At the beginning of October 1967, the New York Times announced that U.S. casualties surpassed 100,000, with 13,643 killed and 86,635 wounded. The toll tripled over the next year as the American commitment peaked. As Oriskany sailed south from Sasebo, the JCS continued pressuring President Johnson to remove the restrictions around Hanoi. Following the Stennis hearings, Earle Wheeler, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, suffered a heart attack. With Army Chief of Staff Gen. Harold Johnson filling in, the JCS presented McNamara with an updated target list. It included draft execute orders lifting the Hanoi ban and authorizing strikes on Phuc Yen.1 McNamara demurred, and the restrictions stayed, allowing North Vietnam time to fortify its defenses. Oriskany arrived on Yankee Station on 5 October as the latest peace initiatives failed. That same day, ten MiGs attacked an incoming air strike from Intrepid. Outnumbered, the Skyhawk pilots fought for their lives during a ten-minute-long air battle north of the airfield at Kien An. Under pressure from conservatives, President Johnson was unwilling to pay the domestic political price for further failed peace talks and acquiesced to their calls for escalation. The next day, he approved six new targets in Haiphong, including the MiG base at Kien An. Three days later, the Tuesday luncheon approved another major escalation, and the air war accelerated.2
As a result of the heavy action and subsequent losses, the month quickly became known as Black October. Except for a two-day lull in the action due to Typhoon Carla, favorable weather allowed maximum efforts for the entire month. Oriskany flew two Alpha strikes each day, and, depending on the ship’s status as the day or night carrier, nightly armed reconnaissance missions either preceded or followed them. The pace quickened and losses grew. On average, the air wing lost a plane every two days throughout October. While the losses could not compare with those of the first line period, they were still appalling. After four months of continuous combat, pilots realized the odds of surviving until another carrier relieved them. The tyranny of the present prevailed. False bravado masked the fact that men were terrified and tired from continuous combat. Superstitious by nature, pilots onboard Oriskany became even more so. Routine preflight rituals became dogma. VA-164 eventually lost three Skyhawks with “Lady Jessie” markings. VF-162 lost three Crusaders numbered 206, and pilots became reluctant to fly the replacement.3 Even Dr. Addeeb began flying regular missions with VA-163. Cdr. Bryan Compton saw that he got the necessary carrier landing qualifications in August, and he became part of the Saints’ roster. Each night, the air wing operations officer, Lt. Cdr. Buck Sheeley, called the squadrons to check the number of available aircraft and pilots. Before October VA-163’s duty officer had duly responded, “Twelve pilots, plus Doc.” By October it was no longer “plus Doc” but rather “thirteen pilots.” Of course, Captain Holder didn’t like it, but he didn’t have any other choice except to try and limit him to tanker missions. Even then, Dr. Addeeb flew feet-dry during several of his nearly eighty missions.4
During October the personality conflict between CAG Shepherd and Bryan Compton finally came to a head. Shepherd realized his shortcomings more than anyone and put his confidence in his two attack squadron commanding officers and their senior strike leads. As did any mortal man facing death on a daily basis, Shepherd struggled with the enormity of the missions and the constant losses. The problem was that Compton was not an average aviator. He was the best, and fearless as well. Compton expected the same level of commitment from all men, but not everyone measured up to his standards, not even Shepherd. During a mission earlier in the cruise, a junior pilot screamed over the radio as volumes of AAA greeted them over their target. Compton tersely replied, “Shut up and die like a man.”5 Other stories involved Compton flying low and slow over estuaries near Haiphong, using his landing lights during twilight to identify ship names and nationality.6 Compounding the issue was Compton’s almost legendary status following the August power plant raid. Three of the four Navy Crosses awarded to the air wing during 1967 went to Compton and other Saints. Cdr. Doug Mow, VA-164’s commanding officer, proved himself just as capable as Compton, though he too was often overshadowed by Compton. Intelligent and judicious, Mow offered a paternalistic leadership style that became the soft sell to Compton’s hard sell. Together, their leadership helped pull the air wing through Black October, dominating the air battles and the strong personalities. It was a terrible and deadly time. Without them, it likely would have been much worse.
