thedrifter
01-02-04, 08:36 AM
Phantoms Over North Vietnam
by Maj Fred H. Allison, USMCR(Ret)
Aerial combat over enemy territory is tantamount to dancing with the ‘Grim Reaper.’ Dodging AAA fire and SAMs was commonplace over North Vietnam. Add enemy MiG–21 aircraft to the mix and you have a real fight on your hands.
It was 11 September 1972. Two F–4J Phantom fighter/bombers of Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 333, (VMFA–333) slashed across the coastline of North Vietnam. In the back seat of the lead F–4, the radar intercept officer (RIO), Capt John D. Cummings—call sign “Li’l John”—felt the comfortable rumble of the two J–79 engines—one on each side of him. He and his pilot, Maj Lee T. “Bear” Lasseter, went through their combat checklist getting the Phantom ready for battle. They expected to see antiaircraft artillery (AAA), maybe a few surface-to-air missiles (SAMs), but not any MiGs. In combat spread formation with them was the wingman F–4, with the pilot, Capt Scott “Scotty” Dudley, and RIO, Capt James “Diamond Jim” Brady.
The two Marine fighters had launched off the USS America (CVA 66) in the South China Sea at about 1700. This strike’s target was on the east coast of North Vietnam, southeast of Hanoi. The two Marine Phantoms were to reconnoiter the target for weather conditions and then head northwest and set up a MiGCAP—(MiG combat air patrol)—a patrol between the target and the most likely avenue of approach by MiGs.
Barely going “feet dry”—crossing the coastline into North Vietnam—and headed to the MiGCAP, their Navy shipboard controller, call sign “Oswald,” nonchalantly announced over the radio the most endearing words a fighter pilot and RIO can hear, “OK, Red One and Two [the assigned radio call signs for the two Phantoms], we have bandits at 61 miles . . . vector 290.” Without hesitation, Bear pointed the Phantom west. Li’l John responded instantaneously to Oswald, “Steadied up,” indicating they were on the vector. Bear pushed up the power and began a shallow descent. Scotty and Diamond Jim emulated, staying in position, 8,000 to 9,000 feet abeam and stepped up, or at a slightly higher altitude.
They were bearing down on Hanoi at 500 knots. Oswald said the MiGs appeared to be orbiting about 10 miles northeast of Hanoi. The next calls jacked up the pucker factor significantly, “Bandit bearing now 282 at 48. Looks like more than one of them.” Then, as they got closer, “Looks like two aircraft 269 at 26, and there’s more coming in from the northwest.” Li’l John rogered the call to Oswald. To Bear he said, “Uh oh!”
At 19 miles out Li’l John saw the enemy on his radar scope. There were definitely two MiGs, down low, below 1,000 feet. At 6 or 7 miles Li’l John got consistent radar contacts. He reported the MiGs’ position to the pilots. Scotty saw them first, “Tally ho! Tally ho! 12 o’clock, keep going straight!” he shouted. Then Bear saw them. The lead aircraft was a silver MiG–21. Trailing it was a powder blue MiG. They bore down on the silver MiG as it tightened its left turn. For some unknown reason the trail MiG turned right and disappeared to the north.
Once the radar was locked on the MiG, it could feed guidance information to the radar-guided Sparrow missiles. “Confirm, cleared to fire?!” Bear called on the radio to Oswald. “Roger, cleared to fire!” Cummings felt the thump through the cockpit floor as the big missiles kicked off the belly of the F–4 and their rockets fired. It looked good. He expected to see debris from the condemned MiG. Instead the MiG was still flying. Not only had it dodged the two Sparrows, but it had maneuvered to a more advantageous position relative to the Phantom. Bear countered with a hard left turn trying to keep the MiG at bay.
This became the fight—a single circle, high “g” turn, below 1,000 feet at 450 knots over the east end of Phuc Yen—a Communist airfield. The MiG improved his position, going from their 12 o’clock position to 10 o’clock. Scotty kept his fighter high and to the outside of the circle and pressed the MiG when he could.
