by Ed Cobleigh
In a week or so when the team's supplies are exhausted, the same covert helicopter will furtively hover over another ridge top just after dusk. The members of the team who are still alive will clamber back on and the chopper will depart at high speed to the west and the safety of the Thai border.
In this insane world, there are soft children of plenty and privilege who have much to fight for, but would rather not be bothered. They chant "Hell no, we won't go"' In other parts of the same world there are hard warriors who possess nothing beyond but their honor and their dreams for a country of their own. These real men thirst for their time in hell.
Laser Pilot and the Cosmic GIB
I am in the pit and I'm not too damn happy about it. No pilot likes to fly in the rear cockpit. The back cockpit of the F-4 Phantom is unaffectionately called the "pit" and for good reason. Slotted between two massive air intakes for the jet engines, the canopy rails on each side of the pit are high, about chin level. The canopy itself is small, one-third the size of the Plexiglas unit covering the front cockpit. To the rear is a bulkhead, behind the ejection seat. The front of the pit is filled by an instrument panel, with only a limited sight line forward. Visibility to the outside is also constrained. Standing on the left air intake and looking down into the rear cockpit gives me the definite impression I am about to descend into a confining aluminum pit lined with switches, gauges, controls, handles, dials, levers, and circuit breakers. The denizen of the Phantom's rear cockpit is known as the GIB, or Guy In Back.
The term "cockpit" itself was first applied to a pilot's work space during the early years of aviation, coming into general usage during World War I. The open biplanes of that era carried their intrepid aviators in round holes in the fuselage with only their heads sticking out into the breeze. These Spartan accommodations reminded folks of the small circular pits used for staging chicken fights, with roosters, hence the term "cockpit." Provisions for those early aircrew members were primitive to say the least in the stick, fabric, and wire age of aviation. Things improved as aircraft became faster. Fighter cockpits during World War II were much more comfortable with great visibility outward. First, large green house type canopies were fitted, and then the modern bubble canopy was invented. The jet era marked a return to cramped, almost hidden cockpits due to the needs to reduce aerodynamic drag caused by the bubble canopies and to save space to cram as much fuel inside the airframe as possible. With the F-4 back seat, cockpits have come full circle. WWI ace Frank Luke would not feel claustrophobic if he were to lower himself into the Phantom's pit instead of his Nieuport 28 biplane..
At least I have access to a full set of flight controls in the pit. The rear cockpit of the F-4D comes fully equipped with a control stick, rudder pedals, a pair of throttles, and flight instruments due to the largess of the U. S. Air Force. The U.S. Navy Phantoms have none of this good stuff. I can take off, fly, and land the USAF Phantom from the rear cockpit. It is even quite amusing to perform aerial refueling from the rear seat. With dual controls, it is common to have a pilot in the pit as well as in the front seat. The Navy guys always carry a navigator in the back of their F-4Bs, as a pilot can't fly their jet from the rear. There are those of us who feel that the USN has enough trouble flying the F-4 from the front seat. Those guys are good at one thing though; landing jets on boats.
While I should be counting my blessings in the rear cockpit, I am not. Today's mission is a radical experiment in the evolution of tactical aviation. We are out to determine if the laser-guided bomb is a good idea for combat. The bombs go by the official code name "Paveway," but we have already started calling them "smart bombs." Smart bombs are supposed to know where the target is and go there by guiding themselves. Dumb bombs are the kind we usually drop. They know only where the ground is and they don't care where they hit it. We have had all the technical briefings, talked to the civilian representatives from the manufacturer, and discussed in depth the procedures and tactics to be used. We have run the mission over and over in our respective heads, trying to foresee all the likely possibilities. It is now time to see if we are going to revolutionize tactical air-to-ground warfare or not.
Service planners recognized the need for guided bombs as early as WWI. Dumb bombs always have been and always will be limited by the fundamental laws of physics and aerodynamics. It is extremely difficult to hit a small ground target with a dumb bomb dropped from a fast moving airplane. Even small errors in achieving the planned delivery parameters, such as dive angle, airspeed, and altitude, produce large errors on impact. Even if I manage to nail all the things I have control over when manually dive bombing, other factors can plant the bomb far afield; wind, altimeter setting, target elevation, aerodynamic turbulence, and manufacturing tolerances all conspire against even the best fighter pilot.