Two days after arriving on the line, the air wing lost one of its stalwart aviators. A veteran of all three cruises, Lt. Dave “Rock” Hodges was one of the most experienced and respected men in the air wing. The development of the Iron Hand mission is personified in his story. A former captain in the air force, Hodges previously flew B-47s. Following an interservice transfer, he became a lieutenant and joined VA-164. He often regaled the ready room with his stories of the Strategic Air Command, describing his transfer as having “escaped Curtis LeMay.” (The cigar-chomping air force chief of staff earned his reputation by building the United States’ nuclear forces from the ground up. A strategic bombing zealot, LeMay was well known for his strict regulations and demand for high performance by all men.) Cdr. Jack Shaw, VA-164’s commanding officer in 1965 (and a colorful character himself), assigned Dave Hodges the call sign “Rock” after the 1963 Rock Hudson movie, Gathering of Eagles, about the air force.7
Rock Hodges quickly became the air wing’s electronic warfare expert. A natural intellect, he began researching the new APR-25 and ALQ-51 as the equipment became available. Rock then taught his squadron mates and the air wing about the sounds and bearing information provided by the gear. As a result, his reputation grew. With the introduction of the Shrike missile, VA-164 became one of the first fleet squadrons to carry it. Once again, Rock naturally learned the intricacies of the missile and spread his knowledge. He personally developed many of the Iron Hand tactics used by the navy during the war. In particular, he realized that he could launch Zuni rockets to trick the SAM operators into shutting off their radars.8 Doing so not only preserved precious Shrikes but increased their lethality, allowing him to hunt even more SAMs. Rock Hodges also realized that the North Vietnamese listened to their radio frequencies, so he’d call “Shotgun,” the code word indicating that a Shrike had been fired. If the North Vietnamese were listening, they often shut down their radars. If they did not shut them down, he followed with an actual Shrike.9
Few could match Rock Hodges’s tenacity in the air during Iron Hand missions. He was a tiger. Fighter pilots dreaded the thought of escorting him while he hunted SAMs.10 One story from the second line period of 1967 cemented his celebrated status among the air wing. Rock Hodges was flying as part of a flak suppression element during a strike over Haiphong. As they neared the target, radar-controlled AAA began tracking him. With each air burst getting successively closer, Rock calmly radioed, “Nice shootin’, soldier! Now take this!” Whereupon he rolled in and dropped his cluster bombs on the offending gun emplacements.11 Men felt better knowing he was dueling with SAMs, suppressing the defenses so they could make it to the target.
On 7 October Oriskany launched a morning Alpha strike against the rail yards at Do Xa, just south of Hanoi. In order to suppress the defenses, the number of Iron Hand and flak suppression aircraft nearly outnumbered the bombers. As the raid neared the target, Rock Hodges began sparring with several SAM sites in the area. While he concentrated on one site, the North Vietnamese fired two missiles from a different site. Both missiles successfully tracked Hodges’s Skyhawk, and he never saw them. Though the first SA-2 missed, the second missile hit him. His shattered Skyhawk rolled right and crashed into a ridgeline, taking with it one of Oriskany’s best and brightest. Hodges epitomized the warrior ethos, and, as it had with Perry, his loss resonated throughout the air wing. Now the air wing would be flying missions into the heart of the Iron Triangle without their preeminent SAM killer.
The next day, Oriskany launched a major effort against the MiG base at Kien An. Cdr. Bill Span, VA-164’s executive officer, led the twenty-one-plane strike against the newly authorized target. Low clouds obscured the airfield until the last possible moment, though Span spotted it through a break in the weather. Barrage fire from 85, 57 and 37 mm AAA bracketed the opening. Miraculously, not an airplane was hit. Span put his bombs on the runway centerline, as did four other Skyhawks. Others destroyed the taxiways and aircraft revetments. The mission was a success and rendered a valuable MiG base unusable, though Phuc Yen still remained untouched. Unfortunately, the loss of a valuable E-1B Tracer spoiled the day. Following the Kien An mission, the early warning aircraft from VAW-11 landed at Chu Lai to refuel before the afternoon Alpha strike. Shortly after takeoff, the crew became disoriented in bad weather and crashed into the mountains northwest of Da Nang. The loss of the entire crew forced their small detachment to stand down for several days until a replacement aircraft and crew could be flown to the Oriskany.
