Steve Gray - VA-212 Tough Scooter

The USS Bon Homme Richard, CVA-31, had just returned to Yankee Station from a ten day break in operations at Cubi Point, P.I. With Airwing 21 embarked, the “Bonnie Dick” had begun combat operations in support of The Republic of South Vietnam in late February, 1967 with VA-212 - The Rampant Raiders, VA-215 - The Barn Owls, and VA-76 - The Spirits making up the attack portion of the airwing. VA- 212 was equipped with the A4-E model of the Skyhawk, VA-76 had the older, less powerful A4-C, and VA-215 was one of the last “Spad” squadrons flying the A1-J Skyraider. The winter monsoon that engulfed most of North Vietnam from October until late March had prevented intense bombing of North Viet targets since low clouds, rain, and fog did not provide the visual conditions necessary to execute our normal dive bomb deliveries. Our missions up to now had consisted almost entirely of interdiction strikes to impede the flow of war material from North Vietnam to the Viet Cong guerrillas in South Vietnam. But the Lyndon Johnson Administration had decided to try to push the North Vietnam Government into “peace talks” by striking more of their infrastructure in the industrialized North around Hanoi and Haiphong. When we first arrived on Yankee Station, there was a no bombing restricted area thirty miles around Hanoi, and fifteen miles around Haiphong. That was about to change.
Now, in mid April, the Winter Monsoon was finally releasing its IFR grip on the North. A new “ALPHA” list of desired targets had been released by the Johnson war planners to Seventh Fleet, and all the carriers were busy planning Alpha Strikes. Airwing Twenty-One had gained some experience in Alpha Strikes the previous line period, hitting and completely destroying the Than Hoa thermal power plant. But today’s strikes on targets around Haiphong promised much heavier anti-aircraft defense than we had seen up to now. All three carriers were conducting sequential raids on their targets with Bon Homme Richard first in on the morning strike, and last in on the afternoon mission.
The morning strike recovered with many battle damaged airplanes and the grim news that VA-76 pilot Charles Stackhouse, “Charlie Stackgas”, had been downed by a MIG-19 which had lifted off Cat Bi airfield just South of Haiphong and knifed through the strike formation, squirting an Atol heat seeking missile right into Charlie’s Skyhawk. Many pairs of eyes watched Charlie’s airplane impact in a ball of flame, no one had seen an ejection or a parachute canopy. The combat veterans from the previous year’s cruise were telling all us nuggets on our first combat cruise that we were about to "see the elephant", and that once this mission was over we would have seen it all.
The fear I always felt before each mission was subsiding as I busied myself preflighting and preparing for launch on the afternoon strike. 212's A4-Es were configured with a single centerline 400 gallon drop, with TERS (Triple Ejector Racks) on stations two and four. Our standard bomb load was two MK 81 (250 pound) iron bombs on the outboard stations, one and five, and three Mk 82s on each TER for a total of six 82s and two 81s. These all had banded snake eye fins. We didn’t normally drop retarded bombs, but the supply chain had lots of snake-eye fins, so we banded them to keep them from deploying and thus dropped clean bombs. VA-76's A4-C’s had only three wing stations, and the J-65 powerplant was much more of a fuel hog than our J52-P8A powered E models, so their configuration was two 300 gallon drops on stations one and three, with a MER, a six station multiple ejector rack, on the centerline station. If you were lucky enough to man airplanes with your ordinance already loaded you got to preflight the bombs making sure they were securely clipped into the racks and the arming wires were properly run through the little propellers secured with fawnstock clips. You sure didn’t want to look out and see one of your bombs without it’s little propeller in flight! That would mean the little propeller had spun off and armed the fuse. The jolt of the ejector foot driving the bomb away from the rack on release would likely cause it to explode ending your brief time on this earth. Four ice cream cone shaped antennas, two under the nose radar dome and two either side of the tail hook retract pad provided receive and transmit from the ALQ-51 deception jammer, two black boxes which were supposed to fool enemy AAA and SAM radars into believing your airplane wasn’t where it really was. The only way to know if the unit was operating was a small, green, light on the instrument panel, the pilot just had to accept on faith that the unit was doing what it was supposed to do. The ALQ-51 consisted of two suitcase sized boxes which had been installed in the gun can bay under the cockpit floor. This left no room for the 20MM cannon ammo cans, so a chute was installed on either side of the gun bay giving you twenty rounds per gun. One very short squirt and you were out of beer as far as your cannons were concerned.
