Winning

On 18 May, the Midway launched three Alpha Strikes into North Vietnam. I flew with the GAG on the first one, leading a strike up into Hon Gai. That was my baptism of fire. On the third Alpha Strike of the day, Pat and I were briefed to fly MiGCAP for the strike against Haiphong. The flight lead briefed us, but his aircraft went “down” on the deck, so Bart was launched in his place. We flew on up to our tanker and ran into the first snag of the day. He was having a problem getting his basket out, and by the time he did get it to work, and we got our fuel, it was too late to follow our original plan of action We had intended to coast north of Hon Gai and follow the ridgeline up to our CAP station, which was about five miles south of Kep airfield. We wanted to go this way because the SAM threat was considerably less, and the ridgeline gave us some cover. Bart decided that the only way we could make our station on time was to fly directly up the mouth of the Red River, right over Haiphong, straight to Kep. That in itself was pretty exciting.

We started our ingress at about 11,000 feet, descending to pick up speed. On the way in Red Crown gave us one bogey call, which was bearing and distance to Kep. About eight miles out they came up with a bandit call, again bearing and distance to Kep. We were going fairly rapidly, probably about 550-57 5 knots, still descending with the intention of arriving at the station at about 3,000 feet. I was looking at the scope pretty hard, hoping to find something. I didn’t though, and at five miles from the field I put the scope and hand control away and came out and started checking our six. (We had had several discussions about this, and had decided that any time we got within five miles of a known bandit, it would be the RIO’s job to use his eyeballs to look for MiGs.)

We were on Bart’s right side, and I was checking his six when he suddenly came on with: “Tally Ho! Two MiGs, two thirty low, three miles!” That was the magic word, and my head did an abrupt 180-degree turn. They were two silver MiG-19s, and we all spotted them immediately, as they stood out against the dark green vegetation. My initial impression was that they were coming into the break at Kep. They were in about a 1,000-foot trail formation and were roughly aligned with the runway heading. Bart said: “OK I’m engaged, you go high and cover me!”

We pitched up high, and he cranked it around into them. We had been briefed to watch for big gaggles of MiGs since most of the engagements up to that time had involved lots of aeroplanes. So I was pretty busy checking our six, sure that some of them would try to sneak up on us. At this point we reached the highest altitude of the fight, probably about 5,000 feet. As we started the fight, the centerline tanks had just finished transferring, so we both had just about max internal fuel. The fight started so quickly that we never had a chance to jettison the centerlines.

The two MiGs spotted Bart as he slipped into a lag pursuit position, pressing them, trying to get them to make a mistake. They stayed together though, and as they started their first turn they punched off their tanks, with fuel streaming from them as they fell.

Bart and the two MiGs made about 180 degrees of turn, and the MiG’s superior turning ability began to tell, as they started to make angles on Bart. By this time we had slipped in behind the MiGs, and Pat thought he was in the envelope for a Sidewinder shot, although he couldn’t get a tone. Out of frustration, and hoping to get the MiGs to do something, he fired anyway. I felt the missile leave the airplane, and said to myself: “I gotta see this!” I looked forward as the missile shot out in front of us, heading straight for the MiG. He saw it coming though, and broke really hard into us, forcing the missile to miss. As the lead MiG broke port into us, his wingman broke starboard. Bart reversed and got on him. They started hassling and Bart got too slow to fight effectively, so he extended out to the west of Kep, picked up the knots he needed to get back into the fight, and turned around and came back.

ten In the process of making his turn-around, he had lost sight of the MiG, but Oran Brown, his RIO, had kept him in sight. He started calling the MiG for Bart, who still did not see him. It went something like this: “OK Bart, I’ve got him o’clock level, two miles … coming to eight o’clock … OK, he’s coming in on us … he’s going to overshoot … break hard port now! … now reverse!” Sure enough, the MiG overshot, right out in front of Bart, who now saw him, and put the pipper on the MiG’s tailpipe.

