The Making of a FAC
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
On May 16, 1967, I took my first step towards becoming an Air Force pilot. I took my first ride in a T-41 at Stinson Field in San Antonio Texas. That was the beginning of my pilot training days in Class 68-G. That proud day of graduation came on May 31, 1968. My Mom was there to pin on my shiny silver wings in the theater at Randolph AFB. My dad was unable to attend; he was in Vietnam, flying in his third war – WW II, Korea, and now Vietnam. I hoped that my day would come where I could serve my country as he was doing. Upon graduation, I wanted so badly to get to pick an F-100 Super Sabre. Not sure why, it just looked like a cool airplane to fly. Instead, I was selected for an F-4. Not in the front seat, but in the backseat! Seems the Air Force had a new program. I guess they figured two pilots were better than one, so off to Davis-Monthan AFB in Tucson, Arizona, I went. Three long months learning how to operate the weapons systems and radar from the backseat and run countless intercepts in the simulator. Then I went to Mac Dill AFB in Tampa, Florida to check out in the F-4E. I was finally going to get to fly a fighter, even if it was in the backseat.
About a month before graduation, our class was called together to get some new news. It seemed that two pilots in the same airplane didn’t make sense anymore and we were told that we were going to be assigned as Forward Air Controllers or FACs. I remember that there were two Captains in our class and the rest of us were Lieutenants. The Captains got OV-10s and we Lieutenants were offered either O-1s or O-2s. I said I’d take an O-1 and then had to ask, what the hell is an O-1? Imagine my surprise when I saw this little tail dragger light airplane. I thought, great! A kid with a slingshot could shoot me down. I didn’t know how close that was going to be to the truth.
FAC School
So off we went to Eglin AFB, Florida where, after a lengthy checkout (30 days and 35 hours of flying time), we were shipped off to a place called Phan Rang, South Vietnam, by way of Clark Air Base in the Philippines for a little jungle survival training. I arrived in-country in July 1969. The checkout was even shorter here – 16 hours in 21 days. Next stop, LZ English, home of the 173rd Airborne Brigade. LZ English was a little fire support base in II Corps with the 21st Tactical Air Support Squadron (TASS). I had heard about the Vietnam pipeline, but I didn’t realize that it was so slippery! When I stepped off that C-7 Caribou, the red dust almost choked me. Not to worry, when the monsoons came, the red dust became red mud.
Welcome To The War
There wasn’t a lot of checkout here either. Almost immediately, I was controlling airstrikes and my year tour was on. Things were going pretty well so far. Lots of flying and controlling not only airstrikes, but Army and Navy artillery. I was billeted with AF enlisted personnel in a big hooch just below the crap-table or helicopter landing pad. The FAC I was replacing had not yet moved out and they told me this was temporary. But it ended up being permanent since there was more room in this hooch. My room mate, Tech. Sgt. Wright, and I shared the north end of the hooch and the rest of the guys were in the other part. We constructed walls out of plywood and so it was like having your own private room. In the south end of the hooch, we had the bar. We had no bunker outside, and not even sand bags had been put around the outside of the hooch. Then, on November 11, 1969, we were in the bar having a couple of whiskeys with one of our FNGs (friendly new guys). Now, outgoing artillery makes a kinda “foomf’ sound followed by a whistling of the artillery round as it goes up in the atmosphere. As we listened, we heard a whistling sound following by a foomf. We all looked at each other and said that doesn’t sound right. When the third round exploded right outside our hooch, there was no doubt in our military minds that this was not outgoing – it was incoming! With no bunker, the procedure was to run and jump under your cot and pray for the best. (Like a paper thin mattress and metal frame is going to protect you). As I ran to my cot and crawled under it, imagine my shock when I found another body already there. We were both grabbing for our guns. It was the new guy! He had beat me to my bunk. As we laid huddled there, we could smell the cordite burning and hear the shrapnel exploding the fluorescent lights and slicing through the metal lockers like they were tin foil. Smoke burned our eyes and I can vouch that there definitely are no atheists in foxholes. The rocket attack began at 1730 hours. We took 30 rounds of 81 mm mortars and 12 rounds of 75 mm recoilless rifle rounds. Two U.S soldiers were killed and 12 were wounded. Welcome to the war.