On 9 October VA-164’s Lt. (junior grade) Larry Cunningham was shot down for the second time that cruise. He held the unfortunate distinction of being the air wing’s first loss in July, just weeks after joining VA-164. No one had seen him get hit during their first day, though he successfully managed to nurse his crippled Skyhawk back. With the recovery complete, the flight deck was fouled with sailors preparing airplanes for upcoming missions. As his squadron mates met on the flight deck to ascertain his status, Cunningham flew alongside and ejected. The Oriskany’s plane guard quickly rescued him. As he exited the helicopter, soaking wet from his recent swim, he asked his flight lead, Lt. Cdr. Denis Weichman, and Cdr. Bill Span, “How long is this cruise going to last?”12 Four months later, he repeated the experience, this time ejecting near the SAR destroyer. Larry Cunningham would have more close calls before the month ended.
By mid-October the Johnson administration had seemingly lost control both in the United States and in Vietnam. On the political front, despite Secretary McNamara’s efforts to the contrary, the Stennis hearings resulted in a steady escalation of the air war. Now, because of these escalations, doves were just as displeased as Hawks. On the home front, a week of antiwar protests occurred throughout the country, with clashes in Oakland, California, and on several college campuses. Despite a general disdain from the American public for campus revolutionaries, the number of protests continued to grow. As antiwar fervor increased, the protests grew more violent. Following the violence that marked the summer of 1967, the country was definitely on edge.
On 18 October air operations over North Vietnam came to a halt as Super Typhoon Carla swept through the South China Sea. At the same time (17 October in the United States), President Johnson overruled Secretary McNamara during their Tuesday luncheon. The meeting drew major media attention because the country realized another major escalation was in the offing. While Johnson continued to draw the line at mining Haiphong and bombing the Gia Lam airfield, he finally acquiesced to striking the MiGs at Phuc Yen. Unfortunately, because of poor weather, the strikes were postponed for several days. In the interim, the North Vietnamese concentrated their defenses around Hanoi. When the weather cleared, aviators faced the greatest concentration of air defense firepower of the war: fourteen AAA regiments and twelve separate AAA battalions totaling more than 1,000 guns, as well as twenty-six missile battalions with 156 launchers—more than 80 percent of North Vietnam’s entire missile force.13
The skies began clearing on 21 October, and Rolling Thunder resumed. That same weekend, massive demonstrations crippled Washington DC. The demonstrations began at the Lincoln Memorial with as many as one hundred thousand people protesting the war. Later, at least fifty thousand marched on the Pentagon. Famous photographs of the day’s events juxtaposed young protesters placing flowers in the gun barrels of soldiers guarding the Pentagon. The sight of thousands of mostly peaceful protesters being confronted by armed troops in the nation’s capital did not reassure the country or the president.14 Polarization threatened to tear the country apart, and unfortunately the worst was yet to come, as escalations approved the week prior had yet to occur. By the end of the week, virtually all military and economic targets in North Vietnam that could be considered significant would be bombed. Only five of the targets identified during the Stennis hearings remained untouched, and six of the seven MiG bases had been struck.
Around noon on 23 October, Seventh Air Force bases in Thailand and CTF-77 carriers on Yankee Station finally received approval to strike Phuc Yen, the VPAF’s primary jet base and home of twenty frontline MiG fighters, as well as Air Defense Headquarters.15 Located 11 nautical miles northwest of downtown Hanoi, the base remained the number six priority target recommended by the JCS. “Frag orders,” or the abbreviated daily operations orders from the White House, directed four separate navy and air force strikes timed to hit the airfield at fifteen-minute intervals. The air force would lead the first two air strikes, bombing the runway, while the navy would follow with another two strikes, bombing taxiways and aircraft revetments. Morale among the pilots soared as the wings began planning and men volunteered to fly on such a historic mission.