In the meantime, we had gotten into a turning fight with the lead MiG. We were in a hard port turn and had made about two 360s, right over Kep. (I remember looking down at the bombed runway, with all the patch marks on it and thinking that if we got shot down here the reception wouldn’t be so cordial.) I started to get a little concerned … I figured this MiG-19 was playing with us … he should have been able to spit us out long before now, and I hadn’t been able to look over my right shoulder for a long time. Was he setting us up for some of his buddies? About that time though he was right across the circle from us, and I could see him clearly. He was shiny silver, with the North Vietnamese markings on the wings, and he was beginning to get into a position where he could make money on us. All of a sudden, he levelled the wings, lit the burners, and smoked on out of the fight. Pat was inclined to follow him, but I said I thought we ought to look for our leader. As we reversed right, we spotted Bart as he was coming back into the fight. As it turned out, we were in a deal cover position, as Bart started in on his MiG again. I looked as though it was going to be a repeat of their first encounter, with the MiG using its manoeuvrability to keep sufficient angle off on the Phantom.

Then the North Vietnamese made a big mistake. Pat spotted our MiG coming back into the fight, from our 11 ‘clock low. Apparently, the MiG had not spotted us though, and that cost them both dearly. All of a sudden, the MiG in front of Bart levelled his wings and began to dive. It was almost as if his flight leader (“our MiG”) had radioed him: “Hey Nguyen baby, drag him out to the north, and I’ll be in for a shot before he gets to you. ” The leader came flashing across in front of us, rocking his wings as though he was looking for us, but not spotting us. Pat dropped into the lag pursuit position, pulled the nose up on the guy, and got a good Sidewinder tone. I felt another missile come off, and once again stopped checking our six long enough to watch the Sidewinder do its thing.

I looked out the right side of the aeroplane and spotted the MiG. We were about 10 degrees angle off his tail, and the Sidewinder was tracking right for him. It arced up and detonated about five feet from his starboard stabilator. At first, nothing happened. Then lots of things happened all at once. Pat said: “Geez, I missed him!” Then a big silver piece came off the MiG, and I said: “No, No, you got him!” Then a big plume of fire came out, which I thought was the MiG’s afterburner, and Pat thought he had fired a missile at Bart. Pat called for Bart to break hard to starboard, but Oran had seen the whole thing and knew that the MiG was coming apart. He told Bart: “No sweat, Pat just smoked that guy!” Bart never even looked … he just kept driving … he knew he was going to get one too.

I kept checking our six, telling Pat that we were clear and in between watched our MiG’s death throes. He went straight up, with more pieces coming off, did a couple of heavy wing rocks, and then, as I watched out the top of the canopy, his seat came out. I checked our six again and looked back just in time to see a guy in a parachute flash down our starboard side.

Old Nguyen must not have realised that his leader had been shot down, because he just kept driving. Bart shot him, and he ejected. We were in about a 4,000-foot trail, so we made a 90-degree in-place turn, ending up in perfect combat spread. We headed on out then, checking our fuel. We had about 5,800 pounds left, so we had been engaged a long time, it seemed about a year or so. We were all ready to go home.

We were pretty concerned on the way out. We had been in there a long time, and they hadn’t shot any triple A at us … no SAMs … and they had had plenty of time to vector more MiGs onto us, and at 5,800 pounds you’re not in a good position to re-engage. But we got out OK, hit the tanker with 2,100 pounds, gassed up, and made it back to the ship.

Sometime between the bombing halt of 1968, and the renewed campaign against North Vietnam in 1972, a major television network aired a special report on the North Vietnamese Air Force on its nightly news program. The reporter built up the North Vietnamese Air Force as “a force to be reckoned with”, indicating that if the United States ever decided to go back “Up North” they would run into stiff opposition. A few nights after the special was shown, Mugs McKeown was attending a party thrown by some of his civilian friends. He was asked if he had seen it, and did he think that the North Vietnamese were indeed as tough as the reporter had made them out to be.

He replied that the North Vietnamese had not been born that could beat him in the air. What if there’s more than one? “If they want to get me, they better bring a hundred!” was his reply. Was this braggadocio? No, it was not. It was a manifestation of a growing confidence in the abilities of Navy fighter pilots in general. Mugs, in fact, had made similar statements while he was assigned to VX-4 in 1970. During a briefing to the blue ribbon panel chaired by Dr John Foster, head of D DR&E, Mugs had said that if we ever went back up north, we would be much more successful than we had been in the 1960s campaigns. The members of the panel were sceptical, but Mugs was adamant in his confidence. The reason for this confidence was based upon the experience that was being gained through the “Top Gun” program, and it was to be vindicated beyond the fondest dreams of any of its proponents.

