Thunderchief at War
The F-105’s down-and-dirty war in Vietnam
PICTURE, IF YOU WILL, a Mach-2-capable, all-weather fighterbomber that flies 1,000 feet above the ground on autopilot, while a Doppler navigation system steers it to a target 300 to 500 nautical miles distant. Then, at 550 knots, it runs in toward the target on radar. At the proper time, using inputs from the integrated air data computer and toss bomb computer (TBC), the ship’s autopilot pulls it into a flawless 4G half-loop, whereupon the TBC tosses a nuclear weapon nine miles and which hits within 700 yards of the designated target.
Once the weapon releases, a silver-coated hood snaps automatically over the canopy to protect the pilot’s eyes and face from the flash of the nuclear blast that’s to follow. The autopilot then rolls the aircraft upright completing an Immelmann, and at 600 to 800 knots (depending on the pilot’s perceived urgency and fuel state) steers it to the selected escape waypoint. Back at home base, the autopilot locks onto the instrument landing system and performs an automatic approach to weather minimums. At that point, the pilot takes over and lands manually.
Now picture this same sophisticated, supersonic “tactical nuclear weapons delivery system” loaded externally with World War II-era bombs, armed with fuses certified to around 200 knots, and which were designed for internal carriage in four-engine World War II B-17s and B-24s.
The pilot is to drop these bombs on a small bridge or road amidst the most intensive antiaircraft defenses in recorded aviation history.
To avoid the enemy’s defenses, the mission is flown at very low altitude; then at 550 knots, the aircraft pops up with either six or eight 750-pound bombs to 12,000 feet, midst intense antiaircraft fire interspersed with surface-to-air SA-2 missiles. Then the pilot dive-bombs his assigned primary target: a culvert along a two-lane highway near a railroad yard loaded with freight trains bringing untold tons of ammunition and missiles to the enemy.
If the pilot attempts to shoot or destroy the trains or the enemy’s antiaircraft gun emplacements or SA-2 missile sites, he will be court-martialed as a criminal.
These are forbidden targets, to be hit only if and when specifically authorized by the President of the United States or his Secretary of Defense.
The nondescript targets and the specific type of weapons used have been personally selected by the Secretary of Defense,
“along with system analyst and other
civilian members of his own department and the Department of State … who had devised their own strategy … without benefit of effective military advice from the organization having the statutory responsibility to be the nation’s ‘principal military advisors’ ” … (i.e., the Joint Chiefs). Sound unbelievable? It shouldn’t, as it precisely describes the role and mission of the F-105D Thunderchief and its pilots in the bombing campaign against North Vietnam and its Communist-bloc backers.
Background
As hostilities escalated with North Vietnam, the Thunderchiefs initially flew at around 18,000 feet and dive-bombed their politically selected targets with relatively light resistance. Then the Soviet sponsors brought in their air defense system. This included a coordinated series of antiaircraft guns, radar-guided surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) and later supersonic MiG fighters.
Organized in a series of defensive rings, each about 17 miles in diameter, the SAMs were at the center, surrounded by a dense array of antiaircraft guns. A SA-2 battery usually contained two to six missiles.
Within the ring, when the AAA was firing, every man or woman with a firearm was instructed to fire into the air vertically. Thus anything entering the circle encountered a lead hailstorm emanating from the ground. Later, MiG interceptors were added to the mix. When and how these assets were used was orchestrated from a control van by a combat-ready interceptor pilot. This included Soviet-bloc, Cuban and North Korean “instructors.”
The Air Force leadership had asked DOD repeatedly for permission to strike these new sites before they became operational. But until the fall of 1965, the requests were consistently denied.
At last, on October 31, 1965, two fourship flights of F-105Ds, each carrying eight 750-pound bombs, and led by a Navy A-4 armed with 500-pound bombs, were sent to destroy a single SAM site near Hanoi.
The Navy aircraft was equipped with a rudimentary device that would home on the SA-2’s “Fan Song” (search mode) radar emissions. The A-4 pilot was to mark the site with his bombs, whereupon the F-105s would destroy the control van and missiles.
