fully passed notes, the American captives overcameisolation and organized themselves, searching outthe highest ranking officer in each compound sothat he could take command. Anyone who didassume command could expect to be severely tor-tured if the prison authorities discovered his role, asthey did from time to time, and those caught com-municating might also be punished. Despite therisks, the constant effort to communicate and orga-nize helped the prisoners maintain their sanitythrough years of captivity in what proved to beAmerica’s longest war.

At the end of that conflict, the number of cap-tured and missing Americans totaled 3,000; ofthese, twenty-three members of the Air Force wereknown to have died while in confinement. Capt.Lance P. Sijan was one of those who perished. Shotdown over North Vietnam on November 9, 1967, heavoided capture for six weeks. After falling into theenemy’s hands, the emaciated and injured pilotescaped into the jungle while being taken to prison,only to be recaptured in a matter of hours and tor-tured. He endured weeks of mistreatment beforedying in Hanoi’s Hoa Lo prison, which theAmericans held there called the “Hanoi Hilton.”Sijan was the first graduate of the Air ForceAcademy to be awarded the Medal of Honor.

Other attempts to escape from captivity inNorth Vietnam were no more successful than

Sijan’s. It was possible to break out of confinement,but, as had been true during the Korean War, a tow-ering American simply could not lose himselfamong much smaller Orientals and vanish into anessentially hostile society. Only an American rescueteam from outside North Vietnam seemed to have achance of freeing the prisoners, and during the sum-mer of 1970 a joint task group was formed in theUnited States to attempt just such a rescue. Thelikeliest prospects for liberation were the fifty-fiveAmericans held at Son Tay, some twenty-five milesfrom Hanoi, for their prison compound nestledbeside a bend in a river that facilitated identifica-tion from the air and interfered with access by thetroops garrisoned nearby. In command of the rescueeffort was Brig. Gen. Leroy J. Manor, an Air Forceveteran of some 275 fighter missions in SoutheastAsia who trained air commandos at Eglin Air ForceBase, Florida; Col. Arthur “Bull” Simons, an Armyofficer experienced in special operations, led theactual assault.

Aerial photographs of Son Tay enabled the forceto construct not only a detailed tabletop model ofthe objective, but also a full-scale reproductionmade of wood and canvas that was disassembledwhenever an orbiting Soviet intelligence satellitecame within range. Using an airfield where theDoolittle raiders had prepared for their 1942 attackon Japan, a force of volunteers trained to penetratedeep into North Vietnam, land one helicopter in theprison yard and two others outside the walls, freethe prisoners, and fly them to safety in Thailand. Onthe night of November 20, when the assault forcearrived at Son Tay, one helicopter deposited itstroops at the wrong building and triggered a fire-fight with the troops quartered there. One of theother helicopters crash-landed in the compound andthe other set down safely outside the walls; both dis-gorged their troops, who breached the wall, butfound no prisoners. The assault force regrouped andwithdrew in the two undamaged helicopters,returning to Thailand with one man slightlywounded and another hobbled by a broken ankle.One of the F–105s protecting the raiders from sur-face-to-air missiles was shot down by that very typeof weapon, but the two-man crew survived and wasrescued. There were no losses among the one hun-dred or more carrier aircraft that staged a demon-stration off the coast, dropping flares and feintingtoward shore to divert attention from the aircraftapproaching Son Tay from an inland direction.

The compound at Son Tay had been empty sinceJuly, when the North Vietnamese transferred thecaptives as flood waters lapped at the base of theprison’s walls. Enemy fire and mechanical failureshad frustrated low-altitude aerial reconnaissanceduring the intervening four months, but two impor-tant and contradictory pieces of information had sur-faced. High-altitude photographs revealed signs thatthe prison might be occupied, but a list of prisoner-of-war compounds smuggled out of Hanoi had notincluded Son Tay. Unfortunately, there was no timefor further low-altitude photography from drones;while visiting Hanoi, an American citizen opposed to


American POWs in a NorthVietnamese detention cen-ter.

AT THE ENDOF THATCONFLICT,THE NUMBEROF CAP-TURED ANDMISSINGAMERICANSTOTALED3,000

the war had received a list of five captives who haddied recently, prompting concern that the health ofall the prisoners was deteriorating, making promptaction seem all the more important. The raid there-fore went ahead to take advantage of a combinationof good flying weather and a suitable phase of themoon, conditions that would not occur again for atleast a month. Doubts about the presence of the pris-oners at Ton Say remained within the organizationof the Joint Chiefs of Staff; when Manor dispatchedSimons and the raiding party, everyone on the oper-ation was certain that fifty-five Americans lay con-fined in the darkness at the bend in the river.

American reaction to the raid ranged from trib-utes to the obvious heroism of the assault force andexpressions of concern for the prisoners to condem-nations of American intelligence for not realizingthat the compound had been abandoned. Even theadministration seemed divided. Whereas PresidentNixon saluted the participants as heroes and hailedthe operation as a success because it reached theobjective and returned without loss of life, his vicepresident, Spiro T. Agnew, complained of the faultyintelligence that had allowed the raid to go ahead.Dr. Kissinger, who later would characterize theoperation as an egregious failure of intelligence,suggested sarcastically that the force should havebrought back something, perhaps a baby water buf-falo. The person to whom he spoke apparentlymissed the edge to these words, assumed that ananimal of this kind had been brought back, andlaunched a futile investigation to locate it.

Meanwhile, the North Vietnamese reacted tothe raid by consolidating in larger prisons the cap-tives from isolated sites like Son Tay, but thisworked to the long-term advantage of the prisonersby strengthening the organizational structureamong them and making it easier to communicatewith and to sustain one another. Among the moreencouraging items of news circulating from cell tocell was the story of the small group that had pene-trated the heavily defended heartland of NorthVietnam and attacked the compound at Son Tay.

After Rolling Thunder ended, American offi-cials expected that unopposed aerial reconnais-sance, rather than daring raids like the descent onSon Tay, would be the usual purpose of missionsover the North. Unfortunately, aerial reconnais-sance proved far from routine. In November andDecember 1968, two Air Force RF–4Cs and anescorting F–4 were shot down over the North, alongwith two Navy aircraft. The missile batteries after-ward fell silent, lending substance to the Nixonadministration’s belief that North Vietnamese nego-tiators at Paris had at least tacitly guaranteed thesafe passage of unarmed reconnaissance craft overtheir country. The government at Hanoi not onlydenied that any such agreement existed but rein-forced the denial by again firing at the Americanjets, shooting down one in 1969 and another earlythe following year. In February 1970, after the sec-ond downing, the President directed that fighter-bombers escort the reconnaissance flights, as hadbeen done during the last two months of 1968, with

the accompanying F–4s authorized to retaliateinstantly against any gun battery or missile sitethat opened fire. A duel ensued between the escorts,whose work of retaliation came to be reinforced bystrikes launched especially for the purpose, and thehostile gunners, as Air Force and Navy aircraft car-ried out sixty so-called “protective reaction” attacksduring the balance of 1970, twice that number in1971, and ninety during the first three months of1972. Usually the protective reaction strikes hit gunor missile batteries that had tried to down recon-naissance craft over the North, but beginning in1971 they also were directed against those thatfired on American aircraft attacking targets on theHo Chi Minh Trail within range of weapons onNorth Vietnamese soil.

As 1971 drew to an end, aerial reconnaissanceproduced mounting evidence that North Vietnamwas preparing for a major offensive. PresidentNixon applied the principle of protective reaction tothis situation by authorizing a series of attacks on avariety of targets in southern North Vietnam.Beginning on the day after Christmas, Americanaircraft launched five days of strikes, totaling morethan 1,000 sorties, against airfields, oil storageareas, surface-to-air missile sites, supply dumps,and truck parks associated with the buildup. Againin February, when North Vietnamese artillerybegan firing at South Vietnamese outposts acrossthe demilitarized zone, Nixon invoked protectivereaction and approved two days of strikes againstthose batteries.

Despite the changing definition of protectivereaction, Gen. John D. Lavelle, commander of theSeventh Air Force, went too far in applying the con-cept. Confident that he was carrying out theimplied, if not openly expressed, wishes of his supe-riors, Lavelle interpreted the policy of protectivereaction to include attacks on potential threats toAmerican aircraft like the airfields that MiGs mightuse, the radars that might control their intercep-tions, and not only surface-to-air missile sites butalso the dumps where missiles were stored and thetrucks that carried them to the launch sites. Lavellebelieved not only that the North Vietnamese airdefenses formed a unified threat, but also that theradar which transmitted or the guns which firedduring one mission remained a danger for all sub-sequent sorties, even though the hostile site mightremain silent on a particular day. Consequently, hedirected his pilots to assume, in effect, that theradar-controlled defenses were always functioningand never to report an absence of enemy activity.Some of Lavelle’s subordinates pushed this reason-ing to the limit and falsely reported enemy opposi-tion to justify the need to retaliate. Instances of falsereporting caught the conscience of a young sergeantin the Air Force, Lonnie D. Franks, who thoughtthat falsification of the record was wrong, whateverthe circumstances, and wrote a letter to SenatorHarold Hughes, a Democrat from Iowa, describingwhat was going on. Hughes turned the informationover to the Air Force, the Inspector General investi-gated, and Gen. John D. Ryan, at the time the Air


AS 1971DREW TO ANEND, AERIALRECONNAIS-SANCE PRO-DUCEDMOUNTINGEVIDENCETHAT NORTHVIETNAMWASPREPARINGFOR AMAJOROFFENSIVE

Force Chief of Staff, accepted Lavelle’s immediateretirement for personal and health reasons.Ironically, Lavelle’s successor, Gen. John W. Vogt,received a pep talk from President Nixon, whourged him to be more aggressive than the officer hewas replacing.

In the autumn of 1972, the Armed ServicesCommittees of the House and Senate conductedseparate inquiries into the unauthorized bombing.The Senate committee found, in effect, that the pun-ishment the Air Force meted out to Lavelle—retire-ment in the grade of lieutenant general rather thanas a four-star general—was insufficient. As a result,he assumed the retired rank of major general, butthis demotion did not affect his retirement pay,which was based on the highest grade that he hadachieved while on active duty, that of general. Incontrast, the House committee decided that thebombing missions dispatched by Lavelle had beennot only proper but essential.

Lavelle’s involvement in the unauthorized airstrikes became public at a time when the prestige ofthe American military was declining. The My Laimassacre, in which American soldiers had mis-treated and murdered unarmed South Vietnamesevillagers, had been revealed and the atrocity, as wellas attempts to conceal it, had been investigated. Theso-called Pentagon Papers, a collection of official doc-uments relating to American involvement in theconflict and a narrative of decision-making by theKennedy and Johnson administrations, hadappeared and cast doubt on the wisdom andmotives of civilian officials and military leaders.New reports of racial strife, drug abuse, and fraudwithin the services came to light with sickening fre-quency. Yet another blow would fall in July 1973,when a former officer in the Strategic AirCommand, Hal M. Knight, revealed the secretbombing of Cambodia, begun in 1969 on order fromthe White House, and the system of false reportingthat had thus far concealed fourteen months ofB–52 strikes. No wonder that the American publiclost enthusiasm for a war that seemed to corrupteven those who fought it.

The succession of protective reaction strikesthat began in December 1971, including the unau-thorized attacks for which General Lavelle wasblamed, appeared to have served their purpose. Asthe winter of 1971–1972 gave way to spring, theNixon administration was confident that its use ofair power had forestalled a North Vietnamese offen-sive. Such was not the case, however, for on March30, 1972, Gen. Vo Nguyen Giap, the victor at DienBien Phu in 1954 and North Vietnam’s most promi-nent military leader, sent almost his entire army—initially 125,000 troops supported by tanks andartillery—knifing into South Vietnam. After strik-ing first in northernmost South Vietnam andadvancing toward Quang Tri City and Hue, theenemy attacked from the triborder region, wherethe territories of South Vietnam, Laos, andCambodia converged, toward the town of Kontumand from the bases he had reestablished inCambodia toward An Loc and ultimately Saigon.

Seen from Hanoi, the situation was never morepromising; supplies were in place, Giap’s soldierswere ready, the remaining American ground forceswere largely support and advisory units, and theSouth Vietnamese had given way to panic in thelast stages of their retreat from Laos a year earlier.Moreover, the United States would hold aPresidential election in November 1972, and a com-munist victory in the spring might have the sameeffect as the Tet offensive of 1968, and drive theChief Executive from office. Indeed, the antiwardemonstrations ignited by the invasion ofCambodia in 1970 may have made Nixon appeareven more vulnerable than Johnson had been.Whether the offensive represented an attempt tocrush South Vietnam or merely to advance a gooddistance along the road to ultimate victory (and theactual objective has for years remained the subjectof debate among Americans), the prospects for suc-cess seemed excellent.

The leaders at Hanoi had a distorted view, how-ever. Although Nixon continued to worry about theantiwar movement and its possible impact onCongress, he had survived the agitation that fol-lowed the invasion of Cambodia and the shootingsat Kent State University and seemed increasinglylikely to win reelection. Similarly, Thieu remainedin control in South Vietnam despite the manifesta-tions of discontent that had surfaced as a conse-quence of the previous year’s severe casualties inLaos. The Army of the Republic of Vietnam had suf-fered a defeat there, but it remained intact, wasabsorbing more American equipment and learningto use it, and when fighting on South Vietnamesesoil would benefit from the presence of theAmerican advisers on whom so many of the com-manders had come to depend. Moreover, Giapturned his back on the very tactics that had enabledthe Tet offensive of 1968 to demoralize theAmerican people and the Johnson administration.By launching a series of conventional attacks tied toroads and dependent on artillery support, the NorthVietnamese general ignored the fact that hisPeople’s Army and the Viet Cong, who playedalmost no role in this latest offensive, were mostmobile before the battle and least so after the fight-ing began. Giap’s forces had an uncanny ability tomass men and supplies for a surprise attack, butonce the battle was joined, they lacked the commu-nications to shift forces and take advantage of unex-pected changes in the tactical situation. Indeed, ifthe North Vietnamese could not overwhelm astoutly defended position at the outset, they tendedto attack again and again rather than probe forweaknesses elsewhere in order to bypass and neu-tralize the bastion. This habit immobilized themand made them especially vulnerable to air strikes.

When North Vietnam invaded, the UnitedStates tried to support the defenders with the aer-ial strength already in the theater, including about300 Air Force aircraft of all types, some deployingacross the Pacific in response to the enemy buildupthat triggered the recent protective reaction strikes.As the Army of the Republic of Vietnam struggled to


THE SUCCES-SION OF PRO-TECTIVEREACTIONSTRIKESTHAT BEGANIN DECEM -BER 1971…APPEAREDTO HAVESERVEDTHEIR PURPOSE

WHEN NORTHVIETNAMINVADED,THE UNITEDSTATESTRIED TOSUPPORTTHE DEFENDERS

forces. From the beginning of the invasion until theend of June, the total number of Air Force aircraft inthe region increased from 1,153 to 1,426 as theequivalent of fifteen squadrons deployed there,including the B–52 force that expanded from eighty-three aircraft to 202 and, by the time the war ended,flew almost 3,000 sorties in a single month. To sus-tain the B–52s and the tactical fighters, the AirForce during the spring of 1972 deployed another110 KC–135 aerial tankers, raising the total num-ber to 187. The Navy dispatched four additional air-craft carriers to the Gulf of Tonkin, bringing thenumber there to six, the largest concentration sincethe Vietnam War began. The Marine Corps, whichhad withdrawn all its air and ground forces exceptfor a small number of advisers, sent a total of foursquadrons from airfields in Japan to Da Nang andBien Hoa. Concerned over the need to coordinate hisoperations with the ambassador in Laos, Vogt hadearlier sought exclusive control over air operations,not only over the two Vietnams, but throughoutSoutheast Asia. President Nixon seemed agreeablebut never sent the necessary instructions, and theold system prevailed. Since no marines were fight-ing on the ground in 1972, the newly arrived MarineCorps squadrons encountered no conflicting priori-ties in carrying out the assignments that the AirForce general gave them.

As the fighting on the ground intensified, allthe American aerial might be focused on savingSouth Vietnam. The air war in southern Laos endedand operations in Cambodia and northern Laosreceived only the surplus sorties from the system-atic campaign that extended from battlefields likeAn Loc, Kontum City, and Quang Tri City to therailroads, ports, and bridges of North Vietnam. Thegeneral strategy was to bomb the offensive to astandstill by killing as many as possible of theadvancing enemy soldiers, while at the same timedisrupting the forward movement of the suppliesand reinforcements needed to sustain the operation.

Unlike President Johnson, who preferred closepersonal control over individual targets, PresidentNixon tended, with some exceptions, to authorizestrikes against areas or classes of targets and leavethe details to his military commanders. Blowsagainst targets in Hanoi and Haiphong requiredclearance from the White House, as they had duringRolling Thunder, and the network of irrigation dikesin North Vietnam remained exempt from attack,although the occasional stray bomb that missed anantiaircraft site or other target and exploded near adike emboldened North Vietnamese propagandiststo level charges that the United States was wagingwar on the civilian populace by trying to drain therice paddies. Nixon approved not only attacks on therail line leading from China but also the mining ofNorth Vietnamese harbors, an action that he felt hecould take with little or no risk of a Soviet orChinese reaction. Because of the rivalry betweenthe two communist states, which had resulted inborder clashes as recently as 1969, each was wary ofopenly aiding North Vietnam or anything else thatmight encourage the United States to improve its


contain the offensive and the South Vietnamese AirForce quickly demonstrated that it could not copewith the emergency, Air Force flight and groundcrews intensified their efforts and succeeded inlaunching more than 500 combat sorties per day.

For a time in early April, the defense of thenorthern provinces was subordinated to theattempted rescue of an Air Force officer, Lt. Col. IcealE. Hambleton, the sole survivor of the six-man crewof an EB–66 electronic warfare aircraft shot downover the battlefield. Disregarding the perilous situa-tion of the South Vietnamese forces, Seventh AirForce headquarters arranged to suspend artilleryfire into the region where he had parachuted anddiverted to the task of finding and retrieving himaircraft that otherwise would have been attacking insupport of the hard-pressed South Vietnamese.Surviving on whatever berries and vegetables hewas able to find (on one foraging expedition, hestabbed to death a North Vietnamese who attackedhim), Hambleton followed the instructions hereceived on the hand-held radio that was a part ofhis survival equipment, avoided capture, and madehis way down a stream to meet a patrol of SouthVietnamese marines who brought him to safety.

The eleven-day rescue effort cost the lives ofnine Americans whose aircraft were shot down whilesearching for Hambleton or trying to pick him upand deprived a desperate South Vietnamese divisionof air and artillery support at a critical time. TheAmerican adviser attached to this unit warned thatthe division’s officers resented the obvious fact thatthe Seventh Air Force would risk the lives of thou-sands of South Vietnamese soldiers to rescue one ofits own officers. Nevertheless, the division survivedthe immediate threat, if only to collapse shortlythereafter, and however demoralizing the rescuemay have been for the South Vietnamese, the con-cern the Air Force showed for members of its air-crews helped sustain their morale.

When the combined efforts of the Americansquadrons in Southeast Asia and the air andground forces of the Republic of Vietnam could notstop the three-pronged offensive, President Nixonapproved the increase of American aerial strengthin Southeast Asia without reinserting ground

The Combat Spyspot radarsite at Pleiku.

PRESIDENTNIXONAPPROVEDTHEINCREASE OFAMERICANAERIALSTRENGTH INSOUTHEASTASIA

relations with the other, even though inaction mightdelay what both saw as the inevitable triumph ofcommunism in Southeast Asia.

The aerial interdiction campaign against NorthVietnam began April 6, with attacks in the southernpart of the country and rapidly expanded. On April16, B–52s, escorted by fighters and aircraft special-izing in electronic countermeasures and suppres-sion of surface-to-air missiles, bombed the fuel stor-age tanks at Haiphong, setting fires that, reflectedfrom cloud and smoke, were visible from the bridgeof an aircraft carrier 110 miles away. Shortly after-ward, carrier aircraft joined Air Force fighter-bombers in battering a tank farm and a warehousecomplex on the outskirts of Hanoi. When theseattacks failed to slow the offensive, naval aircraftbegan mining the harbors on May 8, and two dayslater the administration extended the aerial inter-diction campaign, formerly Freedom Train but nowdesignated Linebacker, throughout all of NorthVietnam.

The President approved this double-edged esca-lation even though he intended to visit the SovietUnion, North Vietnam’s principal supplier, later inMay for a major conference, assuming correctly thatGeneral Secretary Leonid Brezhnev would not can-cel the meeting at a time immediately followingNixon’s visit to Peiping, when the United States andChina were drawing closer. President Nixon choseto lay mines and intensify the bombing to deprivethe Soviet Union of any propaganda advantage thatmight accrue if South Vietnam collapsed during histrip to Moscow. This did not happen, for he also cor-rectly judged that air power could save the day, forthe mining and other forms of interdiction, com-bined with aerial intervention on the battlefields ofSouth Vietnam, brought the North Vietnameseoffensive to a halt.

In terms of tactics employed and resultsobtained, Linebacker was a vast improvement overRolling Thunder. During Linebacker, American air-craft attacked targets like airfields, power plants,and radio stations that did not fall into the categoryof interdiction, but the main objective remained thedisruption of the flow of supplies and reinforce-ments to the units fighting in the South. Laser-guided bombs proved effective, especially againstbridges, severing the bridge at Thanh Hoa, whichhad survived Rolling Thunder, and the highway andrailroad bridges over the Red River at Hanoi,dropped in the earlier aerial campaign, butrepaired. At both places, however, the enemy againmade use of alternate means of crossing thestreams, usually traveling at night on ferries ormovable pontoon bridges. Electronic jamming andclouds of reflecting chaff, as in Rolling Thunder, con-fused the radars controlling the surface-to-air mis-siles and the antiaircraft guns. North VietnameseMiGs, as they had during Rolling Thunder, gavebattle throughout Linebacker but failed to gain con-trol of the sky, in part because American radar,whether airborne, at sea, or in Thailand, detectedthe interceptors rising from the runways, enablingcontrollers to direct Air Force F–4s and Navy fight-

ers against them. During the war in Southeast Asia,both the pilot and the weapon systems officerreceived full credit for each aerial victory. As a resultof changes in these pairings, two backseaters,Capts. Charles B. DeBellevue and Jeffrey S.Feinstein, but only one pilot, Capt. Richard S.“Steve” Ritchie, became Air Force aces; all three ofthese officers made their fifth kill duringLinebacker, which lasted until October 1972, whenthe President, encouraged by progress in the trucenegotiations, restricted the bombing to southernNorth Vietnam.

Despite the damage inflicted in North Vietnamby Linebacker air operations, interdiction tended tobe more effective closer to the battlefield. WithinNorth Vietnam, the road net was more extensive,labor more readily available for repair and con-struction, and alternate routes were already wellestablished. Nearer the advancing troops, supplylines narrowed, as though entering a funnel thatended at the front-line unit, alternate routes had tobe built from scratch, and few civilians were at handto supplement the work of the military engineers.The defenses remained dangerous, however, espe-cially when the SA–7 heat-seeking missile, aweapon carried and fired by an individual soldier,joined crew-served guns and missiles in protectingthe invasion forces.

The other purpose of the air war—inflictingcasualties on the advancing enemy—was pursuedon all three fronts. The deadliest aerial weaponswere B–52s, gunships, and fighter-bombers usinglaser-guided weapons, the last especially effectiveagainst artillery in the northern provinces of SouthVietnam. On that front, the invaders drove theSouth Vietnamese from Quang Tri City on May 1;its capture delineated the high-water mark for theNorth Vietnamese. The attacking North Vietna -mese trapped several American advisers and seniorSouth Vietnamese officers in the city, but four AirForce HH–53 helicopters and their escort of A–1ssucceeded in snatching them from the very hands ofthe enemy. Despite heavy losses in the area betweenQuang Tri City and Hue, where the NorthVietnamese had concentrated their antiaircraftdefenses, Air Force fighter-bombers used laser-guided bombs to attack bridges and artillery posi-tions, slowing the enemy’s advance and reducingthe severity of his artillery barrages, so that theSouth Vietnamese could regroup. On May 18, whenamphibious tanks and infantry crossed the lastriver barrier before Hue and moved against the city,fighter-bombers destroyed eighteen of the vehicleswith laser-guided bombs and killed some 300 sol-diers. The North Vietnamese drive bogged down,only to be renewed five days later, but air poweragain intervened, enabling the defenders to forcethe enemy back across the river.

