My Story
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
Now I feel compelled to write about some of these happenings, for myself, my children, and other interested people. Especially the other FACs, who were the bravest humans I ever knew; how many people would fly airplanes at 90 knots, with a 500 feet per minute climb rate (if you didn’t have a back-seater), no armor of any kind, a BB gun sighting rod, limited radios, often-faulty intel support? All of you who did that have two priceless ingredients – Courage, and Dedication.
Getting Started
When a close friend, (then and now) Bill Cullen and I arrived at the 20th TASS (spring 1966) we met a wonderful man; Lieutenant Colonel Sansing, our new commander. He was someone I could like and respect, and still do. The previous squadron commander and ops staff (so it was said) had not flown missions for the last 2-3 months of their tour. Morale was poor. Sandy Sansing expected the three of us to set an example for the other pilots. We did, especially Sandy. He and his DASC counterpart, Lieutenant Colonel Brewington seemed to compete with each other on how many bullet holes they could get in their O-1s, and how many missions they could fly.
The 20th had many detachments in I Corps and one flying in Laos. The detachment at Dong Ha flew DMZ and, earlier on, classified North Vietnam missions. The one at Kontum flew Cambodian missions, and the one at Kham Duc flew into Laos and some in-country missions. The Khe Sanh detachment flew or supported SOG and USMC and 7th Air Force missions. Bill was assigned out-country ops (COVEY call sign) and I was the in-country guy (LOPEZ call sign). We both worked for Major Jetter who had the OPS Officer title. We were sort of his deputies.
My assignments required me to:
•Work closely with the USMC;
•Fly in country I Corps “normal” daily mis-
sions from DaNang;
•Visit our detachments in and out of I Corps
and fly missions there;
•Work with the Province Chief’s staff (almost
got me killed); and
•My top secret clearance generated other
various and sundry duties. I was also the Flight Safety Officer (almost got me killed – I did not make the war safe), and I was tasked to develop a tactics approach for our missions.
The USMC for the first 3-4 months would not utilize our support, until they lost all eighteen of their O-1s. Their method of support meant flying at “easy target altitudes”, almost always firing their rifles from the back seat. Give a Marine a gun and he will use it, regardless. In the early days I actually flew over serious ground battles and could not help them because they would not release their FM contact frequencies. This did change and a normal air support relationship (often with a Marine back seater) developed.
The most interesting work was with the province chief and the associated Army MACV at Hoi An. The province center for ARVN operations, it was about 25 miles south of DaNang, and had been the historical provincial capitol. It is on a river originating in Laos that flowed completely through the province farmlands to the sea. In the old days it was an important place. Immediately across the broad river, which was almost an estuary, there were many complex fortifications used at will by the VC/NVA.
Some Days in a FAC’s Life
During my work at Hoi An the VC got my name and call sign, probably from a staff ARVN at Hoi An, or the DASC. On one quiet VR mission I received a call “Lopez 51, Lopez 51, this is...” (I do not remember his call sign), in a heavily accented Viet voice. I responded and they came back, “LOPEZ 51, Major Hallett we are going to kill you”. I told him to go f*** himself and that I would get him first. They tried that trick on two different occasions.
On a normal visit to Hoi An, a day or so after the incident I took an afternoon break and went to the very old, quaint, oriental riverside market to do some photography. I wore my gray flight suit and an army cap with my Major’s insignia properly displayed. I had been in the country several months and was well acquainted with village activities and with the villagers’ responses and behavior. I was there about five minutes and began to feel extremely uncomfortable and nervous; they all acted out of the ordinary – none would talk to me – none would even look at me. I left because I felt afraid of something. As I walked out an Army guy dressed liked I was, showing the same Major insignias, walked past me. He evidently intended to do what I had planned to do. I jumped in my jeep and went back to the compound. He was dead before I got to the compound – shot by an assassin who was on one of the very close (100 yards), numerous, small river islands.
The next week or so I took an Army intel observer on a VR just a few miles from Hoi An. They had received (or were caused to receive by the VC) a report of strange activities on one of the islands. We were flying at maybe 1,000–1,200 feet, circling the island for several minutes when the back seater called and said, “Make a sharp left, I think I see something”. I did, and maybe 15 seconds later a large explosion occurred near the place we had just left – we heard it and could see the air burst; two more occurred, about the size of one of the old GI office desks. The Army intel saved our lives. I got air support within 10 minutes or so and blanketed the area with four fighters loaded with CBU. I covered every foot of ground. The VC were using mortars with “cut fuses”, a time delay mechanism. They were effective when used in places where they knew you would be repeatedly; traffic patterns, my circular orbit, etc. The DASC intelligence officer did not believe this in my de-briefing, nor had he reported the radio death threat.
