The EB-66

MiG Bait

 In the Spring of 1972 the North Vietnamese offensive into South Vietnam was blunted and the NVA was being driven back.  Still, the NV Air Force was more aggressive than it had been in recent times.  Earlier in the Spring they had tried to ambush a B-52 flight of three that was dropping on Mu Gia Pass.  That mission had a larger than usual support element because the MiGs were becoming such a threat:  in addition to the usual flight of two Wild Weasels and two EB-66s, there was a flight of four F-4Ds that were supposed to be providing protection against the MiG threat. 

It was something like 0300 when the strike went in.  Our ground radar sites were transmitting MiG warnings because of activity between Than Hoa and Vinh.  It turned out that MiG was the diversion.  Another MiG launched undetected and stayed below radar coverage until it got within range of the B-52s that were preparing to puke a lot of Mark 82s onto Mu Gia Pass.  When the MiG got within range, the pilot lit the afterburner and started a high-performance climb toward the B-52 formation.  The Wild Weasel and escort aircraft all saw the bright light of the MiG afterburner appear in the darkness and start to rise.  As best I recall, there was even some quick discussion as to what the light was.  Fortunately for the B-52 crews, one of the Wild Weasel pilots realized what was happening; he lit his afterburner and turned into the climbing MiG.  That unnerved the MiG pilot; he prematurely launched all his missiles at the B-52 cell and dived back into the darkness.  The B-52 crew EWs, and the EB-66 EWs knew there was a MiG about, but it wasn’t until the B-52 lead called that the cell was under attack did anyone else understand what was happening.  Because the MiG pilot had launched his missiles prematurely, they didn’t guide and exploded harmlessly between the first and second B-52.

That and some other aggressive behavior on the part of the NV Air Force prompted a plan to make them pull in their horns.  The plan was to have F-4Ds from Udorn sitting hot cockpit alert and in direct contact with Lion GCI while an EB-66C would troll the northern part of Steel Tiger and play the part of bait to goad the MiGs into coming up and taking a shot.  In broad strokes, the GCI sites would be looking for a repeat of the tactics used against the B-52s and launch the F-4s at the first indication of an attack.  The EB-66 crew, according to the plan, would be warned and would quickly retreat from the area to stay clear of any engagement between the F-4s and MiGs.  Since this was to be a trap, all communications coordinating the effort were highly classified.

I got to fly on the first of the two or so missions that tested that bright idea.  The mission went off on a night near a full moon because the NV Air Force liked moonlit nights to make their attacks.  Everyone was keyed to a higher-than-normal level of awareness, naturally.  For twenty or thirty minutes we hung around the area to the northeast of NKP; the EWs were looking for Bar Locks, height finders and MiG AI radars.  Nothing happened, and we went off to do our normal trolling mission.  The trap was baited and set one or two more times without success.  The NV Air Force wasn’t falling for our setup.  In a way, it was kind of a disappointment after the rather elaborate planning that had taken place.  A possible reason why they did not take our bait surfaced many years later.

Luck, Skill, Daring

The Spring 1972 North Vietnamese offensive into the South was being beaten back, but there was still plenty of fight in the remaining NVA.  It was still unclear whether any of the SA-2s that the cunning NVA had dragged into Quang Tri province were still operational.  Our mission for that night sortie was to drill around in north/south orbit over the Gulf of Tonkin, about 25 nautical miles east of Quang Tri province and generally provide ECM for whoever was working in the area just after dark.  The US Navy was also busy providing artillery support for friendly units in Quang Tri province, mainly because there were a lot more high priority targets than there were fighter sorties to attack them.  Naval gunfire, however, could hang around for hours, if not days, putting artillery rounds just about anywhere in the province they were needed.  From our perspective of 25,000 feet, almost directly over the ships doing the firing, it looked pretty impressive.

Our orbit took us from a point near the DMZ down to about Huế.  Weather was good on the northern end of the orbit, but thunderstorms that formed over land south of Huế were marching out to sea and beginning to obscure the southern end of the orbit.  About the time we started a turn back north we would enter the blow off from the storms.  It wasn't a problem, except that we were in clouds during our turn back north.