Success in defending Hue inspired a counterat-tack, launched on June 28, to recapture Quang TriCity. Although B–52s and fighter-bombers clearedthe way for the advancing South Vietnamese,President Thieu tried to avoid using aircraft againstthe North Vietnamese entrenched in the city itself,


PRESIDENTNIXON…CORRECTLYJUDGEDTHAT AIRPOWERCOULD SAVETHE DAY

DESPITE THEDAMAGEINFLICTED INNORTHVIETNAM BYLINEBACKERAIR OPERA-TIONS,INTERDIC-TION TENDEDTO BE MOREEFFECTIVECLOSER TOTHE BATTLE-FIELD.

hoping to minimize the damage to the houses thereso that displaced families could return to their owndwellings instead of becoming dependent on thegovernment for shelter. Unfortunately, an infantryattack floundered in the streets of the town, andB–52s had to join in the sort of destructive pound-ing that South Vietnam’s president had hoped toavoid. By mid-September, the ruins of Quang TriCity were under South Vietnamese control, and thethreat to the northern provinces had ended.

In the meantime, B–52s helped blunt the othertwo attacks. At Kontum City in the highlands, JohnPaul Vann, an officer retired from the U.S. Army andnow a civilian adviser to the South Vietnamese,informally assumed command of the defenses,manipulating air strikes and pulling back fromindefensible ground to shorten the lines and makethe most efficient use of the troops available to him.As the North Vietnamese advanced on KontumCity, they encountered strong resistance at PoleiKleng and attacked by night but came under attackwhen an Air Force AC–130 gunship responded tothe call for help. The aircraft mounted a 105-mmhowitzer, which went into action after the sensoroperators located the sources of the heaviest NorthVietnamese fire. The deadly aerial barrage broke upthe attack, and saved Polei Kleng, if only temporar-ily. At Kontum City, B–52s did what the gunshiphad done at Polei Kleng, although fighter-bombersand South Vietnamese A–37s added their firepowerand American and South Vietnamese transportsdelivered supplies to the troops on the ground.Early in the battle for the town, a gamble paid offwhen the defenders fell back so that a carefullytimed deluge of high explosives from B–52s, invisi-ble in the substratosphere, could catch the enemy ashe moved forward. The North Vietnamese suc-ceeded, however, in cutting the roads leading intoKontum City. As long as the airfield could be used,South Vietnamese C–123s landed cargo, but whenthe attackers began raking the runway with directfire, American C–130s had to supply the defendersby parachute. When the battle approached a climax,South Vietnamese A–37s joined Air Force fighter-bombers and Army helicopter gunships in destroy-ing Soviet-built tanks, but the battering by theB–52s weakened the enemy, so that SouthVietnamese forces could check his advance and bythe end of May begin expelling him from the cap-tured portions of the town.

The defense of An Loc, considered the gatewayto Saigon, closely resembled the battle for KontumCity. At both places the People’s Army tried stub-bornly to seize a stronghold that could easily havebeen neutralized and bypassed, while Americansorchestrated the defenses—Vann at Kontum Cityand Army Maj. Gen. James F. Hollingsworth, thesenior adviser to the local corps commander, at AnLoc. Hollingsworth realized, as did Vann, that hehad devastating aerial firepower at his disposal,provided the South Vietnamese could hold on longenough to force the enemy to mass and presentworthwhile targets. “You hold, and I’ll do thekilling,” the general reportedly told the South

Vietnamese, and largely because of the B–52s, airpower killed North Vietnamese on a scale that dis-heartened them and disrupted their plans. Airliftproved critical in enabling the defenders to cling tothe ruins of An Loc, since they could be suppliedonly by parachute. The available drop zones weresmall, however, and the antiaircraft weapons weredangerous, none more so than the SA–7 heat-seek-ing missiles. Until radar became available in May todirect the parachute deliveries, as much as two-thirds of the cargo dropped from Air Force C–130scame down in enemy territory. At the time when thedanger to An Loc was greatest, aircraft swarmed inthe skies overhead; unexpected fighter-bombersarrived, causing controllers to reschedule strikes,but every bomb helped. Despite confusion and sav-age antiaircraft defenses, air power prevailed. Bylate May the enemy offensive had stalled, andwithin two weeks the North Vietnamese werepulling back, ending the threat to Saigon.

Nixon’s use of air power to disrupt supply linesand kill the enemy on the battlefield stopped theoffensive, helped drive the enemy back a short dis-tance, and did so without the reintroduction of theground forces he had withdrawn from SouthVietnam. In fact, the last combat troops of the U.S.Army departed in August 1972, while the SouthVietnamese were counterattacking, leaving behindonly 43,000 American airmen and support person-nel. Yet, the very success of American aerial activi-ties might have caused misgivings at Saigon, wherethe dependence of his armed forces on theAmericans troubled President Thieu. When hiscommanders had failed during the recent offensive,the advisers took over, bringing to bear a volume offirepower that South Vietnamese forces could not bythemselves generate. Thieu realized that theAmerican’s unilateral departure would leave SouthVietnam at the mercy of the North Vietnameseforces still in the country. Since the Americanswould certainly leave, his only hope lay in themutual withdrawal of all foreign troops. The SouthVietnamese chief executive therefore opposed anysettlement that left elements of the People’s Armyin place within South Vietnam.

In contrast, the United States was now willingto accept a cease-fire that gave the NorthVietnamese the fruits of their recent offensive, dur-ing which they had captured or consolidated theircontrol over large areas south of the old demilita-rized zone, in the western highlands, and along theCambodian border. After such a settlement, theenemy would occupy a position from which he could,at least detach the northern third of the nation, ifnot cut South Vietnam in half—as had been fearedwhen the American ground forces intervened in1965. To offset the geographic advantage thus con-ferred, the United States continued to supply theRepublic of Vietnam with military equipment,speeding deliveries in anticipation of a truce thatwould impose restrictions on future military aid.Consequently, the South Vietnamese Air Forceexpanded to an actual strength of sixty-fivesquadrons, with more than 61,000 officers and men.


NIXON’S USEOF AIRPOWER TODISRUPTSUPPLYLINES ANDKILL THEENEMY ONTHE BATTLE-FIELDSTOPPEDTHE OFFENSIVE

Except for the A–37s and C–123s, few of the 2,000-odd aircraft of twenty-five different types hadproved effective during the offensive that justended. Moreover, the tactical inventory still did notinclude heavy bombers, howitzer-equipped gun-ships, and high-performance fighter-bombers withthe laser-guided weapons that had done so well atAn Loc and elsewhere; nor were there any aircraftfor long-range interdiction, rescue, or electroniccountermeasures against, for example, radar-con-trolled surface-to-air missile complexes. Impressiveas the influx of materiel was in numerical terms—South Vietnam was credited with having the fourthlargest air force in the world—Thieu feared that hiscountry could not defend itself against an estab-lished enemy and continued to insist that the NorthVietnamese be forced to pull back from the territoryof South Vietnam.

By the end of October 1972, with thePresidential election fast approaching in the UnitedStates, Kissinger declared that peace was at handand a settlement in sight. His optimism provedunfounded. Not only was Thieu rebelling at whathad come to be called a cease-fire in place, but theNorth Vietnamese also seemed disinterested ineven so favorable a settlement. Once his hand hadbeen strengthened by an overwhelming victory overhis Democratic opponent, George McGovern,President Nixon sought to remove first one andthen the other of the obstacles to peace. He obtainedThieu’s reluctant assent to an in-place arrangementby offering “absolute assurance” that he intended totake “swift and severe retaliatory action” if NorthVietnam should violate the terms of the agreement.Put simply, the President gave his personal pledgethat he would respond to any future invasion as hehad to the offensive of 1972, an assurance thatimplicitly bound the government of the UnitedStates to that course of action. He then sought toremove the other roadblock, the stubborn attitude ofthe government in Hanoi, by ordering a resumptionof the bombing of the heartland of North Vietnam.

“This is your chance to win this war,” thePresident told Adm. Thomas H. Moorer, the

Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “And if youdon’t, I’ll consider you responsible.” The opportunitypresented to the admiral in this melodramatic fash-ion represented a consensus on the part of threemen—the President; his adviser on national secu-rity, Dr. Kissinger; and Army Maj. Gen. AlexanderM. Haig, Jr., Kissinger’s principal military assis-tant—that B–52s should hit targets at Hanoi andHaiphong and thus force North Vietnam to accept asettlement. President Nixon thus unleashed an aircampaign, called Linebacker II, that began onDecember 18, and ended on the 29th, with a thirty-six-hour pause for the Christmas holiday. TheB–52s again flew from Guam and Thailand, refuel-ing as necessary from KC–135 tankers. Air Forceand Navy fighter-bombers and attack aircraftstruck by day, often using radar or other bombingaids because of cloud cover, and the B–52s and theirescorts by night. The heavy bombers followedF–111s, which used their speed and their ability tohug the ground to attack from treetop height theairfields used by MiGs and, later in the operation,the most dangerous of the surface-to-air missilesites. Fighter-bombers patrolled in the event MiGsshould challenge the ¬B–52s; they carried radar-homing missiles to suppress surface-to-air missilebatteries and scattered chaff to confuse hostileradar. Air Force EB–66s and Grumman EA–6s ofthe Navy and Marine Corps orbited nearby, broad-casting jamming signals to reinforce the effects ofthe chaff. Plans initially called for the ¬B–52s torely more on chaff than on their own jammingtransmitters in penetrating the radar-controlleddefenses of Hanoi and Haiphong. Approaching in asingle stream of three-aircraft cells to reduce thelikelihood of midair collisions, the B–52s followed acorridor of chaff to the target, dropped their bombs,turned sharply, and headed back toward theirbases. For a number of reasons, what looked good onpaper did not succeed in practice. The initial corri-dor alerted the defenders to the direction of theattack and enabled them to launch their missiles insalvos without radar guidance, relying on proximityfuzes set for the altitude reported by MiGs shadow-


A USAF SAM Hunter killergroup of the 388th TacticalFighter Wing takes fuel onthe way to North Vietnamfor a strike during"Operation Linebacker" inOctober 1972.

BY THE ENDOF OCTOBER1972…KISSINGERDECLAREDTHAT PEACEWAS ATHAND AND ASETTLEMENTIN SIGHT

ing the column of B–52s. In addition, the chafftended to drift during the approach of the bomberstream, some seventy miles in length, and leavegaps in the coverage despite periodic replenishmentfrom F–4s. Finally, the sharp turn after theyreleased the bombs caused the jamming signal radi-ating from beneath the bomber to point outward,more nearly parallel to the ground, instead of down-ward, increasing the vulnerability of the B–52s toradar-guided missiles. Taking advantage of theseweaknesses, the surface-to-air missile crewsdowned eleven of the high-flying B–52s by the timeoperations were suspended for Christmas, six onthe night of December 20–21.

The losses, which to the aircrews seemed toresult from rigid adherence to flawed tactics, dealt anumbing, though not crippling, blow to morale, buta change in plans restored spirits when the attacksresumed. Besides employing only B–52s with mod-ernized jamming equipment against the most heav-ily defended targets, tactics, beginning with the mis-sion on the night of December 26, called for cloudsrather than corridors of chaff, for more compactbomber streams approaching from different direc-tions, and for the avoidance of sharp turns that neu-tralized jamming signals. During the final threedays of the bombing, surface-to-air missiles claimedonly four B–52s. The new tactics helped reduce thelosses, as did attacks on the missile sites by F–4s indaylight and F–111s at night and the decreasingnumber of missiles fired. The North Vietnamesehad fired almost all of their surface-to-air missiles;and because of the mining of the harbors, damage tothe rail system, and the unwillingness of eitherChina or the Soviet Union to risk upsetting the del-icate diplomatic balance with the United States,they could not easily replenish their stocks. At thispoint, after more than 700 nighttime sorties byB–52s and some 650 daylight strikes by fighter-bombers and attack aircraft, the Hanoi governmentagreed to enter into purposeful negotiations.

For the Americans held prisoner at Hanoi, theB–52 raids seemed a sign that freedom was near.Morale soared as the guards stopped taunting theircaptives or threatening retaliation and scrambled

for cover whenever the bombers drew near. Most ofthe other prisoners would surely have agreed withAir Force Col. Jon A. Reynolds that the B–52s hadforced the enemy to negotiate, even though neitherNixon nor Kissinger, perhaps to avoid antagonizingthe North Vietnamese so near the resumption oftalks, claimed at the time that they had bombed theenemy to the conference table. In addition, theLinebacker II campaign served to reinforce thepledge given Thieu that in case of a future invasionAmerican air power would come to his aid. The bat-tering of North Vietnam also gave the South arespite in which to absorb recently arrive Americanmilitary equipment and recover from the effects ofthe past year’s invasion, but neither Linebacker IInor the talks that followed forced Hanoi to agree towithdraw its troops from South Vietnam.

The United States paid a price for the accom-plishments of Linebacker II. Besides the fifteenB–52s that fell victim to surface-to-air missiles, tenother aircraft, four from the Air Force and the oth-ers from the Navy or Marine Corps, were shot downover the North or so badly damaged that the crewseither crash landed or took to their parachutes. Ofthe one hundred Air Force crewmen shot down,thirty-five were killed; twenty-six were rescued; andthirty-nine parachuted, were captured, and werelater released. The air war was not one-sided, how-ever. Air Force fighters destroyed four MiGs, andtail gunners in B–52s shot down two others.

Despite headlines in American newspapersdecrying the carpet bombing of a densely populatedcity, an interpretation based principally on thereports of a French journalist at Hanoi, later inves-tigations revealed that, except for the destruction ofpart of the Bach Mai hospital by bombs intended forthe airport nearby, the damage was limited almostexclusively to targets that were military in nature,like air bases and storage areas for oil and othersupplies, or related to the war effort, like rail yardsand power plants. Indeed, the Hanoi governmentstated that exactly 1,624 civilians had been killed atHanoi and Haiphong during the entire LinebackerII campaign, a far cry from the tens of thousandskilled during World War II at places like Hamburg,


USAF B–52F from the320th Bomb Wing droppingMk 117 750-pound bombsover Vietnam.

FOR THEAMERICANSHELD PRIS-ONER ATHANOI, THEB–52 RAIDSSEEMED ASIGN THATFREEDOMWAS NEAR

THE UNITEDSTATES PAIDA PRICE FORTHE ACCOM-PLISHMENTSOF LINE -BACKER II

Dresden, and Tokyo. Several factors no doubt con-tributed to the comparatively modest death toll: theB–52 strikes had been carefully planned to mini-mize the bombs falling into residential areas,fighter-bombers used laser-guided weapons whereaccuracy was essential, and the North Vietnamesehad built shelters and possibly evacuated a largenumber of noncombatants. In the United States, thewildly exaggerated stories of saturation bombingtriggered no great outcry of opposition. The newsmay well have been believed, but the bombing, how-ever savage, seemed to mark the end of a long andburdensome involvement in Southeast Asia.Moreover, the college campuses, which had nur-tured opposition to the war, were closed for the hol-idays.

Occasional flights over North Vietnam, includ-ing patrols to prevent MiGs from interfering withAmerican air operations in northern Laos, contin-ued after Linebacker II had ended. On January 8,1973, the crew of an F–4D—Capt. Paul D. Howman,the pilot, and 1st Lt. Lawrence W. Kullman, theweapon systems officer—shot down a MiG south-west of Hanoi with a radar-guided AIM–7 missile.This was the last aerial victory before the signing ofthe cease-fire, which went into effect on January 29.The agreement froze the current battle lines inSouth Vietnam, reestablished a coalition govern-ment of communists and anticommunists in Laos,permitted the withdrawal of the last American com-bat forces, and resulted in the release of the 591Americans held prisoner in North Vietnam.

After the cease-fire became operative, theMilitary Assistance Command, Vietnam, becamethe much smaller Defense Attaché Office, which dis-pensed military advice to the armed forces of therepublic and supervised the work of the civilianshired to perform maintenance and conduct techni-cal training. To enforce the truce with air power, asPresident Nixon had promised, the Air Force estab-lished a new headquarters at Nakhon Phanom inThailand, the United States Support ActivitiesGroup/Seventh Air Force, under General Vogt, whohad come there from his headquarters in SouthVietnam. The new command exercised operationalcontrol over the eighteen Air Force fighter-bombersquadrons and one reconnaissance squadron inThailand and over a detachment of Marine Corpsattack aircraft based there. General Vogt and hisstaff also maintained coordination with the Navy’scarrier task force in waters nearby and with theStrategic Air Command, which had 200-odd B–52sat hand in the western Pacific to resume the bomb-ing of North Vietnam. Various factors, such as cutsin congressional funding now that the war hadended and the need on the part of the Air Force toredistribute resources that had been tied down inSoutheast Asia, contributed to a decline inAmerican strength as the months passed. When1974 drew to a close, only twenty-five B–52s andtwelve tactical fighter squadrons in Thailandremained to provide an immediate striking force ifNorth Vietnam should violate the cease-fire.

American airmen continued to fight over

Cambodia, where the cease-fire in Laos and the twoVietnams had no effect on the struggle between thecommunist Khmer Rouge and the government.President Nixon sought to use air power to hold theenemy at bay in Cambodia, but congressional andpublic acceptance of such a course of action was atbest unenthusiastic after more than a decade ofinvolvement in the recently concluded Vietnam War.Moreover, the past was overtaking the ChiefExecutive and further eroding support of the poli-cies he advocated for Southeast Asia. In 1969, whenthe secret bombing of Cambodia began, a reporterhad written a story that mentioned the closely heldoperation. Although the account passed unnoticedby other journalists and the general public, thePresident became obsessed with stopping leaks ofclassified information, and the administration ille-gally began tapping the telephone lines of a numberof citizens, including reporters and government offi-cials. The fear of disclosures intensified after DanielEllsberg, a former marine and at various times ananalyst for the Rand corporation and a special assis-tant to the Assistant Secretary of Defense(International Security Affairs), became disillu-sioned with the war and turned over to the NewYork Times the classified collection of documentsand explanatory text that was published as ThePentagon Papers. To obtain evidence againstEllsberg, who was accused of theft and espionage,operatives acting on behalf of the administrationbroke into the office of the psychiatrist he had con-sulted, an illegal act that ultimately resulted in thedropping of the charges against him. During theelection campaign of 1972, another team of burglarswith ties to the White House entered the headquar-ters of the Democratic National Committee at theWatergate office and apartment complex inWashington, D.C., in search of information thatwould further diminish the party’s already slimchance of gaining the Presidency. Even as PresidentNixon and Dr. Kissinger were seeking funds fromCongress to pursue the bombing in Cambodia, sus-picion was mounting that the administration, per-haps the Chief Executive himself, had been involvedin two burglaries, an attempt to conceal them, andthe illegal surveillance.

In a climate of war weariness and growing mis-trust of the President, a number of senators andrepresentatives believed he had overstepped hisconstitutional authority. Congress asserted thepower of the legislative branch and authorized con-tinuation of the bombing only until July 15, 1973. At11:30 local time on that day an A–7D of the 354thTactical Reconnaissance Wing landed at its base inThailand after flying the last combat mission of thewar over Southeast Asia. All told, the Air Force hadflown 5.25 million sorties over South Vietnam,North Vietnam, northern and southern Laos, andCambodia, losing 2,251 aircraft, 1,737 because ofhostile action and 514 for operational reasons. Aratio of roughly 0.4 losses per 1,000 sorties com-pared favorably with a 2.0 rate in Korea and the 9.7figure during World War II. Beginning with thedeaths of Capt. Fergus C. Groves, II, Capt. Robert D.


TO ENFORCETHE TRUCEWITH AIRPOWER, ASPRESIDENTNIXON HADPROMISED,THE AIRFORCEESTAB-LISHED ANEW HEAD-QUARTERSAT NAKHONPHANOM INTHAILAND

Larson, and SSgt. Milo B. Coghill in 1962, 1,738 offi-cers and enlisted men of the Air Force were killed inaction in Southeast Asia and another 766 died inaccidents or from illness.

Legend has it that at the time the bombingended in Cambodia, someone played over the radiochannel used by strike aircraft a tape recording of atoilet flushing, a crude symbol of the fate many pre-dicted for Southeast Asia. By the end of 1975, com-munist governments controlled South Vietnam,Cambodia, and Laos, but when this came to pass,the Nixon administration, swept into office by ahuge margin in 1972, no longer existed. The secretbombing of Cambodia and the falsification of officialrecords that preserved its secrecy surfaced in thesummer of 1973, further undercutting thePresident. A select committee of the Senate devel-oped evidence that linked the President to the con-cealment of illegal activities by members of his staff,and the House Judiciary Committee found evenstronger proof while drafting articles of impeach-ment. (One of the articles considered but rejected bythe House committee accused the Chief Executiveof abusing his constitutional powers by secretlybombing Cambodia.) Rather than face the near cer-tainty of impeachment by the House ofRepresentatives and a trial in the Senate, thePresident resigned on August 8, 1974. His successor,Gerald R. Ford, a long-time Republican congress-man from Michigan and minority leader of theHouse of Representatives, had replaced Agnewwhen the former Vice President, caught in a web ofcorruption stretching back to his days as a countyofficial in Maryland, had resigned after pleadingnolo contendere to a single charge of income tax eva-sion, thus accepting a conviction without formallyacknowledging guilt.

Even as the power and prestige of the executivebranch of government declined, the American pub-lic experienced an abrupt increase in the cost of liv-ing. At the root of the economic woes were restric-tions by Arab oil producers on the export of petro-leum to the United States and the other nationsthat supported Israel, the victor in yet another warin the Middle East. The resulting scarcity drove upprices and made it difficult for South Vietnam tofuel the war machine that the United States hadgiven it. Meanwhile, long lines and escalating pricesat gasoline stations diverted the attention of theAmerican public from Southeast Asia and dimin-ished the likelihood that President Ford, in theevent of another North Vietnamese invasion, couldmuster support to intervene even with air power.

Despite the oil shortage and the collapse of theNixon administration, South Vietnam seemed for awhile to be holding its own. Sometimes Thieu’sarmy actually lashed out to improve the tacticalposition imposed on it by the cease-fire, but at othertimes the North Vietnamese were able to carve outgains of their own. Despite the apparent stalemate,portents for South Vietnam’s future grew increas-ingly ominous. Stocks of fuel and ammunition couldnot sustain the air strikes and artillery barrages towhich the South Vietnamese had become accus-

tomed, vast amounts of equipment lay unused forlack of maintenance specialists, and the air arm,even if all its officers and men were fully proficientand all its airplanes functioned perfectly, could notsurvive against the kind of antiaircraft defenses theenemy had used during the 1972 offensive. Further,North Vietnam lost no time moving that defenseinto the territory overrun in 1972 and convertingthe Ho Chi Minh Trail into an expressway for sup-plies and reinforcements.

In Cambodia the situation was much worse.After the bombing stopped in the summer of 1973,the United States continued to deliver weapons, per-haps in greater quantities than the governmentcould absorb, but North Vietnam could supply thecommunist insurgents more easily, and the KhmerRouge tended to make better use of what theyreceived. Kissinger, by this time Secretary of State,hoped to negotiate an end to the fighting, but thecommunists saw no need to talk when they were clos-ing in on the capital, undeterred by an occasionallocal setback. On April 12, 1975, nine days after anAir Force HH–53 had flown a Marine Corps com-mand element to the embassy at Phnom Penh,Marine helicopters landed and, while a crowd ofCambodians watched passively, flew the ambassadorand his staff to safety. Two Air Force helicopters thenlanded to pick up the marines in the command andsecurity detachments, completing the evacuation.

Even as the Khmer Rouge tightened the visegripping Phnom Penh, the North Vietnamese onMarch 10 launched an offensive that rapidly gath-ered momentum and overwhelmed SouthVietnamese resistance. Within the Ford administra-tion, discussion focused on military aid at a timewhen only armed intervention could have made adifference, although even massive bombing mighthave failed to ensure the survival of South Vietnam,so desperate were the circumstances. Evacuationrather than intervention became the watchword, asAir Force transports and others chartered from pri-vate firms attempted to fly out as many people aspossible. The early evacuees included hundreds ofinfants being cared for at orphanages in Saigon.During this “Baby Lift,” tragedy struck when therear cargo door of a C–5A burst open in an explosivedecompression of the cabin, and the transportcrashed as the crew tried to land, killing 172, mostlyinfants, of the 300 persons on board. Despite thisdisaster, more than 50,000 Americans, SouthVietnamese, and citizens of other nations escapedby land or sea before the advancing enemy reachedthe outskirts of Saigon.