To save weight, the A4 didn’t have a battery and deck edge power was only used for engine starting, so until the engine was running at idle, and the engine driven generator was providing power, your electronics were dead. As soon as my engine was stabilized at idle, the radio and other avionics came to life. Suddenly, the radio guard channel blared out; “HALLMARK, HALLMARK, BRAVO FOXTROT TWO, PETUNIA FOUR TWO” and then a date/time group. Hallmark was the SAM code word of the day, and bravo foxtrot two was the map square containing the Haiphong area. Petunia Four Two was an EC-121 Super Constellation radar plane orbiting out in the Gulf Of Tonkin picking up enemy radar emissions. Taxiing up to the cat, again “HALLMARK, HALLMARK, BRAVO FOXTROT TWO”. All during launch, join up and establishing the alpha strike formation, every few seconds, ”HALLMARK, HALLMARK, etc.” Until I felt like screaming into the radio, “Alright Already Petunia, Shut The Heck UP!” The strike was being led by VA-212s XO, CDR. Marvin Quaid. Two Twelve’s radio call sign was “Flying Eagle”.Finally Petunia called; “Flying Eagle Leader, Petunia, be aware your entire target area is Hallmark”! Quaid simply responded; “Eagle Lead, Rog, Petunia”. Being the most junior pilot in the air wing, I was in my usual place as “Eagle Two” in the formation. A former NAVCAD and fleet candidate to the NAVCAD program to boot, I was still an Ensign. NAVCADS didn’t get their commissions until they got their wings. The NAVCAD program had been discontinued shortly after I was inducted, so Ensigns with wings were becoming a rarity in the fleet. Naval tradition had the most junior pilot flying wing on the most senior, so I always flew with CAG, the Skipper, the XO, Admin, and OPS. After join up we had a bit of a drive up the Tonkin Gulf to feet dry, so I had a bit of time to glance around at the Alpha Strike Formation. VA-212 was providing the bombers and the target was an ammunition storage area at Cat Bi air field just outside the city of Haiphong. There were six bombers with four VA-76 A4s providing some flack suppression. Two more VA-212 airplanes were flying “Iron Hand” cover for the strike carrying shrike anti-radar missiles . Four F-8 Crusaders from VF-211 were helping out with flack suppression carrying four Zunis each, and four more F-8s from VF-24 were flying Mig cap. Man, I felt a thrill at being part of so powerful a force. The feeling was short lived. Just short of feet dry, someone called out “Bandits, Twelve O’clock”. Three black dots were coming straight for us! Loaded down with bombs, and with only twenty rounds per gun, I suddenly felt very vulnerable! The dots soon became three F-4s from Enterprise outbound from the target area, and going like hell. Since we were the last strike group inbound, every one in North Vietnam was at GQ and really pissed off. I didn’t have long to think about all this, we were feet dry and the call came to check switches. Master arm on, station switches on, Guns charged, pickle button now hot, don’t touch till ready! The fighters and Iron Handers split off and began climbing to about angles twenty. Our tactics at this point were to run into the target area at about thirty five hundred feet AGL, and 450 Knots so that the J-65 powered C’s could keep up, pop up to about seven thousand, do a thirty degree bomb run with a four thousand foot release, and out by three thousand. These tactics were the result of some bad gouge concerning the enemy’s weapons capabilities. The intensity of the ground fire below three thousand was real, so the three thousand foot floor was valid. But we had been told that sixty five hundred directly overhead was the max effective range of a 37mm gun,(WRONG!) And that a thirty degree bomb run was sufficient to foil a SA-2 tracking system.(WAY WRONG!) Consequently, CDR.Quaid led us in at thirty five hundred feet.
The initial point for the pull up was a prominent railroad bridge, and I picked it up even while flying wing. Just as we reached the bridge, the SAM threat receiver on the glare shield started singing it’s warning song. If Fan Song SA-2 acquisition and tracking radar signals were detected, the threat receiver would emit a slowly warbling tone, dedul, dedul,dedul. If L band guidance radar was detected meaning that they had you locked up and were guiding the SAM at you, the receiver would go to a high rate warble, deduldeduldedul. And a red SAM light would flash. No slow warble here! The red SAM light was flashing and deduldeduldedul in my headset. “Eagle two’s got a SAM light”, I bleated over the radio. The climb to seven thousand seemed to take forever! I remember how relieved I was when Quaid finally rolled over and started the run. Anxious to get the nose into the dive and avoid the SAM, not having any idea of its loation, I pulled inside Quaid’s turn and ended up damn near in parade position on him. We were supposed to separate far enough to make individual runs at the target and wheel around past Lead’s run in line to avoid eating the flak which missed him. Now frantically scanning for the target, finding it, low buildings, pipper on the first row, four thousand feet, stabbing the bomb pickle four times, feeling the little airplane buck and jump as the bombs came off. Onset of “G” Forces, I pulled up screaming against the diaphragm bladder of my “G” Suit with my left hand on the max “G” Suit inflate button trying to keep Quaid’s airplane in the small spot of vision I have left. Suddenly, from right to left, a bright orange flash, Quaid’s airplane disappears in the fireball, and there, directly on my nose spins the still burning rocket motor of the SAM. Reflexively, I yank back on the stick to miss the rocket motor and flash through the smoke and debris field from the explosion. Quaid’s airplane is a dim silhouette of an