We had made about three complete circuits of the orbit; all the while the US Navy was pounding away below us.  Sure would not want to get in the way of what they were doing.  It was time to start a turn back northbound; we were in the clouds, in a left turn; and then we lost all AC power.  Losing AC power meant that most of the equipment on board stopped working:  the radar, the N-1 compass, the EWO's suite of jammers, the automatic fuel balancing system, the pilot's attitude indicator.  We still had cockpit lights and a radio, but just about everything else important stopped working.  We were in a left turn, but now the pilot no longer knew the angle of bank or the position of the nose.  We started descending.  I watched the airspeed building and the altimeter was unwinding.  The pilot said over intercom that he  had no attitude indicator.

I tried to assist the pilot by using the checklist to find anything that would help the pilot to control the aircraft.  That was a useless effort:  no references at all to immediate actions to take in the event of an electrical power failure.  In fact, there was one action that should have been taken, but it was not mentioned in the checklist:  switch the battery power switch to "INVERTER" to provide a limited amount of AC power to the pilot instruments.  Down we went in a tightening descending turn to the left.

It was probably only a minute or two in that tight descending turn, but as I watched the altimeter unwind and the airspeed build it seemed as if we would soon have to use our ejection seats if the pilot did not gain control of the aircraft.  Finally, several thousand feet below our initial altitude, we broke out of the clouds and the pilot picked up the lights of Huế; with visual orientation, the pilot regained full control of the aircraft and leveled the aircraft.  Now what?

We were in clear air, but were surrounded by clouds above and to the south.  Da Nang was south of our position, but was obscured by heavy rain showers.  To the east, the South China Sea was relatively clear but completely without visual reference; trying to fly into that without instruments was risky to say the least.  One of the Wild Weasels also covering the same area we were in heard of our predicament and made a visual join up with us.  He offered to lead us around the clouds to Da Nang, but the pilot chose not to follow him for fear of losing visual contact before we could get visual contact on Da Nang.

The pilot kept us in the clear skies east of Huế for the next several minutes; as we flew toward Huế the pilot picked up the lights of Da Nang to the south.  Looking out my small window, I agreed with him that it was Da Nang we saw out there to the south; he turned toward the lights.  At the same time he contacted Da Nang approach control and told them we were coming in to land.  We began a visual descent toward Da Nang.


All my navigation equipment required electrical power so I was reduced to keeping a close eye on the altimeter and airspeed, along with looking out my small side window, trying to pick up any visual clues to our position.  We would be landing to the south on the main Da Nang runway; as we descended to pattern altitude, it was clear that the runway lights at Da Nang were not lighted; the pilot called Da Nang approach and asked to the runway lights to be turned up.  A long pause ensued; the runway lights did not come up.  Again the pilot requested the lights to be brought up, yet the airfield remained dark.  Assuming the pilot was busy working on getting us on the ground safely, I came on the UHF radio and informed Da Nang of our problems with lack of navigation equipment and that we needed the runway lights immediately.  Another long delay ensued and then the runway lights slowly brightened; the pilot lined up on the runway.  In another three minutes, or so, we came over the runway threshold and the EB-66 touched down.  A FOLLOW ME truck met us and led us to a parking spot near Base Operations.

AC-119 Stinger

We went through the after landing checklist and the pilot shut down the engines.  We disembarked the aircraft and waited for transportation to Base Ops.  As we stood on the darkened flight line waiting for a ride to Base Ops, we could see AC-119K gunships firing on targets to the west of Da Nang.  We were informed that Da Nang AFB was under threat of attack by NVA artillery rockets and those gunships out there in the dark were hunting for NVA teams bent on launching rockets against Da Nang AFB.  It was impressive watching the Stingers firing on ground targets.

Stinger firing

Finally, a couple of F-4E aircrew arrived to transport us to the wing command post and then to a room for an overnight stay.  As usual, we were put up in the room of someone who was on leave.

