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It was a dark and stormy night.
No, it wasn’t. It was a lousy afternoon during the monsoon season in Vietnam.
Two of the Gunfighters out of Da Nang Air Base were about to fly their 100th mission north. Frank and Gerald were both F-4 Phantom aircraft commanders, but because they’d flown in some seven months ago on the same World Airways Stretch 8, they decided to close out their tour in the same airplane. Not normal. Not unusual. This was supposed to be a routine mission into Route Pack I: six slick Mark 82 bombs, a ferry crossing over the river, in and out. Then back to Da Nang for some champagne and a going-away party before the Stretch 8 flight back home.
Frank and Gerald were both F-4 Phantom aircraft commanders.
A bit of background on Frank and Gerald. Frank was from the Deep South, accent and all—you might call him a Cracker. Gerald was from Boston, a bona fide Chowderhead. Their accents were true to their heritage. In some ways, you might say they had a failure to communicate. That will become important later.
The mission was a twilight run. Sometimes twilight was tricky—the white belly of the Phantom would catch a glow as the sun faded behind the mountains. But it was a simple mission for the two-ship: ripple six slicks on the approach to the ford and head home. That was the plan.
What wasn’t in the plan was a Level 6 gunner roosting on a rock just north of the target with his 14.7mm AAA gun. The first guy in got off target without a scratch. Not so for Frank and Gerald. Ho’s guy stitched their Phantom with a good burst as they pulled off target. There was a bang, and the Phantom shuddered. They turned toward the Gulf, going feet wet. They climbed and radioed their status to their lead, who gave them a good vector and made the Mayday call on Guard.
This started the sequence for a Combat Search and Rescue. Actually, there was no “search”—they knew where they were, and with the radio call, so did the rescue force. They were climbing, with a fire light on the left engine, but had speed and would make the water. Rescue forces might be Big Mother Navy choppers or Jolly Greens out of Da Nang. Things seemed as normal as they could be for two guys on their last mission. Climbing, heading for feet wet.
Normal didn’t last long.
Lead confirmed the fire. Frank and Gerald began to discuss bailout procedures and options. Then it got complicated.
The mixture of Cracker and Chowder dialects, plus the stress of the moment, made cockpit communication tough. Frank was in the back seat and made a call over the interphone about the fire. Gerald rogered the fire warning: “I know we’re on fire, I’m heading for the water.”
Frank replied slowly and deliberately: “No, it’s not we’re on fire. I AM ON FIRE.”
His non-Nomex flight suit was smoldering.
Fortunately, they were feet wet—not in the water yet, but off the coast. A successful ejection followed. Both got good chutes and headed for a water landing. Jollys were inbound, and a quick pickup seemed possible.
It turned out they were closer to shore than they’d reckoned—close enough that NVA soldiers were sniping at them. Gerald cut his life raft free and hunkered down in his water wings. Frank had scrambled into his raft, just like at Water Survival School, and was getting ready to contact the inbound Jolly when he started to take fire.
Realizing the orange raft was a great target, he jumped over the side and started to swim away from it. After several strokes, he realized the raft was still attached—trailing him about eight feet behind, still a fine aiming point.
Not able to hit the release from inside the raft, he drew his trusty .38 and began to shoot it. The raft was sinking, slowly, and dragging him down. He finally hit the release, and the raft went under.
These events were reported by Gerald, who was observing, hunkered down in his water wings.
Their flight lead spotted the NVA gunners and made a pass with his 20mm, effectively suppressing them. That allowed the Air Force Jolly in their HH-3 to swoop in and pluck Frank and Gerald out of the water. They did finish their 100th mission—not exactly the way they planned—but a chopper ride was one way to complete their counter, drink their champagne, don dry flight suits, and party until the Freedom Bird left the next day.
A counter is a counter.
Epilogue
Frank and Gerald were IPs of mine in the RTU. I heard the story from them and from others at Da Nang when it happened. Different, but still exciting. Neither was invited to teach at Water Survival, but they survived a real CSAR.
They were instructor-qualified. They were just two of the IPs of that time. They all had their SEA tours. Some had been in the Guard and were called up for the Berlin Crisis—and stayed on. They were tough. Many had nicknames: Zorro, Frigate, Gator, Sailor, Big Daddy (he had a MiG kill—so did Larry). These guys weren’t classic instructors. They were rogues—rough men who flew by night and day. Sometimes, you just hung on and followed.
But you learned.
They took our quarters at the range and our dollars at the bar. They taught at the Stag Bar and the Lamas’ Club. We listened and learned. We didn’t always admire them. They were rogues from another time. Survivors of the fighter game. And we loved their lessons.
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Steve, yet another great story. Like you, it was the Franks and Geralds who were my IPs in pilot training that influenced me to follow their lead and volunteer to become a Forward Air Controller who directed you fighter guys where to drop your bombs in support of the good guys engaged in close quarter combat with the bad guys,
Great descriptions, much respect.
Hello,
I just happen to come across this site by accident; and the article about the T-39 Sabre Liner was very interesting. My mind flashed back to my 1st duty station at Andrews AFB, MD; where you would see T-39’s take off and land every day. They were from every MAJCOM the same for the T-29s as well.
On fridays sometimes or occasionally I would catch a military hop home to Langley AFB,VA on the T-29 (C-131) flight time would be normally 1 hour. However I flew on the T-39 for the 1st time (1974), I arrived at Langley in 30 minutes.
I told my retired AF Uncle about this experience as how this can be in 30 minutes. He stated by flying at a much higher altitude is the reason why I arrived home in 30 minutes. He was a jet engine mechanic. In May 1975 a T-39 had taken off on a regular routine tng flt towards the Richmond, VA area from Andrews.
All 3 members was killed when it crashed. I was notified by my military personnel casualty office where I worked to retrieve their personnel records. Only one name I still remember this day is TSgt Capen, the in-flight mechanic, and the other 2 , pilot and co-pilot. Capen is an unusual last name that sticks out.
Whenever I read about the T-39s, those 3 crew members always comes to mind. Do you have any idea as to who was the other 2 casualties in that crash and what caused it?