We flew the largest jet-powered aircraft to ever land and take off from the aircraft carriers: EA3-B's. McDonald-Douglas Sky Warriors. Navy called them "whales". They were originally designed as nuclear loft-bombers in the mid-1950's. Our squadron was totally top-secret electronic surveillance. Bomb-bays were sealed and carried a "canoe" under the bomb-bays and a "football" on the tail. All contained secret radars, electronic monitoring mechanisms, and stuff I can't talk about.

Twin J-57 jet engines. Same engine (one) that powered the F-8 fighters that flew off the carriers with us during the early Vietnam War. John McCain flew the lighter, more manuverable McDonald-Douglas A-4 fighters from our same carriers.

Take what this young pilot is relating, and then magnify that into a crew of seven aboard our whales. The Gulf of Tonkin off North Vietnam is one of the blackest nastiest places on earth during monsoon rains and storms at night. Drift off course too far to the north, and you were over Hinan Island and their Chinese-Communist airfields (and Migs). Drift south too far and you were over Tiger Island with their radar-controlled anti-aircraft gun sites.

We were the "angel" in the sky. Flying off the carriers in those black and stormy nights, we led the strike-force fighters in over North Vietnam and provided "passive" electronic air-cover for all the fighters down below. We could pin-point every SAM missle site, every MIG they launched, and every radar-controlled gun position. We effectively warrned the fighters in selective "grids" over the North what the enemy was about to do and were doing in their respective grid. We saved countless lives, while not taking any in return. And, yeah, the bad-guys down below knew what we were doing and did their damned best (worst) to kill us.

When I was on the ground in Nam with the Navy and Marines, I never knew when that "golden bullet" would hit me. All your instincts and training kept you on razor-edge and alert to the threats and dangers around you. But, you never saw the one that killed you (so they say).

In the air, especially in the aircraft and electronic sophistication we had, it was different. I could watch my own death coming at me. Most (redacted) were in the form of SAM missles. I'll not go into specifics. The one that I was assured was my (our) death-knell was from a MIG-21. The North (like the Chinese) had a number of underground airfields. Their presence and activities were undiscernable to most of our detection methods.

On a clear afternoon, while flying along the coast, the North secretly launched a MIG-21 from one of those airfields, specifically to shoot us down. The Mig flew tree-top tall under all radars, being guided by land-based radars toward our position. The MIG has two radars of it's own: a search radar, and a fire-control radar. In order to launch it's missles, it has to have both systems locked on to the target (us).

I picked up the search radar as soon as the pilot of the MIG turned it on. He had to come up to about 1,000 feet to effect his search radar. At that point he was now clearly visible, electronically. He was close, damn close, and closing fast. He then turned on his fire control radar to aim his missles. We went into evasive manuvers, dropped like a rock to about 200 feet off the water, and began "cork-screwing" over the wave tops. The idea was to confuse his fire control radar with "ocean clutter".

At the same time that this was going on, the pilot squaked emergency for our CAP (Combat Air Patrol), two F-4's (Phantoms) that were up screwing around Hinan Island hoping to dare a couple of Chinese MIG's to come out and challenge them. They went into after-burner and burned up the sky trying to get to us.

And, here's dumb-ass ol' Doc, setting there glued to his headset and scope watching this friggin' MIG still closing in on us, fast! I knew I was dead! We all were! I made my instant goodbyes and my pennance to God. I watched my own death coming at me and I could not do a damn thing about it!

The MIG was just entering missle launch distance. I had it calculated down to a rat's-ass hair-length! He never waivered from his course. We were twisting and dancing over the wave tops like a drunken sailor. I knew that any second he would fire and we would pass into history.

He crossed the "missle-launch line" on my scope and I was incredulous as to why he didn't launch, immediately. Who knows? But, he hesitated. Maybe the ocean clutter really affected his fire-control radar? Maybe he wanted to get in close enough to watch us crash and burn? Maybe God decided it wasen't our time?

But, his hesitancy cost him his life and saved ours! The two F-4 Phantoms came in on after-burners and launched their missles before he did and shot his ass right out of the sky! We aborted mission and limped our thankful butts into DaNang, RVN (our deployment headquarters).

The sorry state of "politics" (yes, they exist even in the military) after the mission convinced me to return to my "blackshoe" roots. I was asked to compromise my integrity and dignity and to falsify a report by awarding a "Purple Heart" to someone aboard the aircraft who did not earn it. I refused, in front of the entire officer contingent of the squadron. I was the only enlisted man present. I left with my honor intact, and none of them could say the same.

I remember standing before the Commanding Officer (our pilot), LCDR Peters, and I think my answer to his request went something like this: (forgive me, I was fighting back tears at the time) "Sir, too many good men go home in a casket and the only personal medal that they have earned in Vietnam is the Purple Heart. I have watched the heliocopters at Marble Mountain (Navy Hospital) land and they are awash in blood from our men. Nothing that happened today earned LTJG XXXXXXX the entitlement to that medal. He was out of his seat rubber-necking when we went into evasive manuvers. He bumped his head, as a result. If you order me to award him the Purple Heart, I will do so. However, from this time forward every enlisted person who sticks their finger with a safety-wire, bangs their head while changing-out a "black box", or other wise gets a bump or scrape while airborne, will also be awarded a Purple Heart.

The pilot deserved the Flying Cross, and I was ready to write the citation. Others were equally deserving of recognition. But, the one person that they had singled out for the Purple Heart was so totally non-deserving that it would have stained the honor of all the good men and women who had paid for it with their lives. Consequently, not a single medal was awarded to any in the crew for their bravery on that flight. I never spoke out, until now.

History: I was treated with the utmost disdain, after the Squadron Commmanding Officer dared ask me to become a "brown shoe" so I could accompany them to Vietnam and provide "Doc" services to them. To do so, I first had to go thru all aspects of aviation training to quallify as an Aircrewman with the designation of Aviation Electronic Technition, ECM Operator. Their top-secret aircraft could not allow anyone onboard, even as a passenger, unless that person was fully quallified to operate an "operational position" aboard that aircraft.

So I did it. I overcame every damn hurdle that these brown-shoes could put in front of me. I went to every damn school that they had: aviation electronics, aviation warfare, sea survival, escape and evasion, high altitude training, parachute rigging, security clearances, 2E4 specialized ECM training, 100 hours of inflight quallification, ground maintenance and trouble shooting, pistol marksmanship, physical readiness training, and a bunch of other stuff that I just chalked up to "harassment". They (everyone below the Commanding Officer) did not want me intruding into their hallowed halls of aviation. (Exception: there were a few senior enlisted Airdales that saw what I was going thru and lent their support. I would not have made it without them).

I was already a quallified SAR (Sea, Air, Rescue) Corpsman in copters and had flown boo-coo missions for the Seventh Fleet. I was interchangeable with the First Marine Air Wing, and had "dipped my wick" on missions of neccesity.

OUTCOME: I earned my wings. I did my job. I spent lots of time in Nam. I flew off of and landed upon carriers (and I still don't like it).

Doc C.