After these episodes, whenever I was in my jeep, my 38 Smith & Wesson was in my lap. I usually slept with my ARA 16 next to my bed and my 38 under my pillow at Hoi An and in the DASC house in DaNang.
Once at Hoi An, we were attacked at night. It turned out to be a diversion, as the real target was an ARVN compound on the river two to three miles to the east. I was lying on the street with an army radio operator trying to direct air strikes. I couldn’t stand up as the VC/NVA machine gun bullets were whizzing just a few feet above me. We had an Army detachment at the ARVN compound – they all escaped, but all were wounded. Their compound was overrun. The ARVN commander’s wife was pregnant; they disemboweled her and killed his 2 other children (physically cut them into pieces) as an example to the community to not support the government. Similar, but not as grotesque, things had happened before in Hoi An – South Vietnamese nurses, civil servants, businessmen, were assassinated or wounded as examples to others. These atrocities were not reported by the American press.
During this same period I, with the cooperation of others at home, helped a near-by civilian hospital (if you could use that term to describe a very primitive structure). I supplied the patients, mostly children and the elderly, with clothes and stuff shipped from home. The US doctors from DaNang went there often, to help as much as they could. They needed help so bad it was pitiful. The hospital and our place was mortared one night. The VC attack killed almost all of the patients. Also not reported by the American press.
As Flying Safety Officer (what an incredible oxymoronic duty during a war) I had to go to Khe Sanh to protect one of our guys. The 7th Air Force had sent a full bull colonel there to find out why a pilot crashed his O-1 on take off. I got there first and the USMC tower operator (the tower was one of those 14–16 feet high, pick up truck sized, portable things) and I discovered that, or rather we decided that, the equipment was not working yesterday so he had had no wind information. Actually, the pilot (a young, previous fighter jock, most of whom thought the O-1 was a toy) had taken off down wind to support a near- by firefight. With his honest, eager, macho, brave attitude, he forgot about the wind. The full bull accepted it all and never asked a question. That night the NVA attacked the entire base. There I lay in a foxhole with my ARA 16, trying to figure out why I was there and what was I trying to do. (Answer: SAVE MY ASS).
I was at DaNang the night of the first large scale rocket attack. The Air Force had a small enclave of its own, the buildings housing maybe 200-300 officers. Very near by was a similar facility for the enlisted, and down the road was the small USAF hospital facility. The rockets were ALL aimed at us – the base was very large and their concentration and intent was obvious. The VC had carried in about 100 of them, a few miles east of the base, and carefully built slanted earth pads. Their technique was faulty and most of the rockets went into a nearby DaNang area, killing hundreds of civilians. When the first salvo went overhead and exploded I made a mad dash for our bunker, fell, and badly cut my leg. I had to go to the USAF hospital for repair. They wanted to put me in for the Purple Heart, but after seeing so many grunts and our FACs badly hurt in real combat I said no thanks.
A very strange occurrence follows. Somewhere in the time frame when the VC had identified me (don’t know if there is a connection here) a Marine helicopter was shot down. It was about 25 miles west of Hoi An on the slope of a mountain. No one appeared to survive. The intel reports a day or two later told us that some strange things were going on in that area. I was well acquainted there, as that was the area where I got my first Distinguished Flying Cross for mission support during very heavy fighting. That day or the next I was in that area on a solo VR mission and my equipment picked up a distress signal from one of the emergency radios we all carried. I very roughly vectored in on it, and discovered it was where the chopper was shot down. I maintained altitude and searched carefully with my binoculars, but could see nothing. Very, very strange; no verbal response with a FAC overhead! I reported it to the DASC but cautioned them about the lack of voice response and the intel warning. The Marines ignored it all, sent in two helicopters, and they were shot down.
Two very strange O-1 accidents happened in the 20th. Shortly after I arrived an F-4 had a mid air with an O-1. The FAC incredibly survived. The wingtip or top of the rudder of the F-4 sliced through the underside of the O-1, taking off part of the FAC’s foot, but leaving the aircraft partly flyable. He was able to crash land and was immediately air lifted to China Beach and then to a hospital ship in DaNang harbor.
The second one I can hardly believe even though I investigated it. We had a detachment at a remote location with just a dirt strip and limited facilities. The compound and strip were completely surrounded by giant rolls of concertina wire. The O-1 engine was remarkably trustworthy – except this time. The engine failed on take off. A residential area was six or seven hundred meters in front of the pilot. As he tried to set it down the tail wheel engaged the roll of concertina beneath the O-1, and just as in a cartoon the wire slowly pulled him to a stop. It ruined the airplane but the pilot was safe. Strange but true.