There are two possible solutions to this lack of precision in dropping dumb bombs. I can drop the dumb bombs from a lower altitude and at a slower airspeed to reduce the effects of the inevitable errors. This isn't a very popular technique as it also reduces the errors of the guys on the ground who are trying to shoot me down. Speed and altitude are life. Dueling with the defenses while low and slow is death. The other solution is to drop lots of bombs and hope that one happens to hit the target. This plan is inefficient and costly. Fighters don't carry many bombs compared to large bomber type aircraft. Putting many bombs in the air requires many fighter planes, which puts that many more guys in harm's way.
Dumb bombs, with their inherent tendency to go astray, have another drawback. When they miss the target, which is the usual case, what do they hit instead? The aim of tactical air power is to explosively take out the enemy's tank factory, not the orphanage across the street. As the Good Guys in this war, we are concerned with what is euphemistically called "collateral damage." We don't want to take out that nearby orphanage. The Bad Guys know this and they locate their most lucrative targets in close proximity to things that we are known to be loath to destroy. I have seen military targets parked in schoolyards and on flood-control dikes. We need a way to surgically take out these targets without fear of damaging the things that would be politically embarrassing and morally troubling to blow up.
Is Paveway the answer? There have been many past attempts at developing smart bombs to avoid the glaring limitations of unguided ordnance. Way back in WWI, the Brits developed an unmanned, gyro-controlled Sopwith Camel, intended to crash on the heads of the Germans. It didn't work. Human pilots found the Camel notoriously tricky to fly and hard to hold steady. There was no way a mechanical gyroscope could follow a predictable flight path. The Germans and the US Army Air Corps both tried radio-controlled gliding bombs and kamikaze drone aircraft during WWII without notable success. The vacuum tube electronics of the day weren't up to the task and the bombs were more often stupid than smart.
Eschewing electronics altogether, the U.S. Navy tried pigeon guidance in the Pacific Theater. A pigeon (one hopes it wasn't a homing pigeon) was placed in a compartment on the front of the bomb. In front of the pigeon was a glass screen on which was projected the image of the target, say, a Japanese battleship. A lens in the nose of the weapon produced the image. The bird was trained to peck at the image with a wire cemented to his beak. The contact point of the wired beak and the screen gave the bomb its guidance commands. As long as the pigeon kept pecking at the image during his one-way trip, the bomb would steer toward the targeted ship. Unfortunately this plan had a fatal flaw. In free-fall flight while riding the bomb down, the pigeon would get airsick. Like some aviators, birds tend to get airsick when they are not doing the actual flying themselves. The poor barfing bird would soon lose interest in pecking on the screen and the bomb would go stupid.
Not to be outdone in the loony idea sweepstakes, the US Army Air Corps tired dropping canisters of bats on Japanese cities. Each bat carried a miniature incendiary charge in a tiny backpack. The plan was for the bats to roost in the eaves of the wood and paper Japanese-style houses where the time-delayed fire bomb wo
uld detonate. Alas, the mammalian suicide bombers proved to be no more reliable than the USN's avian aviators, looking for caves to roost in, not houses. We resorted to mass raids on Japan by B-29's dropping uncounted tons of fire bombs which did the trick.
In the 1950s the USAF developed a command-guided missile, the Bullpup. It was launched with its own rocket motor from a fighter and was steered by a fighter pilot through the magic of radio control. A tiny joystick was installed next to the launch jet's throttles to command the missile. The hapless pilot had to fly his own jet with his right hand on the big aircraft control stick and simultaneously fly the rapidly departing missile with the small control stick in his left hand.
This was akin to rubbing your head while patting your stomach. Eighty-seven percent of pilots are right-handed, flying anything with a left hand is tough. Needless to say, this feat of manual dexterity was beyond the skill level of most jocks.
Naturally, knowing this history of berserk biplanes, barfing birds, homesick bats, and left-handed rockets, the guys in the squadron are profoundly skeptical of Paveway and its laser guidance scheme. Rumors and scuttlebutt emanating from the States have fueled our skepticism. The laser-guided bomb program has been very hush-hush and tightly classified, but still the word gets around. We heard in whispered terms about the development of the system while it was still in the government weapons laboratories. Like all scuttlebutt, the real facts get garbled and sensationalized with each successive transmission.
