An excerpt from "Bad Moon Rising: Thailand 1972" by D Roger Pederson, 2015. 

Bad Moon Rising: Thailand 1972

Young Men Never Die.

Twenty-four hours a day they walk the line

Living up to the reputation.

Assuming the swagger, the hard line,

Their casual indifference to death

 “Young Men” Curt Bennett 

                                  

Young men never die. Even young men at war (and it is always young men who fight our wars.) I know that’s counter-intuitive but that really is how young men think; they’re just wired that way. We (yes, I was a young man once) know that people die but it’s always some other person; someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing or isn’t fast enough or strong enough or smart enough – or gets some terrible disease. (I suppose our country’s leaders, who need us to fight their wars, depend on this belief too.) The rest of us don’t die. Until we do.

I deeply regret that I started writing this story so long after the events, over forty years in fact. It was a story that I was aware of when I served in this air force unit shortly after they occurred but somehow time, as it usually does, ran off with both my youth and my memories. (I arrived in Thailand in late summer 1973. It was actually my second trip to South East Asia ironically having been sent to Vietnam in 1972 on another mission when this squadron was enduring the terrible year of this account.)

 As I think about it now, my year in Thailand was just one out of my 28 in the air force and only one out of a lifetime - so far relatively long and healthy - so perhaps it was inevitable that some things might slip away to the quiet, unvisited corners of my mind. In all honesty, I think most of the guys I served with would agree that much of what we did when we were there wasn’t particularly pleasant. Don’t get me wrong, I was in much less danger than those that this story is about but I don’t think many of us enjoyed the mission and duties. Certainly not as much as we enjoyed our comrades and Thailand itself; a paradise for young men with money . . . and who would never die.

An Epiphany – or Dumb Luck

Recently, in my constant internet wanderings, I stumbled upon a website called Spectre Association, a site dedicated to the men – and now women – who have flown in the AC130 gunships from their early beginning in Viet Nam to the current time and including every conflict since. (Hat tip to Bill Walter and PJ Cook Web Design for a terrific website.) As I read the various histories and stories, things started to come back to me that I hadn’t thought about in a looooonnnng time including the subject for this story, the brutal year of 1972. Then, as if some minor god insisted that I pay attention, I was stunned when there in one of the many Vietnam-era photos, was a picture that has hung on the wall in my office for over forty years. (You see, I may have forgotten some things but who can turn down an opportunity to keep a picture of their younger self around.) It had been posted by a fellow crewmember who clearly had a better memory - he even remembered me (or so he claims!) when I contacted him. 

 Who is that handsome, young blond dude embracing the “big gun?” (Please, no phallic jokes.) 

  

Crew 29 – Ubon Thailand 1973/74

 Photo courtesy of Michael Amira at Spectre Ass’n

But back to my dilemma. After all this time it’s hard to find the people I need to talk to in order to write the story I wanted to write: some don’t want to be found; some, like me, are sort of anonymous waiting to be found (but only through hard work or serendipity) and some, of course, have passed on to the great airfield in the sky.

The story I wanted to write – and maybe still will with some luck – is about how individuals dealt with the loss of friends and crewmates in a combat unit that had been fairly fortunate over the years. What were their personal stories and thoughts as they went out on missions as the terrible year of 1972 wore on?

Alas, without more personal stories I can’t complete that now.

The part that I CAN write – based on some interviews, articles by fellow gunshippers and the terrific information at the Spectre Association site as well as publicly available information – is nearly as interesting and in ways perhaps more so. It’s about the ironies of war, the tragedy of combat losses viewed from a different perspective; you might say a view through the lens of many years past and many other wars.

Mostly, however, it’s about one of the key things that many of us don’t consider nearly enough: that so much of our lives dangle from the tenuous strings of luck, good and bad, like Marionettes of the Gods.

I hope you enjoy the information or perhaps simply gain an even greater appreciation for what a tiny minority of American men – and women – do for everyone else in the country when they are called by the dogs of war.

  

1972

I see a bad moon rising

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightening

I see bad times today

“Bad Moon Rising,” Creedence Clearwater Revival

Assuming you were alive then, what were you doing in 1972?

It was a time of great music like Steely Dan, Doobie Brothers, Neil Young and America.

And 1972 was the longest year ever – really. It was a leap year which is when a second is added - except in ‘72 TWO seconds were added making it the longest year by actual time ever. (For some young men those two extra seconds maybe proved to be too little – or perhaps too much.)

The first inklings of the Watergate scandal were starting to trickle out of D.C.

And the war in Vietnam was still struggling on.  The Nixon Whitehouse was having all sorts of secret negotiations with the North Vietnamese trying to figure out how to slowly back out the door of the morass that was the war in South Vietnam; the count of combat troops was down to around 24,000 from over 500,000 a few years earlier. After over ten years and 58,000 (American) men and women lost it seems that we had had enough.

