Chapter 14: The Gathering Clouds of War

As the General's aircraft taxied slowly away, a customs agent arrived to clear my wife and son through Philippine Customs. Apparently he had been notified by the General's pilot, prior to landing, that he had two civilian dependants aboard. After a perfunctory check of their luggage, he filled out a customs form stating that they had nothing to declare, which both Mei and I signed, and he departed.

Tossing their bags into the bed of our squadron pickup, I helped Mei up into the high cab of the 4x4 and handed Wan Chu up to her. We then departed for the housing area to get them settled in. As I pulled into the drive, I noticed someone had changed the sign out front. It now read "Major I. Donaldson."

Parking the truck by the front door, I helped them out and unlocked the front door. As I ushered them into the foyer, Mae pushed past me into the spacious living room. I scooped up my son and followed her. She was walking around the room, taking in the décor and furnishings. Stopping in front of the fireplace she said, "This is much better than I had expected! I had visions of something far more Spartan."

We toured the rest of the house, making mental lists of the things we would need to pick up today; dishes, sheets, pillows, pillow cases, towels, cooking utensils, silverware, glasses, and cleaning supplies at the BX. In addition, we'd have to swing by the commissary and stock up on food. Mae suggested we go out for lunch at the club, in the meantime she would provide me with a shopping list after she put our son down for his nap.

As she was doing that, I drove to the BX, a long shopping list in my pocket. This was getting expensive I thought as I unloaded two shopping-cart loads into the truck and delivered them to the house before leaving for the Commissary with my second list. The thought crossed my mind that I'd also have to buy Mae her own car. That way she could do the shopping!

At the Commissary, I filled another cart with all the food Mae had jotted down on her list. After writing a check for $92.38, I headed home with a severe case of sticker shock. This married life was becoming a lot more expensive than I'd anticipated.

Returning home, I helped her put the food away and by that time little Buzzy had awakened from his nap, so we located Mae's strongbox and departed for the Personnel and Pass & ID sections. At the service counter, Mae produced her birth certificate, our marriage certificate, her ROC and U.S. passports, and Wan Chu's birth certificate. Noting that Mae had been born in a hospital in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC to the Chinese Ambassador's wife, and that our son had been born in Pingtung, Taiwan a little over three years ago, it took a little explaining as to why it had taken so long to get this data recorded in my records. I pointed out that I had been transferred to England for three years, shortly after our marriage, and had only recently returned. That seemed to satisfy him.

The clerk sorted out the whole complicated story in his own mind, then took our documents to his supervisor and they huddled for a few moments. He then returned and said everything seemed to be in order.

After taking her picture, he typed her personal information on a blank ID card and had her sign it. He then affixed her photo to it, ran it through a laminating machine, and then handed it to her. "Welcome to Clark, Mrs. Donaldson," he said with a smile.

Back in the truck, Mae looked over at me and said with a smile, "That was the first time anyone has ever called me Mrs. Donaldson. It has a nice ring to it!"

I grinned at her, then leaned across and gave her a peck on the cheek before commenting, "I agree, Mrs. Donaldson."

I noted it was now nearly 11:30, so we decided stop off at the Officer's Club before returning home. After a pleasant lunch in the dining room, we were leaving the club when I noticed the bulletin board where members could post personal messages and advertisements. Scanning the usual postings, one caught my eye.

For Sale: Nearly new 1963 Chevrolet Impala convertible. Purchased through the BX two months ago. Powder blue. 1200 miles. Being transferred to Thailand and can't take it with me. $1,300 cash or best offer. Contact Captain Jim Murphy, Base Headquarters. Ph. 268-8697 ex 225

I pointed it out to Mae and asked her what she thought about it. She read the notice and smiled. "It would certainly be a step up from your big blue pickup," she commented wryly.

"OK, let's stop by Base Headquarters and see if it's still available," I replied.

Driving to the Headquarters building, I went inside and located Capt. Murphy. As he was scheduled to ship out the next day, he was very happy to learn that I might be interested in purchasing his car. We went back out to the parking lot and discussed the details for a few minutes, then dickered over the price. Finally, I pulled out my checkbook and said, "I'll write you a check for $1,000 right now, but tomorrow morning my offer drops to $850."

He thought for a long moment, and then reluctantly said, "Sold!"

I wrote the check as he went back to his office to find the title. When he returned, title in hand, I handed him the check, then asked him to follow me home so that I could drop my family off. Then we would go to the legal office to get the title notarized before changing its insurance and registration with the Air Police. An hour later, I returned home and presented Mae with the keys to her new car.

As I was leaving for the flight line to check on my people, an attractive American lady came across the lawn from the house next door. She introduced herself as our neighbor and wanted to know if my wife was home. I went back and called Mae. When she came to the door, I told her that I was going back to work, but a neighbor lady was here to meet her. As I left, Mae was ushering the woman into the house.