We heard the Paveway system was invented in some guy's garage (where else?). Rumor has it the initial tests involved hand-throwing scale models of the bombs out the window of a Cessna bug smasher flying over the weapons test ranges in Florida. While this tale of technical derring-do didn't exactly inspire confidence in the combat potential of Paveway, someone must have been impressed. The Cessna hand-launched tests were followed by a full-scale, hurry-up development program, the output of which is now hanging under the wings of the two jets of Satan Flight.
The Squadron Crew Room has been abuzz lately with sketchy third-hand accounts of the stateside test program, giving rise to the legend of the Laser Pilot and the Cosmic GIB. No one has ever met these individuals, but we are all convinced that they exist. How else to explain the hush-hush success of Paveway?
The Laser Pilot has skills and knowledge that us mere squadron jocks can only dream about. He flies in a silver space suit, similar to those worn by the crews of the SR-71 Blackbird, to protect him from deadly laser radiation. Flying laser-guided bomb test missions is his only duty and he is the only one that flies such demanding sorties. No one knows the name of the Laser Pilot and no one is permitted to have that knowledge. His shining flight suit has no insignia, no name tag, and he never takes his helmet off in public.
The Cosmic GIB is similarly attired and equally anonymous. He was selected from a wide pool of candidates, none of who knew they were being evaluated for the top secret job. The Cosmic GIB has the reflexes of a gunfighter and the steady hands of a brain surgeon, as it is he who aims the deadly laser.
The Laser Pilot and the Cosmic GIB live in special quarters on the ocean beach bordering the test range in Florida, but no one knows exactly where. Their private residence is guarded night and day by Security Police personnel and by black attack dogs. To ensure optimum performance, they work out on purpose-built equipment, sleep on cooled waterbeds, and eat a special diet prepared by dedicated USAF cooks. They probably even have exotic girlfriends with special talents, also provided by Uncle Sam. Is the legend of the Laser Pilot and the Cosmic GIB based on fact or military fantasy? No one knows. What we do know is that something weird was developed stateside and we have it and we intend to use it.
Now, we know what the Laser Pilot and the Cosmic GIB have. wrought. Paveway has been sent to our squadron for its initial combat test. When the munitions crews opened the sealed shipping containers, they found hardware of a decidedly pedestrian, maybe even agricultural, nature. Paveway is a kit that is bolted onto a standard dumb bomb.
The front end of the kit is comprised of a laser seeker, called the "birdie." This isn't a reference to the heroic pigeon pilots of WWII, but is suggested by a strong resemblance to a metal badminton birdie. The birdie is gimbal-mounted to a control section that sports four steering fins. A thermal battery powers the unit. The control section with its attached birdie and fins screws on to the front of the dumb bomb. A set of wings stamped cheaply from sheet metal bolts to the rear of the bomb casing. That's it. This set of simple parts painted dull olive drab is what the Laser Pilot and the Cosmic GIB have sent us. This add-on kit is supposed to change the nature of air warfare for all time.
The other higher tech component of the Paveway system, the laser, is in the pit with me. On the left side of the cockpit, inside the canopy rail, is a mirror box and optical eyepiece. Down under the left canopy rail is a laser beam generator and a small joystick. A red-guarded off/on switch completes the installation. The operation is simple in the extreme. The laser beam is generated and captured in the mirror box. The mirror set is movable and is steered by the joystick. The laser beam shines out the left side of the aircraft through the canopy and is aimed by looking through the 4X eyepiece.
The laser beam propagates in the infrared portion of the electromagnetic spectrum; it is invisible to the human eye. But the spot generated on the ground is easily seen by the seeker mounted on the birdie riding on the front of the bomb. In fact, the laser spot is the only thing the bomb can see. To a Paveway the whole universe is pitch black except for one tiny infrared spot reflecting from and designating the location of the target. After release from the aircraft, the bomb steers itself with its movable fins to the laser spot on the ground. If the spot is superimposed on the intended target, bad things will happen there when the fully armed bomb arrives from the sky.
