Before You Go In-Country

Before you go off to war you need training.  In my case, I had to learn to fly another airplane... The O-2A.  I had been flying a WC-135B out of Yokota Air Base, Japan (Tokyo).  That airplane was basically a Boeing 707 and the mission was supposed to be a hurricane hunter but it ended up being reconnaissance.  It was a Big Ol' Jet Airliner...

The O-2A or Cessna "Sky Master" (Ha) is a two engine high wing, 4 seat airplane.  There was one engine in front and one in the back.  A strange looking airplane.  It was just a plain old civilian airplane being asked to do something it was not meant to do.

Click here to go to a link about the O-2.

When you have an airplane with an engine in the back you can't see the rear engine.  So what if you have a fire?  So... they put a fire detector in.  In reality it was a heat sensor... and if the sun was shining in through the cowl flaps (little door to let cool air into the engine) and the sun warmed up the sensor you would get a fire light.  That gets your attention... for a while... in the end we would just fly in a different direction and wait for it to cool off and go out...

I went to a 90 day school to learn how to fly the O-2 and be a FAC.  The good part about that was we got to live on the beach in Destin, Florida for 3 months.  One Sunday evening in Destin the TV was on and 60 Minutes came on with their lead story... "The Most Dangerous Job in Vietnam".  I turned the TV off and we had a discussion about it.. Ha.  We watched the story... which was about a FAC.  The reporter actually went on missions with the pilot.  It was not the kind of information you want your pregnant bride to hear just before you ship out.  As the credits scrolled across the screen at the end of the program they came on and said ... "we regret to inform you"... the FAC had died.  Up to that point I had Martha convinced that it was the safest job in Vietnam... after all... if some one shot at me I would direct all kinds of war on them.  Of course... I was lying.

In training we learned to make war with a Cessna.  Firing the smoke rockets was fun.  We did all our training for a mission at 1500 feet above the ground.  1500 feet was deemed safe from small arms fire (rifle). 

We asked "how do we aim our smoke rocket?"

The answer was; "take this grease pencil and mark a spot on the windshield right in front of your eyes!"

Of course you look at your instructor to see if he is pulling your leg... nope... that was our gun sight...   So we learned to shoot our missiles while pointing our airplane at the ground.  You couldn't be turning or pulling extra g-forces on the airplane or the missile would curve away from the target like my golf ball does on the golf course.

 As training progressed we learned about bad things.  Like AAA... not what you think... AAA to a pilot means... Anti-Aircraft Artillery.  Big ones and little ones... not good.  Of course there were SAM's (think really fast flying telephone poles)... surface to air missiles.  What good enemy soldier would waste a million dollar plus weapon on a Cessna... an un-armed Cessna?  They hated us.  Then we learned the the SA-7 shoulder launched, heat seeking missile had arrived in-country... a present from the Russian's.  The effect the SA-7 had on many aircraft was devastating... the FAC's alone were losing 2 a day.  Not good news. I began getting morning sickness along with Martha... who was getting close to 5 months pregnant when I left.  She was having trouble with toothpaste and I was having trouble with dying.

In FAC school I met up with 2 other guys and we became close friends and ended up rooming together at Da Nang.  I can only remember their first names... Chuck and Randy.  When I say "we" as I write, I am thinking Joe, Randy and Chuck.

After FAC School we went on to water survival school at Homestead AFB in Florida.  We para-sailed off of a boat and then we would disconnect from the tow rope and parachute into Biscayne Bay. They would boat up to us and watch us tread water and blow up a one man raft and climb into it... and of course you had to try your best not get tangled up in your parachute and drown.  The rafts were designed to inflate automatically but we were training for the worse case.  We floated for an hour or so and eventually a helicopter would come and pick us up.

BTW if you are ever stranded in a high water crossing and a helicopter drops you a rope to rescue you, let the rope hit the ground or water before you touch it. Static electricity builds up and can give you a big shock.

  Soon we were done with Florida and it was time to leave Martha with her parents in Los Alamos, New Mexico and go up to Spokane, Washington (Fairchild AFB) for Basic Survival School.  We said goodbye at the Albuquerque airport on Memorial Day 1972.

