Da Nang Air Base in Vietnam in 1967 was a bustle of war time activity. The 366th Tactical Fighter Wing had been based here as part of the Vietnam War response, since its reactivation several years earlier. Several U. S. Marine units occupied the east side of the base, sharing the use with the U. S. Air Force on the west half, as the Vietnam conflict was in the heat of the battle. Da Nang was the second largest base in the south half of the country, and was the most convenient staging base for bombing missions to the north country, our adversaries in this long drawn out conflict.
After serving a three year tour at RAF Lakenheath during the beginning of the “Cold War”, my stateside reassignment had been to the Inspector General division at the 12th Air Force Headquarters at Waco, Texas on the James Connally AFB. After only eighteen months at this location I was assigned to Da Nang to be in charge of the Current Operations Office of the 366th Fighter Wing. This duty, unfortunately for me, was primarily of a non-flying capacity, although I was able to get a considerable amount of flying during the year I spent at this war time base.
Having served primarily in tactical fighter units throughout my career, I had at Da Nang contact with many past colleaques from previous assignments in other Air Force units. One such individual was the Operations Officer of the Forward Air Control (FAC) unit on base flying Cessna O-1E “Birddog” aircraft. Their mission was to be the airborne, low and slow, monitor and control of the fighter aircraft as they would strike targets within the south country, with prime emphasis being the “Ho Chi Minh Trail” – the major supply line from the north to the south by the bad guys.
Major Bob Hopkins invited me to join him on one of these missions. A flight of two B-57’s was controlled on a strike of short duration some 30 miles west of Da Nang. That was followed by a strike of four F-4E’s, from the 366th TFW, on a hilly terrain near the Laos border near the Ho Chin Minh Trail. These strike missions were rather uneventful, but were of high interest for me to observe from the Forward Air Control perspective. A strong feeling of chagrin was also in evidence as my whole career was oriented to being a first hand participant in these war time activities, and now my prime function was breaking out and dispensing the mission requirements to the flying units as the politically controlled nature of these assigned targets came to us from 7th Air Force Headquarters in Ton Son Nhut Air Base near Saigon.
With the control of the strike mission successfully concluded, Major Hopkins elected to fly further west to observe a “hot” area that he had previously identified. This site was located near the “trail” where it would wind through the hills, sometimes into the adjoining country of Laos. The terrain looked totally desolate, in uneven hilly terrain very much like most of central West Virginia. There appeared isolated rice paddys in small sections of the cleared mountain sides but there was no sign of any human activity. As we circled at about 500 feet over the area in our small aircraft a “pffft” sound was heard. We looked at each other and immediately without comment knew what the passing sound denoted. Bob said “let’s get some altitude”, and began a climb to 2000 feet above the ground, while continuing to circle the area. We could detect no movement of any kind and were unable to discern the origin point of the small arms fire. Had we been able to detect the source, the “Birddog” was equipped with four 2.75 inch rockets that could have been directed to the individual intending us harm. I remember wondering how the sniper may have enjoyed his random gunfire, aiming at a slow moving target, in a hidden environment, knowing the difficulty of being observed.
After giving up the search we headed back to Da Nang to conclude our nearly four hour mission. Exiting the aircraft, I walked around the airframe and saw a small .30 caliber hole in the metal fuselage just four feet behind my rear seat position. The hole was in the direct center of the body of the aircraft and had done no damage other than to the aircraft’s aluminum surface. At that point we realized the significance of how close that the sniper had come to bodily harm. I had been sitting on a flak jacket as standard procedure, but postulated if the sniper’s aim had been just a bit more accurate how it may have impacted my body, Bob’s body, or the engine.
Good luck, undoubtedly, but so close to being bad luck, was the summation of the day.
Wings Over Cumberland 