Winning

The North Vietnamese realised that the bombers were the real threat, and they avoided combat with the fighters whenever possible. They developed the tactic of holding the MIG-17 at low altitude, where he was hard to spot, and popping him up for one pass at the bombers, trying to get them to jettison their bombs. As long as the fighter escort was high (which was the normally accepted position for fighter escort) the MIGs were often successful. When that tactic was established as standard, the F-4’s were brought to lower altitudes. The F-4, using its superior speed and acceleration, was then able to spot the MIGs and successfully intercept them before they got into the strike force. As long as the F-4 used a hit-and-run tactic, he would have the advantage. If he got into a turning fight with the MIG, he was in trouble for the MIG pilot knew that as long as he stayed within the minimum range of the F-4’s missiles, the only one who was in danger of getting shot down was the F-4.

The North Vietnamese employed their limited MIG-21 force carefully. Under full GCI control, the MIG 21’s would attempt to make six o’clock attacks on the strike force. The MIGs would make one pass at better than Mach One, fire their missiles and dive for home. If the escorting fighters were not forewarned and were flying at the speed of the strike force, (usually about 480 knots on the ingress) they had scant chance to engage the MIGs. The MIGs would not engage if they thought conditions were anything but ideal.

The North Vietnamese MIG force could not have hoped to succeed, or even survive by itself. But integrated with the most awesome array of radar-directed AAA and SAMs, it was a formidable obstacle in the road to American success in Vietnam. The North Vietnamese, or their mentors, became most adept at coordinating the efforts of their anti-aircraft defences. Early ECM equipment carried by American aircraft demanded strict adherence to set formations to achieve successful masking of North Vietnamese search and tracking radars. If a pilot paid too much attention to maintaining his slot in the formation, he was apt to find a MIG at his six before he knew what was happening. Too little attention to formaling and he strayed from the protective screen of ECM, becoming the focus of attention for every SAM and AAA site in his immediate area.

The period between the bombing halt of 1968, and the resumption of heavy bombing of the north in 1972 gave both sides time to refine their tactics and weapons systems. Clearly, the United States accomplished more in that period than did the communists. Of course, the phenomenal successes enjoyed by US air arms in the 1972 campaign were not due entirely lo improved weapons and tactics. When the aerial armadas went north in 1972, they went with the latitude needed to accomplish the mission United States Foreign Policy had undergone rejuvenation, and the changes made were demonstrated in the will to use what we had in a more effective manner.

Because of the recent nature of the war, much of the information regarding weapons and tactics is, and will remain, classified for years to some. Without that information, it is almost impossible to write a definitive history of the air-to-air war over Vietnam. But this series is not intended to be a definitive history anyway. It is intended as a tribute to the modern fighter pilot and it therefore seems fitting that the story of these most recent of aerial battles in our history be told in the words of the men who did the flying and the fighting.

4 May 1967

MIG-21
F-4C, 555th TFS, 8th TFW Code “FP” A/C Ser. No. 37-680 Call Sign “Flamingo 01”
Col. Robin Olds 1/Lt. William D. Lafever

We were headed down Thud Ridge, to a target just north of Hanoi. The MIG-21 hit us just about fifteen miles short of the end of the ridge, where Phuc Yen is located. He came in from seven o’clock high on the flight of Thuds in front of us. I screamed for the Thuds to break hard left, and I broke into the MIG. The MIG broke to the left, which was stupid. I got pretty much behind him . . . not as much as I’d like to have been, but I was somewhere in his rear quadrant. He just went ape every way. . . it was a hell of a fight for position. I worked and worked and worked to get in a good shot at him and, after firing off all of my Sparrows, and all but two of my Sidewinders, I got the shot I wanted. My next-to-last Sidewinder went off right under his tail. He snapped a couple of times and wound up in a turn to the right, heading northwest.

He continued to turn, and he didn’t look as though he had been mortally hit, so I stayed behind him. I had one Sidewinder left, but I couldn’t get a tone on it. I was determined that he wasn’t going to get away though . . . if I didn’t get him, I was going to get my wingman into position to knock him down. He continued his right turn, by this time diving steeply for Phuc Yen, which is a place you don’t want to fly over if you can help it . . . but I wasn’t about to break it off. Just as it began to look as though he were going to make it into Phuc Yen, the MIG erupted in brilliant flame all along the left side of his fuselage. It was the kind of fire you get only when magnesium is burning, and I knew that we had him, and it didn’t much matter whether or not we followed him.

