Shadow Spirit: Flying Stingers & Buffs in Sea

By Elton Fletcher

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456827915

Elton Fletcher

Former United States Air Force Captain, Dr. Larry Elton Fletcher flew 177 combat missions as a pilot in AC-119 Shadow gunships during his tour of duty at Tan Son Nhut Air Base; Saigon, Republic of Vietnam. After five years military service, Fletcher returned to the teaching profession, eventually entering school administration as Principal and Superintendent of Schools. He retired in 1997 to pursue a writing career. His first novel, Shadows of Saigon was published in 2001. He and his wife Sue reside at Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri.

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Copyright © 2010 by Dr. Larry Elton Fletcher.

ISBN:    Ebook    978-1-4568-2791-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This historical novel is a work of fiction based on facts pertaining to the air war in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War. Names, military organizations, aircraft, places, events, and philosophies are either a product of the author’s imagination or, if real, have been used fictitiously without any intent to depict actual conduct or character. Any resemblance of characters to real persons, living or dead, is unintended and coincidental. Any historical issues or policies pertaining to the military represent the author’s viewpoint; not necessarily the views of the United States Air Force.

Cover Design by Tracy Upschulte, Design Café ; Jefferson City, Missouri

This book was created in the United States of America.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Chapter 1 - Bachelor

Chapter 2 - Screwed

Chapter 3 - Paris of the Orient

Chapter 4 - Stinger Station

Chapter 5 - AC-119K Gunship

Chapter 6 - Mekong

Chapter 7 - Killer

Chapter 8 - Dollar Ride

Chapter 9 - Upgrade

Chapter 10 - Stinger 23

Chapter 11 - Bad Boys—Good Girls

Chapter 12 - Short

Chapter 13 - FIGMO

Chapter 14 - BUFF

Chapter 15 - The Rock

Chapter 16 - Challenges

Chapter 17 - Linebacker II

Chapter 18 - Christmas Presents

Chapter 19 - Happy Holidays

Chapter 20 - Peace on Earth

Chapter 21 - Goodwill Toward Men

Chapter 22 - Freedom’s Son

Chapter 23 - Decisions

Chapter 24 - Sacumsized

Afterword

Glossary of Terms and Acronyms

This book is dedicated to the Air Commandos of the 17th and 18th Special Operations Squadrons, 14th Special Operations Wing, 7th Air Force and the B-52 Crews of the Strategic Air Command, 8th Air Force, who flew and fought in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I sincerely appreciate the following individuals for assisting me with this project. Thanks to their help, true stories that would have died with time are now recorded.

Bill Beavers, B-52 Navigator

Paul Campbell, AC-119 Stinger Gunner

Bill Courtney, AC-119 Stinger Illuminator Operator

Don Carlson, AC-119 Shadow & Stinger & B-52 Pilot

Don Craig, AC-119 Shadow & B-52 Pilot

Ron Hinton, AC-119 Stinger Flight Engineer

Alan C. Jaeckle, AC-119 Stinger Pilot

John Miller, B-52 & FB-111 Pilot

Bill Petrie, AC-119 Stinger Illuminator Operator

Everett Sprous, AC-119 Stinger Gunner

Don Williams, AC-119 Stinger Pilot

Kim Lemen, Editor

Larry Elton Fletcher

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S.E.A. MAP

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AC-119 Stinger Gunship

Interior Arrangement

Diagram

FOREWORD

Vietnam had become America’s nightmare. The War in Southeast Asia had divided the nation to a point bordering anarchy. The American and South Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia in May 1970 had proven highly successful militarily but the backlash stateside created more opposition and protesting. Many Americans wanted out. Bring home the troops! Stop the killing. Bring home the prisoners of war. Stop the war!

The silent majority of Americans was not sure what the best course of action should be; stand by your ally and fight or tuck tail and run. The hawks wanted blood. Kill the Communist bastards. Block the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Bomb Hanoi back to the Stone Age!

With no quick solution to end the war, President Richard M. Nixon reiterated his position of Peace with Honor. Vietnamization of the war justified withdrawal of American ground troops and forced the American-trained South Vietnamese Armed Forces to assume the major combat role in defending their country against Communist aggression.

