Rampant Raiders

April 25, 1967, VA-212 tests the A-4 to the limit

April 25, 1967, VA-212 tests the A-4 to the limit

When we put ourselves under a surgeon’s knife, we usually also put ourselves into the trust of someone who knows his craft and can work under pressure, particular when things start to go really bad. For instance, as a patient, it would be reassuring to know that the doctor about to work on me had also been a carrier-based light-attack naval aviator with the Silver Star and the Purple Heart, and that he was the young A-4 pilot in a famous series of photos taken during a mission to the heart of North Vietnam in 1967, right in the middle of the aerial campaign known as Rolling Thunder.

On April 25, 1967, Lt. (j.g.) Al Crebo, of VA212, flying from the carrier Bon Homme Richard (CVA-31), took part in a raid on an ammunition depot near Haiphong, the port city for the capital of Hanoi. As Crebo approached the target, climbing to 8,000 feet to begin his delivery dive, an SA-2 exploded nearby. He recalls:

“I was assigned to the afternoon strike. There was considerable consternation in the air group because the morning strike group had sustained significant battle damage, including the loss of an A-4C from VA-76.

Our good friend Charlie Stackhouse was shot down [by a MiG-17], and we didn’t know if he had survived the ejection. Fortunately, as we found out later, he was alive but had been taken prisoner.

“Our target for the last strike of the day was the Kien An ammunition depot near the Cat Bi airfield on the southern edge of Haiphong. I had an uneasy feeling about this strike for a number of reasons. The question of strike tactics was the subject of a great deal of discussion at that early stage of the cruise. Some people thought

COASTING IN, THE STRIKERS BEGAN TO RECEIVE A SAM WARNING ... IT WAS GOING TO BE A ROUGH DELIVERY.

we should coast in low at about 3,500 feet, and then climb to 7,000 feet over the target for the attack. We would stay out of the SAM envelope for as long as we could. The problem with this approach was that aircraft, heavily loaded with ordnance, would be over the target at low speed. We discarded these tactics in favor of a high coast-in, about 14,000 feet, with a gradual acceleration and decreasing altitude to arrive in the target area at high speed.

“We never made repeated runs over the same target. ‘High, steep, fast, and once’ proved much more effective. It was early in the cruise, however, and we had not reached that level of sophistication.

“Another concern was there were two strike groups ahead of us in the general area. There wouldn’t be any element of surprise. Also, the second strike group would be on its way out, while we were on our way in.”

Crebo’s group consisted of six A-4Es from VA-212, a four-plane division and a section of two. A sister squadron, VA-76, contributed four A-4Cs as flak suppressors. Two more VA-212 Scooters went along as Iron Hand aircraft carrying Shrikes. Four F-8Es from VF-211 also furnished flak suppression, while four F-8Cs from VF-24 flew TARCAP, guarding against MiG interceptors. VA-215 Skyraiders were tasked with SARCAP duties to protect downed pilots. There were KA-3 tankers and RF-8s along as well. It was a big strike.

Although Lt. (j.g.) Crebo was a junior pilot

and was assigned the number-six slot, he had considerable A-4 time, having made a previous Mediterranean cruise with VA-64 aboard the newly commissioned USS America (CVA-66).

Coasting in, the strikers began to receive a SAM warning from the Air Force EC-121 orbiting off shore. The code word “Hallmark,” meaning SAMs, flooded the airways. Inside their cockpits, the A-4 pilots also heard the warble of their ALQ-51s— devices that detected the fire-control radar of the SAM launch battery. Flak was also beginning to appear. Gray and black puffs of 37mm and 85mm AAA dotted the sky. It was going to be a rough delivery.

Crebo continues:

“The ALQ-51 was going crazy with high warble and the red SAM light. The Shrike birds and TARCAP had detached and climbed to 20,000 feet. The attack plan was to roll in to the east and then be on course for the runout back to the Gulf of Tonkin.

“Because of the climb, we were at a very low speed over the target. It seemed as though we were hanging there for an eternity below 250 knots. I was number six on the roll-in, and when my airplane was in a 90-degree bank, I was hit by a SAM coming from the west on the blind side. It felt like a moderately severe automobile accident. I was not surprised that I was hit because we were hanging over the target, exposed. I was also mildly angry with myself and the enemy.

“The first thing that happened was that another missile passed by a few yards off my starboard side. SAMs were proximityfused and were supposed to detonate when they came near an aircraft. Had that missile blown up, it would have ruined the rest of my day. The fact that the SAM did not detonate close to me was pure luck.

The missile eventually blew up ahead of me in a huge puff of orange smoke. At this point, virtually all the warning lights were on, including the fire-warning light. The

A-4 was on fire. There was smoke coming out of my oxygen mask. When that second SAM detonated, I thought, ‘So that’s what a SAM smells like when it goes off.’ After dismissing that ridiculous thought, I realized I was smelling smoke and tore off one of the mask fittings from my helmet.