Tuesday, 24 October, dawned hot and hazy with broken clouds as crews began briefing for their missions. F-105 Thunderchiefs from the 355th Tactical Fighter Wing (TFW) led the strikes. Per a contract known as “The Snoopy” (a daily message sent between the fighter wings in Thailand to coordinate mission details), F-4 Phantoms from the legendary Col. Robin Olds’s Eighth TFW provided two strike flights and MiG CAPs to the 355th.16 F-105s from the 388th TFW made the second strike wave. As they rocketed down Thud Ridge, F-105 pilots fought through moderate SAMs and AAA before hitting the airfield with 2,000-pound bombs. They cratered over half of the runway, while F-4 pilots dropped cluster munitions on revetments and parked MiGs. Wild Weasels destroyed three SAM sites near Hanoi, and an air force Phantom shot down a MiG-21. Two of the MiGs managed to get airborne during the first wave’s bombing run and maneuvered behind the F-105s before the alert Phantom crew shot one of them down with their 20 mm gun pod.17 Several of the sixty-four aircraft in the first two raids suffered damage, though none were lost. They exited the target area as the third wave from Coral Sea appeared.
CVW-15 aboard Coral Sea launched fifty-two aircraft led by their CAG, Cdr. James Linder. This package, consisting of thirty-six Skyhawks and sixteen Phantoms, crossed the coast northeast of Thanh Hoa and proceeded west before turning north to avoid Hanoi’s heavy defenses. At a prearranged point, CAG split his strike package, taking half the planes to attack from the south, while the remainder flew on to attack from the north. Constant audio cues from SAMs and AAA forced pilots to turn off their RWR systems in order to hear radios that were becoming inaudible from constant MiG alerts and SAM warnings during the air force strikes. The southern group came under such intense fire from Hanoi that the aviators stopped trying to visually track SAMs and blindly jinked to their roll-in point.18 As they dove on the airfield, two Phantoms providing TARCAP were hit by SAMs. The Skyhawks were met by a tremendous barrage of AAA. A terrified Skyhawk pilot called, “CAG’s hit!” AAA knocked out Linder’s radio, hitting his wingman and a division leader within the strike element. But Linder continued, successfully bombing the eastern taxiways and earning a Silver Star for his actions—his second of three Silver Stars in three days. As they pulled off target, the next group rolled in from the north. A thin cloud layer from 2,000 to 3,000 feet obscured their targets, and VA-155’s Cdr. William Searfus circled his Skyhawks over the airfield until he found an opening that allowed him to successfully bomb the western taxiways.19 Coral Sea’s airplanes formed up in a somewhat ragged stream headed southwest and low to clear the SAM range amid the relative safety of the mountains. As they proceeded out, they passed Oriskany’s air wing en route to Phuc Yen with the final wave.20
Oriskany launched a strike of twenty-three Skyhawks with twelve F-8 Crusaders as escorts, as well as eight Iron Hand aircraft. Led by VA-164’s commanding officer, Cdr. Doug Mow, they also skirted the North Vietnamese defenses by flying around Hanoi. As with Coral Sea’s strike, the skies erupted as Oriskany’s aircraft left the relative safety of the mountains. The skies were marked with smoke trails from countless SAM launches as Crusaders rolled in for the suppression runs. All of Oriskany’s Skyhawks managed to hit the taxiways and revetments, despite the heavy resistance. VA-163’s Lt. (junior grade) Vance Schufeldt was hit by a burst of 37 mm AAA as he pulled up following his attack, the only damage incurred in the strike.