Then the flak started coming up, and it was pretty damn intense and accurate. My number three started hollering for me to break it off because of the flak. I broke hard right and didn’t get to see the MIG crash. Number three saw him though, as he crashed right on top of an 85mm AAA site in the middle of his own airfield! I thought that was great, we chuckled about that for weeks afterwards.

But as I said, we were in a hard right break. We came back left and headed down towards Hanoi to cover the Thuds coming off the target. There was no action there, except for a hell of a lot of flak. We broke right again and, though I didn’t realise I was doing it at the time, ended up going right over the centre of Hanoi at rooftop level, just about supersonic. We weren’t supposed to do that, but I couldn’t help it . . . I just broke to avoid the flak and didn’t even see the city until I was about halfway through the turn. We proceeded on to the west of Hanoi, towards the then-new airfield at Hoa Loe. It was a rather interesting flight across the delta towards Hoa Loe. We had a couple of SAMs shot at us, one of which passed right through the formation without exploding.

As we came up on Hoa Loe, we saw a whole sky full of MIG-17s in the traffic pattern. Well, I didn’t have any missiles left, but I thought I could get my number two out front, in the lead, and between him and number three and four, maybe we could get in some shots. We were all damn low on fuel, so I knew we didn’t have much time for hassling around.

We got right into the traffic pattern at Hoa Loe, and we weren’t shot at that I know of . . . at least I didn’t see any tracers or flak. I suppose because there were so m,rny MIG- 17’s in the sky that the AAA gunners were afraid of hitting their own people. Well, there we were, anywhere from 200 feet up to a couple of thousand feet, right over their airfield, in a hell of a go-around with the MIGs! And there I was, making passes at MIGs . . . with no missiles . . . no way of firing. I would just press into their tails as close as I could, sometimes to within twenty feet or so, before pulling up. It kind of amused me . . . after all, they had no way of knowing that I couldn’t shoot I’ll bet that there were three or four MIG pilots changing their laundry after they landed that day! It was number three’s first mission to Route Package Six,and that is a hell of an experience for the first mission! He had a little trouble getting oriented and didn’t come in when he should have . . . then number four got awfully low on fuel, so we had to get the hell out of there without getting any shots at the MIGs. But in that one day we had two separate engagements, one of which was successful, and one which was hilarious.

20 May 1967
2 MIG-17’s
F-4C, 433rd TFS, 8th TFW Code “FG” A/C Ser. No. 40-829 Call Sign “Tampa 01”
Col. Robin Olds 1/Lt Steve Croker

The month of May, 1967 was a very interesting period of the war because the MIGs were up, the weather was good, the strikes went in often, and contact with MIGs was almost daily. We had some damn good battles during the month of May.

On the 20th the 8th Wing was fragged to provide MIGCAP to one of the Thailand-based Thud wings. They were coming in over the Gulf of Tonkin, down MIG Ridge, to strike a target close to the North Vietnamese airfield at Kep.

As I said, contact with the MIGs was almost daily during this period, so interest and excitement was running at a fever pitch. We were as ready as you can get for aerial combat when we took off that day. One of the great things we had going for us was a real close rapport with the two Thud wings.

We exchanged information on a daily basis, so each knew what the other was going to do, and what the other had experienced.

I know that sounds elementary, but it was kind of hard to achieve initially.

After briefing, we took off, hit the tankers, and proceeded north. Everything went according to plan as we hit our checkpoints on time and turned into North Vietnam at the altitude we had agreed upon. As soon as we crossed the coast we began to get reports of MIGs airborne from our radar surveillance.

Every sense was tuned to the highest pitch, but in spite of that, our first warning of MIGs was just almost too late, because they were on us! We were about fifteen to twenty miles from the target when they hit us. I was leading two flights of Phantoms (8) and we were jumped by about sixteen MIGs. The Thuds just kept driving for the target, while we got to wrestling around with the MIGs. It was a pretty damn good fight! Matter of fact, only one or two others that I had even been in were that good! It lasted, as close as I can estimate, some twelve to thirteen minutes, which is an absolute eternity in air combat. Usually, it’s two to three minutes, and it’s over with. The MIGs were quite agressive, and there were lots of them.