Fear
I am not ashamed to admit it. I was often frightened. But it never stopped me from doing what ever was necessary. Oh, how I wished that I had the carefree attitude that so many of my associates had. I hid it with self-control and too much booze. I never discussed it then or since, but now seems to be the time. Beyond the fear associated with rifle and anti aircraft fire and the things I have already discussed, something very strange, almost unreal occurred. The worst possible nightmarish thing that could happen – happened.
We only flew with a wingman when we were flying mountain VRs. The obvious reason, of course, was if one guy went down the other FAC could communicate for help. This time I was (very, unfortunately) alone, had completed some kind of “normal” coastal VR, and was returning to DaNang. I was about 20 miles south of the air base, not too far away from Marble Mountain where a friend of mine, Capt Blake Schultz was shot down and killed by rifle fire. I was at 1,200 or 1,500 feet cruising nice and easy, heading for the traffic pattern. I knew the area intimately, as it was not too far away from Hoi An, and it was deadly dangerous. Suddenly the engine started running rough and then stopped.
“May day, May day” to DaNang tower. “I’m going down need help now”. I switched tanks back and forth, turned the ignition on and off, and played with every switch that was connected to the engine. I asked DaNang for immediate help. I had picked my crash landing area and told the tower to inform rescue that I would not stay with the O-1. I would get as far away as I could and try to hide.
About 300 feet above the ground the engine sputtered and came back to half-life. It ran, but not with normal power or smoothness. I tried to gain altitude but didn’t get much higher. I told the tower that I would land on any runway or taxi way whether it was in use or not, or even one of the streets. I made it to a runway, got near our parking area, and the engine stopped. I cannot describe the fear I felt. I can almost feel it now.
A few days later our maintenance officer told me what had happened. The O-1 had gone through a major overhaul; in the process the tanks had been removed and painted on the inside. The paint had never dried properly. The fuel had caused paint globs to form; one had obstructed the filter in the line feeding the engine. “Some how”, he said, “God must have helped you, because it became open just enough to allow some fuel to flow.”
Unusual Experiences
I had many strong emotional experiences due to my various additional duties, which had nothing to do with FACing. I had to, needed to, felt obliged to go to the Marine hospital at China Beach whenever one of our pilots was there. I saw so many bad scenes there that they still occasionally haunt me. The most grotesque was a young Marine, standing by his bed, blind, one hand gone, crazy, calling for help. I got our man moved to a quieter place; only God could help the young Marine.
We had a FAC shot down near one of our Special Forces camps. He was, as it turned out, killed. The rear seater evaded (badly hurt) and we got him out at sunset. As the Province FAC I went to the Air Evac helicopter to talk to him and find out if he knew anything about the pilot. We still hoped he was alive. He didn’t know, but the next day we got the FAC back minus his head. The VC had cut it off to escape his ghost – no head with the body, no ghost to haunt them. I had to work with the mortuary people on how to send the body home –”seeable” or identified as so badly mangled that the box was not to be opened.
For obvious reasons no one during or after my duty tour has ever heard the following. Near the end of my tour I became aware that some of our Province Army, ARVN, and Marine intel reports were false, bogus, or VC planted. I had seen so much tragedy and so much death that as much as I could I stopped village bombing in my area, unless we knew it was necessary. Major Emmett DeAvies and I would fly strike missions together. One low, one high, we took turns. If we got ground fire the strike went in, if not, the mission was canceled. Lest anyone think that I avoided the tough stuff, I did not. I probably directed as many or more air and artillery strikes and USN shipboard rocket and artillery strikes as any one in the 20th. I flew over 220 missions, of which most were VR, but probably 20-30% were strikes. I was awarded the DFC, Bronze Star, and Cross of Gallantry etc. I NEVER questioned higher head- quarters missions but those in my own back yard I watched carefully.
I was at the DOOM club (DaNang Officers Open Mess) one night and got involved in a conversation that I wish had never happened. A young AC-47 aircraft commander was there with his copilot and another crewmember. They were talking about an area south of Hoi An that they were going to strike the next night. Antiaircraft fire had occurred there and they had, unsuccessfully, tried to hit it. The AC told the crew and me how they would go in at low altitude and “Get It”. I knew what they were talking about. At Hoi An the MACV staff recognized the serious threat in that area and were preparing to eliminate it. I had had my own experiences there with the golf ball tracers floating up at me; when it was bombed it was back in business two or three days later. I explained this to the AC and urged him to be cautious, that real danger existed there. He got very angry with me and stopped our discussion. The next night he and his whole crew were killed going after that target at lower than normal altitudes. The ARVN commander at Hoi An set up a company of infantry around the downed wreck and waited for the DASC or base commander to show up as a courtesy to the dead – no one did.