What a place to have this death grudge match—over an enemy airfield, 10 miles from Hanoi, with every Communist gunner in the neighborhood having a clean shot at the low-flying and very predictable American fighters. Knowing that their Phantom was gobbling fuel at an incredible rate, they desperately tried to kill the MiG. Li’l John was able to obtain radar locks, and Bear let loose with the other two Sparrows. They both missed. He fired a couple of Sidewinders, too, after getting tone or “growls” indicating the heat-seeking missile was looking at a heat source—hopefully the MiG’s hot tailpipes. These both missed, too. All the ammunition they had left now was two Sidewinders.
Fuel, or the lack of it, was more of a threat than the MiG. Scotty and Diamond Jim did the good wingman’s job until their fuel level demanded that they head for home and find an airborne tanker on the way or risk running out of fuel. With incredible reluctance, they called “Bingo” and turned toward the coast. Then a seeming miracle occurred. Inexplicably, the MiG broke off its fight with Bear and Li’l John and went after Scotty and Jim.
When the MiG rolled out of its hard turn and went after Scotty, Bear seized the opportunity. He reefed the Phantom into a hard turn that put it at the MiG’s six o’clock at less than a mile. Instantly they got a Sidewinder growl that almost drove them out of the cockpit. Bear pulled the trigger, and the heat-seeking missile went after the MiG. It went right up its tailpipe and exploded in its innards. Bear called over the radio to Oswald, “Splash one MiG–21.”
There was no time for congratulations. They were deep in enemy territory, separated from their wingman, and way low on fuel. They turned toward the coast, trying to find Scotty and Diamond Jim. Bear managed to find them in the distance, but there was another speck between Bear and Scotty. It was another aircraft—a MiG! It was closing on Scotty’s Phantom from six o’clock. Bear called, “Break port!” Scotty instantly yanked in a hard left turn. The unexpected maneuver caused the MiG to overshoot the Phantom. Bear and Li’l John closed on it. In range, Bear fired their last Sidewinder. The Communist pilot reacted instantly, popping a flare and yanking the MiG into a hard right turn. The Sidewinder guided and exploded, but the MiG’s last second evasive action minimized the missile’s damage.
Now the lack of fuel was enemy number one. Bear and Li’l John had 2,200 pounds—not much for a Phantom a long way from home. They needed a tanker right away. They were still over North Vietnam. The low-fuel state required that they sacrifice self-defense. Instead of flying fast over the rugged area northeast of Haiphong where there were fewer SAM sites, they had to cut the corner and fly practically over Haiphong itself. They also slowed to less than 400 knots. Then came the warning of a SAM launch. Red Crown, another controlling agency, started talking on the radio, giving some irrelevant information. In the middle of their transmission, another voice was heard, “SAM, SAM!”
It was Diamond Jim—he saw the SAM streaking up toward Bear and Li’l John’s F–4. They never heard his call because of Red Crown’s chatter. They felt the jolt when the SAM exploded under them. Li’l John looked out and gaped at the F–4’s wings. They were full of holes. “We’ve been hit!” he called over the radio. The fighter pitched over, hard nose down. He wrestled the Phantom into a semblance of level flight and kept its nose pointed out to sea. A couple of minutes later they were feet wet—over the ocean and safe. But they had serious problems. The fuel gauge was rolled back to zero. Were they leaking fuel, or was the gauge just messed up?
Unfortunately, it was the former and less desirable situation. Scotty called, “You’re on fire, Bear.” Li’l John replied calmly “That’s what I was afraid of. I don’t see no smoke right now, though.” With real urgency in his voice Scotty radioed, “OK Bear, you’re burning real bad!” Bear knew it. He sensed their imminent peril through the mushy, sick-feeling aircraft controls, and the fire was literally burning off the F–4’s tail. They only had seconds. He calmly said to Li’l John, “OK John! Let’s go, John!”
John knew what he meant—eject them. Before John could pull his ejection handle though, the F–4 pitched forward hard nose down, and began a flaming death spiral. The fighter’s trajectory and machinations pinned Bear and Li’l John to the top of their respective canopies—held there by the force of 3 to 4 negative “gs”—a force so intense that neither of them could pull their ejection handles. They could hardly move. They certainly could not reach the lower handles positioned on the lower part of the seats. The ones behind their heads, in the seats’ headrests were their only hope. The upper handles or face curtains, had to be pulled out over their heads, then downward over their faces 8 to 10 inches before they activated the ejection mechanism. It took all of their strength just to reach up and grab the handles. It was nearly impossible to pull them out, get the curtains between their heads and the canopy glass, and then downward.
continued....
by Maj Fred H. Allison, USMCR(Ret)
Aerial combat over enemy territory is tantamount to dancing with the ‘Grim Reaper.’ Dodging AAA fire and SAMs was commonplace over North Vietnam. Add enemy MiG–21 aircraft to the mix and you have a real fight on your hands.
