Mayday, Mayday, I’ve Been Hit!
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
The mission had started normally enough. The Army Special Forces camp of Kham Duc, near the Laotian border, had been under fire for a couple of days and the decision had been made to evacuate all personnel. The weather, initially poor with fog, had improved and airlift and fighter air had been laid on for one of the largest troop moves in the war.
A battalion-sized unit of Americal Division troops had augmented the regular Special Forces unit. They were opposed by 4,000 to 5,000 NVA and were under heavy mortar, rocket, and automatic weapons fire. I had been at the Tactical Operations Control duty desk most of the night. As soon as I was relieved, I requested to join the effort as a FAC.
When I arrived over the camp there were two or three sets of fighters working both sides and the east end of the runway. Airlift C-130s and C-123s had started landing, stopped due to weather, and started again. After becoming familiar with the situation, I began working to find the .50 caliber gun position that had shot down one or two aircraft, including a loaded C-130.
I was still working on that gun with my third or fourth set of fighters, and had just rolled in for another marking pass, when the world’s loudest “BANG” sounded near my right wingtip. The O-2 suddenly entered a steep, rolling turn to the right. One look at the wing provided me with images of metal fragments hanging where three to four feet of wing used to be. My voice rose to a high pitch with those dreaded words – “Mayday, Mayday, I’ve been hit. I’m going down.”
Aileron controls were severed, and twisting that silly control wheel to the left was no help. Fortunately, my left foot was pushing the left rudder pedal through the firewall and bit-by- bit the turn slowed. After a quick assessment of aircraft capabilities, I determined that the elevators were okay and that I could almost maintain straight ahead flight, but was losing about 400 feet of altitude per minute.
Somewhere during this time the radios went out (constant turning of the flight control wheel tends to twist and break radio cords), so I had no way to tell anyone that I was attempting a landing at Kham Duc. Several right turns brought me to the west end of the runway, and only a little bit high. I lined up on the strip only to find my windshield filled with a C-123 going the other way! The next dodging right turn was a lot faster.
When I came around again the lineup was less than perfect, but the landing was great! I had a runway under the wheels! After skidding and rolling down the runway for a bit; the thought occurred to me that my now non-flying machine was a detriment to evacuations while on the runway, so I promptly steered off into the adjacent dirt shoulder.
After shutting down, a very shell-shocked FAC climbed out of the aircraft to find a jeep skidding to a stop by the right wing. “Get in,” said Special Forces Sergeant Walker. Get in I did, as the camp was under heavy mortar and small arms fire. We sped back to the bunker area and dove (as in did not saunter) into the nearest bunker.
I found people on radios, field phones, etc, everywhere. After a short period of time I asked Sergeant Walker, who was still hovering near me, where the nearest radio might be so that I could talk to the Air Force folks. He asked me to follow him and we ran to the next bunker, which turned out to have been recently (prematurely) abandoned by the Airlift Combat Control Team.
In the bunker, I found an HF set already tuned to the I-DASC frequency. After proving to the folks on the other end that I was alive and mostly well, and closing out my flight plan, I was told, “Stand by.” Shortly afterwards the DASC called back informing me that I was now the Ground ALO. Imagine that, I was the only Air Force guy on the ground. Further instructions followed: “General Momyer directs you to report to the Army commander and provide any support possible. Also, you are to remain at Kham Duc until the last evacuation flight.” Joy and gratitude washed over me as I reminded the DASC that I had not volunteered to be in this high level position. For the next four hours, due to the complex nature of the tense situation, I found it necessary to expose myself to some of the hostile fire in order to talk on the FM radio. I snuck in and out of the bunker, and sometime during this period the environment turned more hostile. I had climbed to the top of the steps leading out of the bunker, when a mortar round went off just outside (one small piece stung my face and reduced my hearing for a bit). That was the last time I went to the top of the bunker steps. Shortly afterwards, it got really warm! Napalm impacting on a nearby barbed wire perimeter tended to produce heat. That heat was welcome!
During the remaining time, I briefed the ground commanders on their responsibilities during the evacuation, coordinating through the I-DASC. This allowed the evacuation to proceed in an orderly flow with minimum time on the ground for the aircraft. My efforts included directing such things as the best spot to position troops to get on the evacuation aircraft and time remaining before the next arrival.
Finally, someone ducked into the radio bunker and yelled, “Lets go, Sir!” I did just that, and ran out to the prescribed spot abeam the runway. A C-130 soon came by doing a quick turnaround on the runway, and I climbed aboard nearly the last flight out of Kham Duc (see author’s note, below), along with about 150 Special Forces troops and their C-I-D-G (Montagnard) contingent. We did a lot of praying that the aircraft would remain flying through the continuous small arms and anti-aircraft fire. After a bit it became obvious that we were free and clear and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The flight to DaNang was short. All sorts of welcoming troops met us, including 20th TASS folks who took me by the TASS headquarters to drop off my gear. Then they delivered Chuck Johnson and me, a pair of weary FACs, to the office of U.S.M.C. General Cushman who gave us a drink (only one each) and proceeded to quiz us on the recent events. Afterwards, we were returned to the 20th TASS and flown back to Chu Lai.At some point during that evening’s inevitable trip to the officer’s club, I met one of the pilots of the last set of fighters I’d worked that morning. He enlightened me as to the source of the “BANG!” He was in position to roll in when he observed the black explosion around my right wing tip. “Probably a 37 mm round from the way it looked,” he said. Thus, the last mystery was answered and my day was ended.
Author’s note: There were in fact two added “evacuation flights.”
1). A C-130 which dropped off the airlift combat control team, which had prematurely left that morning. Problem! They were now the only good guys left on the ground.
2). Joe Jackson, in his C-123, who won the Medal of Honor by bravely going in under heavy fire and picking up these CCT members.
Author’s comment: A short addition to Bob Green’s comment on the FACNET about “Capt. Smothermon’s ground FACing @ Kham Duc in May 1968. Brought back several memories, but I’ll share just one. After being evacuated May 12th, I went back a couple of days later (like getting back on the bike) and found myself looking down at the field, only difference – I was at 9,000 feet AGL. Never wanted to see that place again. Cheers, Skip