At the flight line, I first checked for messages, and finding nothing important, I walked out onto the parking ramp. Two hangers down from ours was the paint shop hanger whose personnel were responsible for repainting all the baseflight aircraft. Parked in front of it were what appeared to be a about a squadron Douglas A-1Es Skyraiders (Modified Navy AD-5 Skyraiders). These were Korean War era dual-seat, prop-driven, former Navy fighter/bombers. A few of them were still painted with the Navy's traditional dark blue and haze-gray paint scheme, the remainder with the new mottled-brown and green jungle camouflage scheme. As I watched, a tug pulled a Skyraider with its new paint job out of the hanger, and then hooked onto one of the blue ones and towed it inside. I had a damn good idea where these birds were headed. That was war paint!

That evening over dinner, I asked Mae about the lady who had visited her. She replied that her name was Emily Sanderson and that her husband was the Base Provost Marshal, Lt. Col. Andrew Sanderson. I guessed that made him the top Sky Cop on the base. "She did say one thing I thought strange," Mae said. "She said I looked exotic! I guess she hasn't seen very many Chinese ladies," she laughed. I didn't comment on it at the time, but I also found her quite exotic. Before we got off the subject of the neighbors, she mentioned that we had been invited over for a cook-out at the Sanderson's on Sunday evening.

Later that evening, shortly after we'd finished our evening meal, the radio was tuned to the evening news on AFN when we heard of the attack on the American destroyer USS Maddox, in international waters of the Gulf of Tonkin, by three North Vietnamese torpedo boats. I looked across at Mae and said, "I think the ball just dropped!"

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"It means we're going to war in Viet Nam, dear. It' just a matter of time now," I replied.

I didn't know then just how short a time it would be. Two nights later, on Aug. 4th, a similar attack was reported by the destroyer USS C. Turner Joy. Congress would act quickly to adopt the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, giving President Johnson the authority to use all measures available, including our armed forces, to assist the South Vietnamese.

Several days later when I went to work I found a notice that a classified message was waiting for me at Base Communications. I drove over and found that it was from Major Williams, my commander at Chai-Yi, informing me that the squadron had been alerted by 7th Air Force to be ready to redeploy to Bien Hoa AB, South Vietnam on 12 hours notice.

Anxious for more details and not having a secure phone line, I decided to fly up there for a face-to-face conference. I alerted the ground crew that I needed an aircraft serviced for the flight north, and by the time I'd gathered my helmet, G-suit, Mae West and 'chute pack I was informed that my bird was ready to go. I called Mae and told her where I was going, but not the reason for it, then commandeered a ride out to my aircraft.

As I landed at Chai-Yi, I noticed a lot of activity on the flight line. Crew chiefs and maintenance techs were scrambling around performing last minute checks and minor repairs. Two birds were lined up behind a third at the trim pad for engine checks and afterburner tests.

Taxiing in, I pulled into a parking slot, chopped the throttle and raised the canopy. Slipping out of my seat restraints, I stowed my helmet above the instrument panel and climbed out. Then, telling the ground handler that no maintenance or service would be required, as I would only be on the ground a few minutes, I caught a ride to Squadron Operations.

I soon found myself seated in Major Williams's office with a mug of steaming coffee. A large map of South Vietnam was tacked to the wall behind his desk and I could see Bien Hoa AB highlighted, just north of Tan Son Nhut. I wasn't close enough to make out the scale legend of the map but Tan Son Nhut appeared to be only twenty miles or so north of Saigon.

After taking a sip of coffee, I asked, "So what's the plan, Major?"

"Well, as I understand it, this won't affect you too much," he replied. "If we go, I believe it will be on a TDY (Temporary Duty) basis, so nothing changes. You will remain on at Clark as Maintenance Detachment Commander. Even if you do have to relocate in-country from time to time, you'll still be able to keep your base housing unit at Clark. However, if the situation changes and our status is changed to PCS (Permanent Change of Station), your family will probably have to give up their housing and return to the States."

"I doubt that will happen," I replied. "If I go over PCS, they will undoubtedly go up to her family home in Pingtung."

"Oh, that's right. Your wife's a Chinese National, isn't she?" he replied.

I wasn't going through that explanation again, so I merely nodded. We were discussing other possible scenarios when his adjutant tapped on the door, handed him a message, and left.

Tearing open the message, he studied it for a moment, and then handed it to me. It was from Headquarters, 7th AF and stamped Top Secret. It merely said "Operation Palace Dragon activated effective 1500hrs this date. Confirm receipt of this message ASAP."

As I looked up questioningly, he said, "Well, that's it, Buzz. We'll have to cut this meeting short. I've got a million things to do and not much time left to get them done."

On the flight back to Clark I thought about all the things I also had to get done and what I needed to tell Mae. As I turned onto final, I noticed that activity at Clark had increased in my short absence. The Skyraiders were gone, and in their place were about twenty F-104s, cued up in front of the paint shop. The remainder of the ramp was crowded with C-130s. Most of hese were cargo and troop carriers, but I noticed a few that were outfitted as gunships. I guessed they were also headed to war.