When they hit us, I started to break to get behind a flight of four MIGs. Then I noticed four more MIGs coming in on us at our four o’clock. I started a break into them, then had to stop it momentarily as a flight of Thuds flashed through that particular piece of sky. After they cleared, I continued the break, making a screaming 270-degree rolling turn down after the bulk of the MIGs, which were below us, though there were many more spotted up higher. In the middle of this break, I glanced back over my shoulder to check my wingman. What I saw was his aircraft, a mass of flames from the canopy back, starting to nose up. As I watched the pitch up increased and, as his airplane ran out of airspeed, the canopies came off and the seats came out. I saw the chutes blossom and knew that at least they had gotten out. All of this occurred in fractions of a second. About that time, another MIG, possibly the one that had shot down my wingman, began shooting at me. The cannonballs were whizzing by my canopy. I broke down and to the left, getting rid of him without ever seeing him. I saw more MIGs below and went after them. As the fight progressed, the MIGs entered a defensive circle. Half of the circle was over their home airfield of Kep, and you couldn’t chase them in that half of the circle, because every time you got near the place the whole sky would fill with tracers and 37mm and 57mm flak bursts. So they were pretty safe in that half of the circle. So then the trick was to try to get around and get behind them in a part of the circle that was away from Kep. Well, this is a hell of a lot easier to talk about than it was to do. Every time I would get into the circle and try to get a missile off at a MIG, a couple of his buddies would break across the circle and get on my tail. Well, I made four separate passes before I got a Sparrow off and got one of the MI Gs. But on each of these passes, I had a couple of MIGs behind me, with their cannonballs practically bouncing off my canopy.

All of the time I was making these passes at the circle, I noticed a lone MIG-17 right down on the grass. He was in a little open area between a couple of hills, flying very slowly and doing figure eights. I figured that he must have been directing traffic. Unfortunately, the F-4 leaves a hell of a smoke plume when it’s in full military power, and you can be seen from a great distance, which is a hell of a disadvantage. I figured that this guy was watching the fight,- and whenever one of us would start to threaten a MIG, he would direct the other MIGs onto us.

By the way, at one point in the fight, the Thuds had come off the target and had egressed right through that piece of sky. That was pretty damn interesting because you had Thuds going about 600 knots right through the centre of this fight, you had MIGs all around, and you had your own people in F- 4s. That was a pretty crowded piece of sky for a few seconds! I don’t know why the hell we didn’t run into each other, but we didn’t.

Finally, we got down to bingo fuel and I had to start hollering for the guys to break it off and get out of there. They acknowledged one by one, and I finally realised that they were all headed home. I was following along behind them, thinking about the MIG down in the grass. I looked at my fuel gauge, did some rapid mental calculations, and figured I might just get away with going after him, so I got right down on the grass myself and headed back to where the fight had occurred. I was no more than ten feet off the deck, going like a striped-tail ape, when I spotted the MIG up ahead of me. As I approached, he turned and headed for the hills that were between him and his home field of Kep. He must have seen me coming, because all of a sudden he started to dodge and weave, staying low. I had to slow down to stay behind him. I just kept flying along right behind him as he dodged and weaved. Finally, he got to the hills, but he stayed low, popping up over the hills, then back down into the hollows. I stayed with him until he got himself into a valley . . . really a sort of box canyon. I was within firing range for a Sidewinder, but I knew that it wouldn’t guide with any assurance with the MIG down low and his heat source masked by the ground. I wanted to get him silhouetted against the sky, where I knew the Sidewinder would guide to him. As he headed up the valley, I said to my backseater: “Steve, watch this! That SOB is either going to have to run into the canyon wall, or pull up over it, and either way he’s dead!” Well, he got to the end of the canyon and pulled up. I just pulled my nose up on him and, with the annunciator growling, squeezed off the Sidewinder. It came off the rail and guided right to the MIG . . . POW! . . . Knocked him down.

It was time for me to get the hell out of there, and I just barely made it to the tanker . . . just barely . . . I think I had about 800 pounds left, which is eight minutes.

20 May, 1967
MIG-21
F-4C, 389th TFS, 366th TFW, Call Sign “Elgin-03”
LtCol. Robert F. Titus 1/Ltd. Milan Zimer

We were in the second flight of F-4’s, covering the rear end of the F-105 flight. We started down what we call Thud Ridge, that mass of rocks that sticks up so obviously on the map about 20 miles north of Hanoi. While flying down the Ridge, someone called “MIGS!” I called: “MIGs? Where? Who called them?” (One of the most important things in air discipline is to identify yourself, such as “This is Buckshot One, I have MIGs at such and such a position. ” This wasn’t done. The call just came: “MIGS!” I repeated: “Where?” and whoever it was answered: “Right under Buckshot Flight . . .

they’re going right to left!” I looked out and sure enough there were two MIGs starting a pass on the strike force. They apparently saw us and decided we were in too good a position to take them on, so they went right under us going fast and away. I instinctively turned into them hard and said: “Elgin Three is padlocked!” This meant that I had them and was taking them under attack.