Yet as the politicians tried to tip toe out the front door they needed to leave someone behind to guard the backdoor. Among them was the U.S. Air Force including the men of the 16^th Special Operations Squadron (16thSOS).  

 Somewhere over Laos

“Pilot’s in the sight, arm the guns” the pilot calmly said. That’s the required response as the AC130 gunship prepared to fire at a target below. He was peering into his gunsight that showed the target on the ground eighty-five hundred feet below - but only in a mass of symbols; it was pitch black outside. Using one of the sensors onboard the aircraft with the Call sign “Spectre,” moving in a lazy pylon turn above the target, it had identified a North Vietnamese convoy of trucks carrying supplies to their troops in South Vietnam and was about to rain death upon them from the dark night skies like the Old Testament God. The North Vietnamese may be winning the war (of that there was little doubt) but the gunship crew had to continue to do their job which was to stop this flow of men and supplies on the infamous Ho Chi Minh trail which wandered from North Viet Nam to South Viet Nam through nearby Laos.

The gunship was based at Ubon Ratchathani Royal Thai Air Force Base, Thailand, only a few hundred miles west of the trail here in Laos. Unknown to this crew and the other members of the squadron, the year 1972 would prove to be annus horribilis for them.

In the war in Vietnam, a total of 2460 American aircraft (USAF, US Navy and Marines – plus over five thousand helicopters) were lost in combat; hundreds of thousands of ground troops and thousands of pilots had been killed, wounded or taken prisoners in the long years of the war - it’s is one of the realities, despite our most optimistic hopes, that all men in combat are at risk of losing their life and many do. Yet somehow it only comes home to you when it is YOUR unit and YOUR friends that start to lose their lives. After several years of relatively few casualties it was the 16^th SOS’s turn to be bruised by war. It was sent reeling with four aircraft shot down, many others severely damaged and worst of all, some 40 men were lost.

Yet the war went on, it always goes on. 

These incredibly close knit men did very dangerous work under terrible conditions – as men at war have always done - but simply never gave in. Yet there is always a bill to be paid by such men and in 1972 the bill came due - and there was an inkling of the price in Nov ‘71.

 Prometheus  - The Sad, Strange Story of Balls 44

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Who Killed the Albatross?

In the poem an entire ship and crew were doomed to ill fortune because of the actions of one man who, by killing an albatross, brought bad luck to the ship - or so the crew thought; their fate sealed by some unknowable force.

Superstition is still a powerful force even with us modern men. Perhaps it is nonsense, but one wonders: who brought the albatross’ curse to the 16thSOS – and the aircraft called Balls 44?

Aircraft tail number 55-0044 - Prometheus, to her crew chief and other maintenance folks - was a AC130A Gunship. (In an old custom, she was given a name which was painted on her proud nose. Even though a new commander had all nose art painted over, that’s who she remained for them.) She had a different nickname, however, for the crews that flew her:  Balls 44. (We aviators and our boyish sense of humor – 0 0 44. Balls? 44? Get it?). It was an older “A” model of the venerable C-130 transport, an airplane that was first in use in the early 50’s (and newer versions are still in use today.) Modified and armed with two 40 millimeter cannons and two 20 millimeter rotary cannons, she had various sensors that allowed her to stare in the darkness and see the enemy below. 44, and like her sister gunships, was a tremendously effective weapon.     

In November of 1971 she was cruising the notorious Ho Chi Minh trail, with her baleful stare seeking targets. The gunships were famous – or infamous depending on your perspective – for destroying the supply trucks by the hundreds. In fact, there was a bounty on the gunships and their crews by the enemy. Suddenly, however, she was no longer the hunter but became the hunted; in an instant she took a tremendous amount of damage from anti- aircraft artillery (AAA) to her right wing and numbers three and four engines – and both lost their propellers. In fact, she almost lost her entire right wing. In addition, a crew member was severely wounded.

Crew chief of 44, Tom Combs (one of two along with John Rhett,) has written eloquently about this starting with her departure from Ubon.

“I watched as my gunship roared away into the darkness just five minutes after midnight.  Soon, all I could see was a red glow from her open rear door. It rose higher as it slowly grew smaller. It looked like Triple-A in slow motion. We jumped into the line truck and sped away.

 “A couple hours later, Johnson and I were sitting in the crew chiefs’ lounge when the line truck came to a screeching stop right outside the door.  Sgt. Jarvis, a guy I had known back at Dyess, poked his head in the doorway and asked “Zero Four Four?”  “Right here,” I answered.  “Come with me,” was all he said as he disappeared from the doorway.  Johnson and I got up and followed him outside to the waiting truck.  Before I could ask, Sgt. Jarvis said, “Your gunship has been hit!  It sounds bad! They’re trying to make it back to Ubon.”

