In the vane that The Leather Jacket was written all those years ago, I now give you... Night Raid The year is 1968. The location… Tonkin Gulf, Vietnam. The venue the USS Kitty Hawk CVA-63. I don’t know who figured out that fate was fickle, but it was a chance of nature that set into motion the air strike that would be a life and death game. It was an immensely cold Siberian high-pressure cell, a massive weather phenomenon centered near Lake Baikal deep in the Russian interior motherland that was the key. The heavy dome of densely cold air was far southward of its normal seasonal position bringing a frigid northeast continental wind flow to the Tonkin Gulf. This effect quickly created a blanket of soft gray stratified cloud mass that spread out over the north-south coastal plain of North Vietnam. The entire country was clobbered; socked in right down to the deck with cloud cover, rain and fog. It was an A-6 Night Raiders dream, and the war planners on the aircraft carrier were acutely aware of an opportunity. The A-6 Intruder is an all-weather radar equipped aircraft, stuffed with in-flight computers and black boxes. This is an aircraft that takes to the nastiest weather conditions imaginable like a duck takes to water and relishes it! And of course the men that were trained to fly this deadly machine loved it more. They knew that the attack-bomber would be a phantom. Several weeks of photo surveillance had told the intelligence people it was time to hit the Vinh air base once again and this coming night was made to order. It had been decided to send three Intruders into the North Vietnamese MIG air base with a time over target of 2230 hours. Each warplane would carry a payload of twenty seven thousand pounds of high explosive bombs, weighing more than the aircraft itself. The Intruders were prepared for the mission and then lined up on the steam catapults. I imagined them snorting and lunging like fiery stallions of war heaving at the reins. The goo was thick at the big carrier. The overcast down to three hundred feet over the gulfs surface and visibility down to one half mile in light rain and fog. The mission would be in some respect a piece of cake compared to the recovery back aboard the Hawk. The recovery would be a carrier controlled approach all the way, which means that even the best pilot must place himself and his bird into the hands of the all-seeing radar controller who sits like a god on high with your life in his hands. As normal, I prepared my in-flight cross section of the weather that would be encountered on the mission and made my way through the long passages leading to IOIC, the Integrated Operations Intelligence Center where I would present my pre-launch brief. With this kind of target weather, it would make it short and sweet, getting right to the meat of the brief including pertinent information such as target winds, altimeters, D-values, etc. There is a variety of information discussed by the INTEL briefers that is on a need to know basis, so without delay, I finished my song and dance and left the area. This Strike Mission was expected to be a good one and the brass were exited as new fathers. I had decided to watch this launch from Primary Flight Control located on the 09 level amid the Hawks island structure. Primary Flight Control is comparable with a land based Control Tower in as much as it renders the same service and functions, but aboard a carrier at sea its authority is absolute. Pri-fly is the nerve center of the flight deck and the deck is what a carrier is all about. The ship, its divisions, air groups and men are all working in co-ordination for one purpose only… to serve faithfully the big deck. When the ship is at Flight Quarters, even the bridge defers to support Primary Flight Control. If the ship had a brain, Pri-fly would be it! I had long ago gained permission to enter Pri-fly but I always made myself more or less unseen and tonight was no different. I could see the Air Boss sitting in his big leather swivel chair overlooking the deck thought the tinted safety glass windows. He was surrounded by an array of instrument panels and complex communication systems within his easy grasp. The Air Boss was the Law on the Deck, controlling not only the launching and recovery of the ships aircraft but the safe keeping and disposition of said aircraft, as well as anything that moved on the deck, whether alive or inanimate. It was subdued as usual in Pri-fly... the Boss did not like distractions. The only lighting was a soft red glow from recessed compartmentation lighting and the luminous glow of the array of instrumentation panels. The emission of light from the ship is taboo during night flight ops and should be quite understandable. Bright lights from any source could very easily distract or confuse a pilots vision while making his landing approach. A pilots only thought on approach is the decks sequence landing lights centerline and the mirror landing system. Only these friends and the landing signals officer will guide him safely aboard the carrier on return from his mission. Gazing down on the deck, I could see men busy with the preparation of the coming launch. The catapult crew was absorbed with the bridle that connects to the aircraft and slings it down a grove in the catapult at astonishing speed and force, helping to get the warplane airborne in virtual seconds. Ordnance crews had already completed the careful task of loading the three Intruders with their deadly cargo. Red and green flashlights made sweeping arcs in the darkness below, directing this or that and discharging signals that meant given specifics to key personnel. Suddenly, the throb of the powerful jet engines vibrated through the heavy glass of Pri-flys observation windows and the versatile Intruders began to inch forward to the catapults, their plane captains moving ahead of the murderous birds of prey, cautiously leading their charges to the launch position. Once the launch is ready to begin, it takes only a remarkable short period for the birds to be free to the deck and racing into the sky. The task of connecting the bridle to the catapult was quick and efficient. The flight deck officer signaled to the Intruders each in turn to bring their enormous engines to full power and then at the precise moment rotated his green light in an arc, then lowering it to a forward and horizontal plane. At that moment the launch button was punched to release the energy of hundreds of gallons of steam under fantastic pressure and sent the loaded aircraft rocketing down the deck to freedom. Then abruptly there was a grateful silence on the deck, the roar of the jet engines now long beyond the reach of human hearing.... the mission had begun. The long wait had also begun… the waiting and the wondering. Would the mission be successful? Would the men return… all or in part? In reality, the waiting would be less than two hours, so I made my way back down the steep ladders from Primary Flight Control to the hectic din of my office. There was always the work. The deafening crunch of the first returning bird hitting the deck and the ear-racking screech of the arresting gear alerted me to the elapse of time. Hastily grabbing my de-brief board; I made my way down the maze of passageways to Strike Operations, which would be the first stop of the returning aviators. This is where the pilots would give the strike planners of the mission the eagerly awaited results. With practiced steps of hundreds of times along these corridors, I arrived at Strike Ops and took up a discrete position to the rear of the room. Although the weather information must be obtained and is most important in its own right, I would have to wait my turn in order of priority. Minutes later, they began filing into the compartment. Excited voices asking questions and equally excited voices were giving answers. They had all made it! It had been a perfect system run someone shouted... in other words, all bombs had hit their targets. The Vinh Mig Base would not support the Russian built fighters for some time in the future. The weather had also been perfect, right down to the deck and the Intruders infrared guidance systems had run them in at five hundred feet, like ghosts in the night and before the defenses on the ground could respond they were in and out.... Feet wet, and on their way home! Attention on deck. Everyone froze as the Admiral and his aide entered the space. Carry on men”, said the Admiral with a hint of humor in his voice. The Admiral had wanted to get the results of the strike first hand, although he had already received reports that the mission had been a success. His face beamed with pride as the enthusiastic men told of their accounts. Then a spontaneous thing happened that I was fortunate enough to bear witness. The Admiral with the sureness of long command said to the Carrier Air Group Commander. CAG, write this up as a package deal for a Distinguished Flying Cross for these men. Send it to my desk for my signature. He then shook the hand of each aviator in turn with his congratulations. Then he turned on his heel and left the room while all remaining returned to attention. I did see CAG raise his eyebrows at the moment the Admiral had given him his order, and rightly so - the Distinguished Flying Cross is a big one - they just dont hand that one out for playing at war, you have to be in it up to your very life! Well, another day, another dollar, so they say….
Posted on: Mon, 03 Feb 2014 14:33:40 +0000
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