Page 7 - DFCS News Magazine Summer 2013

I believe we stopped denying that we had invaded Laos a few years back, so it is okay for me to admit that I had a small part
in that bit of history, known to us as Operation Lam Song 719.
Our little TA-4 team, made up primarily of Woody and me, was the red-headed step child of the Air Group. I did not ask ques- tions for which I did not want to hear the answers, but I felt that as long as we didn’t embarrass the Air Group and actually made a contribution to the Group’s success from time to time, we could just press on - Zunis in the daytime and TPQ bombing at night. When the Laotian adventure kicked off, however, someone at the Group or Wing Operations Offices actually counted us, and counted on us, as combat assets. Time for Snake Eyes and Nape. No more single aircraft; I began flying regularly as Woody’s wingman.
Napalm is nasty stuff that can turn the tide in a fight. It is jellied gasoline that, among its other virtues, sticks to beards (and vehi- cles and uniforms and whatever). Not new, nape dropped from B-29’s leveled Tokyo before we dropped the nukes. Marine A-4’s generally delivered napalm from a shallow dive, very close to the ground. Since the nape cans created no fragmentation, there was not the risk of blowing one’s self out of the sky. Grunts will report that having an A-4 come screaming overhead, and watch- ing the cans of napalm fall off the wings and onto the chaps that were, a moment ago, shooting at them, does boost the morale.
Snake Eyes were the bombs designed to match. Snake Eyes were just the same old five-hundred pounders with bolted-on fins that popped out, as the bomb departed the aircraft. The fins, para- chute-like, retarded the fall, allowing the pilot to drop them low and get out of the way before the detonation and flying frag- ments could bring him down. Common configuration had stand- off fuses on the snakes, so they exploded just above the ground. Dropping snakes and nape together was classic Marine Corps Close Air Support.
“Refresh my memory, Woody.”
“Ten degree dive. When the target fills your whole gun sight, punch, pull, and turn.”
“Got it.”
It was a very brief invasion, so I only got to do this classic mis- sion a couple of times. I recall thinking: “About time! THIS is what I went to flight school to do!”
Thirty years later I got the debrief I’d always wanted. I was hav- ing one of those “where-were-you-when. . .” conversations with a fellow who was about my age, now a contracting specialist with Clemson U. He had been an Army grunt sergeant, on the ground in Laos that day, his lieutenant badly wounded, others shot up; picture bleak. A couple of A-4’s showed up and made two passes each, dropping snake and nape. Situation did improve immedi- ately and dramatically. Got the wounded out. Thanks. Tears and hugs. And mutual respect.
Woody had said once: “Damn war is winding down, and I never got a DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross).” It is not a good thing to be flying as wingman with a leader who is motivated to earn a DFC. Besides which I had one already from my helicopter days; wasn’t focusing on getting another. Professional that he was, Woody didn’t get either of us killed. In fact, he was a fine aviator who showed very good judgment. But, once during Lam Song, the DFC comment crossed my mind.
For whatever reason, we headed north that day carrying conven- tional bombs. Woody called the frequency change and talked to the FAC. “Two Playboys with a dozen Mark-82’s.”
By Louis Watt
“Okay, Playboy, we have some artillery pieces to take out, and they are defended with 37’s.” Meaning thirty-seven millimeter anti-aircraft guns. Swell.
The routine was for the wingman to begin to fall back, as the conversa- tion with the FAC started. We would fly a racetrack pattern over the area of interest, as we finished the brief and got oriented. We were completing the first revolution with Woody and I a hundred and eighty degrees from each other, as the FAC fired a smoke rocket and de- scribed the artillery as “a couple a hundred meters west of the smoke.” The smoke was blowing away rapidly. From our altitude, I could see nothing resembling an artillery battery,or anything else that wasn’t vegetation. The FAC said:
“You’re cleared hot. Recommend attack west to east.”
Woody said: “Dash two (that would be me), you’re at a good initial point, make the first run.”
“Roger that.”
I pulled up and over, pointed the TA-4 down at about forty degrees, double checked bombs armed, and pointed at where I guessed the smoke had been. There appeared fireworks, except only black, no color - puffs not all that far from the canopy. Okay, now I know what 37mm looks like. Ugly. Focused through the bomb sight. Get on with it.
Woody said: “Who are those guys? Those guys are good!” Quoting Butch Cassidy was still cute in the spring of ’71.
I dropped half my bombs with close to zero confidence that they’d do any good.
Woody followed. Lots of black puffs.
I rolled in again, and Woody again. If nothing else, we were causing them to fire a lot of expensive 37mm.
Woody, back at the flight line, was more positive than I. He thought we had done some good bombing. We did not discuss 37mm.
The FAC reported that we had silenced the artillery positions. They didn’t die laughing; they had no sense of humor. We actually hit the bastards.
“Write it up!” Hell yes. “Disregarding withering antiaircraft fire- - - successfully attacked and destroyed - - -.” I have it on a citation some- where. I promise I’ll look it up.
No DFC for Woody, though. Months later I was called out of my Arling- ton, Virginia, USMC HQ office. My colonel and I trooped into the Gen- eral’s office where I got an Air Medal for that mission. Woody, wherev- er he was, got the same. One step down from the DFC, a single-mission air medal was okay. My general and the other grunts who heard the citation read were pleased. That’s the kind of stuff you lucky aviators should be doing for us real Marines or words to that effect. It felt good. I wish Woody had his DFC. I already had twenty eight air medals. One did get lots of them flying helicopters in the late ‘60’s.
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The Distinguished Flying Cross News