A negotiated peace settlement seemed the best solution to bring about a cease-fire and eventual conclusion to the long, ugly war. Warring factions met in Paris, France and finally agreed on the shape of the peace table, but not much else thereafter. The on-again, off-again negotiations settled nothing as more military operations were conducted in attempts to strengthen bargaining positions at the peace table.

Fighting and killing raged on throughout Southeast Asia as American ground forces departed South Vietnam. Controlling the skies, U. S. warplanes continued to strike enemy targets in support of allied ground forces. Round-the-clock armed reconnaissance flights were on-going to interdict the flow of Communist soldiers and war materials traveling North Vietnamese infiltration routes into Laos, Cambodia, and South Vietnam.

Specialized counterinsurgent Attack C-119 Stinger gunships and Attack C-130 Spectre gunships still hunted the enemy during hours of darkness in the Barrel Roll, the Steel Tiger, and the Ho Chi Minh Trails. B-52 Stratofortress bombers, based in Thailand and Guam, continued to fly Arc Light strikes against enemy sanctuaries, troop concentrations, and supply depots.

In 1971, the Vietnam War was far from over. It would take America’s best to create conditions under which a peace agreement could be brokered that would end America’s military involvement in the Republic of Vietnam’s struggle for independence and freedom.

CHAPTER 1

Bachelor

Jefferson City, Missouri

May 13, 1971

Life’s a bitch and then you die was Paul’s philosophy. If anything bad could happen to something good, it would invariably happen.

Home safe from the war, Paul Knight stood alone staring at the temporary marker on the straw-covered grave. The marker read: Emily Anne Collins, Born June 15, 1945—Died May 1, 1971.

Seven months ago, he and Emily were living heaven-on-earth in Hawaii where she had met Paul for his R&R from Vietnam. Little had they known it would be their last time together.

Paul knelt on one knee, covered his face with both hands, and sobbed. How could he live without her? They had planned to marry and start a family; she was his future.

Life wasn’t fair. He was the one who should have been killed, not her. He had been the same as a hired killer in the Air Force, flying 195 combat missions as an Attack C-119 Shadow gunship pilot. Emily was an innocent, loving person who had dedicated her life to the nursing profession. She had died of head injuries sustained in a Kansas City auto accident just prior to Paul coming home.

Paul stood, wiping his eyes and looked up at fluffy white clouds floating across crystal blue skies. It was such a lovely day to be alive, but not for him. His head ached and his heart throbbed. He would never again love a woman like he’d loved Emily. The pain of losing her was too much.

Fingering his Saint Christopher necklace, Paul gazed at the northern bluffs of the Missouri. A small plane approached the Jefferson City Airport in the flat river bottom for landing. Guilt racked his brain. At least, Emily would never be hurt by his incredulous secret.

On the verge of spring flooding, the river rushed eastward for Saint Charles and the Mississippi. In ten days, he’d cross the Mighty Miss at Saint Louis in route to his next duty assignment at Scott Air Force Base, Illinois.

He meandered among the tombstones reading dates of birth and death on the way to his blue ’68 Mustang. Silence reined on the hilltop of graves. The cemetery’s only visitor, Paul kicked a headstone showing the age of death at ninety-nine years.

He wiped his eyes once more before starting the car. Donning sunglasses, he drove slowly to the cemetery gates and turned right to face the afternoon sun. It would take a little over an hour driving seventy and eighty miles per hour to travel the distance on Highway 50 back to his parent’s house in Sedalia.

*     *     *

Sedalia, Missouri

May 21, 1971

Dressed in Hong Kong tailored blazer and slacks, Paul sat with football teammates in the study hall reserved for the Class of ’61. It was like old times at SHS, nicknamed shit house school. Stories of gridiron exploits abounded with added manure. The latest gossip on eligible women in the class covered the gamut of unmarried, divorced, and widowed. The one widow had lost her husband to the war in Vietnam.

Paul vividly remembered one divorcee standing across the hall, his high school sweetheart, Jodi Inglish. She and her cheerleader friends were enthusiastically huddled as though any minute they might explode with an old cheer. Some things had not changed in ten years.