Basic Survival School taught us to evade the enemy and survive as a POW (Prisoner of War).  We were forced to crawl across a field and ravine on our bellies at night.  That was the first time I learned I was allergic to some grass or whatever was growing in that field... I was a mess.  There were trip wires in the field and if you hit one it set off a flare and you were captured.  I crawled all the way to the end of that field  and then I was captured... everyone was captured.  

We learned the techniques that were used in interrogation.  It became obvious to us that it is very hard to not become a propaganda tool for the enemy.  We were in POW camp for 3 days.  We were fed rice and fish heads... all very salty.  We were given very little water.  Eventually they would pick someone out and give that person water to try to fracture the group. Very divisive.  

In POW camp we were put in isolation in tiny cells and were not allow to lay down or sleep.  The ceilings were so low that you couldn't stand either.  We were also forced into tiny metal boxes that they would adjust so you could barely cram yourself into them... while they were screaming and cursing at you.  The idea here was to not let them know you could get smaller and win a little victory by having a little extra space in that metal box.  POW camp was all about small victories, while planning to escape.

I found out I was going to have a weekend off in the middle of training so Martha flew up to Spokane so we could have one last weekend together before  I left for Nam.  My parents lived 80 miles away and she stayed with them and we said goodbye the following weekend.

Basic Survival School ended up with a 3 day trek in the forest up by my parents house.  Our group of about 10 guys were given a live rabbit and a potato for each man... the idea was for us to make rabbit stew.  No one wanted to kill that rabbit.  To avoid having to kill that rabbit I volunteered to go get water.   Two of us hiked to the Pend O'reille (pronounced Ponder Ray) Creek (that creek drained into the lake were my parents lived)... it would have been easy to pretend to be lost for the three days of my trek... Martha was very close.  

I had hidden in the lining of my clothes a fish hook, line and a small container of salmon eggs (fish bait) and I intended to fish and surprise my buddies with a good dinner.  I tried for a long time to get a big beautiful trout to take my bait... he just looked at it... so much for being a fisherman... I'm still not very good at it.  The hike back to our make shift camp took too long and it was getting dark.  I thought we were hopelessly lost so I stopped to take a good look at my map and while holding my tiny little compass and looking at the terrain I realized we were actually standing right in the middle of our camp and everyone was somewhere else trying to kill and clean a rabbit without any knives or tools.  Soon we were cooking rabbit stew.  After 3 days in the forest we were picked up by helicopter and we were done.

Martha and I remember being at a beautiful park on the Spokane River near the falls... we were watching long haired guys throwing frisbees with their girl friends... it was sad to be leaving my pregnant wife and going to war... I would rather have stayed in that park and thrown the frisbee.  The hotel where we spent our last night together is still by the airport in Spokane.  I have passed by it many times with very strong memories.

We flew to McChord AFB in the Seattle area and caught a charter airliner for the far east.

Next came Jungle Survival School (lovingly called Snake School) at Clark Air Base, Manila, Philippines.  Snake school was interesting, a bunch of us posed  for photographs while holding a 20ft long python... we learned about snakes... and I hate snakes. 

We were required to practice "E and E" (escape and evade) in the jungle.  We were told to go E and E... and hide... I think we hid for 3 hours.  Native Filipino's (barefoot dudes with little clothes) were sent out to find us and when they found us we gave them a chit for a pound of rice.  I am going to guess that there were a hundred of us hiding in the jungle and the natives found all but 3 of us.  I was hiding up in a tree... to stay away from the snakes... did I mention I hate snakes?  They found me pretty quick.  The guys they didn't find had hidden in the nastiest places filled with nasty critters... they actually buried themselves in all sorts of decaying jungle rot.  In truth we all figured if a bunch of bad guys were really hunting us ... nasty critters were much better than nasty people.

We spent a day in the jungle learning what to eat from the natives.  We ate well... we even ate ants.  Then we spent the night in the jungle.  Lots of things glow at night in the jungle and it is not very quiet.  The animals sound just like I have heard in movies.  We made hammocks out of parachutes and hung in the trees... hopefully above the snakes...  As the night went on the parachute hammock drooped and you tried sleeping all folded up... no sleep was had... I kept wondering if a snake could reach my drooping hammock...

Next we were heading "In Country"...