As the ground war struggled for success in Vietnam, it became intensely clear that the skies had to be owned by the allies for victory to have a chance. It was the F-4 and its pilots that made that possible. The author, a Phantom pilot himself, details intense stories of undaunted and valiant American pilots with their legendary fierce Phantom. These are personal stories of intrepid courage and self-sacrifice to get the mission done - whatever the cost. Fierce, unflinching battles to save friendlies and destroy a ruthless enemy are all recorded 40 years later. True tales of war at 500 knots!

Warriors at 500 Knots

Intense stories of valiant crews flying the legendary F-4 Phantom II in the Vietnam air war.By Robert F. Kirk

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Robert F. Kirk
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-5675-8

Contents

Foreword.................................................xiiiPreface..................................................xvDuty, Honor, Country.....................................xix1. First In Country Flight...............................12. A Milk Run............................................233. Run to the Coast......................................334. The Failed Run........................................455. Hitting the Ground....................................576. Escorting B-52s and North Vietnam.....................697. Loss of a Friend......................................818. Deadly Mission........................................1039. Hell at 500 Knots.....................................11310. Hill Tops............................................13111. Jerry's Big Watch....................................14312. Vertigo, Not Home Yet................................15313. Hung Bomb............................................16714. The Trip Home........................................177Epilogue.................................................199The F-4 Phantom II Fighter-Bomber........................201

Chapter One

First In Country Flight

It was going to be a memorable night for Lieutenant John Peterson. It was going to be his first combat flight in the F-4D since arriving in Vietnam. He had arrived at Da Nang Air Base only a couple of days earlier and spent his time getting a BOQ room, processing all the needed paperwork and getting issued all the necessary flying equipment that he would be needing for his year long combat tour in Vietnam.

Lieutenant Peterson's arrival to Da Nang hadn't been an easy one. It took him the usual three months to complete his Combat Weapons School at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona and the six months of F-4D Phantom II flying training at George Air Force Base in Victorville, California. Then he had to complete three survival training schools before he would be ready to go to Vietnam.

The first survival school was the United States Air Force SERE School. SERE stands for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape and the survival training school was at Fairchild Air Force Base, Spokane, Washington. This two-week school had one difficult task after another for the trainees to accomplish. It included the escape and evasion course where everyone got captured, no matter how good they were, or thought they were, at evading capture. Next the "prisoner of war" training began where the trainees went through an assortment of training experiences that made one main point very clear: never get captured!

The worst part of the training for Peterson was the "little box." During this experience, he was forced into a small wooden box. He was not sure about the exact size of the box, but it was small, very small. It was approximately 12 to 15 inches deep, 18 inches wide and 34 to 36 inches tall. Peterson's first thought, as three men attempted to cram him into the little box, was one of humor. He was blindfolded with a black hood over his head so he couldn't initially see what was going on. He thought: They can't put me into this little box. I am over six feet tall and too big to get into it. He was wrong, very wrong!

Peterson's emotions began to run wild as the three men forced his large frame into the small, narrow wooden box and then forced the strong wooden door closed against his back and hips. It didn't help that Peterson was a little claustrophobic and hated being in closed places. Very quickly the joints of his body began to ache and his muscles became tense and strained. His immediate fear was not being able to breathe.

Air, his mind screamed to him; I can't breathe, I don't have enough oxygen. Fear and panic began to take over his thoughts. No, he yelled in his mind, I have to stay calm and keep my head. He began to pray, Dear God, please don't let me panic in here, please give me air and help me be calm.

Then his nose felt a small tiny stream of air. Fresh air! It was coming from a small crack between the wooden boards that were used in the construction of the small boxes that lined the walls of the room. Peterson could hear other men in their boxes. Some screamed and bumped or flailed around trying to get out. Some cried and yelled because they couldn't stand the confinement. Peterson placed his nose against the crack in the wood planks that were providing him needed air and vital oxygen and breathed deeply.

Stay calm, he said to himself. I have to stay calm, if I panic, it'll be all over.

The trainees had been told that if they couldn't withstand the training then they'd be washed out of the program and they wouldn't fly in the Air Force. Peterson's greatest desire was to be able to fly in the Air Force. He'd proved that over and over again during Officer Training School, Pilot Training and in the F-4 Training Program. He was determined not to quit now.

I can breathe so I won't die in here, Peterson repeated over and over to himself.

I have to stay calm, I can breathe. This can't last long, Peterson continued.

However, it did continue. Peterson's legs and joints began to cramp with excruciating pain. He dared not try to move. It could get worse. His knees were high up in the box, at least as high as his head. His neck had been bent down to allow him to be stuffed into the box. The cramping got worse. The pins and needles pain came with the lack of blood supply to his muscles. His body was aflame with pain that came from joints cramping and muscles screaming from lack of blood circulation.

His thoughts continued; I can breathe, I can stay alive. I have to keep my mind off of the pain. Think about something else, anything else.

He continued to pray in increasing desperation, God, please don't let me fail this test. Please give me strength to take the pain and not give up and quit. Thank you for the air. Thank you for the air, help me stay calm.

It amazed Peterson how the small pencil-lead stream of cool air gave him so much strength and comfort. Without it he thought he would surely have given up or panicked in that little box.

Peterson lost all track of time while in the box. He didn't know if he was in there for 30 minutes, an hour or for half a day. When the door was opened by three men posing as Communist prison guards, he was overcome with thankfulness. Like a cork from a bottle his body popped backward from the small-enclosed area. Two men caught him, grabbing him under each arm, as his body left the box and fell toward the floor. His muscles were paralyzed. He couldn't move his arms or his legs. He could breathe more freely now and again that gave him comfort. The two men, without saying a word, dragged him into a dark small room about the size of two phone booths. They dropped him onto the floor and closed and locked the door behind him. He was to spend considerable time in the solitary confinement of this small room. He was out of the small box and he was very thankful for that.

The Fairchild Survival School had many other challenges that Peterson and all others had to complete successfully. However, for Peterson, none were like the "small box." He faced many personal demons that day in the box. Fear and...