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Ron Van Kirk Rustic 08 Editors Note…This story was taken from the Rustic archives or from The Rustics, A Top Secret Air War in Cambodia which was self published by the Rustic FAC Association, which holds all rights.
One morning in late November or early December, right after I called crossing the fence, I was contacted by Blue Chip, asking if I had any targets in the area. There was a flight of two F-4’s that were available for “immediate” expenditure. F-4’s were seldom available to us, and usually not requested due to the routine TIC (troops in contact) situations, and the accuracy required in those circumstances. But in this case I had a target, with no friendlies for 30 klicks or more, and immediate unrequested air was not to be wasted. I passed the coordinates and received immediate approval. The flight of two arrived on station and was briefed. “Suspected supply storage area, in tree line on edge of open field. No friendlies and no known bad guys or ground fire in the area. Use generally north - south run-ins, drop in pairs. Bailout area to the west or northwest.” All they had were Mk-82’s, but it was worth a try. Smoke was put down and Lead was cleared hot, and missed the target by almost 500 meters. Corrections were given and Two was cleared hot. His bombs landed within about 100 meters. Correction was provided and Lead called in out of the south. Cleared Hot! He was on and off the target with no release, and no comment. Then I watched as the bombs departed the F-4, in a slow rising arc and disappeared northeast in the distance, as they crossed the fence into Laos. I could not believe my eyes. There was still no comment from Lead. Two called in from the south with target in sight, was cleared hot, and hit inside 50 meters. “Nice job Two”. Lead called in again from the south. I transmitted… “Lead break off your run, you are not cleared to drop. Hold high and dry your choice of altitude, Two you are cleared for your next run, do you need another mark?” The reply came from Lead – “If lead does not drop then Two will not drop. Your call FAC.” “Fair enough. Safe ‘em up, you are cleared to depart the area. Thanks for the time, but I can not accept the accuracy provided.” The F-4’s departed. I continued on south, returning home after my normal solo 5-hour mission. After landing and with personal gear stowed at Ops, I headed to Intel for the debrief. On arrival I was told the Base Commander wanted to see me, and that I was to come immediately to his office. I did not wait to debrief. I reported in to one “highly agitated” Colonel, who wasted no time telling me to stand at attention while I was being addressed. I was still at a loss, when he started the tirade. “Perfect, just perfect. You are just a lousy 1st Lieutenant, where in the hell do you get off telling a Colonel that he can’t drop a bomb? (I momentarily contemplated a witty comeback like …. well, if that was you, you can’t….. but I stifled the moment.) The rant continued for a good 10 minutes or more. “You damn Rustics are still new to the base, and if this is the way you operate I’ll personally see to it that your stay is NOT a pleasant one, do you understand me? And it will all be your fault Lieutenant. The whole Squadron will suffer because of you. Don’t you ever tell me I can’t drop…..” …and so it went. His face was beet red, and I had to wipe the spit off my face when I was finally allowed to say something. I made it short. “Sir, with all due respect, when I give someone a specific country to bomb, and he drops his bombs in a different country, I feel compelled to terminate his action - regardless of who it is, Sir.” He glared at me for way too long, saying nothing. Then simply… “You’re dismissed.” As I opened the door to leave, he added - “Lieutenant, watch yourself.” Well… that was not pleasant. But I did heed his advice, I watched out for myself. I returned to Intel for my debrief, and what would have been a minor footnote to the day, now became my lead story - “Lead, in F-4 flight of two, bombs wrong country, sent home.” It became part of the formal Intel log handed up the line. I do not recall if it was Dave Tisdale or Bill Rember that was on duty that day, but he noted it was a “unique” entry. I quickly forgot about both the incident and the resulting confrontation. However, I arrived at the Ubon Officer’s Club one late afternoon to find a couple of “recently used” flight suits lying in front of the door. Above them was a sign that read - “By order of the Base Commander - effective immediately, no flight suits allowed”. Inside at the bar were the prior occupants of the flight suits, sitting quietly at the bar, in their underwear, having a drink. I thought it was a hoot! Judging from the reaction of others that were coming into the Club, I was not alone, but apparently it was not unanimous. There was someone still unhappy with these deviant fighter jocks (not Rustics) complying with directives. The next volley was the posting of signs on doors to the bar, designating them to be used ONLY for “IN” or “OUT”. The doors closest to the fighter quarters were designated “Exit Only”. Those poor guys had to walk right past the “EXIT” doors (which opened both ways of course) around to the front of the Club to enter, and wander back to the bar, which was just inside the “EXIT” door. There was a prohibition on entering through the “EXIT” doors. As I recall, it was not long, maybe a week, that this was in force. Then one night, the double doors to the Club marked “EXIT” disappeared. Completely gone - nothing but a large square hole in the wall remained. Word was, no one knew who did it, but “Someone” was very unhappy about it. (The doors were reportedly never located….) A couple of weeks later, at breakfast in the Club, I heard that the Base Commander was gone. No Ceremony, no explanation……just Gone. When I heard that, I asked the fighter guys next to me, what had happened? One of the Captains said … “I guess he finally got recognized for his accomplishments.” |
The
Rustics had relocated to their new home in Ubon, and flying to work heading
south instead of west had become the norm. On the repeated passing across the
fence while heading south, it was relaxing to be talking with Sam or Col. Oum as
we got into range, but still have the binoculars and eye balls active on the
ground below. On a couple of these trips I, along with other Rustics, saw what
appeared to be a supply or storage area, about 20 klicks south of the border.
But there never seemed to be any noticeable activity, so it was just watched.
Hotel 303 had reported that if there was anything there, it was enemy, and
should be destroyed. But we were occupied with more pressing needs further south, so time passed.