On this occasion, the A-4 pilot was Lt. Cmdr. Trent R. Powers, the executive officer of VA-164 squadron, flying from the USS Oriskany. Since it was a “White House”directed mission, Powers knew it was dangerous. His plan was to fly directly across the site and skipbomb the missiles. Because of their larger, more powerful bombs, the Air Force pilots preferred to pop up at high speed from low altitude and then divebomb the target.
Captain Gray Barnhill, the last man (number-four aircraft) in the second flight of that strike, remembers: “[During the run-in to the target] I flew so low over a guy driving a tractor that he leapt to the ground. Then my plane was hit by small-arms fire, causing some yellow caution lights to glow.
“Then Powers calmly transmitted, ‘I’ve got ’em on my nose … starting my run.’ He flew directly over the target at treetop level and was literally disintegrated by withering ground fire. I lit the [after]burner and popped up to about 7,500 feet, with Powers’ Emergency Locator Beacon screeching in my headset. During my brief dive-bomb run there was a sharp knocking sound, like a fist on a door. This was more enemy ground fire hitting the plane. This small-arms fire caused multiple red (fire) and yellow emergency lights to blink incessantly [on the annunciator panel].”
With each pilot living his own individual hell, jinking violently (dodging from side to side) to get away from the unrelenting ground fire, Barnhill relates, “I departed the target area at 810 knots on the deck.” Meanwhile, because of the fire warning, “I
transmitted my intention to eject over the Gulf east of Haiphong.”
Until that mission, the enemy had typically launched just one or two SA-2s at the aircraft, but on this occasion they were clearly expecting the strike. Barnhill relates, “… they were firing SAMs like artillery. Fifteen is the number I remember. It’s what they mean by ‘All hell broke loose.’”
Fortunately for Captain Barnhill, he made it to the Gulf of Tonkin, where the Navy would surely rescue him. But the firewarning lights were now out; and after refueling from a KC-135 tanker, he made it back to home base.
Later examination showed his aircraft had small-arms bullet holes “all over the plane, except (miraculously) for the extremely vulnerable underbelly. It required 4,000 man-hours of work just to get it airworthy enough to ferry somewhere else for repair.”
Battle Damage
Because the Thunderchief was contracted under the Cook-Craigie plan, wherein the very first airplane built was considered a production aircraft, with modifications made as tests and experience dictated, the aircraft was literally a continuous work in progress. Surviving battle damage had not yet been considered. And unfortunately both the fuel and hydraulic lines were routed underneath its fuselage-mounted engine. Nor was there armor plate to protect these critical systems or the engine. Consequently, just a single .30-caliber bullet in the ship’s aft section could puncture a fuel or hydraulic line or put a hole in the engine’s hot casing, which in turn produced an intense fire. Then, shortly, the hydraulic lines to the flight controls would burn through and rupture. With hydraulic pressure gone, the horizontal stabilizers would flop to the full leadingedge up position, and the aircraft would violently pitch down.
It happened regularly; in fact, this frailty caused Captain Lew Shattuck to eject twice, the second time costing him seven years as a prisoner of war. The first occurred on July 1, 1966. Shattruck relates, “I went down to shoot up a tugboat that was apparently just leaving the dock. It was a trap. The 37s (37mm antiaircraft cannon) opened up, and I took a hit in the lower aft section. The [annunciator] lights came on, and the P-1 (primary flight control) hydraulic system went to zero. I was burning and headed out to sea with the engine running fine.
THEY WERE FIRING SAMS LIKE ARTILLERY. FIFTEEN IS THE NUMBER I REMEMBER. IT’S WHAT THEY MEAN BY ‘ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE.’
“Then my wingman said the fire was out. So I headed south for Da Nang. A minute or so later, my wingman confirmed the aftsection fire had restarted, so I climbed for altitude as the P-2 (backup flight control) hydraulic system started to drop. Shortly thereafter, the nose pitched down, and at 240 KIAS I punched out.” He was picked up by the Navy and returned to his home base in Thailand.