The strikes on Phuc Yen required extraordinary efforts from the men tasked with suppressing the defenses. The North Vietnamese fired 107 SAMs on the 24th—nearly all in the vicinity of Phuc Yen. Initially, the Vietnamese missile controllers were confused by the different jammers used by air force and navy aircraft. The navy’s ALQ-51 jammers were more easily countered, and as a result, they bore the burden of the SAMs fired. Thirty-two SAMs were fired at Oriskany’s aircraft during their six minutes over the airfield.21 VA-164’s Lt. Cdr. Denis Weichman led the Oriskany’s Iron Hand mission. His division of Skyhawks, plus their Crusader escorts, had their work cut out for them. Weichman and his Crusader wingman, Lt. Cdr. Dick Schaffert, quickly destroyed one of the fifteen confirmed SAM sites in the vicinity. As they hunted, multiple SAM launches forced the entire element down to lower altitudes, where AAA took its toll. Two Skyhawks were quickly hit, including Weichman’s. With Schaffert in trail, Weichman attacked a second SAM site. As the pair defended against missiles from nearly every direction, Weichman’s jet took more hits. Weichman’s attack destroyed the site, but one burst of AAA destroyed the nose of his Skyhawk and knocked out his radio and navigational equipment. Weichman remembered, “Some shrapnel hit the nose of the airplane. The navigation system was lost. I became separated from the rest of the flight, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how to get back to the gulf. My only navigation reference was visual, and I couldn’t remember whether the sun came up in the east and set in the west, or vice versa.”22 With two sites destroyed and Oriskany’s aircraft out of harm’s way, Schaffert led Weichman back to the gulf. Their recovery was uneventful, and once they were aboard Oriskany, sailors counted more than 140 holes in Weichman’s Skyhawk. Weichman received the Silver Star for destroying two SAM sites during the raid, while Schaffert received the Distinguished Flying Cross for escorting him.23
Tactically and operationally, the strikes carried out on 24 October were successful. That the staffs of four geographically separate wings planned and executed joint raids involving over 150 aircraft was no small feat. Nearly every air force and navy aircraft involved in the strike hit its assigned target, rendering the runway unusable with eighteen direct bomb hits. The strikes destroyed five MiG-21s and five MiG-17s in their revetments, and one MiG-21 was shot down. Wild Weasels and Iron Hand escorts destroyed five SAM sites. Because most of the twenty MiGs then based at Phuc Yen had been caught on the ground and the remaining MiGs had fled to China, this proved a particularly stiff blow.
Following the strikes, the North Vietnamese immediately began filling the craters in an attempt to repair the runway. Although nighttime air strikes by marine Intruder squadrons stationed at Da Nang hampered these efforts, the craters had been filled by daybreak on 25 October. More strikes were required to keep the base from becoming operational. Thus the next day would be a repeat, with the air force tasked to bomb the runway while the navy bombed aircraft revetments and facilities at the embattled airfield.
On the morning of 25 October, the 355th and 388th TFWs attacked Phuc Yen for the second time in twenty-four hours. Although they didn’t have as many SAMs available, the Vietnamese added more AAA batteries during the evening. This meant that any strike was certain to meet heavy resistance. To execute their attack, the 355th split into four waves, crossing the runway at one-minute intervals. The second F-105 across the target was lost to AAA, and as they rocketed across the air field, tension was high—one Thud pilot accidentally fired an AIM-9 Sidewinder while dropping his bombs. The 388th TFW was jumped by eight MiG-17s, which managed to sneak behind the Thuds before being spotted. The last four-ship in the wave selected afterburner and broke into the MiGs. The flight jettisoned their ordnance, which coincidentally caused the MiGs to break off the engagement as they evaded the falling drop tanks and bombs. Air force pilots reported that the runway had indeed been repaired, though they succeeded in putting another four strings of bombs across the runway.