I went to the afterburner and started to accelerate fast. Major Bob Janca, who led the mission, then called “Honeymoon “, which meant “OK, I know you’re attacking and I’ll be behind covering you. ” At that point I told my back-seater, Lt Milan Zimer, to go Boresight. I put the pipper on the MIG and he got a lock-on, then we got a good attack display. Just then, I lost sight of the MIG. He had been flashing brilliantly in the sun, but after he turned I couldn’t see him. So I reverted immediately to the radar. The steering dot charged off to the left.

The steering dot is merely an indication of where the target is, and you turn the aeroplane and fly for it. After a real hard turn towards the centre of the scope, he came over nicely. And then Zimmer lost his lock. Around and around we went, eventually heading northwest when Zimer got another lock-on. In the meantime, the MIG was rolling out and going like hell. So were we! We were supersonic at about 16,000 feet.

All of a sudden I saw him again. I got closer and closer, and the equipment told me I was in firing range for a missile.

Just as I was about to pull the trigger, there was a tremendous amount of confusion and commotion on the radio. I thought I heard someone yell “BREAK!” It was Stu Bowen. He said: “Three, this Four. Break hard left!” In the meantime, Zimer’s in the back seat yelling: “SHOOT! SHOOT! You got him!” But I said no and honked it around, a full hard rudder turn. It was very discouraging, of course, because obviously there was a lost MIG.

We came back around and down the Ridge. I wanted to get back to the Thuds, because they were still vulnerable.

Seconds later, I saw another MIG, so I went after him, hard left. And this MIG really folded in tight. Again I went boresight, put the pipper on him, and again Zimer got a lock. At this point we were going very fast, about Mach 1. 2, and we were quite low, about 10,000 feet. In a hard, diving turn I fired a missile. It seemed like an eternity later when I heard the “WOOSH !” but I never saw it. It’s supposed to drop down and come up in front of you. The time delay seemed like 30 seconds but actually it wasn’t but a few milliseconds. Well, it did go, but it didn’t guide. The missile went haybags.

In the meantime, Zimer is in the back seat hollering: “Fire another one!” I did . . . and it didn’t guide! I thought: “What the hell, nothing going to work!” I was feeling pretty despondent. Zimer was still shouting at me to get off another.

This time the missile came off, and it tracked beautifully. With a white cloud of smoke behind it, just like an arrow, it started off. We were quite low by now, probably down about six or eight thousand feet above sea level, and yet those mountains were coming up at us. We made a diving turn, and I could see this MIG-21 beautifully, there was no doubt about it, red stars on the wing, sun glinting off the fuselage. I told Zimer: “It’s going to miss, in front of him. ” “No, No,” he said, “It’s going to hit!” And about that time it hit him right in the left wing root, right next to the fuselage.

There was a tremendous explosion, a ball of orange flame, big black smoke, and the wing came off and started tumbling down. The fuselage went, and another object separated from the plane. I remember saying: ”He punched out!” The pilot bailed out, which rather startled me, because I was sure he had perished in it. As I came by, I watched his parachute open. I saw the pilot chute come out, then the main canopy, orange and white panels, just beautiful.

The other people were all saying, “You got him! You got him!” and that was that. We were all very elated, pulses pounding.

How did I feel about the MIG pilot? As far as I was concerned, he was trying to kill my guys. He’s an enemy. I wouldn’t shoot him in his parachute. If he’s that lousy, he can come back and be a target for me next week!

22 May, 1967
2 MIG-21s
F-4C, 389th TFS, 366th TFW, Call Sign “Wander 01”
LtCol Robert F. Titus 1 /Lt Milan Zimer

I was the flight leader on this mission, and again our mission was to escort the Thuds to their target area, a rail yard west of Hanoi. The weather was puffy cumulus with visibility about 30 miles or so. Everything was going well when we joined up with the Thuds. On this particular day, the turning point to the target area from join-up was a straight line. We were running at a medium altitude at a pretty good clip, and as we proceeded to the target I somehow or another smelled MIGs. I don’t know how I can say that, but I punched off my external tanks, because I didn’t want the drag. The rest of the flight did the same. We were getting into the target area, well into the SAM rings and near the flak, keeping our eyeballs peeled and moving our eyes across the ground and the sky, trying to anticipate SAMs or MIGs. Suddenly out in front of the strike formation, I saw a glint in the sky and said: “I’ve got bogies at 12 o’clock”. I started accelerating. With the tanks gone, the F-4 really took off! We were going along well over 500 knots, true air speed, and I just pulled right out in front. I told Zimmer: “Go boresight, get me a lock on!” I got the lockon, and the MIG started turning away, and I went after him.