 We rode in heavy silence to the recovery area just off the main runway.  The fire trucks had already begun to accumulate at various spots along the airstrip.  An HH-43 helicopter carrying a bucket underneath filled with fire retardant was circling nearby.  Word came over the radio that two of our AC-130’s were just a few minutes away.  We waited and watched.  “There she is!” someone yelled. Two gunships, one high and one low were approaching the far end of the runway. The higher gunship banked to the right and broke away.  He had been flying escort. I could see that the landing gear was down, but the nose of my aircraft kept swinging left and right.  The gunship hit the runway hard and bounced up again.  As it came back down, it veered to the left then back to the right. As it came closer to our position, we could begin to make out some of the damage.  Flames erupted from the main wheel wells as the aircraft slowed then performed a ground loop before coming to a stop on the grass next to the runway.  We jumped back into the truck and sped toward the smoking aircraft.  The fire truck had already reached the plane and smothered the landing gear with foam. The crewmen were helping each other off the ramp as we arrived. Our driver parked the truck under the left wing. An ambulance pulled alongside.

Some from the crew were sitting on the grass now, away from the aircraft.  I walked over to the flight engineer and asked him what happened.  “Jesus!” he said, “Oh sweet, Lord Jesus,” he repeated.  I saw the rear scanner and walked over to him and caught part of his explanation.  “We started an orbit around a truck that had its lights on, but before anyone could say ‘flak-trap’ we got hit! We were just breaking back out of orbit when it slammed into us!  Pearson, man he got it bad!”  Pearson was the right scanner.

“The first explosion and shrapnel knocked the right scanner clear across the airplane and into the flak curtains.  He was hurt, but because he was down on the floor he missed the second lethal volley of shrapnel, which was centered on his window. Parts from number three engine’s prop and gearbox assembly had peppered the entire area around the scanner’s opening.”

I moved off to have a look at my aircraft and was stunned at what I saw. Number 3 and number 4 engines were half gone!  There were no props, just a mess of twisted metal with wires and hoses hanging in all directions. I looked at the right side of the fuselage and noticed numerous holes. One of the gunners came up and said “I think I xxxx my pants man, xxxx I just don’t believe it!”

 

The story continues as the ground crew moved the aircraft from the grass where 44 had come to rest to a revetment for its repairs.

Outside lights provided me some illumination once I reached the flight-deck. Now, sitting in the semi-darkened flight-deck of 044, I had no power, no lights and certainly no brakes.  I was of little value up here other than following the checklist and doing things by the book. Tonight, this provided me with the luxury of reenactment.  It was just minutes ago this very aircraft was hit by anti-aircraft artillery and by miracle and fortitude arrived home intact....mostly. I could feel the vibration of the nights’ events... as if I were there.  Of course hearing what happened by the crewmen I had by now a vivid account of the action. But now sitting alone in the very same flight-deck that moments ago emanated with danger, confusion and life saving decisions in the middle of battle, I was awe-struck. It was ...spiritual.  I don't think I am able to explain the amazing feelings coursing through my body at this time.

Finally when power had been restored on the aircraft, “I moved around the two 40 mm. guns and past the booth.  There was blood everywhere!  I almost choked.  The side scanner’s position had numerous holes around the opening.  My toolbox below the scanner seat was covered with blood.  The floor was streaks of red interrupted by boot prints.  There was a small pool of blood near the flak curtains where the scanner had lain.”

All that damage, pain and drama yet the pilots, Captains Baertle and Skinner, brought her back to Ubon with one of the finest demonstrations of airmanship most of us might ever see.

Balls 44 battle damage, Nov 1971                

Photo Courtesy of John Schrawder at Spectre Association site

The crew chiefs, Rhett and Combs, (and Tom’s role in our story is not yet done nor is that of 44) and the entire maintenance team at Ubon worked for over two months repairing the damage to Balls 44 including an entirely new right wing and four new engines and in Jan, back to work she went.  

Premonition?

The damage was also noticed, however, by some of the crew members who went out to the flight line when they heard the plane was coming in very damaged.

 “The aircraft landed and after it taxied to the ramp we were amazed at the battle damage. It wasn’t just the props that were gone but most of leading edge of the right wing. There was damage to other parts of the aircraft as well – which I recall included one of the engines on the left wing. It was the first serious incident since most of us had been there. My reaction was probably pretty typical – impressed (and somewhat assured) that the AC-130 could survive such extensive damage, but also somewhat shaken by the reality that we were playing a very deadly game.”

As if to show the intricate dance of irony and fate in the affairs of men these comments about 44 were written by Capt. Gary Chandler who, with these words, unknowingly had acknowledged that the albatross was still out there somewhere and perhaps waiting for him as well.

Next, you may ask, where on earth did we find a weapon like the gunship?

To receive the balance of this article please request it by email to: dpeders2002@gmail.com. It will only be provided upon request. Thanks for reading.