But a fighter squadron is not made up of individuals. In order to be successful, it must operate as a team. VF-161, during the 1972 cruise, was an exceptional example of what team spirit can achieve in combat. Under the leadership of Commander Wayne “Deacon” Connell, 161 won the Admiral Clifton Award as the best fighter squadron in the Navy and shot down five MiGs in their last combat deployment of the war. Commander Connell put out the word that “the Rock Rivers could beat anybody, anytime, at anything!” (Rock River was the squadron radio call sign.) The Rock Rivers proceeded to live up to his expectations, winning the ship’s championship in basketball, volleyball, and golf. they took second place in softball, and their tennis players won more matches than they lost. Connell created a winning atmosphere. The Rock Rivers were sure of themselves and wore their unofficial uniforms of red baseball caps and red turtleneck sweaters with pride. It was this pride and confidence that prompted Mugs and Jack to think that the six MiGs they tangled with were in trouble when the fight started.

We were scheduled to fly the lead for a MIGCAP for an ALPHA strike going into Haiphong. We were leading a section two aircraft) and our wingman was Lt Mike Rabb. His RIO was LtJG Ken Crandall. We launched from the Midway, tanked up, and proceeded to our CAP station, which was between Kep and Haiphong. Our mission was to set up an orbit and to intercept any MiGs coming out of Kep. We intended to remain on station until the strike group had hit the target and had one “feet wet”. We had our own radio frequency, to ensure clear communications with our controller, which was the Destroyer USS Biddle.

It started out as a pretty typical mission. We coasted in over Cam Pha, turned west and headed down the karst edges. (This was the normal route since the AAA and SAM threat was lower in this area.) About halfway between the coast in point, and our CAP station, we got a call from the Biddle. They informed us that bandits were airborne, and gave a vector of 278 at 38, indicating that the MiGs were almost due west and 38 miles away. It was the first time we had heard MiGs identified positively at that range. (Usually, we were given a “bogey” call when they were that far out). We asked for confirmation of the “bandit” designation, and a clearance to fire. Within a minute the confirmation and clearance to fire came through, so they were positively identified as MiGs.

We turned and headed for the MiGs immediately. Our wingman’s radar had gone “down”, so we had the only radar capability, and we began searching for the MiGs with it while receiving constant course and range corrections from Biddle. We had been flying at about 5,000 feet, and while driving into the area of engagement, we began a gradual letdown to about 3,500 feet. All of a sudden, Mugs called out; “Holy–, Jack, there’s Kep right over there!” Sure enough, we were flying right over the main runway at Kep Airfield.

Almost immediately, Mugs called: “Tallyho! On the nose, seven to ten miles and low!” We had been running west into the setting sun, and not feeling too comfortable about it when we spotted the MiGs. If they hadn’t been down low, where the sun would reflect off their wings, we might not have spotted them. We trained the radar down and got a couple of “paints” on them, but neither one of us could get a “lockup”, due to ground return on the radar. At first, we weren’t sure if they were coming or going … that was why we were concerned about getting a radar lock … We wanted to establish a closure rate. Well, it didn’t take long to establish that! Two silver MiG-19s flashed right between us! Mugs called for a cross turn, instructing Mike to go low, while he took it high. (A cross turn is when the two aircraft turn into each other, exchanging flight paths in the turn.) About halfway through the turn, we looked up … and it was raining MiG-1s!

When we started the turn, we thought we were engaging two MiG-19s. (A week prior to this Bart Bartholomay and Pat Arwood had shot down a pair of 19s in this same spot) and we anticipated a couple of easy victories. Apparently, the 17s had been trailing the 19s, hoping to set up a trap. Once we got on the 19s, they expected to be at our six o’clock. Luckily, they didn’t have enough separation, and we spotted them halfway through the turn. The lead 17 came past us head-on … we were canopy to canopy with him. In the meantime, Mike spotted the first 1 7 he was to engage at about 100 degrees off his nose. He thought he would turn him and start the fight with a head-on pass. It was our first experience with the 17s turning ability. It just cranked· right in behind him, like a rubber ball bouncing off a wall. He really had his hands full … he was down low, with a MiG on his tail … no way to drop the nose and extend, and he really had to maneuver the aeroplane to get away. But in the meantime, we had our own troubles.