As at Phnom Penh earlier, helicopters offeredthe final means of escape, but the evacuation fromSaigon was complicated by hordes of panic-strickenSouth Vietnamese fighting for a place on the rescuecraft. Amid confusion and open hostility from localresidents, the last American fled from Saigon onApril 29. Air Force and Navy fighter-bombers andMarine Corps helicopter gunships provided escort,along with AC–130s by night, as Air Force andMarine helicopters rescued more than 6,000 per-sons from the Defense Attaché Office and from the


DESPITE THEOIL SHORT-AGE AND THECOLLAPSEOF THENIXONADMINISTRA-TION, SOUTHVIETNAMSEEMED FORA WHILE TOBE HOLDINGITS OWN

HE NORTHVIETNAMESEON MARCH 10LAUNCHEDAN OFFEN-SIVE THATRAPIDLYGATHEREDMOMENTUMAND OVER-WHELMEDSOUTHVIETNAMESERESISTANCE

American Embassy. Radar at air defense sitestracked the rescue helicopters, but only once did theescort have to act; an Air Force F–4 silenced a radarwith an antiradiation missile, and an accompanyingfighter bombed the 57–mm battery the radardirected. The final evacuation from Saigon was suc-cessful, though only in a narrow sense, for it signi-fied hopes destroyed and dreams betrayed. AsGeorge C. Herring writes in America’s Longest War:The United States and Vietnam, 1950–1975, “Thespectacle of U.S. Marines using rifle butts to keepdesperate Vietnamese from blocking escape routesand of angry ARVN [Army of the Republic ofVietnam] soldiers firing on the departingAmericans provided a tragic epitaph for twenty-fiveyears of American involvement in Vietnam.”

The military involvement in Southeast Asiahad not quite ended, however. On May 12, 1975,Cambodian naval forces seized the American con-tainership Mayaguez, although it was in interna-tional waters, and President Ford decided to useforce to recover the vessel and its crew of thirty-nine. While aircraft maintained surveillance of theship, Pacific Air Forces ordered sixteen CH–3 andHH–53 helicopters to gather in Thailand for theoperation. En route, one of the HH–53s crashed,killing all twenty-three airmen on board. On the13th, the surveillance aircraft observed a small fish-ing boat moving away from the island where theMayaguez rode at anchor. Air Force A–7s promptlyfired across the bow and dropped tear gas canistersin the hope of disabling the guards so that theAmericans, if they were on board, could seize thecraft and escape. The Americans were indeed onboard, but the chemical agent affected both captivesand captors; a Cambodian retained control by hold-ing his gun against the skipper of the vessel, whilethe unarmed sailors from the Mayaguez, blinded bythe gas, could not rush the guards.

Intelligence indicated that the fishing boat hadtaken the prisoners to Koh Tang, an island midwaybetween the one where the captured ship wasanchored and the mainland. To prevent theCambodians from interfering as a boarding partyseized the Mayaguez, the rescue force attackedpatrol boats and shore installations along theCambodian coast while some 230 marines landedfrom Air Force helicopters to capture Koh Tang andfree the ship’s crew. The Mayaguez was abandoned,but infantry armed with a variety of automaticweapons defended Koh Tang. On the morning ofMay 15, eight of the helicopters landed their troops,and the defenders opened fire, damaging two of thecraft and shooting down three others. Meanwhile, afishing boat carried the crew of the Mayaguez,released by their captors, to an American destroyer.Since no Americans were held on Koh Tang, fighter-bombers, attack aircraft, and gunships battered theisland’s defenders. Aerial firepower, however, couldnot save the 100 or more marines clinging to a partof the objective; reinforcements had to land and helphold off the enemy to permit an orderly withdrawal.By the time another 100 marines entered the fight,all but one of the nine helicopters that brought in

troops during the day had been shot down or dam-aged.

By early afternoon, even though the marines hadbeen unable to form a unified defensive perimeter,the withdrawal began, and it continued into evening.In a daring nighttime rescue, Capt. Donald R.Backlund could hear bullets tearing into his machineas he held it a few feet above the beach while an iso-lated group of marines, under cover of fire from themultibarrel gun in the helicopter, made their way upits lowered ramp. A C–130 transport appeared over-head and dropped a 15,000-pound bomb of the typeused to clear landing zones for helicopters during thefighting in South Vietnam. The resulting blast, plussensor-directed barrages from AC–130s and strafingby OV–10s, suppressed the hostile fire to such anextent that the three helicopters still capable of flightcould carry away the last of the marines. Americancasualties totaled forty-one killed, including thetwenty-three members of an Air Force securitydetachment who died in the earlier helicopter crash,and forty-nine wounded. The casualties also includeda copilot and a flight mechanic killed on helicoptersshot down during the morning attack and sixwounded helicopter crewmen. Of the fifteen heli-copters exposed to hostile fire, four were broughtdown and nine damaged.

Hailed as a demonstration that Americanresolve had not been undermined by the communistvictories in Cambodia and South Vietnam, the res-cue operation had nevertheless been marred byhurried planning and based on faulty intelligencethat sent a hastily assembled force against a farstronger enemy. True, the Mayaguez was safely inthe hands of its crew, but that fact had no impact onthe course of subsequent events in Southeast Asia.During December 1975, the communist faction tookover in Laos, and the following year saw a revolu-tion in Thailand and the emergence of a govern-ment, as anticommunist as its predecessor, thatnonetheless sought to distance itself from theUnited States and set a deadline for the withdrawalof the American forces based there. After the NorthVietnamese conquest of the South, the communisttriumph in Laos, the emergence of a hostile regimein Cambodia (which became the People’s Republic ofKampuchea), and the shift of policy in Thailand, theUnited States could no longer maintain a militarypresence in Southeast Asia. The American perime-ter in the western Pacific now extended from SouthKorea and Japan to the Philippines.

Within Southeast Asia, one of the announcedpurposes of the American involvement had come topass, even though the main goal, the survival of anoncommunist South Vietnam, had not. China didnot come to dominate the region, but this outcome,however temporary it might be, resulted from theinterplay of rivalries between China and the SovietUnion, between China and Soviet-supported Viet -nam, and between Vietnam and the Chinese-aidedKhmer Rouge in Cambodia. While these tensionspersisted among the communist states, the indepen-dence of western-oriented nations like Thailand andMalaysia seemed reasonably secure. �


DURINGDECEMBER1975, THECOMMUNISTFACTIONTOOK OVERIN LAOS, ANDTHE FOL-LOWINGYEAR SAW AREVOLUTIONIN THAILAND

THE UNITEDSTATESCOULD NOLONGERMAINTAIN AMILITARYPRESENCE INSOUTHEASTASIA


New Sandys in Town: A–7s and Rescue Operationsin Southeast Asia


Darrel Whitcomb

revered by combat pilots throughout the theater.However, that unit had been ordered to cease oper-ations and transfer its remaining aircraft to theSouth Vietnamese Air Force. Instead, for the veryfirst time, the A–7s of the 354th Tactical FighterWing (TFW) would perform this role. They hadarrived at Korat AB, Thailand, one month prior, andwere already flying strike missions throughout thetheater. As the best available strike aircraft, theywere also assigned the Sandy mission. To help themprepare for the mission, several pilots from the 1stSOS had worked with the pilots to familiarize themwith the SAR tasking, and the 354th TFW hadassumed SAR alert just that morning.4 The SARcontrollers at NKP alerted the 354th TFW, andtheir pilots and intelligence personnel began plan-ning for their first recovery mission.

Later that night, other aircraft in the SAR areareported voice contact with both survivors and pro-vided a general location for both. However, anHC–130, King 22, serving as the airborne missioncommander (AMC), and orbiting to the west was notable to contact either downed aviator. The 40thARRS had several HH-53 helicopters which hadbeen modified with a Night Recovery System(NRS), which gave them a limited ability to performnight recoveries, a capability which was muchneeded in the war. However, intelligence personnelindicated that the SAR area was infested withdozens of anti-aircraft artillery (AAA) guns, someradar controlled, and the SA–2 sites, one of whichhad just downed Bobbin 05. Therefore, a night effortwas ruled put and plans were made for a first-lightrecovery the next morning.5

At 0500, a Fast–FAC (forward air controller),Wolf 13, entered the survivors’ area and assumedduties as the on-scene-commander (OSC). He maderadio contact with both survivors and more pre-cisely fixed their locations. They were on the eastside of a north-south running ridgeline. To the east,the area was open flatland all the way to the coast.To the west, the area was mountainous, with valleysin which the Jolly Greens could hide, if the visibilitywas good enough. At 0845, the 354th TFW wasdirected to launch Sandy 01, 02, and 03. Sandy 01was Capt Dwight Wilson. The aircraft were airbornewithin 15 minutes. They then proceeded east, acrossLaos and South Vietnam, and joined up with aKC–135 over the Gulf of Tonkin to refuel. En route,they checked in with Wolf 13 who told them that theweather in the area was very bad, with clouds from1,000 to 10,000 feet, limited visibility and rain. Thisprecluded rendezvous with the Jolly Greens andnavigation through the valleys. An approach fromthe east, over the flatlands along the coast wasruled out because of the enemy threat. Conse -quently, rescue operations were suspended for thatday, and the Sandys returned to Korat. Wolf 13


In response to North Vietnam’s massive invasionof South Vietnam in the spring of 1972, U.S.President Richard Nixon ordered a retaliatory

interdiction campaign against the North. Desig -nated Operation LINEBACKER, this effort un -leashed U.S. Air Force, Navy and Marine airstrikesagainst the southern half of North Viet nam. Daily,strike packages of fighter aircraft out of Thailandand South Vietnam, and from the U.S. Navy aircraftcarriers in the Gulf of Tonkin, pummeled the trans-portation structure, transshipment points, supplydepots and vehicles holding and carrying enemymateriel to the battlefields in the South. Specificpresidential authorization extended these opera-tions into November and even authorized B–52operations into North Vietnam as far north as the20th parallel above the city of Thanh Hoa.1

On November 16, at about 2200 (all timeslocal), two flights of B–52s attacked a supply areaand transshipment point thirty miles northwest ofVinh. Because of the massed anti-aircraft guns andSA–2 missiles concentrated in the area, thebombers were escorted by several flights of F–4s,some dispensing chaff and others protectingagainst MiGs, and a flight of two F–105Gs, nick-named “Wild Weasels” and designed and equippedto suppress the SA–2 sites. As the gaggle of aircraftapproached the target, the crew of the lead F–105G,Bobbin 05, detected the signal of one of the SA–2sites which had begun tracking the aircraft. Whenthey also received a launch signal from the site,they fired an AGM-78 missile to destroy it.However, the target area was obscured by layeredclouds. Almost immediately, they observed an SA–2missile streaking out of the clouds. They began anevasive hard left turn. The missile exploded, mor-tally wounding the aircraft. Pilot, Capt. Ken Thaete,and Electronic Warfare Officer, Maj. Norbert Maier,Bobbin 05 Alpha and Bravo respectively, ejectedfrom the aircraft and quickly descended into theclouds below.2

The crew of another F–105G working withthem immediately reported to the rescue coordina-tion cell (call sign JACK) at Nakhon Phanom AirBase (NKP AB), Thailand, that Bobbin 05 had gonedown. There, search and rescue (SAR) controllersduly notified the Joint Rescue Coordination Center(JRCC) in Saigon, alerted the helicopter rescuecrews of the HH–53 equipped 40th AerospaceRescue and Recovery Squadron (ARRS), and begancoordinating with the intelligence capabilities atTask Force Alpha, both, also located at NKP.3

Normally, they would also notify the A–1equipped 1st Special Operations Squadron (SOS),since they were the experts at SAR escort, and overthe course of the war, had performed this functionhundreds of times. When they flew these missionsthey used the call sign “Sandy,” a moniker deeply

(Overleaf) A flight of threeA–7Ds from the 355thTactical Fighter Squadronin 1972.

Col. Darrel Whitcomb, USAF (Ret.), flew the OV–10 and O–1 as a Nail and Raven Forward Air Controllerin Southeast Asia from 1972-1974. He is a prolific writer of Air Force aviation and rescue history, and afrequent contributor to Air Power History. His most recent book, On a Steel Horse I Ride: A History ofthe MH–53 Pave Low Helicopters in War and Peace was published in 2013.

THE A–7S OFTHE 354THTACTICALFIGHTERWING…BEGAN PLANNINGTHEIR FIRSTRECOVERYMISSION

directed the survivors to move higher up on theridge to better facilitate their recovery.6

SAR planners at JACK and the JRCC devel-oped another plan for a first-light recovery attempton the 18th. The weather forecast called for moreclouds and rain showers, but good visibility belowthe clouds. The plan was more complex than theeffort on the 17th and involved forty-seven aircraft.This included the HH–53s and HC–130s of the 40thand 56th ARRS, respectively, several flights of F–4MiGCAP, strike aircraft and Fast-FACs, F–105Gs tosuppress enemy defenses, EB–66s, and KC–135tankers. The 354th TFW would provide eighteenA–7s as both Sandy and support strike aircraft.Sandy 01 for this mission was Maj Colin Clarke. Hewas well qualified to lead this effort because he hadflown three previous SEA tours as an F–100 pilotand had ejected and been rescued twice from Laosand South Vietnam.7 Each unit conducted missionbriefs for all participants and coordinated with theother units. They jointly developed an inboundtrack to the survivors’ area with numerous desig-nated points for common reference. These pointscould be loaded into the navigational computers andintegrated with the inertial navigations systems(INS) on the A–7s and were obvious rally points forthe SAR forces.8

The next morning at 0200, the A–7 pilots atKorat received their updated mission brief. Theybegan launching at 0400, and by 0600, all A–7swere airborne.9 At 0330, four Jolly Greens took offfrom NKP and rendezvoused with King 22, theAMC. The two flights of two each staggered theirrefuelings so that at any time, one two-ship was fullof fuel and ready to commit to a rescue attempt.10

As sunrise approached at 0631, all elementswere now in place to attempt a recovery. Wolf 01, an

F–4 Fast-FAC from Ubon was the OSC with hiswing man. Sandy 01 rendezvoused with him atpoint K. After a quick briefing, Wolf 01 and 02 tookSandy 01 back out over the Gulf of Tonkin. Wolf 02remained above the clouds as Wolf 01 and Sandy 01then descended over the water. When they werebelow the clouds, Wolf 01 showed Sandy 01 the sur-vivors’ locations. They drew quite a bit of AAA fromthe enemy gunners in the area. They also deter-mined that the weather was much worse than fore-cast with a ragged ceiling at 1,000 to 1,500 feet andsome ground-level fog which did seem to suppressthe enemy gunners somewhat. They made radiocontact with Bobbin 05A and B. “We were all prettyhappy about that,” Clarke later recalled.11

Sandy 01 authenticated Thaete and Maier,determined their locations, and “marked” them inhis navigational computer. This allowed him to flyback to their location by selecting either location ashis designated navigational point. Each was hiddenin a relatively open area of tall elephant grass, bothvery good landing zones. Wolf 01 then departed torefuel and rejoin his wingman. With full gas, hereturned to the recovery area and remained as theOSC, putting in airstrikes on enemy guns and posi-tions. There was no lack of targets.12

Clarke began searching for a valley to the westof the survivors through which he could ingress theJolly Greens for the pickups. The forward lookingradar (FLR) on his aircraft was inoperative, but hisradar altimeter still worked. Instead, using his pro-jected map display system, he tried several routes.At the same time, the Jolly Green crews were alsotrying to find a way in and kept descending into theclouds hoping to break out into the clear. However,they had no navigational gear which could helpthem determine their position accurately, and had


An HC–130 refuels anHH–53 over North Vietnam.

SAR PLAN-NERS ATJACK ANDTHE JRCCDEVELOPEDANOTHERPLAN FOR AFIRST-LIGHTRECOVERYATTEMPT ONTHE 18TH

to be very careful that they did not fly into a moun-tain or descend into an area loaded with AAA gunsor which made them vulnerable to the SA–2 sites.After an hour of such futile activity, the Jolly Greenshad to return to the HC–130 for fuel. The Sandysalso had to refuel off of the KC–135s. However,nobody had calculated how so many A–7s wouldrapidly deplete the tanker aircraft, and several“spare” tankers had to be scrambled to support therescue armada.13

After refueling, Sandy 01 led Sandy 04 and 05down into the survivor area to get them orientedand then dispatched them to backtrack to the westto find an ingress route and bring in the JollyGreens. As they were working, he proceeded back topoint K, picked up Sandy 02 and 03 who were wait-ing there, led them into the recovery area, and ori-ented them on the tactical situation. He identifiedAAA gun positions that would need to be attackedand showed them the locations of both survivors.Actually, the AAA positions were easy to identifybecause the gunners were constantly firing at theA–7s. This just reinforced to Maj. Clarke the realitythat he had to bring the Jollys in from the west sothat they could use the terrain to hide from theguns. As the A–7s were working over the recoveryarea, the Jolly Greens were making repeatedattempts to descend through the weather into work-able visual conditions. All of this maneuvering, onceagain, required all of the aircraft to recycle throughthe HC–130s and KC–135s. More tankers had to belaunched to support the extended effort, and fourA–7s were directed to return to base.14

After all had refueled, Sandy 01, accompaniedby 04 and 05, proceeded to point Y where two of theJolly Greens were holding. Sensing that theweather was breaking up somewhat, he led one of

the Jollys down through and around the weatherinto one of the valleys which was relatively clear. Heused his radar altimeter to avoid terrain and UHFradio automatic direction finder (ADF), to vector theJolly green through a low overcast into visual con-ditions in the valley. The Jolly Green aircraft com-mander, Capt John Gillespie, noted, “Circling in thevalley with a 1,000 foot or less ceiling, Maj Clarkeused his [ADF] to vector my aircraft into the valleyThe two aircraft, A–7D and HH–53, then began thelong run inbound to the survivors.” Clarke maneu-vered him along the ingress route, avoiding villagesand areas of suspected AAA concentrations to theridgeline where the survivors were located.15

At the same time, Sandy 04 and 05 proceededabove the clouds out of the Gulf, let down into visualconditions and attempted to reenter the recoveryarea. Heavy fusillades of AAA fire drove them backout over the water. They noted the locations andpicked a new ingress route. Concurrently, Sandy 01directed Sandy 02 and 03 to lead Sandys 11-16 outover the water and then down into the recovery areato be ready to provide firepower support whenneeded and to lay a smoke screen if necessary tohide the Jolly Green while he was in his recoveryhover. All of the aircraft converged in the recoveryarea, below the clouds and with good visibility.Sandy 04 and 05 took up escort of the Jolly Green.Sandy 01 told the Jolly Green to proceed to point Zand hold while Sandy 01 orbited over the survivorsand prepped them for pickup. As he passed over thesurvivors, Clarke was hosed by a AAA gun whichwas just 300 hundred yards from Bobbin 05B. Hedecided to directly attack the gun with his rocketsand 20 mm cannon and called for Sandy 04 and 05to assist him. As Clarke rolled in to engage the gun,he saw in the bottom of his gunsight, the Jolly


An HH–53 and A–1Es insupport of rescue opera-tions.

AS THE A–7SWERE WORK-ING OVERTHE RECOV-ERY AREA,THE JOLLYGREENSWERE MAK-INGREPEATEDATTEMPTSTO DESCENDTHROUGHTHEWEATHER

AT THE SAMETIME, SANDY04 AND 05PROCEEDEDABOVE THECLOUDS…ANDATTEMPTEDTO REENTERTHE RECOV-ERY AREA

day, he was awarded the Air Force Cross. During1972, twenty Air Force personnel were awardedthat prestigious medal. In that group, Clarke wasthe seventh person to receive that award for a res-cue mission. Four of those recipients flew theiraward mission as Sandy 01.18

The post-mortem analysis was long and exten-sive and pointed out several factors to be consid-ered.

The crews complained about the use of call signs.There were so many Sandys, that precise verbalcommunication became a challenge. Severalrecommended that the Sandys should be few innumber, and support flights should have indi-vidual call signs.

More tankers had to be available for SAR ops. TheA–1s did not use tankers. But, to give the A–7sthe loiter time that may be required, moreKC–135s had to be planned for in SAR mis-sions. There was another complicating factor.The A–7s could not carry as much ordnance asthe A–1s. Therefore, they operated as three-ship elements vice the two-ship elements com-mon to the A–1s, and generating more need fortanker support. This also reflected the fact thatthere were now, many more A–7s available forSAR duty, vice the disappearing A–1s.19 TheKing aircraft could be given responsibility forcoordinating the increased need for tankers forthe Sandys, as they did the refueling of theHH–53s.

SAR planning required better weather forecastingand dispersal to the aircrews.

The standard SAR communications plan had to bemodified to the capabilities of the A–7. It onlyhad UHF and VHF–FM radios. HH-53s alsohad VHF–AM radios and used them frequentlywith the A–1s and other support elements suchas FACs in O-2s and OV–10s operating overmuch of Laos, Cambodia, and South Vietnam,or U.S. Army aviation units which frequentlysupported SARs in South Vietnam. VHF–AMradios could be inserted into the A–7s, but that


Green moving along the ridge to the survivors.Gillespie and crew had not heard the directive toproceed to point Z, they were moving in for the pick-ups.

At the same time, Sandys 11-13, and Sandys14-16 laid down their smoke screens southwest andeast of the two survivors, effectively hiding the lum-bering Jolly Green from the enemy guns. The A–7sdelivered their smoke amidst continuous enemygroundfire. Noted the after-action-report, “The tim-ing and overlap was ideal and resulted in an unbro-ken two to three mile smoke screen from the surfaceto 800 feet which shielded the helicopter from theguns.” In their runs, all pilots observed heavy AAA.Sandy 12 sustained damage to his aircraft from 23or 37 mm fire.16

Sandy 01, 02, 04, and 05 orbited overhead asthe Jolly picked up Capt. Thaete and Maj. Maier.While doing so, the Jolly gunners were busily andaggressively firing on targets as they appeared.Sandy 01 continued to engage enemy forces as hespotted them, and as the Jolly Green was departingthe area, his aircraft was hit and damaged byenemy fire. He began an egress to the east over thewater, as Sandy 02, 04, and 05 escorted the JollyGreen back up the valley to the west. The egressingformation began to run into weather and climbedup through it until they were clear on top. There,F–4s joined with them for the flight to NKP as theSandys then proceeded to Korat.17

Clarke had his own challenges. His aircraft hadbeen seriously damaged by some kind of AAA shellwhich had exploded his right drop tank and pep-pered the right side of the aircraft with shards ofmetal. His avionics system, flight instruments, nav-igational gear, etc., were all knocked out. He wasquickly joined by several other A–7s who escortedhim to a safe landing at Da Nang AB, SouthVietnam. But the crews of Bobbin 05 had beenrecovered from deep in North Vietnam, and no otheraircraft or personnel were lost in the effort.

Once launched the entire rescue operation tookalmost nine hours. Sandy 01, Maj Colin Clarke, wasairborne almost the entire time. For his effort that

A Douglas A–1H Skyraiderfrom the 6th SpecialOperations Squadron in1969.

THE CREWSOF BOBBIN05 HAD BEENRECOVEREDFROM DEEPIN NORTHVIETNAM,AND NOOTHER AIR-CRAFT ORPERSONNELWERE LOST

would take time. Until such changes weremade, the communications plan had to berewritten.

The A–7 pilots were puzzled by the apparent lack ofresponse from the known SA–2 sites in the area.In the debriefings, they discovered that severalflights of F–105Gs had been very active abovethem and had attacked and possibly destroyedat least three sites. Analysts speculated per-haps the enemy was waiting for the “slow mov-ing aircraft” to arrive (A–1s) that they were soused to seeing, and confused the A–7s for WildWeasels. Possibly, the aggressive tactics of theA–7s surprised them and caused them to hesi-tate in their response.