Coral Sea suffered a minor setback that morning when a Zuni rocket ignited during testing below decks. The rocket, the same type that had started the Forrestal fire, penetrated a bulkhead on the mess decks and critically injured nine sailors. Her sailors had taken heed from the Oriskany and Forrestal fires and quickly extinguished the blaze, allowing the ship to launch her morning strikes on schedule. Her air wing launched fifty-two aircraft, which followed the same westerly route as the day prior. They intercepted Thud Ridge to better protect them from the rugged Hanoi defenses, and the plan paid off. Coral Sea’s airplanes made it to the field unmolested and destroyed AAA emplacements and aircraft revetments without losing any aircraft.
Aboard Oriskany, CVW-16’s raid also mirrored the previous day’s strike, though they suffered one loss and several damaged aircraft. CAG Shepherd led twenty-three Skyhawks and twelve Crusaders on the long westerly route. Severe haze and broken clouds made it difficult to find the airfield as the strike package raced along the deck in unfamiliar terrain. As the strike package left the mountains, VA-164’s Cdr. Bill Span watched with growing apprehension as CAG appeared to not see the airfield. With their RWR gear screaming audio alerts, warning him became impossible. AAA filled the sky, and Span feared that if they flew any farther, the entire raid would be unable to make their dive profiles, leaving them even more vulnerable to the AAA. With the airfield passing off their right wing, Span tersely announced he had the target in sight and began his attack—ahead of Shepherd.24
Before the main strike left the safety of the mountains, three Skyhawks from VA-163 detached from the larger package and flew ahead to begin individual Walleye attacks on the control tower, hangar, and Air Defense Headquarters. The A-4s were immediately targeted by the defenses. Four SAMs flew through their formation. As they dodged the missiles, Lt. (junior grade) Vance Schufeldt was hit by AAA for the second time in two days. Intent on mission success, Schufeldt proceeded to guide his first Walleye into the control tower, destroying it. He continued over the airfield and attacked the Air Defense Headquarters with his second Walleye. Throughout, Schufeldt recorded the mission with a hand-held camera, providing some of the only footage of the strike’s success. The heavy defenses surrounding Phuc Yen made poststrike reconnaissance missions a near-suicidal task, and his pictures provided the only assessment of all four strikes. For his actions, Schufeldt was awarded the Silver Star.25
While the Walleye flight delivered their precision weapons, CVW-16’s main strike group arrived overhead the airfield amid intense AAA. Barrage fire and SAMs quickly damaged two Skyhawks as they rolled in on their assigned revetments and the taxiway linking them to the runway. Bill Span’s four-plane division destroyed three MiG-21s in their revetments. Lt. Cdr. John McCain was further credited with the destruction of two MiGs caught on the ground. Unfortunately, Lt. (junior grade) Jeffrey Krommenhoek, a recent replacement pilot for VA-163’s depleted ranks, was last seen rolling in on his assigned target. No one saw him get hit, and the defenses did not permit a search of the area.
As with the previous day, the Iron Hand division faced stiff resistance. The North Vietnamese fired eighty-three SAMs during the four raids, thirty-six of them at Oriskany’s aircraft.26 Lt. Cdr. Bob Arnold led four Skyhawks and four Crusader escorts in a mission that resulted in his second Distinguished Flying Cross in three days. AAA quickly damaged one of the escorts as they penetrated the western SAM rings in an attempt to draw SAMs away from the main group. Arnold had just destroyed one SAM site 2 miles west of Hanoi when another site fired two missiles at him. Arnold outmaneuvered the missiles and then attacked the offending site with his last Shrike.