The tricky part is getting the laser spot shining on the target. It is impossible to laser illuminate for a bomb you drop yourself; a buddy system is essential. The pilot of the illuminator aircraft must fly a very smooth, even circle in a left turn around the target. During this orbit, the GIB, that would be me, aims the unseen laser beam. The second aircraft in the flight, Satan Two, will dive, dropping his smart bomb inside the circle being flown around the target by Satan Lead. If all goes as planned, Satan Two's bomb will see the laser spot being generated by Saran Lead and it will guide unerringly to the desired impact point.
The best aspect of this tightly choreographed series of maneuvers is that the whole process can be done at higher altitudes than normal dumb bombing. Indeed, the higher the better, as a longer drop time gives the Paveway bomb more opportunity to see, and guide to, the laser spot. For the human members of the Paveway team, this is great as we can fly with impunity above the guns defending the target. The Bad Guys' flak won't be able to reach us at 12,000 feet. If this all works, I won't mind nearly as much flying in the pit. If it doesn't, I guess we can always go back to dumb bombing and put off the revolution in aerial warfare until the next war.
In the front seat of my jet is another squadron member, known to be a steady hand on the control stick. He gets to fly while I aim the laser. Floating in formation 100 yards off our right wing is Satan Two, like us equipped with two 2,000-pound laser-guided bombs and a Paveway laser illuminator in the rear cockpit.
We are across the fence, the Mekong River, and into southern Laos, looking for our FAC. Over southern Laos, unlike up north around the Plain Des Jars, the Forward Air Controllers are real USAF serving officers, with real military haircuts and official uniforms. They are not tarred with the CIA brush like those scruffy Ravens up north on the PDJ. Their call sign is "Nail," and they are based at Nakom Phanom, a Royal Thai Air Force base on the west bank of the Mekong. Nail FACs also have better aircraft than the Ravens; they fly the OV-10 "Bronco" a twin turboprop craft designed for just this mission. However, they still have to fly low enough to spot the targets and the OV-10's top speed of 220 miles per hour won't outrun many bullets or missil
es.
Satan Two spots the FAC far below as we reach the designated target area in the foothills near the Ho chi Minh Trail network. The terrain here is mostly covered with rain forest, but there are a few scattered cleared fields. We have been tasked against this particular target, whose nature we know not, by the daytime counterpart of Alley Cat, another C-130 command ship whose call sign is "Cricket." When the airborne controller in Cricket gave us the target coordinates, he didn't and wouldn't tell us what it was. He referred us to the Nail FAC to get the exact description. The controller's voice on the radio was serious and somber, as if he knows something we don't. I wish Bruce were on duty in the daytime; he would have spilled the beans.
The Nail come up on the radio and tells us,
"Satan Flight, your target today is an antiaircraft gun complex, six pits with thirty-seven-millimeter guns. Some reports list it as a flak trap."
He goes on with the weather, the altimeter setting, the target elevation and such like, but Nail has already gotten our undivided attention, big-time.
The North Vietnamese have increasingly moved large caliber antiaircraft guns down the trail from the north, towing them behind trucks at night. The guns are carefully dug into pits, with high sandbag piles surrounding the installation. Each gun has a dedicated crew whose dream in life is to shoot down an American aircraft The towable thirty-seven millimeter guns are dangerous enough for fast movers like the F-4, but they are lethal to slow aircraft such as the OV-10 and the C-130. I can understand the desire of the Nail to take out these guns before they take him out. But it gives one cause for thought attacking an installation whose sole mission is to shoot you down.
Normally, attacking a well-protected AAA gun installation with dumb bombs is nonproductive. The guns are set into pits about forty feet in diameter with six-foot walls of sandbags ringing the site on top of the ground protecting the crews from near misses. It is almost impossible to place a dumb bomb inside the sheltering pit without flying very low and diving at a very shallow angle. This gives the gun crew the edge in the engagement and allows the other guns to help protect the one under attack. Bombing from a higher altitude guarantees at best an ineffective near miss. A close miss gets the gun crews' ears ringing, then they return to their duties with renewed vigor. This is why attacking gun sites is not anywhere on the top ten list of the most popular missions with us.