While the A–7 was sufficiently equipped to supportSAR operations, the installation of an electroniclocation finder (ELF) recently installed on someHH–53s, would be useful for the quicker andmore accurate location of survivors.20

After the mission, the accolades rolled in. Gen.John Vogt, commander of Seventh Air Force cabled,“Your energetic response, commendable airman-ship, and steadfastness under the most hazardousconditions was in the finest traditions of the USAF.My sincerest thanks for a job well done.” The com-mander, United States Military AssistanceCommand Vietnam, Gen. Fred Weyand, wrote, “Thesuccessful rescue of the Bobbin 05 crew… was thezenith of true dedication by many. We … are proudto salute the men who risked their lives for their fel-low countrymen.”21

Beyond the analysis, though, the rescue com-munity could not help but compare the A–7 to thesorely missed A–1. Beyond the equipment differ-ences, there were other concerns which were voiced,

especially by the HH-53 crews. They had operatedfor years with the A–1s providing close support forthem when they were ingressing, hovering over thesurvivors, and exiting the battle area. They likedthe feel of the A–1s in close and were hesitant, ini-tially at least, with the A–7s with their higherspeeds and larger turn radius, which preventedthem from maintaining that close contact. It madethe Jolly crews feel “naked” in the face of the enemygunners. They also noticed that the pilots were dif-ferent. The A–1 guys were “low and slow” pilots,trained as close in attack specialists and flying air-craft straight out of World War II. When not on SARduty, they flew missions providing tight close airsupport for primarily indigenous coalition forces inLaos and had a real feel for ground battle. They didinterdiction too, but as a secondary mission. Theyhad a fundamental feel for air to ground battle, andmany SARs ended up as air-to-ground battles.

The Jollys also really appreciated having theA–1 squadron right there at NKP with them andthe Nail OV–10 FACs of the 23d TASS. These dis-parate groups of young airmen developed a closebond through their combined efforts in the rescues.And there at NKP they also had collocated withthem JACK and the intelligence capabilities pro-vided by Task Force Alpha. It was a cohesive andfortuitous grouping of all the key SAR elements andit provided for a robust synergy among the variousgroups.22

But the A–7s were located at Korat. They keptliaison officers at NKP, but that was not the same ashaving the actual Sandy pilots themselves rightthere with the other SAR experts and having oppor-tunity to mix with them on a daily basis and swap theinevitable “bar talk” which in many cases, created theunique tactics and techniques which enabled the


A-7D Corsair IIs of the354th Tactical Fighter Wingover the skies of SoutheastAsia.

BEYOND THEANALYSIS,THOUGH, THERESCUECOMMUNITYCOULD NOTHELP BUTCOMPARETHE A–7 TOTHE SORELYMISSED A–1

1. Chris Hobson, Vietnam Air Losses, MidlandPublishing; Hinkley, England, 2001, p. 240; Also,Wayne Thompson, To Hanoi and Back: The U.S. AirForce and North Vietnam, 1966 – 1973, Washington,D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press; 2000, p. 258.2. Evasion Debrief of Maj Norbert Maier, in “Reportof Search and Rescue Operations for Bobbin 05,”History of the 354th TFW, Oct – Dec, 1972, Vol 4. ,USAF Historical Research Agency, Maxwell AFB, Ala.(AFHRA)3. Msg, DTG 162045Z, From 40ARRS/RCC/NakhonPhanom RTAFB Thailand; TO: Various units andheadquarters; Rescue Opening Report 16 Nov 72.Document File K318.3912-5 part 3, 1 Jan – 31 Dec1972, AFHRA, Bobbin 05. 4. History of the 1st SOS, in the History of the 56thSpe cial Operations Wing, Oct–Dec, 1972, Vol 3, AFHRA. 5. Jolly Green Summary of SAR actions; Nov 18,1972, Document File K318.3912-5 part 3, 1 Jan – 31Dec 1972, AFHRA, Bobbin 05.6. “Report of Rescue Operations for Bobbin 05,” His -tory of the 354th TFW, Oct–Dec, 1972, Vol 4., AFHRA;p. 3.7. Hobson, Vietnam Air Losses, pp. 10, 173, 240; Also,John Frisbee, “Sandy Superb,” Air Force Magazine,May, 1988, n.p. 8. Jolly Green Summary of SAR actions; Nov 18,1972, Document File K318.3912-5 part 3, 1 Jan – 31Dec 1972, AFHRA, Bobbin 05; Also, “Report of RescueOperations for Bobbin 05,” History of the 354th TFW,Oct – Dec, 1972, Vol 4, AFHRA; pp. 6-8.9. “Report of Rescue Operations for Bobbin 05,” His -

tory of the 354th TFW, Oct – Dec, 1972, Vol 4, AFHRA;p. 11.10. Jolly Green Summary of SAR actions; Nov 18,1972, Document File K318.3912-5 part 3, 1 Jan – 31Dec 1972, AFHRA, Bobbin 05.11. “Report of Rescue Operations for Bobbin 05,”History of the 354th TFW, Oct – Dec, 1972, Vol 4,AFHRA, p. 12.12. http://rememberedsky.com/?p=207; accessed April20, 2015. 13. “Report of Rescue Operations for Bobbin 05,” His -tory of the 354th TFW, Oct – Dec 1972, Vol 4, AFHRA;pp. 13-14.14. Ibid., p. 15.15. Ibid., p. 17.16. Ibid., pp. 20-21. 17. Ibid., p. 22.18. www.homeofheroes.com/valor/02_awards/02_afc.html; accessed April 18, 2015.19. Col Cecil Muirhead, 3rd ARRGp Commander, Endof Tour Report, n.d.; AFHRA, 8.20. “Report of Rescue Operations for Bobbin 05,”History of the 354th TFW, Oct – Dec, 1972, Vol 4,AFHRA, pp. 23-32.21. Ibid., p. 33.22. Lt Col Lachlan Macleay, 23d TASS Commander,End of Tour Report, Sep 18, 1972, AFHRA, p. 1923. Col Cecil Muirhead, 3rd ARRGp Commander, Endof Tour Report, n.d.; AFHRA, p. 8.24. “Report of Rescue Operations for Bobbin 05,”History of the 354th TFW, Oct – Dec, 1972, Vol 4,AFHRA; p. 33.


NOTES

SAR forces to perform so many incredible rescues.That was a loss to the rescue community.

In comparison to the A–1 pilots, the A–7 dri-vers were a different breed. They were jet guys, fly-ing higher and faster. They were focused on flyingquickly to a target, bombing it, and returning home.Yes, they did close air support, but they were notdown low and in the fight like the A–1 guys were.They were really more designed and optimized forinterdiction or preplanned targets designated in acampaign plan. Their aircraft were optimized for it,with improved bombing avionics, in-flight refuelingcapability, FLR with radar altimeter interface, pro-jected map display system, and navigation/wea -pons delivery computer integrated with the INS, allreflective of how aviation was modernizing. Withtheir higher speeds, the A–7s could get to the res-cue location quicker, and history had shown thatreduced reaction time was a key determinant inrecovery success.23

After the Bobbin 05 mission was complete, oneA–1 pilot speculated that the uniqueness of the A–7with its advanced capabilities, enabled this rescuewhen it is probable that the A–1 pilots would havehad a much more difficult time completing the mis-sion so far from home base and in such a dangerousarea. Starkly stated, the A–1 was the proud past -the A–7 was the exciting future. Regardless, theA–1s were gone and for operational reasons, theA–7s were the new Sandys in town. And they were

flexible, as Bobbin 05 showed. The A–7 pilots wouldadapt their aircraft and themselves for the missionand re-shape the mission to exploit the new tech-nologies and ideas. In that, they would replicate theearlier efforts of the helicopter crews when theyincorporated in-flight refueling and the NightRecovery System into their tactics and techniques,and the OV–10 FACs of the 23d TASS who adaptedthe new Pave Spot LASER / LORAN system whichprovided highly accurate position designation andnavigation. The A–7 airmen would also evolve asnecessary to do the mission. (See “Bar NapkinTactics,” Air Power History, Winter 2014).

Recognizing that, perhaps the best commenda-tion for the Bobbin 05 effort came from the com-mander of the 3d Aerospace Rescue and RecoveryGroup, Col. Cy Muirhead. He had been at the helmof our theater rescue forces for all of 1972, andknew better than most the reality of rescue inSoutheast Asia. He wrote to the airmen of the newSandy force, “Your extraordinary display of calm-ness and heroism under pressure are in the highesttraditions of the [Aerospace Rescue and RecoveryService] and the USAF. For the Sandys of the 354th:Welcome to the rescue family. You couldn’t haveupheld the highly respected tradition of the Sandysin a finer manner. It’s great having you with us.”24

It was a timely but almost bittersweet thoughtbecause some of the greatest challenges for rescuewere looming just beyond the horizon. �

ONE A–1PILOT SPEC-ULATEDTHAT THEUNIQUENESSOF THE A–7WITH ITSADVANCEDCAPABILI-TIES,ENABLEDTHIS RESCUE


IIvvoorr yy aanndd EEbboonnyy:: WWhhiitt eeOOff ff iicceerr FFooeess aanndd FFrriieennddssooff tt hhee TTuusskkeeggeeee AAiirrmmeenn


Daniel L. Haulman

T he racism that challenged the TuskegeeAirmen during World War II pervaded theUnited States, including the War Depart -

ment. Many Air Corps white officers resisted thetraining of black pilots in a service that had neverhad them before, or demanded that even their basefacilities be strictly segregated, or opposed blackpilots entering overseas combat, or attempted totake them out of combat. Yet, there were alwaysother white officers who supported the TuskegeeAirmen, not only encouraging them but also con-tributing to their success. This article focuses ontwelve white Army Air Forces officers, six of whomresisted the success of the black airmen, and sixwho supported them.

The first half considers six of the white ArmyAir Forces officers who opposed or at least hinderedthe success of the first black military pilots inAmerican military history. Among them are Col.Frederick von Kimble, who increased racial segre-gation at Tuskegee Army Air Field; Col. WilliamMomyer, who recommended that the 99th FighterSquadron, the first black flying unit and the firstone in combat, be removed from attachment to his33d Fighter Group; Maj. Gen. Edwin J. House, com-mander of the XII Air Support Command, who rec-ommended that the 99th Fighter Squadron betransferred away from the front lines and taken outof combat because “the negro type has not theproper reflexes to make a first-class fighter pilot”;Col. William Boyd, base commander of SelfridgeField, who enforced segregation there, despite thefact that it was in Michigan; Col. Robert Selway,who attempted to set up racially separate officerclubs at Freeman Field for black officers in the477th Bombardment Group; and Gen. FrankO’Driscoll Hunter, who supported the segregationistpolicies of both Boyd and Selway.

The second half focuses on six other whiteArmy Air Forces officers who defied convention andcontributed to the success of the Tuskegee Airmen:Col. Noel F. Parrish, commander of Tuskegee ArmyAir Field, which provided the basic and advancedflying training for the black pilots; Maj. Robert M.Long, Director of Advanced Flying Training atTuskegee Army Air Field, who personally conducted

many of the advanced training flights; Maj. PhilipCochran, a member of the 33d Fighter Group, whohelped train the 99th Fighter Squadron in P–40combat tactics and navigation after the squadronfirst deployed to North Africa; Col. Leonard C.Lydon, commander of the 324th Fighter Group, towhich the 99th Fighter Squadron was attachedwhen it earned its first two Distinguished UnitCitations in June 1943 and May 1944; Col. Earl E.Bates, who commanded the 79th Fighter Group, towhich the 99th Fighter Squadron was attachedfrom October 16, 1943 to April 1, 1944, and withwhich it flew P–40s on successful combat missionsfor the Twelfth Air Force; and Lt. Gen. Ira C. Eaker,commander of the Mediterranean Allied Air Forces,who authorized the transfer of the black 332dFighter Group to the Fifteenth Air Force and itsequipment with the best fighters to escort B–17 andB–24 bombers on long-range strategic bombard-ment missions against enemy targets in Germanyand occupied central Europe.

Colonel Frederick von Kimble

Col. Frederick von Kimble assumed commandof Tuskegee Army Air Field at the beginning of1942. A graduate of the United States MilitaryAcademy at West Point (class of 1918), he replacedMaj. James A. Ellison as post commander. Kimbleinherited a base that was already largely segre-gated by race, but he was determined to not onlyenforce it but extend it as well. Not only quartersand dining facilities were marked off as for whitesor colored personnel, but toilets as well.1

Colonel von Kimble also opposed fraternizationbetween blacks and whites at Tuskegee Army AirField, preferring that contacts be strictly betweenwhite trainers and black trainees. Although the newblack pilots who would graduate during his tenurewould be officers, they would never command anywhites. The commander remained aloof from theblack cadets and the black support personnel, andfew Tuskegee Airmen ever knew him personally. Heresisted the promotion of black officers. During histenure as commander of the field, only one blackofficer was appointed beyond the rank of captain,


Daniel L. Haulman is Chief, Organizational Histories, at the Air Force Historical Research Agency,Maxwell AFB, Alabama. After earning a BA from the University of Southwestern Louisiana and an ME(Master of Education) from the University of New Orleans, he earned a Ph.D. in history from AuburnUniversity. Dr. Haulman has authored three books, including Air Force Aerial Victory Credits, TheUSAF and Humanitarian Airlift Operations, and One Hundred Years of Flight: USAF Chronology ofSignificant Air and Space Events, 1903-2002. He has written several pamphlets, composed sections ofseveral other USAF publications, and compiled the list of official USAF aerial victories appearing onthe AFHRA’s web page. He wrote the Air Force chapter in supplement IV of A Guide to the Sources ofUnited States Military History and completed six studies on aspects of recent USAF operations thathave been used by the Air Staff and Air University. He has also written a chapter in Locating Air ForceBase Sites: History’s Legacy, a book about the location of Air Force bases. The author of fifteen publishedarticles in various journals, Dr. Haulman has presented more than twenty historical papers at histori-cal conferences and taught history courses at Huntingdon College, Auburn University at Montgomery,and Faulkner University. He co-authored, with Joseph Caver and Jerome Ennels, the book TheTuskegee Airmen: An Illustrated History, published by New South Books in 2011. This work isextracted from another book chapter. An abridged version appeared in Air Force Magazine.

(Overleaf) The TuskeegeeAirmen in Statuary Hall ofthe U.S. Capitol on theoccasion of the Presidentof the United States pre-senting the Congres sionalGold Medal to theTuskegee Airmen. (Photocourtesy of the WhiteHouse.)

THERE WEREALWAYS…WHITEOFFICERSWHO SUP-PORTED THETUSKEGEEAIRMEN

and that officer served in the medical corps. Whenvon Kimble was commander, no white officersbelonged to the officers’ club, or attended the basetheater, because blacks were there. The white offi-cers, most of whom lived off base, took advantage ofentertainment opportunities beyond TuskegeeArmy Air Field.2

Colonel von Kimble knew that segregation wasthe rule of the day in the neighboring town ofTuskegee, and in the state of Alabama, and he wasdetermined to keep peace between the black per-sonnel under his command and the local authori-ties. He did not allow black military policemen fromTuskegee Army Air Field to leave the base whilecarrying firearms, even if they were needed to gointo town to corral wayward or unruly cadets.Kimble enforced curfews and preferred that theblack cadets remain on base rather than to go intotown, where they might arouse opposition in thewhite part of the town of Tuskegee. Some of theblack cadets at Tuskegee Army Air Field even felt asif they were in a hell hole or a prison, because oftheir isolation, especially if they had come fromareas of the country with less segregation. WhenNoel Parrish replaced Frederick von Kimble as com-mander at Tuskegee Army Air Field, the black per-sonnel breathed a sigh of relief.3

Colonel William W. Momyer

Col. William W. Momyer commanded the all-white 33d Fighter Group and its three P–40ssquadrons in North Africa when the black 99thFighter Squadron was attached to his groupbetween May 29 and the end of June 1943, andagain between July 19 and October 16, 1943. The99th Fighter Squadron was the first black flyingunit, and when it deployed to Africa in April 1943, itwas unlike any other fighter squadron, not onlybecause it was the only black one in a combat the-ater, but because it did not belong, like all the otherP–40 squadrons, to a set of three fighter squadronsassigned to a group. The 99th Fighter Squadron inthe theater did not have a black group to beassigned to, so it was attached instead to Momyer’sgroup, which already had three white P–40squadrons assigned to it.4

Colonel Momyer did not welcome the blacksquadron to his group, but treated it like anunwanted stepchild. In Momyer’s mind, the 99thwas clearly inferior to the others, if not becauseblacks were inferior to whites, because the newsquadron lacked combat experience. Momyer’sbelief that the 99th was inferior did not change dur-ing the time he commanded the group to which thesquadron was attached. When Momyer becameaware of some of the problems as the inexperiencedblack squadron first entered combat in early June1943, and later in the year, he seized the opportu-nity to attempt to remove the squadron from attach-ment to his group. When the rest of his group movedfrom Sicily to the Italian mainland in mid-September 1943, he left the 99th Fighter Squadronbehind. At the same time, he sent a note up the

chain of command noting that the black pilots failedto perform well, and should be taken out of combat.5

Major General Edwin J. House

When Major General Edwin J. House, comman-der of the XII Air Support Command in Italy,received Momyer’s negative report about the perfor-mance of the 99th Fighter Squadron in combat, heprepared a memorandum recommending that theblack squadron be taken out of combat and be reas-signed to coastal patrol duties far behind enemylines. The same memorandum also suggested thatthe plans to deploy the black 332d Fighter Group,that was preparing in the United States to deploy toItaly with three additional black fighter squadrons,be dropped. The “House Memorandum,” as it wascalled, went up the chain to Maj. Gen. John K.Cannon, Deputy Commander of the NorthwestAfrican Tactical Air Force, who endorsed it. GeneralCannon, in turn, forwarded the memorandum to Lt.Gen. Carl Spaatz, commander of the NorthwestAfrican Air Forces and the Twelfth Air Force, whoadded his own endorsement, and noted that the99th Fighter Squadron had been given every oppor-tunity to succeed. The memorandum went all theway up to Gen. Henry “Hap” Arnold, commander ofthe Army Air Forces, in Washington, D.C. Inresponse, the War Department launched a study tocompare the performance of the all-black 99thFighter Squadron with the performance of the all-white P–40 squadrons in the Mediter raneanTheater of Operations. By endorsing Momyer’s neg-ative report, adding to it his own negative com-ments regarding the use of black pilots in combat,and forwarding it up the chain of command, Housefacilitated a move to take the only deployed blackfighter squadron out of combat, and to prevent otherblack fighter squadrons from ever entering combat.6

Colonel William Boyd

The 332d Fighter Group, the only black fightergroup in World War II, was stationed in SelfridgeField, Michigan from March 29 to April 12 and fromJuly 9 to December 22, 1943. It was also the stationof the first black bombardment group, the 477thBombardment Group, from January 15 to May 6,1944. As such, Selfridge was one of the most impor-tant bases for black Army Air Forces officers duringWorld War II. Selfridge was only twenty-five milesfrom Detroit, where a major race riot had brokenout in the summer of 1943. Racial tensions seethedin the area. In fact, a Selfridge Field base comman-der got drunk one day and shot his black chauffeur.Col. William Boyd replaced that commander, andserved as commander of Selfridge Field eventhough he did not command the black 332d FighterGroup or the 477th Bombardment Group that werebased there. Those groups were commanded byother white officers.7

Colonel Boyd did nothing to reduce the racialtension at Selfridge. He attempted to enforce racialsegregation on the base, hoping to prevent violence,


KIMBLEINHERITED ABASE THATWASALREADYLARGELYSEGRE-GATED BYRACE, BUTHE WASDETERMINEDTO NOT ONLYENFORCE ITBUT EXTENDIT AS WELL

and in the process, refused to allow the black offi-cers to use the Officers’ Club. Such a policy violatedArmy Regulation 210-10. Boyd’s refusal almost ledto violence, as black officers repeatedly tried toenter an all-white facility and were repeatedlyturned away. Boyd was forced to close the club.8

Colonel Robert R. Selway

Col. Robert R. Selway was the second comman-der of the 332d Fighter Group and the first com-mander of the 477th Bombardment Group after itwas activated as a predominantly black organiza-tion. Like many other white officers who had deal-ings with the Tuskegee Airmen, he was not all bador good. In fact, at Selfridge Field, he led the 332dFighter Group as it prepared to go overseas intocombat, and he contributed to its success by thestrict training he administered. If he had somehowdied in early 1944, after the 332d Fighter Groupdeployed to Italy, he might have been fondly remem-bered only as one who helped prepare the blackpilots for success in combat. Unfortunately, his storyhad a later darker side.9

While at Selfridge, Selway was influenced bythe segregationist policies of Colonel Boyd, who hadserved as base commander. When the 477thBombardment Group moved to Godman Field,Kentucky, in early May 1944, black officers mighthave been encouraged by the fact that the singleOfficers’ Club at Godman was open to them, untilthey realized that no white officers attended it. Thewhite officers of the group went to the Officers’ Clubat Fort Knox, instead, since Fort Knox was right nextto Godman Field. When the 477th moved again, thistime to Freeman Field, Indiana, the officers mighthave been encouraged again, because the base waslarger, and able to accommodate more personnel andaircraft. Unfortunately, Freeman Field was alsolarge enough to have two officers’ clubs. Black offi-cers at Freeman Field could attend an officers’ clubthere, but there was also another club designated forthe white officers. Selway attempted to hide the factthat the clubs were set up so that black and whiteofficers would be separate during periods of enter-tainment by claiming that the white club was fortrainers and the black club was for trainees, but theblack officers of the 477th Bombardment Group didnot buy it. They knew that other similar bases didnot have separate clubs for trainers and trainees,and they knew that not all the supervisory person-nel were allowed into the white club, because someof them were black and were denied admission.10

On April 5 and 6, 1944, a total of sixty-one blackofficers at Freeman Field attempted to enter theofficers’ club reserved for whites, and were arrested.Selway wanted to build his case, so he agreed torelease the officers and then have all of them sign astatement acknowledging the separate officers’ clubpolicy. That way the arrested officers could not claimthey did not know what the policy was, if there waslitigation later. One hundred and one of the blackofficers, including most of those who had earliertried to enter the club but had been arrested,

refused to obey an order to sign the document.Those 101 black officers were then arrested, bySelway’s authority. They were flown on severaltransport aircraft back to Godman Field, Kentucky,the old base where the 477th Bombardment Grouphad been stationed before. The case became verycontroversial, and eventually all of the arrested offi-cers were released except for three, who were courtmartialed. In fact, only one of those three officerswas convicted. Still, the Freeman Field “mutiny,” asit was called, became an important chapter inTuskegee Airmen history, and the black officersremembered Robert Selway as one of the villains inthe story.11

General Frank O’Driscoll Hunter

One of the other villains in the “Freeman FieldMutiny” story was Gen. Frank O’Driscoll Hunter, thecommander of the First Air Force, under whomSelway commanded Freeman Field. Hunter had alsobeen the commander under whom Col. William Boydcommanded Selfridge Field, Michigan, when segre-gation erupted as a major issue at that base, too.Apparently both Boyd and Selway were enforcingracial segregation at Selfridge and at FreemanFields because that was the policy favored by theFirst Air Force commander. When segregationbecame scandalous at Selfridge Field, Boyd becamethe scapegoat, although General Hunter was just asmuch involved. The general claimed that the blackofficers at Selfridge should be patient until their ownclub was constructed. Hunter encouraged Selway tohold his ground when black officers challenged hisseparate officers’ clubs policy at Freeman Field. Thelesson Hunter took from the previous incident atSelfridge Field was not that blacks should beallowed to use the officers’ club, but that they shouldhave their own. Since they did have their own offi-cers’ club at Freeman Field, Hunter did not see whatthe issue was. As in so many cases, white officersenforcing segregation at Tuskegee Airmen baseswere egged on by higher officers who encouragedthem to retain the policy. General Hunter was defi-nitely such a man. Just as Colonel Momyer’s actionsagainst the 99th Fighter Squadron were supportedby General House, the segregationist policies ofColonel Boyd at Selfridge and Colonel Selway atFreeman Field were supported by General Hunter.Racism had a hierarchy in the Army Air Forces dur-ing World War II.12

The institutional racism within the WarDepartment had its limits, however. At times Gen.George Marshall, Chief of Staff of the Army, inter-vened in favor of the black airmen. It was GeneralMarshall himself who authorized the release of allbut three of the 101 who had been arrested atFreeman Field in April 1945.13

In the first half, I considered six white Army AirForce officers who opposed the success of theTuskegee Airmen. The second half focuses on sixother white Army Air Force officers who helped theTuskegee Airmen, and whom they remember asessential contributors to their success.