It was strange being a target, there at Da Nang.  Everyone else, including air crew, were issued a steel helmet and a flak jacket.  We over nighters had nothing like that.  All night long, we could hear F-4Es taking off on combat sorties.  Since we didn't know what inbound NVA artillery rockets sounded like, we spend a fair amount of time listening as the F-4s were taking off.  The gunships must have done their jobs, however.  Da Nang was not attacked by NVA rockets that night.

Getting out of Dodge

Next morning we began the task of getting our EB-66 fixed and out of Da Nang.  Korat, our home base in Thailand, already knew we landed at Da Nang with an emergency, but we had to work out the details of getting the aircraft operational again and out of Da Nang.  We were informed that a small maintenance team would be flown in on another EB-66, along with their best guess as to what it would take to get our bird flying again.  They would be arriving in the afternoon.  In expectation of leaving, we had our aircraft refueled and ready to go just as soon as the repairs were checked out and the bird was flyable again.  Unfortunately, the only fuel load we knew was a full load for a sortie out of Korat, and we couldn't find any other pre-planned fuel load.  The fuel load we usually used was too much to allow immediate landing at Korat so we resigned ourselves to dumping wing fuel when our arrival at Korat was assured.  Messy, but it worked.

After all the details for getting us out of Da Nang had been worked out we went to a large dining hall to get something to eat.  Another complication arose:  we were in South Vietnam; the only currency that we were allowed to use was military scrip produced by the US Government.  In Thailand, where we operated from, we used US dollars in our clubs; scrip was not needed and was not used.  However, it just so happened that I had some scrip from a previous trip through South Vietnam; it was just enough to buy us something to eat in a Da Nang dining hall.  We whiled away the rest of the day near our aircraft, waiting for maintenance to be done on it.  Our objective was to be out of Da Nang before darkness set in.  

Another complication was that the NVA were plinking at aircraft coming and going from Da Nang with their SA-7 shoulder launched missiles.  Everything low and slow was a target, and for the first few miles after takeoff and climb out we were in the low/slow category.

It took longer than expected to get a maintenance team to Da Nang, and Da Nang was a busy place.  The NVA had a major attack directed at multiple locations in South Vietnam.  Lots of armed aircraft and munitions all over the place.  It literally was a combat zone.

Finally, the maintenance team arrived, did their work, and checked their work.  Everything worked as expected.  It was time to leave.  Unfortunately, it was after dark; our EB-66 had been tucked back into tight quarters during the day to keep NVA observers from spotting it; it had been maneuvered into its revetted parking place with a tug; getting out of that parking place in such tight quarters in darkness would be challenging, to say the least.  The pilot told our marshaler we would taxi out of the revetments rather than be towed.

It was a tight fit; it was dark; visibility was restricted by the aircraft structure.  I kept an eye on the left wing while the EWO kept an eye on the right wing.  Things started out well; we came out of the revetment and made a left turn; we began taxiing through the maze of revetments toward a taxiway that would give us access to the runway.  Several more tight turns began putting the left wing closer to the revetment walls.  Along the route the EWO informed the pilot that the right wing had plenty of room.  All the while, I was telling the pilot that the left wing was getting pretty close to the revetment.  Apparently, only the good news was getting through to the pilot because at some point the marshaler gave the pilot the HALT signal and walked over to the left wing tip.  the fiberglas wingtip fairing had been crumpled against the revetment wall.  The pilot asked me why I let him do that; I asked him if he had heard me warning him that the left wing tip was getting close to the revetment.

The marshaler told the pilot that damage to the wingtip fairing was minimal; the pilot maneuvered the aircraft more to the right and we successfully escaped the revetment maze.  We made our way to the south departure runway and took off.  For the first couple of miles we kind of held our breath in the hope that no SA-7 missiles would find us.  Nope.  Not even a near miss.  We climbed to cruise altitude and flew the hour or so to Korat.  

Once we were inside Thailand the pilot dumped the wing fuel to bring us down to landing weight and we started down for Korat.  We were marshaled in to the EB-66 parking area.  I could see one of the maintainers already had a left wingtip fairing in one hand and a speed wrench in the other.  It had come from one of the five aircraft that were not flyable due to various ground accidents.