Ten days later, on July 11, it happened again. But this time it was quick. The flight was well inland—their mission to knock down a bridge. Shattuck had just pulled off the target in a climbing turn and looked back to check on his flight. “I was caught by two 37mm rounds in the lower aft section. Almost immediately the controls froze, and the nose started to pitch down. I punched out with the airspeed reading 540 KIAS and increasing.” He was seriously injured and captured immediately.
(During the ejection, wind blast broke his left arm and dislocated his right shoulder. While being transported to Hanoi for interrogation and confinement, his captors stopped briefly at an Army unit where a medic reset his dislocated shoulder. Once in Hanoi, his broken arm and shoulder were twisted during interrogation to force him to talk. Several weeks after his capture, Captain Shattuck was sent to a local hospital and put into a body cast. This was left on for several months.)
Another flight-control failure involved the only lieutenant in our squadron, 1st. Lt. Donald William (Bill) Bruch Jr. He had been assigned to B-Flight in the newly formed 333rd Tactical Fighter Squadron at Takhli
Air Base, Thailand. As B-Flight commander, I was immediately apprehensive. The average age in the squadron was 31, with all members having at least five years experience flying the Thunderchief. Based on our already significant loss rate, a lieutenant just out of flight school had little chance of surviving the 100 missions we were expected to fly. (The 100-mission rule changed when it became obvious to DOD that a shortage of fighter pilots would follow completion of our combat tour. So despite the high loss rate, missions in Laos were not counted in the 100-mission total.)
Yet despite his youth and inexperience, Bill proved to be the best among professionals. All of us missed the target on occasion, but despite the AAA, Bill consistently made direct hits. In fact, his accuracy in dive-bombing worried me. He was releasing at low altitude, thus making himself too vulnerable.
On one of our first missions together, he was flying the number-four position. Our assigned target was a highway bridge in a relatively remote section of North Vietnam. When we arrived in the target area, the entire countryside was covered by a thick layer of clouds. But as we circled, there was a break in the undercast.
We dived through the opening in “followthe-leader” fashion and bottomed out
beneath the 6,000-foot overcast. Thanks to our Doppler navigation system, we promptly found the target: located in a very steep ravine between two mountains, both of which were shrouded in clouds.
Because of the low clouds and steepness of the terrain, it looked too risky for divebombing. Quickly I made a decision, “Buick flight, the target’s at two o’clock, but we’ll have to forget it. Instead, let’s cut the road up ahead.”
Three of us hit the road successfully; then the bridge suddenly vaporized as all six of Bill’s bombs hit dead-center. He had unerringly obliterated the target. His courage and accuracy were commendable, but his daring was of some concern.
In our postflight debriefing, I attempted to explain my rationale; hopefully, he would see the point and temper his future actions. For the next few months, he continually repeated his unerring accuracy. Then came the big one.
Bill was flying as Dodge two in the fourship flight, wingman for another flight leader. The target was the Thai Nguyen railroad yards, about 60 miles north of Hanoi. As we quickly recognized, this was one of the first truly worthwhile targets of the war. The intelligence officer emphasized, “Do not drop any bombs on the steel plant adjacent to the railroad yards. You are only after the rolling stock and the railroad itself.”
The target’s importance was made immediately obvious by the defenses surrounding it—an unimaginable array of antiaircraft guns and SA-2 missiles.
Even today, the recording of the radio transmissions from that mission raise the hair on my neck. Our entire fighter wing went down through everything the enemy could throw at us.
On a typical lightly defended target, the bomb-release altitude was around 4,000 feet. But a heavily defended target called for release at 7,500 feet, and while the higher release altitude was less accurate, it increased your chances of avoiding the small arms-fire.
“Dodge flight” was the fifth into the target.