LIKE MANYOTHERWHITE OFFI-CERS WHOHAD DEAL-INGS WITHTHETUSKEGEEAIRMEN, HEWAS NOTALL BAD ORGOOD

AT TIMESGEN.GEORGEMARSHALL,CHIEF OFSTAFF OFTHE ARMY,INTERVENEDIN FAVOR OFTHE BLACKAIRMEN

Colonel Noel Parrish

The best known of these was Col. Noel Parrish.Although Colonel Parrish was from the South, hedid not share the same racial sentiments of many ofthose with whom he grew up. Parrish joined theArmy and became a pilot before World War II. WhenCivilian Pilot Training commenced, he moved toChicago to help train new pilots there, who mighteventually become military pilots in the Air Corps.He moved to Tuskegee in 1941, first to commandthe primary flying school at Moton Field, a facilityof Tuskegee Institute that operated under contractwith the Air Corps. Before long, Parrish moved onthe much larger Tuskegee Army Air Field to com-mand the basic and advanced flight training offeredthere.14 Those more advanced phases of pilot train-ing were not conducted under contract withTuskegee Institute, but directly by the Army AirForces, which provided military flight instructors.At first all of these instructors were white.

When Colonel Parrish first became comman-der at Tuskegee Army Air Field, the black cadetswere not sure of where he stood on the question oftheir success. He gradually convinced them that hewas more a friend than an enemy, establishing areputation for fairness among the black officerswith whom he came into contact. When black offi-cers entered a base dining facility formerlyreserved for whites, Parrish agreed to their right tobe there, and desegregated the facility.15 Althoughthe other white officers refused to remain membersof the officer’s club after it admitted blacks, ColonelParrish remained a member. He supported blackpersonnel who entered the white-controlled town ofTuskegee. He encouraged the progress of the blackpilot cadets, as long as they showed ability andeffort, as they moved from basic flying training toadvanced flying training and then from advancedflying training to membership in the combat unitsthat were also stationed at Tuskegee Army AirField at first. Still, Parrish enforced strict flighttraining standards, insuring that only those blackpilots who were likely to succeed in combat wouldalso succeed in flight training. He supported rejec-tion of cadets who failed to measure up to the exact-ing standards he and the Army Air Forces set, notlowering standards for anyone on the basis of theirrace. Colonel Parrish worked with black combatpilot veterans who returned from overseas tobecome flight instructors at Tuskegee Army AirField. He remained a friend of Col. Benjamin O.Davis, Jr., who became the most famous TuskegeeAirman of all, by leading the 99th FighterSquadron and later the 332d Fighter Group in com-bat, and still later the 477th Composite Group, allof whose pilots had trained under Parrish atTuskegee. The Tuskegee Airmen rememberedParrish as a “good guy” even after their deploymentto combat and after the war was over. In August1945, Parrish invited Davis to return to TuskegeeArmy Air Field to speak at the fourth anniversaryof the opening of training there, and Davis con-sented. It was the first time Davis had returned to

Tuskegee since the 99th Fighter Squadrondeployed in April 1943.16

After World War II, Noel Parrish continued tosupport black aviation within the Army Air Forces,and when he was a student at the Air Commandand Staff College at Air University in 1947, hewrote a thesis advocating the total racial integra-tion of the newly emerging Air Force.17 TheTuskegee Airmen Incorporated, at first composedprimarily of Tuskegee Airmen veterans, establishedan annual individual award named in honor ofColonel Parrish.18

Major Robert Long

Another white Army Air Forces officer of WorldWar II of whom the Tuskegee Airmen later spokefondly was Maj. Robert M. Long, the Director ofAdvanced Flying Training at Tuskegee Army AirField. They called him “Mother Long” because of theway he “mothered” the cadets, encouraging theirprogress. Major Long was related to the famous orinfamous Huey Long, former governor of Louisianaand U.S. Senator, who had been assassinated in the1930s. Many of the black cadets who flew in AT–6advanced trainers flew with Major Long, andrecalled his help in their success. There are manyphotographs of Tuskegee Airmen flying cadetstraining with Capt. Long. He became more theirmentor than their mother, and they saw him not asan enemy to oppose them but as a friend from whomthey learned many lessons they would later use incombat overseas. Lee Archer, who became one of themost famous of the Tuskegee Airmen, who shotdown four enemy airplanes, remembered bothParrish and Long as “crackers and rednecks, butthey were fair.”19

Major Philip Cochran

After the 99th Fighter Squadron finallydeployed to North Africa for combat overseas, it wasattached to the 33d Fighter Group, which alreadyhad three assigned white P–40 squadrons full ofpilots experienced in combat. Since the newlyarrived black pilots lacked combat experience, theTwelfth Air Force commander ordered Major PhilipCochran, one of the experienced P–40 white pilots ofthe 33d Fighter Group, to work with them. Cochranhelped provide additional training to the 99thFighter Squadron, especially in combat flying tacticsthat differed from those used in training, and in thedifficult navigation of the desert. The TuskegeeAirmen remembered Cochran as a friend. Otherscame to know him as “Flip Corkin” from the popularWorld War II Milton Caniff comic strip “Terry andthe Pirates.” Caniff, who later composed the SteveCanyon comic strip series, modeled Flip Corkin onPhilip Cochran, whom he had met at Ohio StateUniversity. Cochran did not stay as an advisor withthe 99th Fighter Squadron long, and eventually wassent to fly with commandos in Burma, but he wasone of the white officers who served more as an allythan an opponent in the story of the 99th Fighter


HE GRADUALLYCONVINCEDTHEM THATHE WASMORE AFRIEND THANAN ENEMY,ESTABLISH-ING A REPUTATIONFOR FAIR-NESS

Squadron, and he was remembered fondly by manyof the Tuskegee Airmen.20

Colonel Leonard C. Lydon

The 99th Fighter Squadron was attached to atotal of four white fighter groups in 1943 and 1944,before it was eventually assigned to the black 332dFighter Group. The unit faced opposition from theleader of only one of those groups, Momyer’s 33dFighter Group. The 99th Fighter Squadron hadmuch more success when it was attached to theother three groups. One of these was the 324thFighter Group, commanded by Col. Leonard C.Lydon. The 99th Fighter Squadron served underLydon’s group from the end of June to July 19, 1943,and then again from April 1 through June 6, 1944.There is no evidence that Lydon tried to remove theblack squadron from attachment to his group. Infact, the 99th Fighter Squadron earned its first twoDistinguished Unit Citations as a result of beingattached to the 324th Fighter Group when thegroup earned the same two honors. The first was foraction over Sicily in June and July 1943, during thefirst period of attachment of the 99th FighterSquadron to the 324th Fighter Group. The secondwas for action over Cassino, Italy, between May 12-14, 1944. While there is little information aboutColonel Lydon and his leadership of the 324thFighter Group when the 99th Fighter Squadronwas attached to it, Lydon must have encouraged theblack squadron to share in the missions of hisgroup, and with it the 99th Fighter Squadrongained much combat experience in addition to twoof the three Distinguished Unit Citations it earnedduring World War II. Lydon was like many otherwhite officers who quietly supported the TuskegeeAirmen and contributed to their success.21

Colonel Earl E. Bates

Col. William Momyer, commander of the 33dFighter Group, convinced his commander that the99th Fighter Squadron should be removed fromattachment to his group, and also that the blackpilots should be taken out of combat for poor perfor-mance. The recommendation went up the chain ofcommand all the way to Army Air Forces headquar-ters. The War Department delayed a decision,instead launching a study to the 99th FighterSquadron’s performance with that of the other P–40squadrons in the Mediterranean Theater ofOperations. That study showed that the 99thFighter Squadron was flying just as well as thewhite squadrons, and the squadron was nevertaken out of combat. It was, however, removed fromattachment to Momyer’s 33d Fighter Group andattached instead to the 79th Fighter Group onOctober 16, 1943, and remained attached to thatgroup until April 1944.

Col. Earl E. Bates served as the 79th FighterGroup commander when the 99th FighterSquadron was attached to it. Bates supported theblack pilots and encouraged the success of the 99th

Fighter Squadron. While serving with Bates’ group,the 99th Fighter Squadron finally demonstratedthe ability of the black pilots to succeed against theenemy. For example, on January 27 and 28, 1944,over Anzio, pilots of the 332d Fighter Group shotdown a total of thirteen enemy airplanes. The his-tory of the 79th Fighter Group covering the periodJanuary 15 through February 15, 1944, describesthe performance of the 99th Fighter Squadron indetail, noting the names of each of the black pilotswho claimed to have shot down an enemy airplane,as if the white group was proud of the blacksquadron attached to it.22

Bates treated the 99th Fighter Squadron not asan “orphan” but rather as a squadron equal to theother three P–40 squadrons assigned to the 79thFighter group, all of which were white. He sent thefour squadrons out together, and the black andwhite pilots got used to flying together as equals.They shared in the success of their Twelfth AirForce missions, supporting Allied ground forces inItaly and attacking enemy ground targets. Tus -kegee Airmen such as Lt. George S. Roberts, the99th Fighter Squadron commander, and Lt. WillieH. Fuller, another pilot in the squadron, remem-bered Col. Earl E. Bates as a friend, who, unlike theprevious group commander, desired that they suc-ceed.23 Their success contributed to the success ofhis group, and his leadership of that group, with the99th Fighter Squadron as an integral part, con-tributed to the success of the black pilots.

Lieutenant General Ira Eaker

Lt. Gen. Ira Eaker, who had commanded theEighth Air Force in England, was serving as thecommander of the Mediterranean Allied Air Forceby the time the 332d Fighter Group deployed toItaly in early 1944. At first the only black combatgroup was relegated to coastal patrol missions, andthe group flew P–39 airplanes that were not suitedfor shooting down enemy aircraft. In early March,General Eaker called Colonel Benjamin O. Davis,Jr. to meet him at his headquarters in Caserta andtold him he wanted to change the function of the332d Fighter Group to bomber escort. Eakerdecided to include the 332d Fighter Group amongthe seven fighter escort groups of the Fifteenth AirForce, where they would have the opportunity toescort B–17 and B–24 heavy bombers to targetsdeep in enemy territory. Equipped with the best ofthe Allied fighters, with greater speed and longerrange, the Tuskegee Airmen would have the oppor-tunity to shoot down large numbers of enemy air-craft even as they stuck with the bombers they wereassigned to protect. In April, General Eaker visitedthe 99th Fighter Squadron and hinted that the firstblack fighter unit in American military history, andthe first one in combat, would be joining the 332dFighter Group on the new mission of escortingheavy bombers over enemy targets.24

Although Eaker had revealed his plan to Davisin early March, and to the 99th Fighter Squadron inApril, the 332d Fighter Group had to wait until June


LYDON WASLIKE MANYOTHERWHITE OFFI-CERS WHOQUIETLYSUPPORTEDTHETUSKEGEEAIRMEN

BATESTREATEDTHE 99THFIGHTERSQUADRONNOT AS AN“ORPHAN”BUT RATHERAS ASQUADRONEQUAL TOTHE OTHERTHREE

before it began its heavy bomber escort missions forthe Fifteenth Air Force, and until July before itacquired P–51 Mustangs, the best of the Alliedfighter aircraft. July 1944 was also the month thatthe 99th Fighter Squadron physically joined the332d Fighter Group at the same base, and began fly-ing with the other three squadrons of the group.25

Eaker’s decision not only gave the black pilots achance to succeed in combat, flying the best fighterplanes available, but also allowed the 332d FighterGroup, unlike the white fighter groups, to have anextra squadron. With four fighter squadrons insteadof the usual three, the 332d Fighter Group was ableto put up more fighters per mission than the othergroups, and the group was better able to protect thebombers it was assigned to guard. With that advan-tage, the 332d Fighter Group lost significantlyfewer bombers than the average of the white fighterescort groups.

Summary

The twelve white Army Air Forces officers

described in this paper reflect the variety of atti-tudes toward black combat pilots that existed dur-ing World War II. Some of those officers, such asColonels von Kimble, Momyer, Boyd, and Selwayand Generals House and Hunter believed thatblacks were inferior and should be kept separatefrom white officers, or even be denied the opportu-nity to fly advanced aircraft in combat overseas, butthere were other white officers, such as ColonelsParrish, Lydon, and Bates, Majors Long andCochran, and Lt. Gen. Ira C. Eaker, who believedthat black men had the same rights as white men,and should be given equal opportunities to succeed,including the chance to fly the most advancedfighter aircraft in combat. The Tuskegee Airmensucceeded in spite of their enemies and partlybecause of the support of their friends, some ofwhom were white. It would be a mistake to thinkthat the leadership of the Army Air Forces in WorldWar II unanimously supported the success of theTuskegee Airmen, but it would be just as much amistake to think that all of the leaders wereopposed to them. �


NOTES

1. J. Todd Moye, Freedom Flyers (Oxford UniversityPress, 2010), pp. 85-88.2. Robert J. Jakeman, The Divided Skies (Tusca loosa,Ala.: The University of Alabama Press, 1992), p. 277;Lynn M. Homan and Thomas Reilly, Black Knights(Gretna, Louisiana: Pelican Publishing Company, 2006),pp. 71, 76; Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., Benjamin O. Davis, Jr.,American (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian InstitutionPress, 1991), pp. 75-77, 81-82; Lawrence P. Scott andWilliam M. Womack, Jr. Double V: The Civil RightsStruggle of the Tuskegee Airmen (East Lansing, MI:Michigan State University Press, 1992), p. 169.3. Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., Benjamin O. Davis, Jr.,American (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian InstitutionPress, 1991), pp. 75-77, 81-82. 4. Lineage and honors histories of the 99th FighterSquadron and the 33rd Fighter Group, at the AirForce Historical Research Agency. 5. Ibid.; Davis, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., American, pp.98, 105. 6. Davis, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., American, p. 105;Ulysses Lee, The Employment of Negro Troops(Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of MilitaryHistory, United States Army, 1966), p. 157. 7. Lineage and honors histories of the 332nd FighterGroup and the 477th Bombardment Group, at the AirForce Historical Research Agency; J. Todd Moye, FreedomFlyers (Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 106-107. 8. Davis, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., American, p. 110; J.Todd Moye, Freedom Flyers (Oxford University Press,2010), p. 109. 9. Lineage and honors histories of the 332nd FighterGroup and the 477th Bombardment Group at the AirForce Historical Research Agency. 10. Davis, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., American, pp. 141-144. 11. Le Roy Gillead, The Tuskegee AviationExperiment and Tuskegee Airmen, 1939-1949 (SanFrancisco, CA: Gillead, 1994), pp. 52-57; Alan L.Gropman, The Air Force Integrates, 1945-1964

(Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1985),pp. 20-27. 12. Gropman, The Air Force Integrates, pp. 17-26;Davis, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., American, pp. 110, 114,142-143. 13. Gropman, The Air Force Integrates, p. 26.14. Interview of Noel F. Parrish by Dr. James C.Hasdorff, conducted in San Antonio in 1974, call num-ber K239.0512-744 at the Air Force HistoricalResearch Agency. 15. Davis, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., American, p. 129.16. Ibid., p. 146. 17. Interview of Noel Parrish; Gropman, The AirForce Integrates, p. 129. 18. The author attended six of the Tuskegee AirmenIncorporated national conventions in a row, in 2007,2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2012, and witnessed theawarding of the Noel Parrish Award at each of thoseconventions. 19. J. Todd Moye, Freedom Flyers: The Tuskegee Air -men in World War II (Oxford University Press, 2010),p. 90. 20. Interview of Col. Philip Cochran by Dr. James C.Hasdorff, conducted in 1975, call number K239.0512-876 at the Air Force Historical Research Agency. 21. Lineage and honors histories of the 99th FighterSquadron and the 324th Fighter Group during WorldWar II, on file at the Air Force Historical ResearchAgency. 22. History of the 79th Fighter Squadron, Jan 15-Feb15, 1944, at the Air Force Historical Research Agency,under call number GP–79-HI (15 Jan-15 Feb 1944). 23. John Holway, Red Tails, Black Wings (Las Cruces,New Mexico: Yucca Tree Press, 1997), p. 104. 24. Davis, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., American, pp. 118-119. 25. Lineage and honors histories of the 332nd FighterGroup and its four fighter squadrons, the 99th, 100th,301st, and 302nd, stored at the Air Force HistoricalResearch Agency.


Dragons on Bird Wings: The CombatHistory of the 812th Fighter AirRegiment. By Vlad Antipov and IgorUtkin. Kitchener Ontario: Aviaeology,2004. Maps. Tables. Diagrams. Illustra -tions. Photographs. Notes. Appendices.Glossary. Bibliography. Index. Pp. x, 150.$39.99 ISBN: 0-9780696-0-9

Books on World War II in Russia fromthe Russian perspective are becomingmore numerous but are still not that com-mon. That is why it is so delightful to findone that is informative; exceptionally wellput together; and, even when translatedfrom the original Russian, still very read-able. This book looks like a typical coffeetable book that promises lots of picturesand not a lot of text. At the expense of myeyes (pretty small typeface) this bookdelivers both. Antipov and Utkin have puttogether a unit history of a single Sovietfighter regiment (the Soviets used armyterminology for air force units unlike west-ern air forces). This volume focuses on theperiod from unit activation in the Far Eastthrough its contribution to the successfuldefeat of German forces on the Crimeanpeninsula. Subsequent volumes will dis-cuss the drive across Eastern Europe cul-minating in Germany’s surrender in 1945.

Dragons is a straightforward historyfocusing on the training, employment, tac-tics, and equipment of the 812th. The writ-ers rely heavily on first person accountsbut seem to balance the emotions andmemory issues inherent in such sourceswith a large collection of official docu-ments and other secondary sources. TheCanadian publisher provides a very usefulintroductory note which addresses thetranslation, tone, and certain technicalaspects that differ between the formerSoviet Union and the West to provide con-text and clarity. Specifically addressed isthe issue of language and what mightseem like a harsh tone regarding theenemy when veterans recall their experi-ences. I appreciated these comments butactually found them unnecessary. The vet-erans themselves very often accorded theiropponents respect for their fighting abilityeven while deploring their leader’s actionsand never resorted to blatant bashing. Theauthors, while very proud of their country-men’s achievements, do not hide flaws intactics and performance and in severalinstances demonstrate the shortcomingsof the Soviet Commissar system and itsdetrimental effect on the fighting troops.

The book delivers a tremendousamount of information through the narra-tive; excellent color plates of various air-craft of both sides; and extensive maps,photographs, and appendices. The mapsand illustrations are especially notewor-

thy both for their quality and comprehen-siveness. Although I don’t believe this bookwas written specifically with a westernaudience in mind, Antipov and Utkin taketime to explain the Soviet organizationalstructure. This greatly enhances the read-er’s understanding of the levels of com-mand. The tactical discussions show theauthors’ solid grasp of aerial combat tac-tics, although neither appears to have amilitary background.

The only real drawbacks are a slight-ly off-kilter chronology and a somewhatchoppy narrative. There is a great deal ofinformation, but sometimes the flowleaves something to be desired. These areminor when compared to what the bookoffers. The price is the only other draw-back; for a paperback, $39.95 is a bit high.However, for anyone interested in theSoviet air forces in World War II, the infor-mation delivered and the overall qualitymake this a good choice.

Lt. Col. Golda Eldridge, USAF (Ret.), EdD

Richthofen: The Red Baron in OldPhotographs. By Louis Archard. Glou-ces ter shire, UK: Amberley Publishing,2014. Photographs. Pp. 128. $20.00 paper-back ISBN 978-1-44583-348-0

Richthofen chronicles through pho-tographs the short life of World War I’s topace, German pilot Manfred von Rich -thofen. To portray the life of von Rich -thofen from his early years as a militarycadet to the spring of 1917, Archard pri-marily used photographs from the Libraryof Congress and the J&C McCutcheonCollection, supplementing these withimages from several other collections.

To add context to the photographs,Archard used excerpts from Richthofen’sdiary, Der Rote Kampfflieger (The RedBattle Flyer). Richthofen wrote this in1917 while recovering from a head wound.The work was essentially a propagandapiece for the German public. Archard’s textis not the complete diary; he used onlyexcerpts from J. Ellis Barker’s 1918English translation, The Red Battle Flyer.So, this book is not a complete autobiogra-phy nor biography of Richthofen’s life; butArchard never intended it to be.

Richthofen contains about 120 pho-tographs to illustrate Richthofen’s life. Thephotographs make up approximately halfof the book. The photographs are a combi-nation of images of Richthofen and periodphotographs that relate to passages fromthe diary. In addition to providing aglimpse into the life of the Red Baron, the

images also provide a glimpse of WorldWar I in the air.

The photographs are well captionedwith either text from the diary orArchard’s own descriptive text. It is clearArchard took great time and effort toselect what he viewed to be the very bestand most interesting photographs. All arehigh-quality images; the only blurry onesare from actual aerial combat. This is to beexpected from World War I photography.There are no more than three photographsper page, thus providing the reader thedetail and resolution to study the pho-tographs. An important feature is that thebook is printed on high-quality paper thathelps preserve the quality of each image.

Unfortunately, Archer stops the storyin the spring of 1917—roughly a yearbefore Richthofen’s death in April 1918.His book would have benefitted from con-tinuing the story through Richthofen’sdeath. While the diary stops in the springof 1917 as well, Archer could have provid-ed the supporting text and included pho-tographs involving Richthofen’s final com-bat sortie, crashed aircraft, funeral, andfinal resting place.

The book is a quick read that will cer-tainly appeal to a considerable readingaudience. Readers interested in the RedBaron will find the images interesting,while readers interested in World War I inthe air will appreciate the images that arenot specifically of von Richthofen. Addi -tionally, Richthofen’s descriptions of dog-fighting are often vivid and engaging andworth the time.

Lt. Col. Daniel J. Simonsen, USAF (Ret.),Bossier City Louisiana

The Ardennes 1944-1945: Hitler’sWinter Offensive. By Christer Berg -ström. Havertown, Pa.: Casemate Pub li -shers, 2014. Glossary and Abbre viations,Charts, Maps, Appendices, Color Plates.Bibliography. Endnotes. Index. Pp. 503.$69.95. ISBN 978-1-61200-227-4.

On December 16, 1944, over 200,000German infantry accompanied by over 300tanks and other tracked vehicles attackeda thinly held section of the Allied linesthrough a heavily forested, ravine-and-ridge-crossed region along the Belgium-Luxembourg-France border. The area, wellknown to the Germans, was largely dis-counted by the Allies because, in theirview, it was unsuitable for large-scalemobile warfare. Bergström took on thedaunting task of tracing this last-ditcheffort by Hitler to punch a wedge betweenthe Allied armies and create the conditions

Book Reviews

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for a separate peace with the westernallies allowing him to focus on the EasternFront and, hopefully, have the westernallies join him against the communists.

Bergström took on a task comparablein many ways to the audacity of theGerman offensive and came out a winner.He tracks the participants at every level,from headquarters to individual squads.Virtually every picture names the subjectsand their status. Biographies of majorplayers on both sides provide context tothe battles. Individual units are trackedthroughout the battle. The explanations ofthe equipment and tactics illustrate a levelof research that must be applauded.Discussions of the methods of employmentof armor on both sides provide a solid basisfor appreciating the difficulties the Allieshad in dealing with the offensive. Alsohighlighted are the relative experiencelevels of the opposing forces and theGerman practice of replacing units as aunit as opposed to the Allied practice offilling depleted units with individual sol-diers. Another strong point is the compar-ison of the leadership on both sides.

It takes Bergström almost 70 pages toactually start the offensive, because hedetails the German’s meticulous planningand ability to hide their intentions fromthe Allies. Indeed, neither allied aerialreconnaissance nor tactical intelligencepicked up indications of the Germanpreparations. Bergström also explainsboth Hitler’s insistence on not starting theoffensive until a period of bad weather (tokeep Allied air power on the ground) andthe army’s reluctance to accept the idea ofthe offensive at all. This detailed introduc-tion is balanced by the final chapter, thatdiscusses Hitler’s realization of the finalityof the offensive and the decision to with-draw significant elements from the west toface the Soviets.

Bergström details the topography,noting that most of the Ardennes’ mainroads run more or less north-south; thefew running east and west are frequentlynarrow, have sharp switchbacks, and aresubject to the impacts of ice and snow,making for very slow going. It was not somuch a lack of fuel and logistics that lim-ited the German advance. Rather, supplylines became bogged down in traffic andwere targeted—when the weather didclear—by Allied air power.