Their eyes met a couple of times with no overt signs of recognition. In Paul’s eyes, Jodi had only grown more beautiful and desirable after a decade. His mind wondered back to daring times they had shared alone in the front seat of his father’s Chevrolet during which they taught each other human anatomy and sexual intercourse.

She was a knockout in junior and senior high school. Born a cheerleader, she was stacked like the proverbial brick shit house. A blue-eyed natural blonde with a pretty face, great set of legs, nice butt, and ample breasts made her queen of the class. A sweet but aggressive personality led to her breakup with Paul after graduation. She thought it best they date other people in college before getting serious about life together.

So, she went her way, enrolling at the University of Missouri at Columbia and Paul enrolled at Central Missouri State (CMS) at Warrensburg. The distance between them grew with time and after Paul met Emily Collins one summer at Lake of the Ozarks, the puppy love of high school was over. But, Paul had never forgotten the taste of her bright red lipstick, the feel of her warm wetness, and the fear of getting her pregnant.

Jodi graduated in ’65 from the University where she was a cheerleader for four years. She married a Kansas City lawyer in ’66 after her first year of teaching English at Lee’s Summit High School. While still teaching at Lee’s Summit, she divorced her husband in ’69 having produced no happiness or children from the marriage.

All 240 pounds of Terry Gardetti pushed through the crowd to join his football buddies. Paul stood, waiting his turn to shake Terry’s hand. Terry was just as popular as ever, evidenced by the commotion created by his presence. Even the women acknowledged his charisma with eyeballing, finger pointing, and lip-flapping.

Paul asked Terry, Where the hell you been, corporal?

Terry sat down next to Paul answering, Just got off work. I tend bar part-time at The Rail Head. You know, down by the tracks.

Yeah, I know where. What are you doing with your other part-time?

I’m a full time student at CMS, majoring in political science with a minor in history. The GI Bill is picking up full tab.

That’s great; you deserve it especially after spending a year in Vietnam.

Always the operator, Terry laughed, I agree!

It was probably a blessing in disguise when you lost the election last fall, running your campaign from Saigon.

Terry laughed again, I guess so, who really knows? I would have made one hell of a good state representative for this district. They need some fresh, young blood in the Missouri House to go along with all those old farts.

Yeah, but if you had won, think what you would have missed in Vietnam by going home early to serve in the state legislature. Now, you have the opportunity to do things by the book. I can see it now; the headline of the Sedalia Democrat reading, Vietnam vet graduates and runs again for state rep.

Do you want to be my campaign manager when the time comes, General?

No thanks corporal; I may make the Air Force a career with my cushy assignment flying C-9 med-evacs all over the world.

You’re kidding!

Paul laughed for once and said, Yeah, I’m kidding. Right now, I don’t know what the future holds for me even though I really do like my next flying assignment.

Terry grimaced, Well, I know from personal experience the military will screw you ever chance they get. I couldn’t wait to get out of the Army. Two years in service was more than enough. I wasn’t cut out for that shit. If it weren’t for the draft, I’d never served. But now that it’s over and done, I’m proud to have served.

Before I forget to ask you, Terry; tell me where you came up with those two girls from England that night you showed up at my barracks room at Tan Son Nhut?

The British Embassy, where else in Saigon would I find two girls from London?

With you, there’s no telling. What did you three do after you left my room?

We painted the town; just the three of us, bar hopping till curfew! Too bad you had to fly that night. I think I might have made it with one of them but with two, there was no chance.

Sorry about that, maybe next time.

How’s Emily?

You don’t know?

Know what?

She was killed in a car wreck right before I came home.

God, I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry, Paul. You have my sympathy. God, what kind of rotten luck is that.

It’s okay. I am adjusting, adjusted enough to attend this reunion.

I wondered why you were so subdued.

It’s okay. I’ll get through it, have to.

Well, what about Marie-Laure; do you hear anything from her?

Paul hesitated before lying, No. Not a word.

That’s too bad. She was special, like Emily. Am I right?

Right you are my friend, Paul softly agreed.

