I hear the SAM control officer loudly issue the terminal command: “Phóng!” (Launch!)
Immediately, I hear the actual sound of the SAM missile blasting off—so good is our spy technology aboard our Hognose beauty! Under these circumstances, Hognose is what sexy looks like! The command to launch was clear and then one hell of a roaring sound as the SA-2 missile ignited its huge first stage rocket and took off.
This is the first SAM launch of the night. It’s 1:45am. All SAM activity is in the east, over Haiphong Harbor.
At this moment, far from this launch, the Son Tay Raid assault formation is now sneaking in from the dark western mountains undetected. They are on track to arrive at Son Tay in a half an hour.
We know exactly what that NVAF commander will say if he were to actually achieve a shoot-down of an American aircraft. You would hear extremely excited voices in the SAM van declare, “Tiêu diệt mục tiêu rồi!” (Target destroyed!!) or at other times it might be, “Bắn rỏi tại chỗ!” (Shot down on the spot!!)
[NOTE: In the case of shoot-downs, sometimes the only real status of a pilot is what has been gleaned by 11-Op and 7-Op intelligence. This is extremely valuable to US authorities. You can imagine that families of downed Airmen are thankful for the details we provide them. And our information greatly aids rescues.]
An SA-2.
See more photos and stories on this website and in Who Will Go, which is just as much to honor the wives and family as the men themselves.
I press the RECORD button. I steal a glance up at my station’s large reel-to-reel tape, directly over my two central screens. They’re rolling, alright. I quickly refocus my eyes to determine who their bogey is—which blip on my screen. There are several of these Navy aircraft that he could be talking about. He certainly sees quite a few.
Our Navy bogeys are now over Haiphong harbor, within the Fan Song radar’s range. The tempo really picks up.
I hear the SAM control officer call out “Cao độ” (altitude) and the number of feet. I can literally hear multiple voices in the van assessing the situation. Our technology is fantastic. The launch control officer is issuing commands and directing everything among his soldiers in the small control building. I picture him standing—like Colonel Frisbie—over the shoulder of his radar operator.
An SA-2 SAM site commander and his crew. This was painted by a North Vietnamese soldier who manned the SA-2 during the Vietnam War.
An SA-2 Surface-to-Air Missile site.
See more photos and stories on this website and in Who Will Go, which is just as much to honor the wives and family as the men themselves.
Colonel Frisbie plugs his headset into my station to listen in.
I roll onto a promising signal. I hear a radar operator in the SAM site van start tracking a target.
We hear, in a clear voice, something like: “Xuất hiện tốp không một, phủỏng vị không chín không, cụ ly bốn mủỏi.”
Translation: “Bogey #1 has appeared, azimuth/bearing 090, range 40 kilometers”.
I press my microphone’s button and report this to my AMS. He reports it on the appropriate frequencies, but I’m too busy to listen to what he does with it.
This hapless NVAF controller has no idea that every word he is saying is immediately being translated and broadcast in English to his executioner, an F-105 thousands of feet over his head.
A North Vietnamese SA-2 SAM operator on his scope and controls (below). The markings are in Russian. You can scroll the view to the left or right by clicking on the image. (Painting by a North Vietnamese soldier who manned an SA-2 site.)
An SA-2 Surface-to-Air Missile. That night of the Son Tay Raid, the Green Berets and the USAF and Navy aircrews saw these terrifying weapons flying.
See more photos and stories on this website and in Who Will Go, which is just as much to honor the wives and family as the men themselves.
The SA-2 system has six missiles circling a command building, typically spaced about 100 yards apart. They are mobile but are often in fixed positions and we know most of their locations ahead of time. Most of them are around Hanoi and Haiphong.
[NOTE: The SA-2 SAM was developed in the 1950s, continuously improved, and is still in use today in many countries around the world. They are fast and deadly, and the North Vietnamese were proficient in their use. On quiet days, with no airstrike threats by the US Navy in the Gulf, we could see that some Spoon Rest radars would track us on orbit. The NVAF MiG pilots seldom went very far out over water. Our big, slow-moving silhouette on their radar looks tempting for a Spoon Rest operator to share with air controllers. Because of this, we sometimes have US Navy fighters on our wings. The RC-135M has very few fuselage windows so as to keep it dark in the cabin but there was one on the over-wing exit door. I remember looking out one time and waving to a US Navy F-8 Crusader MiG Combat Air Patrol (MiGCAP) pilot just off our wing tip as he waved to me. We saluted each other and I went back to work. In fact, on tonight’s mission there are two F-8s from the USS Oriskany providing protection (BARCAP, Barrier CAP) for us and the five other USAF aircraft orbiting over the Gulf in support of this Raid.]
An SA-2 SAM site.