“I was still hanging over the target. I was thinking first and foremost about escape. I knew the best way to convert altitude to airspeed was to dive. I did have a good view of the target and could see the other A-4s completing their runs. Out of revenge and self-preservation, I decided to attack on my way out to the water.

“Just after I had delivered my weapons in a rather steep run, the airplane became uncontrollable and rolled beyond 90 degrees to about 135 degrees of bank; I had lost hydraulics. I thought I was a dead man! I wondered what hitting the ground at this speed would feel like. I pulled the manual flight-control disconnect handle, and with considerable effort, I rolled wings level and pulled out of the dive.”

Crebo was now at a very low altitude as he headed for the Gulf. Several of his squadron mates joined with him as he

THE MISsILE BLEW UP AHEAD OF ME IN A HUGE PUFf OF ORANGE SMOKE ... VIRTUALlY ALl THE WARNING LIGHTS WERE ON, INCLUDING THE FIRE-WARNING LIGHT. THE A-4 WAS ON FIRE.

struggled to make it to the relative safety of the water. They stared in disbelief at the battered A-4. It was trailing fuel, and its rudder was gone, as were several fuselage panels. Later, Crebo learned that his horizontal stabilizers were skewed several degrees out of alignment. No wonder his little bomber was having trouble staying straight and level. When he tried to put his gear and hook down, only the hook and nose gear came out. Without his main gear, the option of trapping back aboard the carrier was gone. Ejection was now the only choice.

As he tried to reach 10,000 feet, the engine ran out of fuel, or perhaps seized, at 6,000 feet. Nose-heavy, the Skyhawk dived for the water, making it impossible for Crebo to reach his face curtain to eject. He went for the secondary handle between his legs, a feature most ejection seats included for just such a situation.

He was rescued after only four minutes in the water and, incredibly, was back on flight status the next day! He received the Silver Star for this mission. Al Crebo completed his tour with more than 200 missions. Leaving the Navy, he finished his medical training and became an ophthalmologic surgeon.

The photos of his flight out of North Vietnam became some of the classic images of the air war.

Lt. (j.g.) Stephen Gray was another junior aviator in VA-212 that day. He related more of the overall mission, especially the ordeal of the squadron XO, Cmdr. Marvin M. Quaid, who assumed command in May when Cmdr. Homer Smith was shot down. This day, Quaid’s A-4 had also taken a SAM hit. As the most junior aviator, Gray was flying the XO’s wing, and he had a ringside seat for what happened.

“’Eagle Two’s got a SAM light,’ I bleated over the radio. The climb to 7,000 feet seemed to take forever! I was relieved when Quaid at last rolled over and started the run. Eager to get the nose into the dive and avoid the SAM, whose whereabouts I didn’t know, I pulled inside Quaid’s turn and ended up damn near in parade position on him [nearly abeam]. We were supposed to separate far enough to make individual runs at the target and wheel around past lead’s run-in line to avoid eating the flak that missed him.

“Frantically scanning for the target— there! Low buildings, pipper on the first row. Four thousand, stabbing the bomb pickle four times, feeling the little airplane buck and jump as the bombs came off. With the onset of G, I pulled up screaming against the bladder of my G-suit, with my left hand on the max G-suit inflate button, trying to keep the XO’s plane in the small spot of vision I had remaining.

“Suddenly, from right to left, there was a bright orange flash. Quaid’s airplane disappeared in the fireball, and there, directly on my nose, spun the still burning rocket motor of the SAM. In reflex, I yanked back on the stick to miss the motor and flashed through the smoke and debris field from the explosion. Quaid’s A-4 was a dim silhouette in a cloud of fuel and hydraulic vapor streaming from many holes in the wings and fuselage.

“’Eagle lead, you’re hit! Head for the beach!’ My call got no response. I added power and pulled alongside the XO. His plane was steadily losing speed and altitude, and he seemed to be slumped forward in the cockpit. ‘Oh, sh*t,’ I thought, ‘he’s dead!’”

The two A-4s sped over a big flak site near the mouth of Haiphong harbor, and the six guns, either heavy 85mm or 100mm weapons, threw up a curtain of fire. The bright yellow balls of flame bracketed the

American planes, and the radio was alive with calls. At last, Gray heard a call from Cmdr. Quaid.

“Eagle Six, I’m hit, and I’m losing control!” Gray watched as the ram air turbine came out from the right side of Quaid’s aircraft. He hoped it would provide emergency electrical power for the stricken A-4.

“Eagle lead, do you know you’re hit?”

Gray made the incredible call, to which the XO replied, “Do I know I’m hit!!” Then softer, “Yeah, how bad is it?”

The wingman flew under the XO to inspect the damage.

There were multiple holes in the wings and fuselage with hydraulic fluid and fuel still leaking. He obviously only had fuselage fuel remaining, and the wing tanks had many holes. Gray told Quaid, and he confirmed he had about 1,100 pounds of fuel remaining. He said the controls felt stiff and sluggish, and he might have to disconnect the boost package [the same procedure as Al Crebo was following at that exact moment].

