My first chance of disaster came about December 15, 1967. It was a routine mission in the “Tally HO” area to seed mines at the ferry crossing. These were 500-pound bombs with a magnetic fuse. When the bombs were dropped, they didn’t go off but would lay in the river until a boat or something passed through the magnetic field, then BOOM! It was a moonlit night with a few puffy clouds. This ferry crossing was about 35 miles north of the DMZ although that had no bearing on what was about to happen. My B/N (bombardier/navigator) was Jack, and we took an easy path down the river. I was at 3000 feet with an airspeed of 400 miles an hour. As we continued down the river and made the turn, Jack told me that he had lost his aim point. I couldn’t believe it. This was as easy as they come. Nevertheless, I turned around and went back to our initial point to make another run. It was so well-lit that I could visually hit the initial point.
I slowed the plane to 300 knots so that it would be even easier for Jack to get on his aim point. As we went down the river, suddenly, fire opened from the ground, and it was like the Fourth of July with anti-aircraft fire in front of the plane, on both sides, and in the back. With only one in ten pieces of ammo being a tracer, I realized how much steel was out there that I could not see. The bombs started to drop, and I continued until they were all gone. The fire from the ground had stopped so I was safe. When the last bomb left the plane, I went full throttle, pulled around to the left and climbed. I wanted to see where all that fire came from. I couldn’t see anything even with the moonlight, but I knew there were people down there who didn’t like me. I knew better than to fly the same route twice. I was lucky and I didn’t make the same mistake again.
“My name is not on the Wall!”
I applied for and received my first R&R at Christmas so I could be home with my family. I felt some apprehension as I boarded the 707 plane at Da Nang, but the plane took off destination Honolulu. With a refueling stop in Guam, the plane wasn’t on the ground for more than thirty minutes, and we were on to Honolulu. Less than 14 hours after leaving Da Nang, the beautiful Hawaiian Islands came into view, and we landed at Honolulu International Airport. While going through customs, it seemed like an eternity for Pat and the children who were on the other side of the glass. It only took about 25 minutes, and I was free to go, and we went home. It was great to be with my family who I had left four months earlier.
We drove across the Pali to our rented Kaneohe house which was stuck into the side of the mountain. All the houses were like this, not just ours, but the driveway had what appeared to be a 40-degree slope to get to the house. The kids all piled out of the car at the bottom so the muffler wouldn’t drag, and we made it up the driveway. I didn’t think that Pat could make it through a year going up this driveway without an accident, but she made it with flying colors. Like many other tasks, when the pressure was on, Pat came through with no problems.
We celebrated Christmas, with our five children, Pat and me. We went to Waimea Beach to watch a surfing contest. It was great because I hadn’t seen one before and the waves were the highest on North Beach where Waimea is located. After spending the rest of my R&R not doing much, Pat arranged a night out to see Don Ho sing and other entertainment. We had a wonderful friend who did the babysitting. All too soon, the five days were up, and I was taken back to the airport to take another 707 back to Da Nang. The R&R was wonderful and did wonders for my spirits. Now it was back to flying missions.
Next came a daytime mission in South Vietnam just south of the DMZ. We went across the beach at more than 500 miles an hour. As I crossed the beach I was surprised when I looked down and saw a man standing in the sand holding a rifle. I mentioned to the B/N that a man was down there, but I don’t think he saw him. We continued to our target and then flew out of there. When we got back to base, we looked and there was a hole where a bullet had gone into the fiberglass radome on the front of the plane. It was on the B/N’s side of the plane.
“My name is not on the Wall!”
I had another Rolling Thunder mission, and for some reason, I had a B/N named Rudy Schwanda. He was a very enthusiastic person and he had planned the mission before I even looked at the flight schedule. I looked at what he planned, and it all looked good to me. The target was down in the southwestern part of North Vietnam and was supposed to be a military installation. The only thing I didn’t like about the way Rudy planned the flight was that he had me pulling off to the right and I always pulled off to the left. I had a bad habit of looking down to see whether anyone was firing at me, and I never pulled off right because I couldn’t see as well because the B/N sat on the right side of the plane, and I had to look over him.
After the bombs dropped and I was pulling off the target to the right, it was a milky night, and I became confused. By the time I realized what was happening, I was losing altitude and heading to the ground. I taught flight to students at Pensacola for three years and I knew that I had to recover from this altitude. I knew that the proper procedure was to roll the wings level and reduce the throttle setting to idle. I leveled the wings, but I was still losing altitude. I started to watch the altimeter and saw it go through 2500, 2000 feet and then I really pulled back on the stick. I failed to pull the throttles back to idle so I was going really fast by this time. I was going 500 knots and the plane was still losing altitude. I saw the altimeter read 1500 and I was pulling very hard on the stick. I looked out the canopy to the left and I saw a shadow. I looked out to the right and saw that I was in a valley between two hills. I pulled out of the dive and the altimeter hit 1500 feet. I was lucky enough to hit the valley instead of one of the mountains. When I saw the maps, I realized how close I had come to disaster. Rudy never said anything, and I didn’t either. The G-meter read over 6 Gs and I downed the airplane to have them check for too many Gs on the plane.
Lynn’s note: Rudy Schwanda 1943-2022. Rudy stayed in the Marine Corps and retired as a Lt. Colonel. He received the Silver Star for his service and did additional tours in Vietnam.
“My name is not on the Wall!”