The final chapter presenting conclu-sions and results is excellently done. TheArdennes Offensive did not end with therelief of Bastogne, nor was Patton’s muchvaunted dash to save Bastogne a dash orwithout its mistakes. Bergström notes thewithdrawals on Hitler’s orders of severalkey units to the Eastern Front, thus allow-ing the Allies maneuver space. He also dis-

cusses the use of strategic air power andits effect on the overall battle. In the finaldays, what was left of the Wehrmacht wasforced to retreat and leave behind vastquantities of equipment they could illafford to lose. But, without fuel and spareparts, it could not be moved.

The seventy pages of appendicescould be books or monographs alone: unitstructures; color plates of military vehi-cles, equipment, and aircraft involved; andorders of battle are covered. The list ofsources is a rich guide for further research.

I enjoyed the book immensely, butfound it difficult to read. The level of detailis such that I frequently found it necessaryto go back pages or chapters to refreshmyself on units and locations. ButBergström does help matters by movingmethodically from one point of action toanother, tracking the action to a conclusionbefore moving on. If one is deeply interest-ed in military tactics, employment of per-sonnel and equipment, and small unit tac-tics, this should be on your bookshelf.

MSgt. Al Mongeon, USAF (Ret.)

The Medal of Honor: A History ofService—Above and Beyond. TheEditors of Boston Publishing Company.Minneapolis: Zenith Press, 2014. Maps.Illustrations. Photographs. Appendix .Bibliography. Index. Pp 304. $40 ISBN:978-0-7603-4624-2

Since the Medal of Honor Societycommissioned Boston Publishing Com -pany to first publish this work in 1985, theUnited States government has sent hun-dreds of thousands of its service men andwomen into harm’s way. This effort, the2014 edition, updates the original work.

In the intervening twenty-nineyears, the Medal of Honor has been awar -ded sixteen times—two from Somalia in1993, nine from Afghanistan, and fivefrom Iraq (conflicts from 2001 to 2014).Others continue to be awarded the medalfrom much earlier conflicts; as with manyreference books, this one can becomequickly dated.

Nevertheless, this is a solid effort witha look reminiscent of the Time-Life series ofthe late 1970s and early 1980s. Not sur-prisingly, Boston Publishing was very muchinvolved in the production of the Epic ofFlight and World War II series. For a fewyears, Time-Life owned Boston Publishing.

The format makes for easy readingwith lots of sidebars and excellent pho-tographs, illustrations, and maps. Begin -ning with the creation of the award for

bravery by the U.S. Congress during theCivil War, the book discusses almost everyU.S. military action from then through2014. Among the forgotten is a reference toAmerica’s attempt at gunboat diplomacyresulting in an incursion at Inchon, Korea,in 1871. The work effectively provides areasonable overview of U.S. military histo-ry (excluding before the Civil War) thatmight be suitable for teaching secondary-school students.

Certainly one of the challenges con-fronted by the staff editors and writers(presumably in consultation with theSociety) was which medal recipientsdeserved special mention. Coinciding withthe United States’ involvement in WorldWar I, Congress dramatically raised thestandards for the Medal of Honor whileestablishing other awards for heroism andbravery.

A two-page sidebar, Aces over thePacific, discusses the exploits of Marineflyers Gregory “Pappy” Boyington, RobertGaler, and JohnSmith; Navy pilots Ed -ward “Butch” O’Hare and David McCamp -bell; and Army Air Force aviators NeelKearby and Richard Bong.

Navy flyer Tom Hudner, who receivedthe Medal of Honor during the KoreanWar attempting to rescue a fellow pilot,Jesse Brown, reminisces in a sidebar inthis edition about his visit to the crash sitein North Korea. A sidebar devoted toanother recipient, Navy helicopter pilotJohn Koelsch, discusses how his inspiringbehavior as a prisoner of war would laterresult in the establishment of the Code ofConduct.

This is an excellent book but for read-ers interested primarily in flying person-nel awarded the Medal of Honor, BarrettTillman’s Above and Beyond (SmithsonianInstitution Press, 2002) is tough to beat.

Lt. Col. Steven D. Ellis, USAFR (Ret.),docent, Museum of Flight, Seattle

American Military Aircraft 1908-1919.By Robert B. Casari. Marceline MO:Walsworth Publishing Company, 2014.Tables. Illustrations. Photographs. Appen -dices. Bibliography. Index. Pp. 752. $99.95.ISBN: 978-1-935881-13-1

A quick glance at the title suggeststhat this is a book about US-designed orUS-built aircraft used by American unitsin the early days of military aviation. ButCasari’s scope is much broader than that.In this massive work, he sets out to tell thehistory of every aircraft type placed onorder by the U.S. Army and U.S. Navy dur-

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ing that period, whether or not the aircraftwere actually acquired or even actuallyflown. Thus, he addresses nearly 300 mod-els and variants, and for each he gives usa history of its technical development,delivery, operational employment, and, inmany cases, eventual disposition. This isthe content that occupies most of the book,and it is impressive in both the breadthand depth of its coverage. Relatively minoraircraft, many of which might be unfamil-iar to most readers, are addressed in a fewconcise paragraphs. But for more signifi-cant types—such as the U.S.-built deHavilland DH-4 and aircraft from Curtiss,Nieuport, SPAD, and the Royal AircraftFactory—the coverage is extensive.

Leading into the plane-by-plane his-tories, Casari provides two well-structuredsections—one each for the Army andNavy—that provide essential context andbackground information to help the readerunderstand the stories of the individualaircraft types. For each service he discuss-es aircraft development programs beforeAmerica’s entry into the war in April 1917,production programs in the U.S., and howcombat aircraft were acquired anddeployed. These sections establish the twothemes that run throughout the book. Thefirst and most important is that the entryof Army and Navy aviation into the warwas so challenging that although the U.S.was officially engaged in the war for 19months, U.S. aviation units didn’t makesignificant contributions until the last fewmonths of the conflict. The second is thatpoorly documented and misunderstoodhistory has led to misconceptions of thesituation as it truly existed.

There were many reasons forAmerica’s initial ineffectiveness, andCasari discusses them bluntly and atlength. These included insufficient num-bers of pilots and airplanes in the SignalCorps’ Aviation Section; lack of an organi-zational structure to plan for and executethe growth and deployment of Americanaviation elements; almost total ineffective-ness of the U.S. aircraft manufacturingindustry in producing aircraft suitable forcombat; poor performance of Europeanallies in providing design documents andsample airplanes, once it was decided thatthe U.S. would attempt to rely onAmerican-built versions of British,French, and Italian airframes; shortage ofsuitable engines; inability to make timelydeliveries of U.S.-built aircraft to Europebecause ground combat forces were givena higher deployment priority; and ineffec-tive aircrew training programs in the U.S.,coupled with a slow start in developingalternative training programs in Europe.

There were also a few key factors thatenabled the U.S. to overcome these chal-

lenges and eventually contribute to the airwar. Perhaps the most significant wasAmerica’s establishment, in France, of adepot and an air service production center,which functioned effectively as centralfacilities responsible for inspecting aircraftsubassemblies that arrived from theUnited States, building these into com-plete aircraft, and performing extensiverework and modifications to make the air-planes combat-ready.

Over a period of many years, Casariconducted extensive research into the his-tory of each aircraft type and the overallU.S. aviation program, and he uses theresults of that research to make his pointsstrongly and convincingly. He also citesinstances in which the lack of authorita-tive data sources has led other historiansto draw incorrect conclusions about theperformance of American aviation inWorld War I. While he acknowledges thedifficulties in reconstructing history fromincomplete records, Casari nonethelessseems to treat the work of previousauthors with a degree of disdain and dis-respect. If there is a criticism of the book,this is it.

The work concludes with a few dozenexcellent drawings of representative air-craft, along with appendices that cover air-craft serial numbers, budget data, lists ofaircraft assigned to each Army squadronand Navy patrol station during the war,and a slew of other information to pleasethe detail-oriented reader.

The above criticism notwithstanding,Casari’s work deserves exceptionally highmarks as a rich, robust history of the firsteleven years of American military avia-tion. Anyone with an interest in this topicwill want to read the book in its entiretyand then refer to it often when questionsarise regarding specific aircraft types.

Lt. Col. Joseph Romito, USA (Ret.), docent,National Air and Space Museum’s Udvar-Hazy Center and National Mall Facility

Believers in the Battlespace: Religion,Ideology and War. By Peter H. Denton,ed. Kingston: Canadian Defense AcademyPress, 2011. Notes. Index. Pp. xxiii, 231.Paperback ISBN 978-1-100-16168-6

In this edited work, Peter Dentonattempts to take a look at the role religiousbeliefs and traditions played in modernconflicts. Five sections to look at variousdifferences and similarities between thebattlespace and religion.

In the first section, Denton deals withreligion, narrative, and identity. He bringstogether articles that look at the religious

conflict in Scotland, the relationshipbetween religion and national identity inthe Russo-Turkish wars, coexistence inconflicts such as the Maronites and Druzein 19th-century Lebanon, and issues sur-rounding sacred spaces.

Levon Bond discusses the fall ofConstantinople in 1453 and Russia’s riseto replace Byzantium as the Orthodox reli-gious power. As the Russian and Ottomanempires skirmished against each other,they expanded into other ethnic and reli-gious lands. But each had to practice adegree of toleration and acceptance ofthese ethnic and religious minorities inorder to maintain internal peace and toadhere to the precepts of their religions.Religion provided the emotive forces fornationalist movements. It was throughthese nationalist movements, or religiousnationalism, that Russia persuaded Or -tho dox Christians and ethnic Slavic’s tobreak away from the Ottoman Empire.But in the end, it led to ethnic cleansingand violent displacement of minoritygroups.

Becky Weisbloom shows how religionand geography have political conse-quences. The Temple Mount in the OldCity of Jerusalem is a complex symbol inthe Israeli-Palestinian conflict because ofits central role in the development ofnational identity. Since one must controlone’s holy sites in order to control access toGod and God’s blessings, it is very difficultfor one to “extract religion from whatwould appear to be a political struggleabout land and nationalism.”

The second section revolves aroundmanaging religious differences and howreligious differences were negotiated oncesocial or political characteristics wereestablished. Denton presents articlesrevolving around the civil war in SierraLeone and religious tolerance, the creationof political and ethnic tensions via reli-gious traditions in Bosnia, and theattempted suppression and/or control ofChristianity in China after the 1949Revolution.

Sharlene Harding looks at how SierraLeone erupted into an eleven-year civilwar when it immersed into a nationalreconstruction effort. Religion never was afactor despite Sierra Leone’s diversity ofreligion and ethnicity. Harding points tothe country’s history of colonization andrepopulation by a diverse mixture as wellas its strategic location on the west coast ofAfrica, making it an ideal stop and eco-nomic hub for European explorers.However, despite the war not being reli-giously or ethnically based, religious toler-ance was not enough to keep a country atpeace. “No amount of religious harmonycan save a nation from social instability,

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economic decline and increased securityinfractions.”

The third section looks as ideologyand identity. While religion may be part ofboth, it does not necessarily determine aspecific resolution of any individual con-flict. Two articles look at how bothBuddhism in Sri Lanka and Hinduism inIndia were used as political tools toadvance resentment and political violenceagainst another ethnic or religious group.

The fourth section analyzes how polit-ical leaders’ personal religious viewsshape both social and political ends. Twoarticles look at the roles of AyatollahKhomeini and George W. Bush and howthey shaped their public communications.David Hodson discusses the language ofgood-versus-evil in the media and howsound bites can inflame public opinion insupport of a cause. Specifically examinedare President Bush’s remarks followingSeptember 11. Despite the constitutionalseparation between church and state,there are no restrictions placed upon howan American President’s religious beliefsmight affect decisions by his administra-tion. President Bush attempted to per-suade the American public by notingdivine favor and the divine sanction of ourmilitary actions in the world and associat-ing American foreign policy with Christianconcepts and ideas—nothing new inAmerica. These same sentiments wereexpressed by presidents during WorldWars I and II. Even Abraham Lincoln andJefferson Davis repeatedly asserted totheir public audiences that God was ontheir side during the American Civil War.

Believers finishes with two essayswhich look at the public conversation onthe realization that religion, peace, andsecurity are a necessity in this day andage. Four points—affirming beliefs, sortingthrough threatening values, refocusingeducation/research institutions to our truebeliefs, and placing personal religiousbeliefs back into the community wherethey belong—are necessary in bringingtechnology, religion, and human securityto the forefront in the 21st Century.

This book is an interesting read, as itpoints out how religious beliefs have longbeen used as tools to manipulate and moti-vate people toward destructive ends.Denton concludes that certain beliefs andthe battlespace both need to be identifiedand understood to better learn the morallessons that are required to survive in thenew civilization of the 21st century.

R. Ray Ortensie, Command Curator, HQAir Force Materiel Command

British Airship Bases of the Twen -tieth Century. By Malcolm Fife. Stroud,England: Fonthill Media, 2015. Photo -graphs. Illustrations. Appendices. Notes.Bibliography. Pp. 320. $47.00 ISBN: 1-78155281-9

Are airships still relevant in the 21st-century? In short the answer is yes. Aquick internet search shows that bothcommercial and military ventures are stillactive in this arena. The grand size of anairship easily overwhelms the senses. Theslow elegance of its movement across thesky is like nothing else. We still stop andgawk at the blimps which are ubiquitoussights at large outdoor events. They pro-vide, even in the age of drones, a wonder-ful platform from which to observe andrecord events from on high.

A number of books have been writtenon airships before, during, and after WorldWar I. Many of them concern the German-built Zeppelins, and there are even a fewon British-built rigid and non-rigid craft.This book adds much to that short list. TheBritish airships, which were operated bythe Royal Naval Air Service, were used topatrol the coasts against German U-boatsand to reconnoiter for raiders. Some evenmade their way to the Mediterranean.

Well over 200 of these magnificentmachines played their part during the warand in the peace that followed. Thisimportant and interesting book details thesupporting infrastructure and bases, thelinchpin to safe and efficient operations.Airships are neither dainty nor inconspic-uous, and to handle or supply and main-tain them requires sizable support facili-ties. Trees and concentrations of buildingswere problematic for safe landing andtakeoff, though I was surprised to learnfrom this book that forested areas were attimes used to moor some airships. Theyalso needed to be near their area of opera-tion along the coastal region. The largequantity of highly combustible hydrogenrequired for buoyancy necessitated specialworks that had to be manned and main-tained. Access to rail lines for suppliesoften obliged the military to build spurs.The sheer volume of space required tohouse these craft required sophisticatedsheds to be built, often in remote areas, forsafe operation.

Fife’s important work in one sweepcovers all of this and more. He is nostranger to obscure locations, as he previ-ously wrote the definitive account ofScottish aerodromes from the Great War.

The book is well organized and pro-fusely illustrated with photographs, draw-ings, and maps. The appendices, endnotes,and bibliography all make it a useful ref-erence work. It covers the period from the

early pioneers through to the modern eraand it provides a good clear examination ofthe airship bases and the airships thatflew from these locations in the BritishIsles as well as British-operated basesoverseas, thus making it a valuable contri-bution to the subject matter.

Carl J. Bobrow, Museum Specialist,National Air and Space Museum

The Phantom in Focus; A Navigator’sEye on Britain’s Cold War Warrior. ByDavid Gledhill. United Kingdom: FonthillMedia, 2014. Illustrations. Photographs.Pp. 287. $29.95. ISBN: 978-1-78155-421-0

The Phantom II attained icon statusin service with the Royal Air Force (RAF).Gledhill, a retired navigator, offers a nos-talgic look at his flying experiences in theuniquely British FGR.2 (F–4M). The otherBritish model was the FG.1 that flew inthe Royal Navy. While several recentbooks have detailed the development andemployment of the Phantom in Britishservice, few are from the perspective of anindividual crewmember.

Gledhill starts with a straightforwardintroduction to the Phantom’s entry intoRAF service. Although similar in appear-ance to the U.S. Navy F–4J, the BritishPhantoms were unique in using the Rolls-Royce Spey afterburning engine (insteadof the General Electric J79) that requireda reengineered and enlarged fuselage andintakes to accommodate this unique pow-erplant.

Operationally, navigators (who flew inthe FGR.2 back seat) operated the power-ful Westinghouse AN/AWG-11/12 pulse-doppler radar. This unit allowed the navi-gator to identify targets for one of the mostessential weapons carried by thePhantoms, the AIM-7G Sparrow air-to-airmissile. The navigator locked onto a targetfor the AIM-7G in the beyond-visual-rangemode. While the Phantom’s aft cockpit wasoften cramped and difficult to work in,Gledhill obviously loved every minute ofhis time there. For what the Phantom mayhave lacked, a well-trained aircrew andgood tactics made the Phantom a worthyadversary in the air.

Gledhill discusses his initial naviga-tor training and 1976 posting to thePhantom Operational Conversion Unit atRAF Coningsby. There he learned thePhantom’s basic operation prior to assign-ment to an operational unit. By the 1970s,the RAF Phantom’s mission had changedfrom fighter/ground attack/reconnaissanceto British Isles air defense. The BACLightning had been the backbone of

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Britain’s air defense, but it lacked theneeded firepower to intercept Sovietbombers carrying long range missiles.Gledhill was assigned to 56 Squadron,RAF Wattisham. He offers an intriguingglimpse into 24-hour Quick Reaction Alert(QRA) in fully-armed FGR.2s (fourSparrow and four Sidewinder missiles anda SUU-23 gun pod) to intercept unidenti-fied aircraft intruding into British air-space.

Next, at RAF Wildenrath near theDutch-German border, Gledhill’s trainingmissions mostly involved low-level flyingthat was essential to avoid the many sur-face-to-air missiles and anti-aircraft gunsthe RAF would have been encountered ina shooting war with Warsaw Pact forces.NATO held frequent exercises that offeredgreat opportunities to fly missions againsta variety of different aircraft simulatingmany different threats. Gledhill tellsmany interesting stories of his time flyingin Germany, some humorous and othersunfortunately tragic.

The Phantom did not take part in the1982 Falklands War. However, it diddeploy shortly after in case Argentina ini-tiated additional hostilities. The Hawker-Siddeley Harrier GR.3 with AIM-9 mis-siles lacked an effective radar and had lim-ited range to mount an effective defense.Consequently, the RAF deployed a smallbrace of Phantoms to Stanley airfield.Conditions were less than optimal, but fly-ing in the Falklands offered almost unlim-ited unrestricted flying opportunities forPhantom aircrews.

Sadly, there comes a time when onehas to say goodbye to an old friend. TheCold War’s end signaled the end of thePhantom’s RAF service in 1992. Gledhill’seleven-year association with the Phantomis well told in this book and is comple-mented with a wealth of photographs(many by the author) that add value.Gledhill is to be commended for writing aneffective and readable work that is a wel-come addition to aviation literature. Ihighly recommend it.

MSgt. Mike R. Semrau, PaANG (Ret.),Annville Pa.

Lords of the Sky. By Lt. Col. DanHampton, USAF (Ret.). New York: HarperCollins, 2014. Photographs. Maps. Glos -sary. Bibliography. Notes. Index. Pp. x, 623.$29.99 ISBN: 978-0-06-226201-1

Recently, I picked up this large tomeand almost put it back without opening itthinking it was too big and that it probablyhad small print. Luckily, I discovered that

it didn’t have that off-putting small typeand it was one great read! The reader ridesalong on daring missions from the earlytrailblazing aviators of World War I totoday’s pilots flying supersonic jets.

Hampton knows of what he writes.He flew 151 combat missions during histwenty years in the USAF (1986-2006) inthe Gulf, Iraq, and Kosovo. He is a gradu-ate of the USAF Fighter Weapons School,the Navy’s Top Gun School, and USAFSpecial Operations School. His 2013 auto-biography, Viper Pilot, was a New YorkTimes best seller.

It’s been said that books of such acomprehensive nature usually suffer fromone of two defects: either the authorassumes the reader has an understandingof the circumstances that led up to certainevents and leaves the reader to fill in hisor her knowledge gaps or, at the oppositeend of the spectrum, the author writessuch minutiae that all the fun is taken outof reading. That is not the case withHampton. He pulls off the impressive featof not overwhelming his readers withinformation, while giving them enough sothey have a good grasp as to what led to aparticular decision, skirmish, or war.Readers are taken from the early days ofWorld War I to the first days of the IraqWar in 2003. With his military flying expe-rience and skillful prose, he’s able to weavethe accomplishments of the planes and thepilots in such a way that his book makesfor a compelling read.

Here you’ll find the stories behind his-tory’s most iconic aircraft: from the FokkerD-VII and Sopwith Camel, to the Zero,Spitfire, German Bf 109, P–51 Mustang,Hellcat, F–4 Phantom, F–105 Thunder -chief, F–16 Falcon, F/A–18 Super Hornet,and many others.

Hampton writes of the LafayetteEscadrille in the Great War and brings tolife such icons as Manfred von Richthofen,Eddie Rickenbacker, Roland Garros, andAlbert Ball, and others.

He takes us from the epic efforts ofthe RAF during the Battle for Britainearly in World War II to the Japaneseattack on Pearl Harbor to nail-biting dog-fights between American flyboys andGerman Messerschmitts in the Europeantheater and Japanese Zeroes in the Pacificand finally to Allied victory.

Eloquently, Hampton covers the ColdWar conflicts in Korea and Vietnam wherethe jet age dawned for American pilots. Hefinishes the book drawing on his own expe-rience as an F–16 pilot who fought in the1991 and 2003 wars against Iraq to high-light the dangers and demands of today’smodern fighter pilot.

Hampton draws not only on first-handknowledge, but also on first-rate aviation

research. He lists more than 300 sources inhis bibliography. His chapter notes sectionwas a fascinating read in and of itself. Healso interviewed little-known heroes, espe-cially veterans of World War II, Korea, andVietnam. All told, this is one of the best ref-erence books on military aviation.

Hampton’s been described as “Ame -rica’s most experienced” F–16 pilot, buthe’ll be the first to tell you there are otherpilots from other wars whom he considershaving done more impressive things thanhe has. This book will not disappoint thoseinterested in the extraordinary storiesbehind the most famous fighter planesand the daring young men who flew them.Viper Pilot is my next read!

Janet Tudal Baltas, retired United Airlinesflight attendant; docent, NASM’s Udvar-Hazy Center

An American Pilot with the Luftwaffe.A Novella and Stories of World War II.By Robert Huddleston. College StationTex.: Virtualbook worm.com Publishing,2014. Notes. Sources. Pp. 94. $9.50 ISBN:978-1-62137-499-2

This is a collection of tales told aboutthe World War II air war and its after-math. Robert Huddleston is an accom-plished writer and raconteur with manyarticles, plays, and books to his credit,among them the play Exploitation–Dawnof the Cold War: A History, a treatment ofthe Project LUSTY (Luftwaffe SecretTechnology) teams that retrieved Germantechnology. Indeed, the common threadsrunning through much of his work stemfrom World War II ETO combat in P–47swith the 404th FG, and postwar work withNazi V2 scientists on ballistic missile tech-nology. His is the voice of an old warrior:accomplished, earthy, and eloquent.

The title novella is historical fictionabout a man born in Chicago to immigrantparents from Germany. The family soonreturned and the subject came of agethere, eventually joining the Luftwaffeand becoming an ace. Along the way heacquired a French girlfriend, questionedNazi ideology, and met rocket scientistWernher Von Braun. Bailing out overEngland when his engine failed on areconnaissance mission, he evaded cap-ture, his fluent English easing the way. Heflew combat against his former comradesunder an assumed identity as a U.S. fight-er pilot. Remaining in Europe after thewar, he married and became involved inbusiness and politics. World War II veter-ans in particular will recognize in thiswork the themes of wartime separation,

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sense of danger, urgency and shared pur-pose, reunion at war’s end, and building apostwar life.

The rest of the book consists of anec-dotal stories and reminiscences of WorldWar II and the postwar experience.“Dancing at the Del” concerns a chanceencounter of an old veteran with his firstpost-war love. Both had married, raisedfamilies, and now, coincidentally and trag-ically, were to see the same medical spe-cialist for the same terminal condition.The story of an American soldier whofound and made off with artworks stolenby the Nazis, only to perish years laterwith his plunder in an accidental explo-sion, “Harry” is Huddleston’s sly sugges-tion on the fate of Nazi-looted art. A classicwhodunit on the mysterious death of aNazi V-2 engineer, implicated in warcrimes, who nonetheless worked on U.S.ballistic missile projects post-war,“Interrupted Journey” exposes the depthto which Huddletson’s putative co-work-ers’ pasts troubled him. Written in thewake of the September 11, 2001 attacks,“Terrorism American Style” explores whatit means to terrorize or to feel terrorthrough its character’s discussions on racerelations and the World War II Alliedstrategic bombing campaign over Europe.