The XO was still in command of the flight, however, and he tried to reassemble his aircraft. Eagle Three and Eagle Four were still in formation as the four aircraft joined on Al Crebo in Eagle Six, with Eagle Five as his wingman.

“Crebo’s A-4 was a sight to behold. He had no rudder, and fully half of the vertical stabilizer was gone. Holes the size of footballs and basketballs allowed the others to see right through the tailpipe in several places. Someone pointed out that viewed from dead astern, the horizontal stabilizer was twisted about three degrees out of alignment with the trailing edge of the wing. Every access panel in the fuselage had popped open from the force of the concussion.”

After Crebo had ejected, the rest of the flight set up for their recovery aboard the Bonnie Dick. Cmdr. Quaid called the ball, telling the LSO, “I’m the guy with nothing!” He had lost most of his systems and had to get aboard on the first pass, which he did. After cannibalizing the A-4 for parts, the squadron pushed it over the side.

Intelligence reports revealed that the North Vietnamese had fired more than 30 SA-2s at the BHR strike group. As now retired airline captain Gray observed, “This was just a prelude of things to come in the summer of ’67.”

CREBO’S A-4 WAS A SIGHT TO BEHOLD. HE HAD NO RUDDER, AND FULLY HALF OF THE VERTICAL STABILIZER WAS GONE.

(Photo by PH3 M.H. Flannery via Al Crebo.) Left: Not for the superstitious. Al Crebo poses for a pre-mission photo before seating himself in NP 225’s cockpit. Less than two hours later, he was fighting to keep the mortally wounded Scooter in the air.

(Photo by Lt. Tom Taylor via author.) Above: The extent of the damage shows up well as Crebo contemplates the inevitable ejection that awaits him as he nears his carrier. Scorched and mangled, BuNo. 151102 proved just how tough the A-4 was as it struggled to carry its young pilot out of the reaches of the enemy and the near certainty of internment.

(Photo courtesy of author.) Above: BuNo. 151113 waits to be towed to the catapult for a mission in late March 1967. Two months later, on May 31, it was lost along with its pilot, Lt. Cmdr. Arvin R. Chauncey, who was captured and imprisoned by the North Vietnamese. It carries one Walleye under the starboard wing and an iron bomb under the port wing.

(Photo by PH1 D.I. Peth via author.) A bow-on view of the Bon Homme Richard (CVA-31) under way in the South China Sea. Commissioned on November 26, 1944, it gave the Navy 30 years of service before it was decommissioned in July 1971. It made six combat deployments to Vietnam. It was sold for scrap in March 1992, after languishing at the big reserve fleet center at Bremerton, Washington.

(Photo courtesy of Al Crebo via author.) Al Crebo (extreme right) works the phone on the LSO platform. Three different color flight suits are displayed during this transitional period. Crebo’s orange suit and the tan suit worn by the man in front of him were “in fashion” during the prewar period. The green “utilities,” consisting of a shirt and trousers worn by the man in the center, were an unofficial uniform favored by many aviators and often worn not only as a working uniform but also as a flight suit. The utilities didn’t give any fire protection, however. The two enlisted men on the left wear dungarees and pullovers.

(Photo by Gabor Palfai courtesy of Istvan Toperczer via author.) Below: Soviet-supplied SA-2 SAMs quickly became one of the greatest threats to U.S. strike groups. Relatively mobile and lethal, the big 35-foot missiles could be launched from nearly any level area that could accommodate the launcher and its various support vans that helped aim and fire each SAM.

(Photo courtesy of author.) Above: a lineup of Rampant Raider A-4s carries an assortment of ordnance that includes Walleye glidebombs and Mk. 82 500-pound iron bombs.

(Photo courtesy of author.) Right: the AGM-62 Walleye glide-bomb was fairly successful, at least better than its contemporary, the big Bullpup, which required the pilot to avoid evasive action while steering the missile toward its target.

(Photo courtesy of author.) Above right: VA-212 CO, Cmdr. Homer Smith (right) stands with Lt. Tom Taylor on the Bonnie Dick’s flight deck before the first Walleye mission on March 12, 1967. Taylor was on assignment from the Navy’s weapons development center at China Lake. Cmdr. Smith was shot down and captured on May 20. He died in prison and was awarded a posthumous Navy Cross for a mission the day before he was lost and a posthumous promotion to captain. He had previously been awarded the Silver Star for a 1966 mission.

(Photo courtesy of Steve Gray via author.) Above left: Steve Gray rests his hand on a Zuni rocket pod slung under the starboard wing of his Skyhawk during the 1967 cruise.

(Photo by Lt. Tom Taylor via author.) Al Crebo’s mangled A-4, minus its rudder and several fuselage panels, trails fuel as it heads for the South China Sea.