It was 11 September 1972. Two F–4J Phantom fighter/bombers of Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 333, (VMFA–333) slashed across the coastline of North Vietnam. In the back seat of the lead F–4, the radar intercept officer (RIO), Capt John D. Cummings—call sign “Li’l John”—felt the comfortable rumble of the two J–79 engines—one on each side of him. He and his pilot, Maj Lee T. “Bear” Lasseter, went through their combat checklist getting the Phantom ready for battle. They expected to see antiaircraft artillery (AAA), maybe a few surface-to-air missiles (SAMs), but not any MiGs. In combat spread formation with them was the wingman F–4, with the pilot, Capt Scott “Scotty” Dudley, and RIO, Capt James “Diamond Jim” Brady.
The two Marine fighters had launched off the USS America (CVA 66) in the South China Sea at about 1700. This strike’s target was on the east coast of North Vietnam, southeast of Hanoi. The two Marine Phantoms were to reconnoiter the target for weather conditions and then head northwest and set up a MiGCAP—(MiG combat air patrol)—a patrol between the target and the most likely avenue of approach by MiGs.
Barely going “feet dry”—crossing the coastline into North Vietnam—and headed to the MiGCAP, their Navy shipboard controller, call sign “Oswald,” nonchalantly announced over the radio the most endearing words a fighter pilot and RIO can hear, “OK, Red One and Two [the assigned radio call signs for the two Phantoms], we have bandits at 61 miles . . . vector 290.” Without hesitation, Bear pointed the Phantom west. Li’l John responded instantaneously to Oswald, “Steadied up,” indicating they were on the vector. Bear pushed up the power and began a shallow descent. Scotty and Diamond Jim emulated, staying in position, 8,000 to 9,000 feet abeam and stepped up, or at a slightly higher altitude.
They were bearing down on Hanoi at 500 knots. Oswald said the MiGs appeared to be orbiting about 10 miles northeast of Hanoi. The next calls jacked up the pucker factor significantly, “Bandit bearing now 282 at 48. Looks like more than one of them.” Then, as they got closer, “Looks like two aircraft 269 at 26, and there’s more coming in from the northwest.” Li’l John rogered the call to Oswald. To Bear he said, “Uh oh!”
At 19 miles out Li’l John saw the enemy on his radar scope. There were definitely two MiGs, down low, below 1,000 feet. At 6 or 7 miles Li’l John got consistent radar contacts. He reported the MiGs’ position to the pilots. Scotty saw them first, “Tally ho! Tally ho! 12 o’clock, keep going straight!” he shouted. Then Bear saw them. The lead aircraft was a silver MiG–21. Trailing it was a powder blue MiG. They bore down on the silver MiG as it tightened its left turn. For some unknown reason the trail MiG turned right and disappeared to the north.
Once the radar was locked on the MiG, it could feed guidance information to the radar-guided Sparrow missiles. “Confirm, cleared to fire?!” Bear called on the radio to Oswald. “Roger, cleared to fire!” Cummings felt the thump through the cockpit floor as the big missiles kicked off the belly of the F–4 and their rockets fired. It looked good. He expected to see debris from the condemned MiG. Instead the MiG was still flying. Not only had it dodged the two Sparrows, but it had maneuvered to a more advantageous position relative to the Phantom. Bear countered with a hard left turn trying to keep the MiG at bay.
This became the fight—a single circle, high “g” turn, below 1,000 feet at 450 knots over the east end of Phuc Yen—a Communist airfield. The MiG improved his position, going from their 12 o’clock position to 10 o’clock. Scotty kept his fighter high and to the outside of the circle and pressed the MiG when he could.
What a place to have this death grudge match—over an enemy airfield, 10 miles from Hanoi, with every Communist gunner in the neighborhood having a clean shot at the low-flying and very predictable American fighters. Knowing that their Phantom was gobbling fuel at an incredible rate, they desperately tried to kill the MiG. Li’l John was able to obtain radar locks, and Bear let loose with the other two Sparrows. They both missed. He fired a couple of Sidewinders, too, after getting tone or “growls” indicating the heat-seeking missile was looking at a heat source—hopefully the MiG’s hot tailpipes. These both missed, too. All the ammunition they had left now was two Sidewinders.