We had made it through the turn just as the MiG-19s came back through. We broke down and started after one of them. But we had no sooner started that when Jack called a 17 at our eight o’clock and gunning. I looked up and there was a windscreen full of 17! One of the other 17s had come at us head-on, and that’s about as close to an air-to-air collision as I’ve ever come! As he passed we started to turn to get on his tail, but the guy on our tail was shooting, and it looked like he might get some hits on us, so I reversed the controls.

The combination pitch and yaw rates were more than the aeroplane could keep up with though, and it departed. We tumbled end over end, came out nose low, looked up, and there was a 1 7 right in front of us! I don’t know if it was the same guy who had been behind us, but I’d like to think so … he probably went back to the bar at Kep that night and told his comrades he had fought King Kong! I had a good tone, so I squeezed the trigger. After what seemed like a year, the Sidewinder came off the rail. I guess his wingman must have called to warn him, because he broke sharply and the missile went ballistic, missing him. We made a couple of more turns, got behind another one, and I tried my second Sidewinder. Same thing. Either he saw the vapour trail of the missile, or someone warned him because he broke hard and defeated the missile. By this time the MiG-19s had disappeared. We figured they had hightailed it home after their second pass-through … they were probably critical on fuel.

When we had tested our missiles on the carrier deck prior to launch, we could only get good tones on three of them, so I had used up a halt of my Sidewinders, and of the remaining two, only one was probably going to work. We were feeling pretty frustrated at this point. And then, to add insult to injury, Jack called one at our tour o’clock and gunning. I looked back and thought: “Holy—!” That 37mm in the MiG’s nose was belching flame about 90 feet long! Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought I had remembered that Randy Cunningham had forced a MiG to overshoot. So broke into him and … ever hear a MiG laugh? … that’s when you try to make him overshoot! He hung right in there, but the subconscious was still working.

I had an idea that he was pulling too much lead on me … that he couldn’t see me over his big, bulbous nose, and that he was just waiting for me to fly into his tiring ring. I came out of the burner, hit the speed brakes, pushed about two negative Gs, and he did overshoot! He flew right by in front of us, close enough for us to read the nose numbers. (It was “triple sticks” 111, and the MiG was painted in the green mottle camouflage.) As he flew out in front of us, I got a good tone and tired my third Sidewinder. It came off the rail and started to track him. He turned one way, and I thought it was going to be another miss, but apparently, he was just looking for us, because he reversed and the missile took his tail right off. He ejected.

I looked around, and there was Mike, with a MiG on his tail. I called to him to break into the MiG, then extend out to the east so I could get behind the MiG. He broke a little, then dove away, with the MiG right behind him and tiring. He started to open some distance on the MiG, then the MiG broke right … right in front of us! I got a good tone on the fourth missile, which surprised us, squeezed the trigger, and it came out … it didn’t even twitch … flew right into the MIG. Next thing we knew, his canopy came off, he came out, and the aeroplane blew up.

We looked around, didn’t see anyone else, and decided to get the hell out of there. Mike was having some fuel transfer problems, so we got down to about a hundred feet of the deck, started weaving through the valleys, and when his problems sorted themselves out, popped back up to altitude and headed back to the ship. The engagement had lasted little more than five minutes.
Mugs McKeown and Jack Ensch had flown together for the better part of a year at the time of their kills. They would be together for another two and a half months. In early August of 1972, Mugs received orders to report to Miramar NAS to take over as Commanding Officer of the Navy Fighter Weapons School. Jack still had a few months to serve with the squadron and remained aboard the Midway. He began flying missions with Mug’s replacement, LCDR Mike Doyle.

Mugs and Jack had become fast friends, and their parting was tinged with emotion. As he was about to board the COC plane for Danang, Mugs admonished Jack to watch historically, the communists picked that night to shell Danang. While Mugs was waiting out the attack in a foxhole, Jack was watching a movie in the ship’s wardroom. But Mugs go through the attack and make it back to Miramar shot down while on a MiGCAP in late August. He spent eight months in the Hanoi Hilton, returning with the last batch of POWs to come out of North Vietnam. After convalescence, Jack rejoined Mugs as Executive Officer of the Navy Fighter Weapons School.

This is the concluding article in the “Winning” series.