1:30am. The first flight of six Navy A-7 strike aircraft head into North Vietnam’s territorial waters straight toward industrial targets in the northern parts of Haiphong. Even at this point, the NVAF Command and Control System is only just now getting their wits about them, reaching a level of organization to muster a coordinated defense.
The Spoon Rest operator, tracking them, then alerts the acquisition radar operator. This acquisition radar is referred to as “Fan Song.” This locks on to a target, tracks it, and guides a missile. It can track a target at about 40 miles. The operators call out targets by range, azimuth, and altitude constantly, so we know everything they are doing.
I’m sweating a little, but tonight, it’s not just because my flight suit is zipped to the top. And it’s not because Colonel Frisbie is now watching my screens intently over my shoulder. It’s because this is the largest, most intense mission we’ve had the opportunity to participate in, to this point. Colonel Frisbie plugs his headset into my station to listen in.
A Fan Song radar.A Fan Song radar (on the left).
See more photos and stories on this website and in Who Will Go, which is just as much to honor the wives and family as the men themselves.
Our RC-135M is for Signal Intelligence (SIGINT) and, particularly, Communications Intelligence (COMINT). It is designed to intercept virtually anything transmitted into the airwaves, from taxi cabs to tanks, walkie-talkies to facsimile, Morse code to radar signals, tactical airfield communications with aircraft (TACAIR) to Anti-Aircraft Artillery (AAA) and SAM sites.
Behind the “front end” crew’s cockpit is a compartment fully decked out as an electronics workshop manned by the two Airborne Maintenance Technicians.
Then comes the main compartment filled with COMINT linguistic technicians. I’m at the front, on the other side of the wall from the AMTs.
Next you come to the 7-Op, the TACAIR operator. The job here is to monitor the enemy’s air activity. Each North Vietnamese airfield has its radio frequencies used by their Air Traffic Controllers to communicate with their aircraft and pilots. We are so personally familiar with these controllers and pilots that there are many of them that we recognize by their voice alone, even before anyone states the individual’s call sign. Often, we know the name of the pilot, where his home station is and what type of aircraft he is qualified in, and we glean a little about his personality.
[NOTE: Hognose Silent Warrior by George F. Schreader, a former 6990th 7-Op, lists many of the top North Vietnamese pilots and the details we knew about them, through our Combat Apple missions. By the way, “Hognose” is a term of endearment. See the photo at the end of the final episode.]
Centrally located is the “#1” position, which is the Airborne Mission Supervisor (AMS). He has constant secure communications with battle commanders on the ground in Vietnam and elsewhere. He coordinates all the activities of our crew.
Tonight, each of us will describe what he’s hearing to the AMS who, in turn, will relay warnings to the US aircraft and report the situation to Colonel Frisbie who is on an open line with General Manor.
The next workstation is the 6-Op, which tracks AAA and monitors the flow of troops, vehicles and equipment (with a special focus on the Ho Chi Minh trail). They are hearing the North Vietnamese making regular reports about the arrivals and departures of troops and materiel at truck stops and troop stations (“binh trạm”). Our tactical aircraft planners are constantly basing interdiction strike decisions on this intel from our 6-Op stations.
At the very back, at positions 15 and 16 are the two Electronic Warfare Officers (EWOs) who are responsible for defending the RC-135 itself from threats such as missiles and enemy fighters.
The RC-135 pilots, navigators and EWOs are officers, all from SAC (Strategic Air Command). The rest of us are enlisted men from the USAF Security Service (later called Electronic Security Command).
All this sensitive electronic equipment has to be kept dry and temperature-controlled to prevent overheating. My position, just aft of the maintenance compartment, is quite warm right now. Conversely, the aft end where the EWOs are typically too cold. Some of this is due to the aircraft’s slightly nose up attitude in level flight. Heat rises, cold sinks. Often, I unzip my flight suit down to my waist and operate in my t-shirt. In the back, the EWOs are wearing some of their winter equipment. Coffee spilled on the floor back there sometimes freezes!
This three hours during which the helicopters are flying from Udorn to Son Tay must seem extremely long for a helicopter, but we are used to this—and we are busy this entire time.
We understand our Combat Apple missions to be the world’s longest combat missions at this time. Very often our duty day is about 24 hours, arriving two and a half hours before takeoff and then post-mission briefings keep us an hour and a half after landing. Our squadron had one mission in which the flying time alone was more than 23 hours! You may be surprised to hear that there is often very little break time during the flight for certain operators. After your flight, you are scheduled for post-mission crew rest, but then it’s back to work at the secure facility translating, decoding and analyzing the intel take from other crews.
We linguists specialize in a variety of COMINT tasks. Some of our guys who are newer to the mission run positions employing massive tape decks that have at least eight tracks simultaneously capturing eight different intercept signals. These recordings will be broken out as separate tracks when back on the ground and translated/decoded for future action by intel briefers.
See more photos and stories on this website and in Who Will Go, which is just as much to honor the wives and family as the men themselves.