A couple of vignettes are talesHuddleston tells on himself. Arriving as areplacement pilot on the Continent, hecould not find a hotel room for any price.After an uncomfortable night, he finallydiscovered that cigarettes, not money,opened doors in wartime Europe. AsOfficer of the Day, he experienced variousmisadventures in the course of escortingtwo stray (and drunken) airmen to the MPlockup one dark, foggy night at the enor-mous St. Trond airfield. “The Army AirCorps College Training Program 1943-44”is straightforward reporting, drawn most-ly from the USAF monograph (PreflightTraining, no. 90) on the topic. “AnUnforgettable Old Man” is an appreciationof an elegant dinner-dance for pilots aboutto ship overseas, given by a commandingofficer of a replacement depot whose sonhad been killed in combat. “The End isOnly the Beginning” is a meditation,stripped of the fictionalization of“Interrupted Journey,” on the ethics ofemploying, rather than holding account-able, Nazi rocket scientists connected withwartime atrocities.

Although Huddleston’s descriptionsand situations ring true, his charactersconvey ideas too efficiently, with none ofthe pauses, interruptions, or grasping for athought that typify normal conversation.This does not overly detract from theeffect, although in places it is a bit humor-ous. The historical fiction format allows for

some eccentricities of spelling and fact, butnumerous other errors should have beencaught; the Luftwaffe night-fighter gener-al’s name certainly was Josef, not JoseKammhuber. A last-minute Errata sheetfluttered out of my copy; one error waseven stickered over.

Those who have been to war will rec-ognize Huddleston’s perspective on thepostwar experience—reuniting with fami-ly, readjusting to civilian life, and estab-lishing one’s place in society. I recommendthis book for its unfettered voicing of thethoughts, feelings, and life experiences of amember of the Greatest Generation.

Steve Agoratus, Hamilton, New Jersey

The Astronaut Wives Club. By LilyKoppel. New York: Grand Central Publi -shing, 2013. Photographs. Pp. xvi, 272.$28.00 ISBN: 978-1-4555-0325-4

For those who have wondered overthe years what it was really like to be anastronaut in the early days of America’sspace program, Lily Koppel’s riveting booktells almost all!

The book opens with the world’s intro-duction to the Mercury Seven astronauts.It then focuses not only on the wives ofProject Mercury, but also those of Geminiand Apollo.

Mercury wives were ordinary militaryspouses who lived in drab Navy and AirForce base housing. When their husbands,some of America’s best test pilots, were cho-sen for America’s bold adventure to put aman into space, the wives suddenly foundthemselves thrust into the public eye and instiff competition with one another.

Koppel delves into the backgrounds ofeach of the Mercury wives and does anadmirable job telling of their triumphs andtravails. Closely monitored by NASA, theywere expected to be perfect, right down totheir beehive hairdos. Annie Glenn hadthe picture-perfect marriage and was theenvy of the other wives. Rene Carpenter, aplatinum blonde, was JFK’s favorite.Trudy Cooper, a pilot in her own right,arrived with a secret needed to be keptfrom NASA—that she had left her cheat-ing husband. But with NASA promotingthe Mercury Seven, not as Boy Scouts, butas overachieving Eagle Scouts, GordoCooper had to fly to San Diego and beg herto come back to him.

It didn’t take long for these wives tofigure out they needed a support group, sothe Astronaut Wives Club came into beingin 1966. Over the years, they provided eachother with support, friendship, coffee, andcocktails, sometimes while sitting around a

Mercury-capsule-shaped swimming pool—many times with one too many cocktails.And who could blame them?

After the first American in space,Alan Shepard, safely returned, the astro-nauts and their wives met PresidentKennedy at the White House. Shepard’swife became the envy of all the wives asJackie tucked her arm into Louise’s andled her on a private tour of the WhiteHouse. America’s second space traveler,Gus Grissom, lost his capsule after splash-down. We feel Betty Grissom’s despairwhen Gus told her there would be noWhite House invitation, and NASA sentthem to a VIP beach house at Patrick AFBfor a weekend where there was no TV forthe kids and the beach was across thehighway. John Glenn, the first American toorbit the Earth, got a ticket-tape paradethat rivaled Charles Lindbergh’s.

Many of the wives just couldn’t takethe lying and the cheating and felt theirhusbands had been given the OK with a“wink and a nod” from NASA to keep a“cookie” on the side as long as the seedierside of their private lives and their pristinepublic lives never met. Astronaut GeneCernan admitted, “The wives stayed inTexas, and Florida was an off-limits play-ground filled with Cape Cookies,” the termused for girlfriends and groupies.

The first “space divorce” of Donn andHarriet Eisele opened the floodgates. Bythe time it was over, of the 30 couples fromMercury, Gemini, and Apollo, only sevenstayed together. Years later when astro-naut Wally Schirra lamented to his wifehow few were still married, she shot back,“Our marriage stayed together becauseyou were away half the time.”

For me, the saddest account was ofPatricia White whose husband, Ed, waskilled in the Apollo 1 fire. She never gotover it. She continued to infrequently meetwith the club over the years and later mar-ried a Houston oil tycoon. The weekendbefore a much-anticipated AstronautWives Club reunion in 1991, Pat commit-ted suicide. Most of the wives believed herto be the final victim of the Apollo 1 fire.

If you thought the only NASA heroeswere its astronauts, think again. TheAstronaut Wives Club tells the real storiesof the women who stood beside some of thebiggest heroes in aerospace history.Readers won’t be disappointed with thisthis superbly detailed book. One wife saidit best: “If you think going to the moon ishard, try staying at home.”

Janet Tudal Baltas, retired United Airlinesflight attendant; docent, NASM’s Udvar-Hazy Center

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Malloch’s Spitfire: The Story andRestoration of PK 350. By Nick Meikle.Havertown Pa.: Casemate, 2014. Photo -graphs. Maps. Glossary. Appendices.Notes. Index. Tables. Diagrams. Biblio -graphy. Pp. 243. $24.95 ISBN: 978-1-61200-252-1

This is a history of a Griffon-enginedSpitfire Mk 22, British Royal Air Force(RAF) serial PK 350. Replaced by jets inthe RAF, it served with the SouthernRhodesian Air Force (SRAF, laterRhodesian (RhAF) and now Air Force ofZimbabwe) in the early 1950s. Subse -quently mounted “on a pole,” it wasrestored to flying status in the late 1970s.PK 350 ultimately crashed in bad weather,tragically killing its pilot, Jack Malloch,the SRAF veteran who funded its restora-tion. Malloch’s Spitfire is set in the contextof Africa’s turbulent post WWII history,when modern sovereign nations were ris-ing from the ashes of colonialism. InRhodesia this culminated, after a fifteen-year armed struggle, in the peaceful tran-sition to Zimbabwe. Nick Meikle servedwith the Rhodesian and later Zimbabweair forces and wrote this book from first-hand experience.

Jack Malloch flew Spitfires) duringWorld War II. Postwar he founded AirTrans Africa (ATA). Malloch’s career andATA became embroiled in the complexevents marking the end of colonial rule.“His” airplane was built just after the warand served in the RAF until 1948.Purchased by the SRAF in late 1950, itwas flown mostly in the NATO-assignedrole of pilot training. The aircraft laterreposed as a gate guard outside the NewSarum (now Harare International Airport)air base. In 1977, the then-RhAF, perhapsin a burst of sentiment, retrieved and dis-assembled PK 350 for restoration.Pressing war needs soon caused it to con-tract with ATA for completion. Mallochhad the honor of the first flight on March29, 1980. Even as the Spitfire, a symbol ofthe past, took to the air, the winds ofchange were stirring. Nineteen days later,Rhodesia became Zimbabwe in an agree-ment negotiated by Malloch’s wartimesquadron comrade, Prime Minister IanWilson.

Briefly the only flying Mk 22 in theworld, PK 350 was thoroughly document-ed in a film, Spitfire: The Pursuit of aDream. This project proved to be air-craft’s—and Malloch’s—undoing. TheSpitfire and Vampire photo ship flew intoa violent thunderstorm on March 26, 1982.Battered by hail, the photo ship emergedfrom the cloud, damaged but still flying.Malloch and PK 350 did not, crashing soviolently that the Rolls-Royce Griffon

engine block was torn apart. If the Spitfirereminded its sponsors of earlier times, soits demise, and that of Malloch, fittinglymarked the end of that era.

Meikle does a great job of synthesiz-ing Spitfire history from the usual sources,although I missed citations from PeterCaygill’s Spitfire Mks VI – F.24 and Ulti -mate Spitfires. As a biography of thepenultimate Spitfire (the Mk 24 had minordifferences), Malloch’s Spitfire nicely book-ends Andy Saunders’ Spitfire Mk 1 P9374:The Extraordinary Story of Recovery,Restoration and Flight. Dug from thesands of the Calais beach where she camedown during the Battle of Britain, P9374was restored in 1980 and subsequentlytook her place in the Battle of BritainMemorial Flight. Challenges of Spitfirerestoration detailed in Graham Moss andBarry McKee, Spitfires and PolishedMetal: Restoring the Classic Fighter,enable the reader to realize just how muchMalloch’s engineers achieved.

Clearly intended to serve as a perma-nent record of PK 350, this meticulouslydetailed book relies extensively on inter-views with people closely associated withATA, Malloch, and the restoration. It isheavily illustrated with photos, manysourced from personalities associated withthe SRAF Spitfire era and those involvedwith her restoration. The extensive appen-dices include a line drawing, Mk 22 speci-fications, the service records and fates ofSRAF Spitfires, all SRAF Spitfire pilots,the ATA restoration staff, notable PK 350flights, and PK 350’s flight log. The glos-sary facilitates understanding of this storyof a bygone era.

Meikle often mentions political eventsin passing. A few pages outliningRhodesia/Zimbabwe’s recent historywould have been welcome. Even so, thisbook is highly recommended not only forSpitfire buffs but also for anyone desiringto learn more about one of the moreunusual postwar uses of aircraft thatmade their mark in World War II.


U.S. Marine Corps Aviation Since1912: Fourth Edition. By Peter B.Mersky. Annapolis, Maryland: Naval Insti -tute Press, 2009. Maps. Photographs.Notes. Appendices. Index. Pp. xvi, 405.$49.95 ISBN: 978-1-59114-516-5

This is a book about Marine Aviationwith a forward by John Glenn—and itlives up to its billing. Peter Merskey wascommissioned through Aviation OfficerCandidate School and retired as a

Commander in the Naval Reserve. Hewas assistant editor and then editor ofApproach magazine, a publication of theNaval Safety Center and the absolute cen-terpiece promoting safety in NavalAviation. He has written over a dozenbooks and reviewed nearly six hundredaviators. His knowledge of his subject isimpeccable. We are fortunate to welcomethis fourth edition which brings us from1997 through the important Middle Eastconflicts until 2009. Mersky fully capturesthe spirit of Marine Aviation as it has con-tinually had to justify its existence and itsimportance as a vital part of the MarineAir Ground team. He clearly relates thelong history and interactions of MarineAviation and its roots and relationshipswithin the larger umbrella of NavalAviation.

The book is fittingly dedicated to thelate Lt. Gen. Thomas Miller, USMC, a for-mer squadron mate and close friend ofSenator Glenn, who was a three-warMarine, an accomplished test pilot, and apillar of Marine Aviation. He was alsolargely responsible for the Marine pursuitof vectored-thrust and tilt-rotor powered-lift developments. He was the first Marineto fly the Harrier-series aircraft and fin-ished his career directing all MarineAviation.

As early as the second page, Merskyweaves a great story of the first MarineAviator, 1st. Lt. Alfred A. Cunningham: “...and after only two and one-half hours ofinstruction, Cunningham soloed onAugust 20, 1912. He cited the reason forthe brevity of his instructional period:‘There being so few civilian flyers, the fac-tory had to pay them a huge salary toteach us, and they were anxious to make itshort and snappy’.”

Having been a Marine Aviator for 32years, I am familiar with many of the peo-ple and events that Mersky documents. Inparticular, I lived at the “Rose Garden”that he describes on page 245; he has total-ly captured the facts and essence of whattook place there. In every case cited in thisbook where I have personal knowledge,the story is told completely and accurately.What I found striking was that this bookwas not just a wonderful history compila-tion, but also that it was as readable asany novel one might encounter. Merskyalso generously provides wonderful photocoverage in each chapter.

My bottom line is that it is great his-tory and a most entertaining read.

Maj. Gen. Joseph T. Anderson, USMC(Ret.), Fairfax, Virginia

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Flight Badges of the Allied Nations,1914-1918: Volume I—The French,Russian, and Romanian Air Services.By CDR Robert S. Pandis USNR (Ret).Photographs. Bibliography. Pp. 320.$128.00 ISBN: 1-49510999-2

Robert Pandis’s new book is far morethan a collection of unique images. It is anhistorical romp and a testament to themen who fought and flew a hundred yearsago over the skies of Europe. While thephotographs of the objects presented areexceptional, the book is also well-researched. Further, the historic contextpresented makes it far more interestingthan a work that was merely focused onflight badges would be.

Pandis is no stranger to the subjectmatter or how best to present it. He haspublished similar works on German flightbadges and American aviator wings. It isobvious he knows the particulars and idio-syncrasies associated with these objects aswell as how to distinguish the real itemfrom the forgeries that have become all toocommon. As with his other works, thisbook provides good guidelines to distin-guish the authentic from the counterfeits.From the large variety of objects covered,it is obvious that Pandis had special accessto some very unique collections. It is to hisefforts that we owe this almost encyclope-dic review of the flight badges of theFrench, Russian, and Romanian air ser-vices.

The section on French aviation beginswith the pre-war period. Remarkably, thisextends back to the late 1800s. This sec-tion provides some important insights intoearly military aeronautics in France up to1914. Pandis’s coverage of the wartimeperiod 1914-1918 also includes the vaunt-ed Lafayette Flying Corps, the FrenchAirship section, naval aviation, and otherunits. It is, therefore, a complete sweep ofall French military services involved in thewar in the air.

The section dealing with the ImperialRussian Air Fleet is nothing less thanremarkable. It is the first comprehensiveEnglish language work that deals with thedesign, variations, manufacture, and his-tory of flight badges for the Russian mili-tary and civilian organizations. Pandis’sattention to detail and historical relation-ships make this section an invaluableexamination of aviation in ImperialRussia.

Looking through the existent litera-ture, I could not find an equal in breadth oftopic or quality of research to this book.The sections on either the French orRussian air services could stand on theirown as separate works. Adding to all this,his review of Romanian air service badges

with the other two subjects in one volumemakes this a very important research toolfor anyone interested in aviation duringthe First World War.


Pogie 105: Story of MIA Vietnam JetPilot Colonel Dean “Pogie” Pogreba.By Maxine A. Pogreba. Self, 2014.Photographs. Pp. about 100 (not num-bered). $9.95 paperback (Amazon) ISBN:978-150548259-3

This is a very short book that is print-ed in large print to aid those who are visu-ally impaired. It is the brief biography of aveteran of World War II, Korea, andVietnam who disappeared over NorthVietnam a year short of retirement fromthe Air Force. The author is his widow.

Dean Pogreba grew up in ThreeForks, Montana, and dreamed of flying.Maxine was eight, and Dean was ten whenthey met; they were married the day afterhe got his wings in April 1944. He picturedhimself as a fighter pilot but did his over-seas service in the China-Burma-Indiatheater flying C–46s to supply the BritishFourteenth Army. He logged over 100 com-bat missions.

When he returned to the U.S. in Jan -uary 1946, he left the service but helpedestablish the Montana Air National Guardwith its P–51 Mustangs. The MontanaGuard was one of the first called up afterthe outbreak of the Korean War. Pogrebawanted, and got, an F–86. He spent four-teen months in Korea flying over 100 mis-sions and ending up with three official air-to-air victories.

After that war, Pogreba decided tostay in the Air Force and served atRandolph and Nellis AFBs before headingto England as an exchange pilot flyingHawker Hunters out of RAF Chivenor.The Pogrebas were next assigned in WestGermany.

By 1963, he was back in the U.S. andassigned to F–105s at McConnell AFB. Hemoved to Takhli RTAFB in 1965. OnOctober 5, he led a five-ship formation tobomb a bridge in Lang Son province northof Hanoi/Haiphong not far from theChinese border. He had been having somenavigation difficulties enroute to the areabut dropped his bombs squarely on thetarget. He called out his egress headingand was never heard from or seen again.He’d been downed and rescued almostimmediately several months prior to hisfatal mission. The family hoped that onceagain he would be picked up, but days

turned to weeks and then to years. He wasofficially declared missing in action.During the Carter administration, his sta-tus was changed to killed in action.

His fate remains a mystery. He mayhave strayed into China because of hisnavigation equipment problems. He mayhave been taken prisoner—his ID cardturned up in a Vietnamese museum yearslater but had not been entered in the POWrecords. One crazy report said he had beenseen in prison in the late 1980s (later dis-credited). He probably was killed when hisaircraft crashed into the mountainous ter-rain. No one knows.

The local hero will not be forgotten,however. The Gallatin County Airport inThree Forks was renamed Pogreba Fieldon May 22, 1971. A fitting tribute to asmall-town boy who gallantly served hiscountry through three of its toughest wars.His is a story worth the short time it takesto read this book.

Col. Scott A. Willey, USAF (Ret.), BookReview Editor, and Docent, NASM’sUdvar-Hazy Center

The Curtis Papers: Canadian Aero -space and Joint Studies, v. 1, Books 1and 2 (Select Masters in DefenceStudies Papers, 2009/2010). By Cana -dian Forces Aerospace Warfare Centre.Trenton, Canada: Canadian Forces Collegeof the Canadian Department of NationalDefence, 2014. Tables, Notes. Pp. 184 (Book1), 207 (Book 2). Available fromhttp://www.rcaf-arc.forces.gc.ca/en/cf-aero-space-warfare-centre/elibrary/publica-tions.page

The Curtis Papers honor the memoryof former RCAF Chief of Air Staff AirMarshal Wilfred Austin “Wilf” Curtis, whowas instrumental in giving the service astrong analytical and academic focus.They are intended, as the introductionnotes, to “increase aerospace awarenessamongst broader civilian and militarycommunities, while at the same timeemphasizing the need for a joint perspec-tive within aerospace forces.”

This collection of ten papers, pub-lished as chapters in two books is, neces-sarily, an eclectic one, reflecting the indi-vidual interests and professional back-grounds of the papers’ authors. Book One’stopics are “Line Operational Simulation:Towards Optimizing Human Performancein the Canadian Air Force,” “CanadianSpecial Operations Aviation: A Strate -gically Relevant Force,” “Protection ofCanadian Space-Based Assets: A PolicyVoid,” “Motion: Is There a Requirement in

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Large Fixed-Wing Aviation Simulators?,”and “Canada’s Air Force Kinetic Capa -bility for the 21st Century: What is Nee -ded?”

Book Two covers “Systemic Opera -tional Design: A Viable Alternative to theCanadian Forces Operational PlanningProcess,” “The Impact of New Media onMilitary Operations,” “Hauling Down theJolly Roger: Canada’s Stake, Obligationand Participation in Countering MaritimePiracy,” “Command, Control and Coor -dination of the Third Dimension: The Evo -lution of Army Airspace after the ColdWar,” and “The Future of Command andControl in the Canadian Forces.”

All of these papers are (as one wouldexpect) very well done, cogently argued,and well-sourced. I found several of partic-ular interest.

“Canadian Special Operations Avia -tion” presents two case studies on Ope -ration Eagle Claw (the failed Iranianhostage rescue attempt) and Britain’sOperation Barras (a successful hostagerescue in Sierra Leone) that show howsome surprisingly basic failures in inte-grating special operations aviation (SOA)into special operations forces (SOF) madethe difference between success and failure.It then springboards to a convincing argu-ment that Canada must more effectivelyintegrate SOA-SOF via changes in organi-zation, strategic thinking, and appropriateequipment choices.

“Protection of Canadian Space-BasedAssets” highlights how space, so ubiqui-tous in its influence on both civil and mili-tary affairs, poses special hazards tonations that are space consumers andusers but who are not able to assert anyform of control or protection over theirspace investment and assets. The authorargues that Canada’s deficiencies in thisarea reflect the lack of any “central gov-ernment policy on how to protect thesesystems.” While conceding that much ofwhat Canada needs to do may be influ-enced (and perhaps constrained) by inter-national agreements, he warns that thepublic mindset needs to change. The con-clusion is that “Space is no longer a pris-tine sanctuary but is a finite resource andenvironment in need of protection.”

“Canada’s Air Force KineticCapability for the 21st Century” concludesthat “the Canadian Air Force of the futureis on the cusp of being able to replace retir-ing equipment with platforms that are ide-ally suited to provide precision kinetic sup-port to counter-land operations.” Theauthor argues that this is consistent bothwith CAF history and the larger history ofair power in general, specifically the expe-rience of the U.S. Air Force. Doing so willenable the Canadian Air Force “to capital-

ize on the lessons and trends from the con-flicts of the last ten years.” But Canadarequires “a balanced force of fixed-wing,rotary-wing and unmanned vehicles capa-ble of delivering accurate firepower in bothpre-planned and reactive counter-landmissions.”

“Hauling Down the Jolly Roger “offersan excellent perspective on the challengeof confronting the resurgent piracy threat(in my opinion at least, likely made moredangerous still by the destabilization ofthe Mediterranean basin brought about bythe much-hyped and largely disastrous“Arab Spring”). The author points out howthe traditional challenge of piracy hasforced nations to spend enormous sums inmaintaining a naval presence in pirate-contested waters, to confront what are,typically, sporadic attacks, offering howchanges in maritime doctrine, technology,and weapons capability can, when com-bined with international partnerships,address this continuing scourge.

In conclusion, all of the papers in thiscompilation are worthwhile. For that mat-ter, a visit to the Canadian ForcesAerospace Warfare Centre website offersthe visitor an opportunity to peruse manyother works reflecting a vibrant intellectu-al and professional culture that wouldundoubtedly have pleased the late AirMarshal Curtis. Certainly he would con-sider these particular studies most worthy,and one looks forward to future compila-tions of such papers.

Dr. Richard P. Hallion, Research Associatein Aeronautics, National Air and SpaceMuseum

Shot Down: The True Story of PilotHoward Snyder and the Crew of theB–17 Susan Ruth. By Steve Snyder. SealBeach Calif.: Sea Breeze Publishing, 2015.Photographs. Maps. Illustrations. Dia -grams. Bibliography. Index. Pp. 360.$27.95 ISBN: 978-0-9860760-0-8

This is a gripping biography ofCaptain Howard Snyder, 306th BG, whowas shot down over the French-Belgianborder on the February 8, 1944, mission toFrankfurt by Lt. Hans Berger. Bailing out,Snyder evaded capture with the help ofcourageous Belgian citizens, who at therisk of their lives hid and fed him andother surviving crew. Finding it too riskyto try for England, Snyder subsequentlyjoined the Maquis, ambushing convoysand sabotaging the enemy until Alliedforces liberated the area.

The author is Howard Snyder’s son.

He researched original sources such ascorrespondence, unit records, missionplans, websites, and published and unpub-lished secondary sources, and spoke withEighth Air Force veterans, families of hisfather’s crew, former Belgian undergroundmembers, and even Berger to learn aboutand understand his father’s wartime expe-riences. Snyder traveled to Belgium andtoured the safe houses that hid his fatherand crew, uncovering new information ontheir fates. He attended veteran’s associa-tion meetings. In the process he hasbecome a member of the World War II avi-ation community, speaking on the experi-ences of Mighty Eighth veterans at muse-ums, airshows, and reunions.

Snyder and his crew arrived asreplacements in October 1943 followingthe Eighth’s substantial late-summer loss-es. Although the usual wartime operationsand experiences are described as expected,this book relates the lives of Snyder, hiscrew, and their families from childhoodthrough enlistment, flight school, anddeployment. Amply quoted correspon-dence draws in the reader to know andcare about these warriors and their fami-lies as people. Even others who appearonly in passing are diligently named, thustying Snyder’s story and those of his crewto the rest of the Eighth and, indeed, to thegeneration that fought World War II. Thishelps the reader understand the war’simpact on those who fought and livedthrough it.