Jodi Inglish slid her way through the huddle of former tigers to front Paul and Terry. Her tight mini-skirt and sweater hinted at treasures that lay beneath. Paul stood, extending his hand, Hi Jodi. How are you?

Great! And how are you? she answered squeezing his hand.

Paul answered squeezing back, I’m doing fine, thank you.

I heard about Emily from your sister. I know you must be heart-broken.

Paul was saved when Terry interpreted, Hey guys, we’ve got to have our class picture taken in the auditorium. Let’s go, tigers!

Jodi and Paul walked together talking about their teaching experiences and Vietnam. They briefly parted company for the class picture, but soon after found one another to walk together to the reunion banquet room. It was like they were going steady again. Old times had not completely been forgotten.

After months of longing for Emily, Paul liked the secure feeling of being with a real American woman who intimately knew him. He sensed the fires of yesteryear were still burning within Jodi.

Class president, John Williams presided over the banquet program that included a prize for the class member who traveled the farthest to attend. After considerable prodding from the football players, Terry and Paul jointly accepted the prize, rubber for the road.

Returning to their table, Terry asked Paul, I wonder what the prize would have been if a girl had won?

No telling, Paul answered taking his seat.

Here, you might need this tonight, Terry said handing the prophylactic to Paul.

Paul blushed taking the Trojan, You really think so?

Are you attending the dance at the country club? Jodi asked Paul.

Paul mumbled, No, I wasn’t planning to.

Jodi turned to Terry and blurted, Terry, are you going to the dance?

Terry responded, Sure! Want to dance with me?

Jodi answered, Yeah, I’ll dance with you.

Terry addressed Paul with a stern look, Paul, you’re going to the dance. I’ll even let you dance with Jodi if she will.

Jodi smiled, I’ll dance with Paul just like we did at the prom.

Without excuses or a desire to spend the evening at home with his parents, Paul half-heartedly agreed.

The dance party and what followed came natural. Except for one dance with Terry, Jodi danced with Paul the entire time. They sang to each other while slow dancing close and enticed one another with provocative moves on fast songs. Band breaks allowed time for smoke breaks, fresh drinks, and potty breaks. The band was hot, the music was hot, and the dancers were hot and sweaty. A marathon mentality persisted; hardly anyone sat out a dance. A celebration of life ensued, prevailing over previous phony behaviors of trying to impress fellow-classmates.

For Paul and Jodi, the real marathon began after the dance. Spending the remainder of the night making love in a local motel room, they never did sleep. They showered together and got dressed after daybreak.

Driving to Jodi’s car parked in the high school lot, Jodi asked, Will you write me and let me know where you are?

Sure, but I need your address.

Here. I’ve already written it down along with my phone number.

Paul took the folded sheet of paper and slid it in his shirt pocket. Jodi said nothing more until they reached her car. Then she said, I hope you don’t think ill of me considering all the things we did last night.

Paul smiled looking into her blue eyes, No, I would never think that. I think you’re a wonderful woman. I think I could learn to love you again.

They kissed and Jodi got out. Paul waited until she started her car and drove away before heading for his parent’s house.

*     *     *

Scott AFB, Illinois

May 23, 1971

Lieutenant Knight reporting for duty, sir, Paul stated standing at attention in front of the massive desk. He then stepped forward and handed over his orders.

Have a seat, lieutenant. I’ve been expecting you, responded Lieutenant Colonel Gerald Reed, Commander of the 11th Aeromedical Airlift Squadron.

Paul sat down watching his new commander read the orders. Small jowls, crow’s feet, and deep forehead worry lines accented the colonel’s face. Close cropped wires of hair created a silver halo on his tanned head.

Reed opened a folder on his desk and briefly studied the contents. He scratched his halo and cleared his throat before looking over half-moon spectacles at Paul. The colonel calmly declared, Lieutenant, uh . . . . It seems things have changed since you received assignment orders in Vietnam. Currently, the 11th is over-manned with pilots. I have here a new set of orders for you to report to Castle Air Force Base in California for B-52 training.

Paul took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. He felt like jumping up and screaming, Fuck you and the Air Force, colonel! I’m not flying a God-damn B-52! Dropping bombs from 35,000 feet is not my cup of tea.