Fuel, or the lack of it, was more of a threat than the MiG. Scotty and Diamond Jim did the good wingman’s job until their fuel level demanded that they head for home and find an airborne tanker on the way or risk running out of fuel. With incredible reluctance, they called “Bingo” and turned toward the coast. Then a seeming miracle occurred. Inexplicably, the MiG broke off its fight with Bear and Li’l John and went after Scotty and Jim.
When the MiG rolled out of its hard turn and went after Scotty, Bear seized the opportunity. He reefed the Phantom into a hard turn that put it at the MiG’s six o’clock at less than a mile. Instantly they got a Sidewinder growl that almost drove them out of the cockpit. Bear pulled the trigger, and the heat-seeking missile went after the MiG. It went right up its tailpipe and exploded in its innards. Bear called over the radio to Oswald, “Splash one MiG–21.”
There was no time for congratulations. They were deep in enemy territory, separated from their wingman, and way low on fuel. They turned toward the coast, trying to find Scotty and Diamond Jim. Bear managed to find them in the distance, but there was another speck between Bear and Scotty. It was another aircraft—a MiG! It was closing on Scotty’s Phantom from six o’clock. Bear called, “Break port!” Scotty instantly yanked in a hard left turn. The unexpected maneuver caused the MiG to overshoot the Phantom. Bear and Li’l John closed on it. In range, Bear fired their last Sidewinder. The Communist pilot reacted instantly, popping a flare and yanking the MiG into a hard right turn. The Sidewinder guided and exploded, but the MiG’s last second evasive action minimized the missile’s damage.
Now the lack of fuel was enemy number one. Bear and Li’l John had 2,200 pounds—not much for a Phantom a long way from home. They needed a tanker right away. They were still over North Vietnam. The low-fuel state required that they sacrifice self-defense. Instead of flying fast over the rugged area northeast of Haiphong where there were fewer SAM sites, they had to cut the corner and fly practically over Haiphong itself. They also slowed to less than 400 knots. Then came the warning of a SAM launch. Red Crown, another controlling agency, started talking on the radio, giving some irrelevant information. In the middle of their transmission, another voice was heard, “SAM, SAM!”
It was Diamond Jim—he saw the SAM streaking up toward Bear and Li’l John’s F–4. They never heard his call because of Red Crown’s chatter. They felt the jolt when the SAM exploded under them. Li’l John looked out and gaped at the F–4’s wings. They were full of holes. “We’ve been hit!” he called over the radio. The fighter pitched over, hard nose down. He wrestled the Phantom into a semblance of level flight and kept its nose pointed out to sea. A couple of minutes later they were feet wet—over the ocean and safe. But they had serious problems. The fuel gauge was rolled back to zero. Were they leaking fuel, or was the gauge just messed up?
Unfortunately, it was the former and less desirable situation. Scotty called, “You’re on fire, Bear.” Li’l John replied calmly “That’s what I was afraid of. I don’t see no smoke right now, though.” With real urgency in his voice Scotty radioed, “OK Bear, you’re burning real bad!” Bear knew it. He sensed their imminent peril through the mushy, sick-feeling aircraft controls, and the fire was literally burning off the F–4’s tail. They only had seconds. He calmly said to Li’l John, “OK John! Let’s go, John!”
John knew what he meant—eject them. Before John could pull his ejection handle though, the F–4 pitched forward hard nose down, and began a flaming death spiral. The fighter’s trajectory and machinations pinned Bear and Li’l John to the top of their respective canopies—held there by the force of 3 to 4 negative “gs”—a force so intense that neither of them could pull their ejection handles. They could hardly move. They certainly could not reach the lower handles positioned on the lower part of the seats. The ones behind their heads, in the seats’ headrests were their only hope. The upper handles or face curtains, had to be pulled out over their heads, then downward over their faces 8 to 10 inches before they activated the ejection mechanism. It took all of their strength just to reach up and grab the handles. It was nearly impossible to pull them out, get the curtains between their heads and the canopy glass, and then downward.
continued....