Shot Down is one of the better recentWorld War II air war biographies, doing forthe B–17 and the Eighth Air Force whatDennis Okerstrom’s Bottoms Up did forthe B–24 and the Fifteenth Air Force. Itcan be regarded as a personalized versionof Donald Miller’s Masters of the Air.Although not exhaustive, the bibliographylists much of the recent European air warscholarship. I missed Freeman’s TheMighty Eighth, although the War Manualis cited, and Reanne Hemingway-Douglass’s The Shelburne Escape Line,which contains a fuller account of theescape to England through the FrenchUnderground of B–17 crewman RalphPatton, with whom Snyder trained. Thevery helpful list of Eighth Air Force-relat-ed websites demonstrates the changes toresearch methods in the 21st century. Nooriginal sources (MACR, mission report,etc.) are listed, but their images are onSnyder’s website.

There are a few typos and factualerrors. The V-1, rather than the V-2, is theforerunner of modern cruise missiles. TheB–24 Liberator—a significant portion ofthe heavy bomber effort—is mentionedbut once. The P–51 is credited for air supe-riority over Europe in 1944, although the

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P–47 outnumbered it and scored morekills during the first crucial months of1944. The lack of missions after SecondSchweinfurt is cited as a sign of the fail-ure of unescorted bombers, even thoughmany histories emphasize the role ofweather during those weeks. Only theadvanced reader will notice these points,however, and they do not greatly detract.

The book is heavily illustratedthroughout with carefully selected con-temporary and modern photos, maps,drawings and diagrams, all tied closely tothe text.

I highly recommend this book. It isespecially important to record the experi-ences, thoughts, and raw emotions of thewar as the Greatest Generation livedthem now that these fine men and womenare passing from the scene. It is a terrificvolume for museum shops and, especially,airshow tables for younger visitors whowant to know the significance of that biggreen plane they just walked through.


Hell in the Heavens: The Saga of aWorld War II Bomber Pilot. By Lt ColDavid E. Tavel and Morton E. Tavel, M.D.Chandler, Ariz.: Brighton Publishing,2013. Photographs. Pp. 176. $12.95 ISBN:978-1-62183-107-5

This is a memoir of a former B–24pilot (Lt. Col. David Tavel). To tell hisstory, cousin Dr. Morton Tavel took thecolonel’s notes and expanded them into ashort book to share the wartime experi-ences with a larger audience.

Despite having his board certificationto be an optometrist, Tavel applied forcadet training prior to the start of the warand was accepted into the program. Thenarrative describes his experiences frominitial pilot training through his time asan instructor pilot and subsequent serviceas a B–24 pilot in the European theater.Tavel was assigned to the 746th BombSquadron of the 456th BombardmentGroup (Heavy). After completing itspreparatory training, the 456th deployedto Italy by way of Brazil and North Africaand then operated against Nazi targetsacross southern Europe. Tavel provides afront-row-seat, firsthand account of hisservice as a lead pilot and, ultimately,deputy group operations officer.

One common theme among memoirsof airmen from the European theater isthe description of the mission brief wherethe unit’s leaders would reveal the day’smission by pulling back a curtain reveal-ing a map with long colored strings show-

ing the route to the target. In this book,Tavel describes what it was like to briefthe mission to the group of airmen in theaudience—looking over their heads tryingnot to make contact, because he knewsome of them might not return.

As with many other memoirs fromthe Greatest Generation, the sharing ofindividual experiences helps fill in thesmall details that are often missing fromthe larger official or formal histories of theEuropean air war. Details, such as meet-ing a Tuskegee airman who had just pro-tected your bomber formation, or describ-ing the difficulties of flying throughadverse weather, provide readers a betterunderstanding of World War II’s air war.

Short chapters make the text a quickand easy read. Most of the book’s text isLt. Col. Tavel’s “notes.” Dr. Tavel supple-mented the text with background infor-mation to fill in any missing pieces. Dr.Tavel also included an epilogue, in whichhe sums up the accomplishments of the746th Bomb Squadron, and endnotes tobetter explain the text. The printing qual-ity is not exceptional, and photographsare often separated from where they arereferenced in the text. But frankly, thephotos and supplemental text are not theprimary reasons for reading Hell in theHeavens. While they add to the story, Lt.Col. Tavel’s text carries the day.

This is an excellent book for thosereaders looking for a humble there-I-wasmemoir of a Fifteenth Air Force B–24pilot. The text flows in a chronologicalstory that is easily read. It provides asnapshot within the larger context of theEuropean air war. The book also serves asan excellent example of how a relativehelped preserve a memory from thatGreatest Generation. While not perfect,Hell in the Heavens is spot on with itsintended goal of sharing a pilot’s memo-ries with all of us. It is certainly worthreading and, hopefully, will serve as ameans to encourage others to publishtheir memoirs or the memoirs of theirloved ones.

Lt. Col .Daniel J. Simonsen, USAF (Ret.),Bossier City, Louisiana

Army of the Sky: Russian MilitaryAviation Before the Great War, 1904-1914. By Gregory Vitarbo. New York:Peter Lang Publishing, 2012. Notes.Bibliography. Index. Pp. 256. $50.00ISBN: 978-1-4331-1490-8

This book is a textual juggernaut, onethat brings the reader through a convo-luted and relatively unfamiliar period of

Russian history—at least here in theWest. It is by far the singularly mostimportant English-language work on theorigins of Russian military aviation inprint. The timeframe covered is the periodfrom the inception in 1904 of what wouldbecome the Rossíyskiy imperátorskiyvoyénno-vozdúshnyy flot (Imperial Rus -sian Air Service) to just prior to World WarI. Vitarbo answers many of the questionsthat have arisen in the West about thegenesis of Russian airpower. He describes,with remarkable clarity, the key individu-als who would help formulate Russian airdoctrine as well as its integration into theRussian military.

This book also covers the ascendanceof the aeronautical community within theImperial Russia military from its estab-lishment and how this organization wouldform the nexus of the Imperial RussianAir Service. This Service ultimately wasrequired to fly against the combinedforces of Germany, Austro-Hungary, andthe Ottoman Empires during the GreatWar. Vitarbo eloquently and systematical-ly puts into context the technological,social, and cultural elements of the periodwith the appearance of the airplane andthe effect it would have on the Russianarmed forces.

The airplane’s impact on Russiansociety was similar to that of the rest ofEurope in that it portended the beginningof a new age. Though the various militaryhigh commands, in general, did not at firstappreciate or perceive these earlymachines as potential assets, they werenot reluctant to accede to the recommen-dations of experimentation. In Russia, theintegration of airplanes into the militarycame at a time of great societal unrest.The humiliating defeat in the Russo-Japanese war and the ensuing 1905 revo-lution would in many ways open the doorfor new ideas. One of these, undoubtedly,was military aviation. Some officersviewed it as a possible means to modern-ize the Imperial Russian officer corps andto bring the country from its anachronis-tic policies to one that was more in linewith the new century.

This work clearly outlines the devel-opment of military aviation in ImperialRussia. It describes the machinationswithin the Russian military leadershipconcerning the creation of the air serviceand the nature of the pilot and observercorps. One of the most striking elementscovered is the heartfelt attention by thecitizenry as their hero pilots died tragical-ly in their efforts to conquer the sky.Overall this is a fascinating story and onenot previously told.

A brief look at the notes and bibliog-raphy confirms that Vitarbo relied on pri-

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mary and contemporary material. Army ofthe Sky is also an excellent foundation fora more extensive work on Russian mili-tary aviation during the Great War, 1914-1918.


The Dakota Hunter: In Search of theLegendary DC–3 on the Last Fron -tiers. By Hans Wiesman. Havertown Pa.:Casemate, 2015. Photographs. Maps. Illus -trations. Pp. 320. $37.95 ISBN: 978-1-61200-258-3

A Netherlands-based entrepreneurand adventurer who treks the world insearch of DC–3 parts, Wiesman vividlydescribes his pursuit of this still-widelyused, classic 1930’s airliner and World WarII transport. Over seventy-five years on,the DC–3’s durability, simplicity, ease ofmaintenance, and performance character-istics continue to make it the transport ofchoice in remote, underdeveloped areas ofthe world. The DC–3 is the lifeline in theseplaces.

Finding himself in rugged locationssuch as the Andes, Alaska, and Mada -gascar, Wiesman’s skills, wiliness, and justplain good luck enabled him to ramble des-olate jungles, swamps, deserts, and out-back in freezing, baking, torrid, and occa-sionally oxygen-deprived habitats. As even

a derelict DC–3 remains a valuable com-modity to many would-be possessors,Wiesman often found his quarry zealouslydefended by soldiers, government officials,warlords, criminals, and assorted othershady characters.

Not content to simply retell storiesthat appear in other warbird books,Wiesman colorfully narrates his own glob-al Dakota hunting. As he movingly shares,his warbird quests fill a much deeper need–the longing to recapture exhilaratingchildhood sensations of freedom and limit-less possibilities. Raised just after WorldWar II in a small oil-drilling community inBorneo, Wiesman had the run of the jungleand local settlements. The only way in orout of that relatively undeveloped areawas by DC–3. Wiesman came to associatethe plane with the feelings of boundlesspotential and adventure that he felt when-ever he flew in one. Among the book’s mosteloquent passages are those on his fasci-nation with and affection for the DC–3.

The book is written for the aviationreader and is replete with DC–3 facts, fig-ures, and anecdotes. Stories of particularepisodes in the plane’s history are inter-spersed: D-Day, Arnhem, Bastogne. Trueto the warbird enthusiast community,Wiesman often traces the history of a par-ticular DC–3 tail number back to the pro-duction line.

Dakota Hunter is one of the latestentries in the lengthy stable of booksdevoted to the DC–3. The focus on thehunt distinguishes Wiesman as a prime

example of the “wreck chaser” NickVeronico described in Hidden Warbirds Iand II. Wiesman’s exploits in SouthAmerica parallel the experiences of W. W.Martin, So I Bought an Air Force. Suchworks as David Hayes’ The LostSquadron, recounting the recovery of theP–38F Glacier Girl, relate particular expe-ditions, but Dakota Hunter ranges theworld. The latest surveys by HenryHolden, The Legacy of the DC–3, and GeoffJones, The Douglas DC–3: 80 GloriousYears cover some of the same ground froma higher level, but Wiesman’s is a far morevivid, first-hand perspective.

The book is heavily illustrated withhigh-quality photos taken by Wiesmanand associates who willingly suffered theperils and exhilarations of his expeditions.

There is no separate list of sources orindex, although Wiesman mentions web-sites and sources throughout, leavingreaders to locate references and statisticson their own. No photo credits are given,although the text often relates their origin.Wiesman’s own websites, online newslet-ters and Facebook page enable the readerto keep up with his latest feats.

Printed in hardcover on heavy muse-um-quality stock, this is definitely a bookto read if you are thinking about a warbirdhunt beyond the confines of AMARC’stour, or even just an armchair enthusiast.


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We seek quality articles—based on sound scholarship, perceptive analysis, and/or firsthand experience—which arewell-written and attractively illustrated. The primary criterion is that the manuscript contributes to knowledge. Articlessubmitted to Air Power History must be original contributions and not be under consideration by any other publicationat the same time. If a manuscript is under consideration by another publication, the author should clearly indicate thisat the time of submission. Each submission must include an abstract—a statement of the article’s theme, its historicalcontext, major subsidiary issues, and research sources. Abstracts should not be longer than one page.Manuscripts should be double-spaced throughout, and prepared according to the Chicago Manual of Style (University of

Chicago Press). Use civilian dates and endnotes. Because submissions are evaluated anonymously, the author’s name shouldappear only on the title page. Authors should provide on a separate page brief biographical details, to include institutionalor professional affiliation and recent publications, for inclusion in the printed article. Pages, including those containing illus-trations, diagrams or tables, should be numbered consecutively. Any figures and tables must be clearly produced ready forphotographic reproduction. The source should be given below the table. Endnotes should be numbered consecutively throughthe article with a raised numeral corresponding to the list of notes placed at the end.Electronic submissions are preferred. Articles should be submitted via e-mail as an attachment, in Microsoft Word.

Electronic photographs and graphics should be copied to a CD and mailed if they exceed 5-8 megabytes.There is no standard length for articles, but 4,500-5,500 words is a general guide.Manuscripts and editorial correspondence should be sent to Richard Wolf, Editor, c/o Air Power History, 6022 Cromwell

PL. Alexandria, VA 22315, e-mail: [email protected].

Guidelines for Contributors


Books to ReviewAllison, Richard. Operation Thunderclap and theBlack March: Two Stories from the Unstoppable91st Bomb Group. Haverford, Penn. & Oxford:Case mate, 2014. Notes. Maps. Illustrations.Photographs. Bibliography. Index. Pp. 256. ISBN:978-1-61200-265-1

PROSPECTIVE REVIEWERS

Anyone who believes he or she is qualified to substantively assess one of the new books listed above is invited to applyfor a gratis copy of the book. The prospective reviewer should contact:

Col. Scott A. Willey, USAF (Ret.)3704 Brices Ford Ct.Fairfax, VA 22033Tel. (703) 620-4139e-mail: [email protected]

Dorr—365 Aircraft You Must Fly: The Most Sublime, Weird, and Outrageous Aircraft from the Past 100+ Years. 320 p.Dye—The Bridge to Airpower: Logistics Support for Royal Flying Corps Operations on the Western Front, 1914-18. 268 p. Lieback—History of Rocketry and Astronautics, Vol 42. 382 p. March—Wings of the Fleet: 50 Years of the Canadian Sea King. 147 p.Martin—So I Bought an Air Force: The True Story of a Gritty Midwesterner in Somoza’s Nicaragua. 259 p. May—A World War II Flight Surgeon’s Story. 256 p.Prodger—Trending Collectibles 2015 Military Aviation Review WWI-WWII. 143 p.Reinke—History of Rocketry and Astronautics, Vol 43. 434 p. Trapnell—Harnessing the Sky: Frederick “Trap” Trapnell, the U.S. Navy’s Aviation Pioneer, 1923-52. 238 p. Winter—Pioneering American Rocketry: The Reaction Motors, Inc. (RMI) Story, 1941-1972. 462 p.

History Mystery AnswerOn September 28th, 1924, two of the four origi-

nal United States Army Air Service Douglas WorldCruisers landed at Sand Point, Seattle Washington,to complete their 175-day (nearly 27,533-mile) cir-cumnavigation of the planet. The four aircraft werenumbered and called; #1 Seattle: Maj. FrederickMartin (pilot and flight commander) and SSgt. AlvaHarvey (flight mechanic), #2, Chicago: Lt. Lowell H.Smith (pilot, subsequent flight commander) and 1stLt. Leslie P. Arnold (co-pilot); #3 Boston/Boston II(prototype): 1st Lt. Leigh P. Wade (pilot) and SSgt.Henry H. Ogden (flight mechanic) and #4 NewOrleans: Lt. Erik Nelson (pilot) and Lt. JackHarding (co-pilot). Only the New Orleans and theChicago completed the trip. Both the Seattle andBoston crashed (the Boston was replaced late in thevoyage by the Boston II (the prototype aircraft usedfor designing the DWCs). The four names of the air-craft within the United States represent the fourpoints on the compass

The two survivors are now on display. TheChicago is on display at the National Air & SpaceMuseum, while the New Orleans is on display at theMuseum of Flying in Santa Monica, California.

To learn more about this ground breaking trip,visit the National Museum of the Air Force’s web-site at: www.nationalmuseum.af.mil/factsheets/fact-sheet.asp?id=751.


September 23-26, 2015The Society of Experimental TestPilots will host its 59th Annual Sympo -sium & Banquet at the Grand CalifornianHotel in Anaheim, California. For moreinformation, visit the Society’s website atwww.setp.org/.

October 2, 2015The National Aviation Hall of Fame willinduct its 2015 honorees at a ceremony tobe held in the Hall at the National Museumof the United States Air Force in Dayton,Ohio. This year’s honorees include retiredUSAF Brig Gen Robert Cardenas, RobertHartzell, Gene Krantz, and Abe Silverstein.For more details of the event, visit the Hall’swebsite at www.nationalaviation.org/.

October 2-3, 2015The League of World War One Avia -tion Historians and the World WarOne Historical Association will co-hosta symposium at the Hilton Lisle/Naperville Hotel in Lisle, Illinois. Thetheme of the gathering is “1915: WarfareEvolution; New Strategies and Tactics.”For further information, go to theAssociation’s website at ww1ha.org/2015-annual-conference/.

October 8-11, 2015The Society for the History of Tech -nology will hold its annual conference inAlbuquerque, New Mexico. For more detailsas they become available, check the Society’swebsite at www.historyoftechnology.org/.

October 12-14, 2015The Association of the United StatesArmy will host its annual meeting andexhibition at the Walter E. WashingtonConvention Center in Washington, DC. Formore information, check the Association’swebsite at http://ausameetings.org/2015annualmeeting/.

October 13-16, 2015The Aviation Engine HistoricalSociety and the Society of Air RacingHistorians will co-host AEHS’ 12thannual convention at the New EnglandAir Museum in Windsor Locks, Connec -ticut. For details, see the AEHS websiteat www.enginehistory.org/Conven tion/Convention2015.shtml.

October 14, 2015The U.S. Naval Institute will host itsannual Naval History Conference on thegrounds of the U.S. Naval Academy inAnnapolis, Maryland. This year’s themeis “Marine Corps Actions ShapingHistory.” For additional details, see theInstitute’s website at www.usni.org/events/2015-naval-history-conference.

October 14-18, 2015The Oral History Association will hostits annual meeting in Tampa, Florida.The theme of this year’s gathering is“Stories of Social Change and SocialJustice.” For more information, see theAssociation’s website at www.oralhisto-ry.org/.

October 22-23, 2015The Center for Cryptologic Historywill host its biennial Symposium onCryptologic History at the Johns HopkinsApplied Physics Laboratory’s KossiakoffCenter in Laurel, Maryland. Followingthe Symposium, on Saturday, October 24,participants will be given an opportunityto tour the National Cryptologic Museumand to participate in a workshop onsources for research in cryptologic history.For more information, visit the Center’swebsite at www.afio.com/05_events.htm.

October 28-29, 2015The American Astronautical Societywill host its 8th annual Wernher vonBraun Memorial Symposium in Hunts -ville, Alabama. For more details, visit theSociety’s website at http://astronautical.org/vonbraun.

November 19-21, 2015The National WWII Museum in NewOrleans, Louisiana will be the site for the2015 International Conference on WWII.Presented by the Tawani Foundation inassociation with the Pritzker MilitaryMuseum and Library, this year’s themewill be “1945: To The Bitter End.” Formore information, visit the conferencewebsite at www.ww2conference.com.

November 19-22, 2015The History of Science Society willhold its annual meeting in San Francisco,California. For details as they becomeavailable, check the Society’s website athttp://hssonline.org/meetings/annual-meeting-archive/.

December 1-3, 2015The Association of Old Crowswill holdits 52nd Annual AOC InternationalSymposium and Convention at the Mar -riott Marquis and DC Convention Centerin Washington, DC. This year’s theme is“Synchronizing EW and Cyber to AchieveSpectrum Dominance.” For additionalinfor mation, ping a Crow at www.crows.org/conventions/2015.html.

January 4-8, 2016The American Institute of Aero -nautics and Astronautics will host itspremier annual event, Sci-Tech 2016, atthe Manchester Hyatt Hotel in San Diego,California. For details, see the Institute’swebsite at www.aiaa.org/Forums/.

March 8-10, 2016The American Astronautical Societywill host its 54th annual Robert H. God -dard Memorial Symposium in Greenbelt,Maryland. For more specifics, see theirwebsite at http://astronautical.org/.

March 10-12, 2016The Vietnam Center and Archive atTexas Tech University and the UniformedServices University of the HealthSciences Army Medical DepartmentCenter of History and Heritage will spon-sor a conference entitled “A MedicalHistory of the Vietnam War.” The eventwill be held at the Doubletree Hotel inSan Antonio, Texas. For further details,see the Center’s website at www.viet-nam.ttu.edu/news/?p=2555.

Compiled byGeorge W. Cully

Readers are invited to submit listings ofupcoming events Please include the name ofthe organization, title of the event, datesand location of where it will be held, as wellas contact information. Send listings to:

George W. Cully3300 Evergreen HillMontgomery, AL 36106(334) 277-2165E-mail: [email protected]


12th TFW (MacDill AFB & Vietnam),12th FEW/SFW (Bergstrom AFB &Korea) Apr 20-24, 2016, Charleston,South Carolina. Contact:

E. J. [email protected]

20th Fighter Wing Assn—all ranks,1930s to present 20th FW (20th FG,FBW, TFW) Oct 14-18, 2015, NewOrleans, Louisiana Contact:

Lt Col (Ret) David Skilling1605 Cheatham Hill Rd SW,Marietta, GA [email protected]

47th Armament & Electronics Squa -dron Oct 8-12, 2015, Fairborn, Ohio. Contact:

Alex Sallustino379 Hanging Rock Rd,Flora, IL [email protected]

86th Fighter-Bomber Grp Assn, WWIISep 30-Oct 4, 2015, Fort Walton Beach,Florida. Contact:

Dallas LoweP.O. Box 313,Shalimar, FL [email protected]

91st Tactical Fighter Squadron. Sep24-27, 2015, Fairborn, Ohio. Contact:

Dion Makris7152 Hartcrest Ln,Centerville, OH 45459

[email protected]

95th Bomb Group. May 6-7, 2016,Dayton, Ohio. Contact:

Meg Brackney261 Northwood Dr,Yellow Springs, OH [email protected]

316th Tactical Airlift Wing Sep 21-26,2015, Fairborn, Ohio. Contact:

Jerry Haines2411 South Tecumseh Rd,Springfield, OH [email protected]

463rd Airlifters Assn Sep 21-26, 2015,Fairborn, OH Contact:

Jerry Haines2411 South Tecumseh Rd,Springfield, OH [email protected]

4950th Test Wing/Aria 328 MemorialMay 6, 2016, Fairborn, OH. Contact:

Bob Beach1616 Ridgeway Dr,Springfield, OH [email protected]

Air Force Officer Candidate School.Oct 8-12, 2015. All classes (1943-1963).Montgomery, AL. Contact:

Dave [email protected]

AC–119 Gunship Assn. Sep 28-Oct 1,2017, Fairborn, Ohio. Contact:

Ron Julian4919 Appaloosa Trail,Fairborn, OH [email protected]

AeroMed Evac Assn. Apr 13-16, 2016,Fairborn, Ohio. Contact:

John Killian723 Placer Dr,Woodland, CA [email protected]

Vietnam/Thailand Air Force “SkyCops”. Apr 28 - May 1, 2016, Fairborn,Ohio.

540 West Livingston St,Celina, OH [email protected]

F–15 Gathering of Eagles 44. Jul 28-31,2016, Fairborn, Ohio. Contact:

Donna Friedman2508 Cedronella Dr,Chapel Hill, NC [email protected]

Reunions

List provided by: Rob Bardua National Museum of the U.S. Air ForcePublic Affairs Division1100 Spaatz StreetWPAFB, OH 45433-7102(937) 255-1386

Dear Sir,

I’m writing with appreciation forthe many years of pleasure I’ve had inreading Mr. Dorr’s work, especially the“History Mystery” column in AirPower History. Mr. Dorr is, of course,an accomplished historian and authorand I’ve read and enjoyed several ofhis many books and admired his pro-fessional and human touch.

I’m also writing with sadness atthe end of “History Mystery,” evenwhile admitting that he is well andtruly entitled to a life of ease. I’velooked forward to this piece of yourexcellent magazine over the manyyears that I’ve been a subscriber.

With thanks and deep gratitudefor publishing such a superb writer, Iremain

Respectfully,

Curt WeilPalo Alto

(Editor’s Note: Bob Dorr [at left] pro-vided a valuable resource for aircraftand combat inquiries over the years,and a very well-regarded feature in theHistory Mystery. We at Air PowerHistory miss his contributions andinterest, but understand his desire tomove onto other endeavors. We wishhim well.)

Letter


New History Mysteryby Dan Simonsen

Test your knowledge of air power history by try-ing to answer this quarter’s history quiz. Since thegoal is to educate and not merely stump readers, youshould find the multipart question, challenging butnot impossible. Good luck

In the early 1920s, the race was on to be the firstcountry to fly around the world. This feat was accom-

plished eighty-nine years ago this quarter. Whatcountry accomplished the first around the worldflight? What airplanes did they fly? How many andwhat were their names? For the real history hounds,name the pilots?

Go to page 61 to learn the answers.

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fall 2015 - volume 62, number 3 …the astronaut wives club by lily koppel review by janet tudal...

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