Arnold’s last attack forced the North Vietnamese to shut down their missile guidance radars, allowing Oriskany’s airplanes to successfully retire from Phuc Yen. As he followed them out of harm’s way, Arnold flew over a previously unknown auxiliary fighter strip 15 miles west of Hanoi. Glancing down, he was startled to see a MiG parked near the end of the runway. Not willing to pass up such a lucrative target, Arnold delivered his remaining bombs on the hapless MiG.27
The hazy visibility and poor weather added to the confusion as airplanes escaped from Phuc Yen. Ever vigilant for MiGs, Oriskany’s TARCAP narrowly avoided disaster when Cdr. Cal Swanson fired a Sidewinder at an Iron Hand Skyhawk misidentified as a MiG-17. The Skyhawk pilot, Lt. (junior grade) Larry Cunningham, was saved by a timely break-left call from his wingman, VF-111’s Lt. (junior grade) Carl Stattin. After being shot down twice already, Cunningham was not happy about this latest affront. It was bad enough that the North Vietnamese were trying to kill him daily, but to have a senior officer almost shoot him down was too much.28 It was a terrible and deadly time, and stress began to take its toll—the last week of October is remembered as a blur by most. Men naturally flocked to the superiors who enhanced their chances at survival. Shepherd’s difficulty in finding the target, plus the terse words between Span and himself that followed the mission, only added to the stress.29
As always, events in Washington transpired to limit the Phuc Yen raid’s impact. The second day of raids destroyed another ten MiGs and put another eighteen craters in the runway. Unfortunately, at the same time, the Tuesday luncheon removed authorization for further strikes on the MiG base while adding targets such as the Hanoi and Uong Bi power plants. This restriction allowed the North Vietnamese to begin repairing the airfield and fly in replacements for the twenty MiGs destroyed during the two days. Without the ability to maintain pressure on Phuc Yen, the effort was wasted. Nothing changed, and soon MiGs from Phuc Yen were attacking American aircraft with no fear of reprisal.
The low point of 1967 for CVW-16 was 26 October. The somber day marked the one-year anniversary of the hangar deck fire. But the men were too tired and too numb. They had simply suffered too much during the past months. For most, this day would be their fourth day in a row of strikes into Hanoi. As a result of the previous day’s targeting luncheon, the air wing was tasked with destroying the Hanoi thermal power plant. Unlike the previous raid, which was a point of pride with VA-163, there was not enough time to design an elaborate raid as part of other strikes. The air wing would have to fight its way into Hanoi alone.
As pilots were briefed for the mission, they began comprehending the overwhelming defenses they faced. Following three days of strikes to Hanoi, Lew Chatham, the assistant strike operations officer, fully expected to lose pilots. Lt. Cdr. John McCain pleaded with Lt. Cdr. Jim Busey to be put on VA-163’s flight schedule for the mission. Busey, who referred to McCain, the new guy, as “Gregory Green-Ass,” relented. On board for less than a month, McCain was still too new to be apprehensive about the mission that lay ahead.30
That afternoon, Oriskany launched eighteen planes, led by Shepherd. The target lay in the very middle of Hanoi, and there was no easy way to minimize the risk. Shepherd led the strike west of the city, so if anyone was hit, at least they’d be flying toward the gulf. It also helped that they would be flying away from the setting sun, making life harder on the Vietnamese gunners. Shortly after going feet-dry, the defenses began tracking the strike. Flying at medium altitudes, the pilots were in the heart of the defenses. With RWR gear blaring in their helmets, pilots watched as the sky erupted with “intense and accurate” 57 and 85 mm AAA. McCain later recalled the raid: “The closer we came to the target the fiercer were the defenses. . . . We were now maneuvering through a nearly impassable obstacle course of antiaircraft fire and flying telephone poles. They [SAMs] scared the hell out of me. We normally kept pretty good radio discipline throughout a run, but there was a lot of chatter that day as pilots called out SAMs.”31
As the strike approached the city center, poor weather once again conspired against Shepherd. Lt. Cdr. Buck Sheeley managed to find the power plant on the edge of Truc Bach Lake and talked Shepherd’s eyes onto it. They were so close that Shepherd was again putting his dive profile at risk. Sheeley dove down, leading his wingman, VA-164’s Lt. (junior grade) Frederic Knapp, through tracking AAA fire. Despite barrage fire blanketing their release altitude, Sheeley still destroyed the pumping station serving the power plant.