Tactics
Colonel Sansing established the use of telephoto 35 mm hand held cameras. Because we were at DaNang with all the facilities we were able to get the film developed and printed within an hour or so. For those with the patience and the willingness to try (me) it was a marvelous aid. One could identify trails, movements of equipment, storage areas, rafts hidden along rivers and streams, steps hacked into mountainsides. The FNG who I trained to replace me got the Silver Star for action based on photos I had taken that revealed a very large storage and assembly area about 40-50 miles west of DaNang up in the mountains. When the USMC eventually attacked, he flew support at great peril to himself, and was instrumental in the success of the entire mission. The use of the camera sometimes required no- hands flying but with the O-1 that was easy.
Regarding altitude: “Dead FACs can’t help any one, and unnecessary bravery can hurt the friendlies if you or your aircraft are disabled”. That was my main input to the FNGs. Some may disagree, but it is the truth; statistics we kept proved it. Low flyers usually got it. Of course, at times this rule had to be ignored.
Regarding young (and almost always braver than me) fighter jocks, my line to them: “It’s not a toy, it obeys the same aerodynamic rules your jet did, it can kill you”. And it did kill some of them.
Good Stuff
When you are lying on the ground, in a foxhole, or in one of those miserably exposed towers they built for me, nothing can match the awesome display of the Gatling guns on the AC-47s or AC- 130s, especially as they zero in on the targets that are trying to kill you. If you can just forget the war and only look at the majestic colors and ribbons of fire coming from the orbiting plane you would know why they called him Puff the Magic Dragon. It was truly awesome and beautiful.
On the other hand, one time the flight surgeon called me to the hospital for a talk. That was great, since the hospital guys always had better snacks, liquor and nurses. I drove my jeep there. He said he suspected my Jeep had VD, and maybe I needed a blood or urine test! It seems that two young airmen, for several weeks, had voluntarily been taking my jeep to a nearby stream to clean it. I thought it was because they saw me as an outstanding leader, but the truth was that several young available Vietnamese girls were always there, who freely gave VD to them and my jeep. After that it went dirty until I left.
On a VR mission into one section of the jungle-clad mountains west of DaNang I came across clouds of smoke. They exuded an incredibly delicious odor, which I could not identify. My ARVN counterpart at Hoi An explained it. The mountain tribes practiced slash and burn agriculture, and when they burned a new area the wonderful odor came from vanilla bushes.
The jungled mountains west of DaNang are part of the most beautiful areas on the face of the earth. I often visited Kham Duc because I liked it so much and I was also safer there than at Hoi An. The French had, many years ago, built a two- lane road from Kontum through the mountains into the gorgeous valley plain leading to Hoi An and DaNang. It had a kind of unspoiled natural beauty I had never sensed before. It made me think that if I were young, just married, it was the kind of place where two people in love should go.
Northwest of DaNang and southwest of Hue in the mountains is a little-known but fascinating place – the Summer Palace of the emperor who resided in Hue. It held a collection of what many years ago were very elegant buildings, reserved for the emperor and his court. There was a similar area due west of DaNang where the French had built many villas; small hotels near the top of the first range of mountains. Magnificent, with full views of the farmlands below and the ocean to the east. In summer 5,000 feet altitude brings great relief from the terrible heat. Such natural beauty incongruously coexisted with the brutality of war, but eventually the VC destroyed it all.
Should We Have Been There?
Whatever the merits of American involvement in Vietnam, the fact is that we stepped into a maelstrom of political crosscurrents left behind by the French and their perfidy, and the expansionist intentions of the Communist Chinese and Soviets. History records that the great struggle of communism against capitalism pivoted on the military conflicts in Korea and Vietnam. While they both remain controversial, the Iron Curtain fell, China is rapidly implementing its version of capitalism, and the capitalist West prevails. We who took part in the military aspect of this colossal struggle can justifiably take pride in our contribution to the victory. We helped change history.
I have traveled in the Orient for many years. I have witnessed the evolutions in Japan, Korea, Hong Kong, Thailand, and China. I am going back to the region this winter. Vietnam is slowly undergoing similar changes, but I will never return there.