By that time, the radio was alive with the excited chatter and the sky filled with deadly orange and black puffs of AAA. They popped up at 550 knots to around 12,000 feet, and then each rolled into the target. In the dive, Dodge three called “Watch out for the SAM,” as an obviously unguided surface-to-air missile went hurtling past.
Their bombs were unerringly accurate, with Bill’s destroying a freight train. Shortly, Dodge four called departing the target, and the flight, still jinking through the unbelievable flak, began heading for safety.
Suddenly Dodge three called, “Someone’s hit; who is it?” An F-105 was burning badly. Dodge four replied “Dodge four’s with you.” Then Dodge leader said, “It must be Dodge two.” Only then did Lt. Bruch speak up in his calm, almost soft voice and say, “It’s me; Dodge two is hit.”
With Dodge leader now alongside, the two airplanes continued through murderous AAA fire. Now indicating close to 600 knots and only 3,000 feet above the rice paddies, Dodge leader called, “You’re still torching quite a lot out the back.”
Suddenly Dodge two’s Thunderchief pitched down violently; the hydraulic lines to the flight controls had burned through. Bill crashed with no apparent effort to eject, likely the result of the tremendous negative G-forces caused by the downward-pitching moment. The entire squadron grieved at his loss.
During the seven months of my combat tour—December 5, 1965 through June 1966—our squadron alone, the 333rd TFS, lost 12 airplanes and seven pilots, one spending seven years as a POW. Our parent 355th Tactical Fighter Wing lost 26 aircraft, roughly a quarter of their fleet; yet only a very few targets were worthy of the effort. The rest were what we called “splinter missions”—making splinters out of trees (e.g., “suspected truck park” or “possible rest area”). In fact, during 1966, the first full year of active combat, 126 F-105Ds were lost, 103 to AAA fire.
Modifications
To increase the airplane’s survivability, several significant modifications were made. One of the first was a system to lock the horizontal stabilizers in a fixed trim position when the hydraulic systems failed. This modification alone saved many lives. Fuel and hydraulic lines were rerouted over the spine of the aircraft along with an additional hydraulic reservoir. The flap motors, too, were modified so that with frozen controls the pilot could bank and maintain some directional control using differential flap deflections. Added, too, was armor plating to protect the airplane’s vulnerable underbelly.
IN THE FIRST SEVEN MONTHS OF COMBAT, OUR PARENT 355TH TACTICAL FIGHTER WING LOST 26 AIRCRAFT, ROUGHLY A QUARTER OF THEIR FLEET; YET ONLY A VERY FEW TARGETS WERE WORTHY OF THE EFFORT.
Finale
The last F-105D strike mission was completed on October 6, 1970. However, the F-105G Wild Weasels remained in combat until war’s end—the last F-105G departed Korat Air Base (Thailand) on October 29, 1974. A total of 382 F-105s were lost in the Vietnam War, almost half of the 833 aircraft manufactured. This cost the lives of 156 airmen.
Carrying World War II-era bombs externally on a Mach-2 nuclear weapons delivery system could be compared to hauling dirt in the back seat of a new Cadillac. Still, the dedicated aircrews made it work. More than 75 percent of the bombs dropped over North Vietnam were carried by F-105s.
As for the Vietnam debacle, never in our nation’s history has the Constitutionally required civilian leadership and control of the military been so severely mishandled and abused than during the reign of Secretary of Defense Robert F. McNamara and his collection of supposedly intellectual giants called “Whiz kids.” Our military warriors were callously sacrificed by pseudotacticians having only academic credentials (history, political science, etc.). Then the U.S. Congress, with some members actively supporting the enemy’s agenda, stopped the funding at a critical time in history. This led to an unprecedented blood bath in Southeast Asia, particularly Cambodia.
Our subsequent ignominious withdrawal callously denigrated the sacrifice of
58,148 service members who were killed, 75,000 severely disabled and 23,214 totally disabled. It was, in fact, the most mishandled and incompetently planned and executed conflict in the history of warfare. Meanwhile members of our U.S. Congress acted overtly on behalf of our enemy.
I know because I was there!