A4 in a cloud of fuel and hydraulic vapor streaming from many holes in wings and fuselage. “Eagle Lead, you’re hit, head for the beach”, I transmit. The heading had been planned to recover towards the Gulf Of Tonkin, and therefore safety, so the heading reference was unnecessary. No response. I add power and pull up along side as Quaid’s Skyhawk is steadily losing speed and altitude. Quaid appears slumped forward in the cockpit. “Oh Shit, he’s dead”, I think. Bright yellow flashes catch my eye off to our left. There is a six gun heavy AA site in a revetment on the end of a long jetty extending out from the mouth of Haiphong harbor, pounding away at us. We pass by at about 350 knots and two thousand feet. Bright yellow gluts of flame spew from each tube as the 85 or possibly 100 MM guns fire sequential. Over the cacophony of chatter on the radio, a frantic call registers. “Eagle Six, I’m hit and I’m losing control”! The threat receiver and SAM light come to life again with a high warble, and I look right in time to see another SAM at the limit of it’s range splash into the bay behind us and explode in a bright orange cloud. The RAT pops out of the right side of Quaid’s A4, below the cockpit, and Quaid says something garbled. “Eagle lead, do you know you’re hit?” I call in my addled state. “DO I KNOW I”M HIT!” comes back the irate answer. “Yeah, how bad is it?” We’re safely out over the Gulf now and I slowly cross under Quaid’s airplane assessing the damage. There are multiple holes in wings and fuselage with hydraulic fluid and fuel still leaking. He obviously only has fuselage fuel left and the wing tanks have many holes. I relay the damage report and Quaid confirms he has about eleven hundred pounds of fuel remaining. He states the controls feel stiff and sluggish and may have to disconnect the boost package.
Quaid then tries to reassemble his flight. Three and four are right with us and we join on Eagle Six who now is leading a flight of two with Five on his wing. All the elements of the strike group are now feet wet and we head back down the Gulf towards home. Eagle Six is Ltjg Alan R. Crebo. We all stare at his Skyhawk in awe and wonder as we all join on him. Crebo’s A4 is a sight to behold. He has no rudder. Fully half of the vertical stabilizer is gone. Football and basketball sized holes allow us to see right through the tail pipe in several places. Someone points out that viewed from dead astern, the horizontal stabilizer is twisted about three degrees out of alignment with the trailing edge of the wing. Every access panel in the fuselage has been popped open from the force of the concussion. He is flying with the hydraulic boost package disconnected and has very limited maneuverability, so we all fly on him. Someone in the flight has a hand held 35mm camera and takes multiple shots of the incredible battle damage.
Al Crebo was tail end Charlie in the bomb stack. He reached the top of the pop up and hung at about two hundred twenty knots waiting for sufficient separation from Eagle Five before rolling in. He never saw the SA-2 which delivered a direct hit on his airplane. The force of the hit and explosion rolled Al on his back. He recovered with the nose pointed at the target, so he completed his run. As he began his pull out, the badly wounded Skyhawk made an uncommanded roll inverted over the target. It was at this point when he made the “Eagle Six hit and losing control” call over the radio. Al reached under the glare shield and yanked the flight control boost disconnect handle, and flew the little A4 upright on manual flight controls. Now, NATOPS states that before disconnecting the hydraulic flight controls, one should be dirty, below two hundred knots, and lined up with the landing runway. The A4-C even had an extendable stick to give the pilot more leverage when flying on cables and pulleys with no power steering. Al was doing about 450 knots when he disconnected and rolled upright. He said he didn’t remember the airplane being hard to fly at all!
Approaching the “Bonnie Dick”, Al decided to see if he could control the airplane well enough to attempt a landing. Refueling was out of the question, his refueling probe was a jagged stump. His CSD had thrown in the towel, and the only instruments he had were pressure operated, i.e. airspeed, altitude, turn & bank, so he had no idea what was his fuel state. He extended the landing gear and the nose gear and tail hook came down, but the main mounts remained jammed in the wing due to buckled wing plates. He tried for ten thousand feet to eject, but along side the plane guard D.D. at sixty five hundred feet, the gallant Skyhawk flamed out and gave up the ghost. Al ejected safely and was promptly picked up by the plane guard helo. CDR. Quaid called the ball telling the LSO, “I’m the guy with nothing” referring to all the systems he had lost and indicating that he better make it aboard this pass. He successfully trapped and the strike group recovered without further ado. We salvaged all we could out of Quaid’s airplane and buried it at sea, it had sustained strike damage. But the little Skyhawks had got their drivers home. If it wasn’t shot in the engine, or set on fire, the little A4 would keep on flying! The incredible battle damage photos were sent to McDonald-Douglas and they returned a 16 x 20 color print of Al’s Skyhawk still bravely flying along. Somewhere, these photos give mute testimony to the ruggedness of the little A-4.
Post strike intelligence indicated that the North Vietnamese had fired over thirty SAMs at us that day. Two weeks later, the North Vietnamese released a propaganda photo of Charlie Stackhouse, arm in a sling, being marched down the streets of Hanoi.
This was just a prelude of things to come in the Summer of ‘67.

By Steve Gray
Skyhawk Association VA-212 SDO