The next day we went down to the river in the town of Bong Song, and filled sandbags which we placed around the hooch. We also began construction on a bunker, which we covered with curved corrugated steel sections with more sandbags on top. A trap door to the bunker was installed in the bar end of the hooch. During my tour, we had the opportunity to use our bunker several times.
What do you mean, I have to check my Guns?
While at LZ English, I often made runs to Phu Cat Air Base, about a 45-minute flight to the south. For some reason, the Army could buy beer but couldn’t purchase hard alcohol. So, we often made trips to the Class 6 store at Phu Cat. On one occasion, I ended up spending the night and got a room in the BOQ. However, when I checked into the squadron, I was told that I needed to check my weapons (.38 pistol and an AR-15, things I always flew with and carried with me everywhere). I was very apprehensive about relinquishing my weapons, coming from a small LZ where you might need a weapon if Charlie got in “under the wire.” I was told that there were no exceptions. This turned out to probably be a good thing later. After a night at the Officers Club and enjoying good whiskey, music and “flush toilets,” we retired to our rooms. I was sleeping very peacefully, when about 0300, my fellow FACs decide to play a little joke on me. As I lay there dreaming of being back in the world, there were very loud noises that sounded like explosions, and several guys yelling “incoming!” Thinking I was back at LZ English and in my bunk, which is only 12”off the floor, I rolled out of my bunk, hit the floor and rolled under the bunk. The problem was I was sleeping on the top bunk, which was about five feet up, and I hit the floor hard. As I got under the bunk and tried to collect my thoughts, my “buddies” came into the room and they were hollering and laughing and pointing at me under the bed. Now I knew why they had me check my weapons! If I could have gotten one, I would have shot them all. The next morning, as I was leaving, they all said no hard feelings. I invited them up to spend the night with me at LZ English, but I never did get any takers.
Hill 474
In January or February 1970 we began working an area about 15-20 klicks north of us. It was designated as Hill 474, which was a staging area/ hideout for Viet Cong and North Vietnamese troops. It was a very large hill with tunnels honeycombed throughout. Over the course of the operation, my fellow FACs and I directed dozens of air strikes. An observation helicopter was shot down, but the pilots were rescued. US ground troops attempted to move into the area, but suffered three KIA (killed in action) and one WIA (wounded in action). We worked Hill 474 for eight long days, before U.S. ground troops were able to get into the area. The Bomb Damage Assessment (BDA) resulted in 96 KBA (killed by air), two prisoners, thousands of rounds of ammunition, hundreds of automatic weapons, two 57 mm recoilless rifles, four tons of rice, 10 U.S. claymore mines, 10 pounds of C-4 plastic explosives, and numerous grenades.
Troops in Contact
In March of 1970 I flew a late mission in support of U.S. Troops in Contact (TIC). I controlled two air strikes and stayed until the grunts on the ground could break contact with the enemy. However, the airstrip at LZ English was not designed for night landings; there were no runway lights. Steel drums of diesel fuel lined the runway and they had to be lit by hand for emergency night landings. This night I was running low on fuel and had to land. I made a call to light the drums but by the time I needed to land, only four of the drums were lit. It was my first night landing in several months. It’s a good thing the Birddog can take dropping in from about 10-15 feet above the runway, ‘cause that’s just what yours truly did. I’m glad that was the only night landing in an O-1 that I had to make during my tour.
Back to the World
The next couple of months were relatively uneventful, and I went back to the “world” at the end of June. I spent the 4th of July with my parents in San Antonio, Texas. My Dad had been back from Vietnam about 18 months. We were all sitting down to dinner on the 4th of July and the family across the street decided to cook off some fireworks. All of sudden my Mom was sitting at the dinner table by herself and wondering why her husband and son were under the table with their hands over their heads. Guess we did look pretty silly to someone who hasn’t experienced “incoming.”