As the number three position in CAG’s division, McCain made his dive on the target with a SAM warning screaming in his ears. He was hit immediately after dropping his bombs, and the blast blew off his starboard wing.32 His Skyhawk plummeted in an inverted spin, and McCain ejected. The force of the ejection knocked him unconscious, breaking his right leg at the knee, his left arm, and his right arm in three places. McCain parachuted into Truc Bach Lake and came to as he plunged beneath the water. Using his good leg, he kicked off the bottom of the lake, only to sink again. On the third try, McCain managed to use his teeth to pull the inflation toggle on his life preserver and float to the surface. He was immediately set upon by angry locals, who swam out to drag him from the water. They proceeded to beat him—McCain was stroked with a rifle butt and eventually bayoneted before a North Vietnamese soldier arrived to control the crowd and haul him off to prison.
The Iron Hand division faced an impossible task as they fought to suppress the defenses. Lt. Cdr. Bob Arnold earned his third Distinguished Flying Cross in four days for his efforts. During planning, he identified the most dangerous SAM sites and assigned two to each of the Skyhawks. As the strike approached Hanoi, Arnold destroyed one SAM site 2 miles east of the city, following his Shrike to the site and bombing missiles on their launch rails. But the defenses were just too great. Before McCain was lost, a SAM brought down one of the flak suppression Crusaders flown by Lt. (junior grade) Chuck Rice, one of VF-162’s August replacements. Rice saw two missiles tracking him as they began their bombing runs. His Crusader was loaded with bombs, and he didn’t have enough airspeed to escape the first missile. Rice attempted the last-ditch evasive maneuver and thought he’d made it. As he rolled wings level, the missile impacted. He later recalled the experience:
I daresay what I’m about to tell happened in no more than three to six seconds, but it seemed much longer. It hit, a tremendous jolt, and scared the shit out of me. Fire came into the cockpit. I got burned on my eyelids and neck and hands. I had vowed I would not jump out of an airplane as long as I had altitude and could make it go. . . . Well, it won’t fly. “You’re going to die.” I said that out loud. . . .
I pulled. The next sensation I felt was a violent tumbling. I didn’t feel the seat separate, the chute come out—just tumbling. Suddenly I’m in a totally different war than I was familiar with. The war I’d fought till this point involved the sound of my own jet engine and the radio voices of men either high-pitched panic or calm and cool, with puffs of exploding flak outside my canopy, and the white contrails of jets streaming around.
Soon as I punched out, it’s windy and I’m hearing all this noise. Flak and missiles exploding, the roar of bombs going off, the sound of the whole strike group, instead of just the sound of my engine. And the smell! Even that high up I could already smell North Vietnam. Night soil used as fertilizer. The country smelled like shit.
There I was. If you’ve ever seen a five-year-old kid who just lost his mother in a shopping mall, that’s what you’ve got in that parachute floating down. Mrs. Rice’s little boy, Chuckie, age twenty-four. It was the worst despair I’d ever felt in my life. And I started to cry. I said, “This can’t be happening to me.” Floating down. Tears pouring out of my eyes.33
As the strike group flew back to Oriskany, their numbness masked the toll. The strike had been successful, but it came at great cost. While the damaged power plant burned for days, men struggled to cope with the stress and constant losses. Lt. (junior grade) George Schindelar was Shepherd’s wingman, and when he didn’t see the target, it delayed their dive to the point they dove at too steep an angle. Schindelar had almost flown into the lake trying to pull out from a 65-degree dive, and he was livid. During his debrief, he angrily told both Doug Mow and Bill Span that he refused to fly again with CAG Shepherd. Both men calmly told him to be quiet, and he’d fly with whomever he was assigned. Rear Admiral Richardson was so pleased with the results that he told his staff to submit whoever led the strike for a Navy Cross. The whole incident left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth and further polarized the air wing at a time when they could least afford it.
And so it went. The Alpha strikes continued twice a day, with missions to the Uong Bi power plant, the ferry at Kim Quan, and more. The days blurred together as men kept flying, believing North Vietnam to be on the brink of defeat. But the chance for victory, so close in September, had passed. The seeming fury unleashed by President Johnson proved to be nothing more than an impotent fit of rage.