Devastated, Paul begrudgingly took the orders and left Reed’s office. He spit on the sidewalk and cursed the Air Force on the way to his Mustang. From the beginning, his assignment to fly DC-9 Nightingale hospital transports had been too good to be true. He had been one of few air commando pilots in Fighting C Flight at Tan Son Nhut who had not been assigned to the Strategic Air Command (SAC). Hell, he was so naive to think that his assignment to Nightingales was reward for successful efforts fighting Communist forces.

Paul drove to the bachelor officer’s quarters (BOQ) and got a room. Entering the second story room, he kicked the door shut and disgustedly threw his B-4 bag and Hong Kong hang-up bag on the bed. He closed the window curtains making his temporary sanctuary nearly dark. He turned on the desk lamp, kicked back in the lazy boy recliner, flipped on the television by remote control, and lit a cigarette.

Silly soap operas filled the channels. His stomach growled. He turned the TV off and checked his watch. It was eleven o’clock. Getting up, he walked to the window and opened the curtain. Bright sunlight filled the room.

A gray squirrel scampered across the lawn to the white oak next to the BOQ. Tail wildly twitching, the rodent scrambled up the tree to a suitable perch just outside Paul’s window. The hunched squirrel glanced at Paul while devouring his treasured morsel. Watching the rodent reminded Paul of Herman, his pet gecko in Vietnam.

Many private but lonely times were spent watching Herman walk the walls of his room, number thirteen in barracks number one-thirteen. The barracks, nicknamed Menopause Manor, was located in the flight officer’s fenced compound at Tan Son Nhut Airport. During those pensive times, Paul questioned if he would live to see his homeland again. That had been answered. But the question of his future in the Air Force nagged his soul. He had forfeited his freedom of choice at the St. Louis induction center in June 1968 when he raised his right hand to enlist. In fact, it was three years ago that he had driven to Scott Air Force Base from St. Charles, Missouri for a day-long, thorough physical examination as part of entrance requirements for officer’s training and flight school.

Two more years in the Air Force and Paul’s five-year commitment as an active duty reserve officer would be fulfilled. Civilian life and the teaching profession were certainly less demanding than military life and the flying profession. Flying combat in Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos the past year had provided plenty of close calls. Now with a B-52 assignment and the possibility of returning to Southeast Asia for more combat, his future was even more uncertain.

Hungry, Paul left the BOQ and drove to the Officer’s Club for lunch. He cased the dining area from his vantage point at the end of the bar while having a BLT and a glass of milk. Admiring a handsome couple having lunch, Paul envied them. He watched two pretty women sitting at another table. Probably married, he thought, not even checking for rings. His heart wasn’t in the game. It ached of sorrow and disappointment. He needed to do something, not just sit and feel sorry for himself. He needed to get the hell out of Dodge, get off base. He thought about Jodi Inglish but decided to surprise Jim Lehman, his old teaching buddy at St. Charles High School.

He drove back to the BOQ, secured his bags, and checked out. Passing by Belleville at 1300 hours, one o’clock civilian time, he drove like a man on a mission. Breaking the 70 miles per hour speed limit by 10 and 15 miles per hour, he kept a sharp lookout for state troopers and radar traps. Out of East St. Louis, he sped across the Interstate 70 bridge; catching glimpses of the Mighty Mississippi below. Continuing on I-70, he drove like a bat out of hell past the Gateway Arch, skirted downtown Saint Louis in light traffic, shot past the old ammunition factory, slowed slightly driving past Lambert Field to watch two McDonald F-4 Phantoms climb skyward, barreled across the flat river bottom called Earth City to enter Saint Charles from the I-70 Missouri River bridge.

He parked in the faculty lot where he had parked as a faculty member three years ago. He climbed out of the Mustang and stretched while looking up at clear blue skies. He checked his watch; not bad, just over an hour of exceeding speed limits and no ticket. After putting on his coat and straightening his tie, he grabbed his hat from the passenger’s seat, slammed the door shut, and headed for the high school’s back entrance. A temperature of sixty-five degrees and sunshine made the day perfect for his Class A dress blues.