He reversed hard and came back. Zimer said: “There are two of them!” He was locked onto only one . . . which is all we could do with the F-4 radar.

We came around real hard to the right, and the pipper, or the steering dot was going up, and I climbed with it for a while. Then it was level. I could no longer see the MIG because of the changes in reflections due to sun angles. He was a pretty good distance out in front, about ten or twelve miles. When I came around, I said to Zimer: “The radar isn’t working. There’s something wrong with it!” He agreed, so I broke it off, saying: “I think we’ve got garbage on this radar scope. That guy went someplace else. ” By this time we were close to the target area, so we went back to the Thuds. We were in the vicinity of Hoa Loe, which was a MIG base. Just as we were closing in alongside the Thudrmation, one came in all of a sudden at six o’clock, coming like a bat out of hell in a shallow dive. It startled me. I didn’t know how to call to break because of all the Thuds, but I did call for a break and identified the MIG’s position. As I said that, I started to turn to engage him. I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I started to get someplace to do something. Just then he fired a missile at the formation. He saw me coming and started a very steep climb which negated his missile attack, because he has to follow that missile all the way to the target. I closed and turned as he started heading for an overcast cloud cover. He went into it just as I got a real good missile tone and fired. He punched a hole in the cloud, and the missile went right in after him. I turned off to the side, not wanting to run into anything in the blind. We popped up through this thin cloud deck, and there was nothing th ere but smoke and debris, pieces of something. I was still looking for the MIG, and there he was. All I could say was: “How did he get way out there?” So I fired another missile, about the same time the MIG went down, with me right after him. We must have been at about 25,000 feet at the time, and he went into the damnedest display of flying I’ve ever seen in my life. I was really fighting to hang on. It was all I could do to stay anywhere near him. He was spiralling down, turning, reversing, doing rapid roll changes. Just a startling display of flying.

I couldn’t get anything on the radar. By now I’m closing on him and, again, we’re going supersonic, straight down. I noticed Hoa Luc airport down there and said to myself: “He’s going to fly me across that airport and get me shot down by flak. ” Down we went. Zimer couldn’t lock on.

Because of all the ground return you just can’t lock on, and for the same reason, you can’t get a good 1/R paint for the Sidewinder.

Finally, he had to pull out. I couldn’t get anything with my missiles. I did happen to have, for the very first time, a Vulcan gun pod hanging on the centreline. It’s very good, 6000 rounds per minute of 20mm. I put the pipper on him, pulled lead and hosed him.

He pulled out of his dive, and we pulled out. My wingman said later his altimeter reading was 1,000 feet at that point. I was honking 7 G’s on that bear when I hosed him and rather than get out in front, which you never do, I converted my energy into a climb and repositioned myself for another attack. He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t blown up . . .

nothing. So I got into position and pulled the trigger again, and the gun jammed. Shades of Eddie Rickenbacker! I remembered those stories about him beating on the gun. So I overshot him again and went back up. By this time, I thought there was nothing I could do. The MIG was getting lower and lower. Then, Zimer said very excitedly, “He’s going in!” I didn’t think he could crash. Just then I noticed the shadow on the ground merge with the aircraft, and he went across a river and crashed into the north bank of the river with a brilliant ball of flame.

Everyone else saw it. Marty Folcher said I was enveloped in flak. All he could see, as my wingman, was flak between us, and he followed me through the flight. The other guys said that one SAM went over me, one exploded below me, and one just missed the top of my canopy. I later heard that apparently five SAMs went though our flight, along with untold rounds of anti-aircraft fire. We were in an extremely well defended area, and I suppose all our violent manoeuvring was just enough to keep the SAMs busy and keep them from hitting us. We certainly were running around with our rear ends out. We were just lucky on the flak, because it was there! On the first MIG that day, it turned out a guy in the other flight had gone on to the target and saw me go after this MIG and had made a turn and saw pieces of an airplane falling out of the sky. Then we got a message from the F-105 force. They had also seen pieces of an airplane flying out of the sky. A wing came off, with the missile apparently catching him as he went into the clouds, some of it went up through, and some of it came back down.

(This series will be continued in the next edition of AADR. )