Paul certainly looked the part of a military officer and gentleman, but he still felt conspicuous in the civilian world. Lean and mean; his tanned complexion contrasted a smile of white teeth, blue eyes, and short, parted, sun-bleached brown hair. At five feet nine inches, his trim athletic body, erect posture and perfectly tailored uniform made him appear taller.

Putting aside his heartaches and problems, he entered the two-story brick school building. Up one flight of stairs from the double entry doors, it was a matter of seconds before he entered the office of Principal, Dr. Marvin Legardee. Marvin saw Paul in the outer office and bolted from his private office exclaiming, Is the war over?

No way, they love to fight over there! Paul answered, shaking hands with his former boss.

Good to see you, Coach Knight! I mean Captain Knight. Or what are you?

I’m a first lieutenant but it shouldn’t be long before I make captain.

Come in, come in. Tell me what is really going on over there, Legardee said, leading the way into his office.

Paul took a chair and began answering Legardee’s questions. Having not served in the military, Legardee was an avid admirer of the American fighting man and staunch supporter of the war against Communism in Southeast Asia. Well into his forties, the balding principal had grown a considerable paunch since the last time Paul had seen him three years ago. His old mentor’s charming personality had not changed. Dr. Legardee truly cared about people, his teachers and students. His heart and mind were dedicated to providing the students at Saint Charles High School with the best education possible.

Legardee filled his pipe with tobacco and lit it, filling the office with a fragrant mist. Paul lit a Marlboro, feeling funny to be smoking in the principal’s office. When Paul was a teacher at SCHS, he could only smoke in the faculty lounge. The rule still stood, but Paul was no longer a school district employee. Smoke drifted out the big open window.

Come on, Paul. I’ll take you to Mr. Lehman’s classroom. It won’t be long till the bell rings. He has a current events class right now. I think they have been keeping track of you this school year. Six more days of school and this school year will be history, the veteran school administrator stated while tugging up his trousers.

Legardee grabbed his tweed jacket draped over the back of his chair and pulled it on. He wasn’t official without his jacket. Checking his step against his new bifocals that slid down his long nose, Legardee carefully walked out the office door and down the hall toward Lehman’s room as Paul dutifully trailed along.

Jim Lehman was collecting papers from students when Paul followed Legardee into the classroom. Jim did a double take, ending with a look of disbelief before exclaiming, Class! Class! This is the man we’ve been following since the beginning of the school year. Mr. Paul Knight. Make that Lieutenant Paul Knight. He used to teach in the classroom next door. Welcome home, Paul!

Thank you, Jim. I mean Mr. Lehman. It’s good to be home, Paul said while shaking hands with Jim.

The bell rang and Jim dismissed the class. One could hear a pin drop as twenty-four students filed by Paul with eyeballs glued to his chest of ribbons and pilot’s wings. Legardee left to patrol the halls leaving Paul and Jim alone.

You timed that perfectly. It’s seventh hour, the last period of the day, my planning period. No more students until tomorrow! Jim stated, walking to his desk and laying the papers down before continuing with a big smile, You made it. You’re home. That’s wonderful. I worried about you in that crazy war!

Yeah, I didn’t know if I would live to see this day, but I did. I got your last letter right before I departed Vietnam. I loved it. I’ve packed it away with all the other letters I received while I was there; mostly, letters from Emily. I’m sure you don’t know about Emily.

Know what about Emily? Jim asked sensing something was wrong.

Paul lowered his head and walked away from Jim to the big windows overlooking the schoolyard. The tardy bell rang.

Paul tried to tell his friend without crying but couldn’t help himself. The hurt was too deep. There hadn’t been enough time for healing. Shaken by the news, Jim immediately changed the subject by asking, So how long are you in town? What are your plans?

I just came by to visit on my way home to Sedalia. I found out this morning at Scott Air Force Base that they changed my assignment from flying C-9 hospital ships to B-52 bombers. I report to Castle Air Force Base in California next week. I’ll spend a few more days at my parent’s house before driving to California.

Jim stared out the big windows wondering what the future held for his old teaching