Dropping my flight gear off at the equipment room, I checked my messages. Finding nothing pressing, I grabbed the keys to the squadron pickup and drove out to our house. Mae's shiny blue Chevy was parked in the carport with its top down. I parked the truck at the curb in front of the house and entered through the front door.

The living room was deserted but I heard voices from the kitchen. It was Mae and next-door neighbor lady. As Buzzy played on the floor with his toy cars, Mae introduced me to her and I joined them at the table for a cup of coffee. We chatted for a few minutes before Cathy, the wife of the head sky cop, excused herself saying she had to make a commissary run to pick up something for supper. She laughed, saying Andy got a little testy with her if supper wasn't ready when he got off work. Then, after reminding us of their cook-out the next evening, she departed for the commissary.

Later that evening I told Mae about our squadron at Chai-Yi moving to Bien Hoa earlier that day. With a worried expression, she asked if I was going to have to leave also. I said that, as far as I knew, I would stay at Clark in my present position, but the situation was fluid and that the situation could change at any minute.

She looked at me pensively for a moment, then brightened and said, "We'll worry about that when the time comes, Buzz. Are you ready to eat now?"

The next day, as I checked into the office, I found a message from Major Williams saying that the squadron was in the process of setting up shop at Bien Hoa and that things were in utter disarray. They weren't getting much in the way of guidance from headquarters either and that they were merely playing it by ear and hoping for the best. He also said that they had flown their first mission in support of a pinned-down ARVIN unit that evening, but due to the lack of trained FACs (Forward Air Controllers), they hadn't been very effective. On the bright side, they hadn't sustained any battle damage either. He went on to say that I should keep a mobility bag packed as I might be called upon to join them on short notice. It sounded pretty depressing, but in retrospect I guess it was only to be expected. With the number of new units moving into a relatively small area under combat conditions, it was bound to result in a situation closely akin to a royal cluster-fuck!

The next day was pretty quiet; we received two of our birds from Bien Hoa; one for its scheduled 100hr inspections, the other with a leaky hydraulic system. For once I was able to knock off for the day at 1630hrs.

I had completely forgotten about the Sorensen's cookout until I asked Mae what she was preparing for diner. She reminded me that we were eating out and that she had prepared a potato salad and Chinese egg rolls as our contribution to meal.

As we settled down on the Sorensen's patio, Andy was just lighting the grill. After welcoming us, he told Mae that Cathy was in the kitchen and that she should put our salad in the 'fridge until the grill heated up. Once she had entered the house, Andy turned to me and asked, "How's it going with your outfit in-country?"

"Ok, I guess. The last I heard, they were flying some close air support missions and were having some FAC problems but that's only to be expected I guess. Everyone is new to this sort of thing and it will take a little time getting the hang of effectively flying in a close air support role," I replied.

He smiled and said, "I imagine it would. It's not the same as strafing on a practice range. Over there the targets are firing back at you. That can put you off your game! Do you think you'll be going over yourself in the near future?"

After thinking a moment, I replied, "I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. The only reason I'm not there now is that I'm the only pilot in the outfit who has his family over here."

"What are they issuing pilots for personal-protection weapons these days?" he asked.

"According to Major Williams, they were issued standard short-barrel 38 S&Ws and a shoulder harness," I replied.

"Those things are as useless as tits on a boar hog! The average person couldn't hit a barn with a snub-nosed .38 if they were locked inside, and even if they managed to hit a bad guy, it still wouldn't put him down if he was high on opium, adrenalin, or anything. You need at least a .45, or better still, a .357 Magnum, to do that," he opined. "Myself, I'd choose a 45 Auto for jungle conditions though. It has a heavy, relatively low velocity slug that won't be deflected by small branches and it still has the striking power to take a person off his feet, plus they're not prone to jamming easily. Before you leave, we'll go down to my gun safe in the basement and I'll show you what I mean."

Before we could say more, Mae and Cathy came outside to join us, each carrying a large platter of food. "Is the grill hot yet, Andy?" Cathy asked.

"It'll take a few more minutes, Cathy," he replied. "Just set the out the plates while we're waiting," he suggested. Then, turning the topic of conversation away from handguns and back toward a more general topic of the war, he asked, "How long do you think this war is going to last, Buzz?"

"Well, if it were only the Viet Cong, about two weeks, but with NVA and the Red Chinese involved, your guess is as good as mine," I replied.

By this time, the grill was ready, so Andy broke out the steaks and positioned five of them over the glowing, flickering coals. Soon the evening air was filled with the aroma of searing beef and barbeque sauce.

After a very enjoyable meal, we sat around discussing the various bases where we had been stationed. I learned that the Sanderson's had been at Lakenheath about the same time I was, but that was the only time our paths had converged. Their housing unit had apparently been close to the north end of the main runway and Cathy jokingly commented that perhaps I was one of the pilots she had cussed out for the predawn afterburner takeoffs that woke her up at 4 AM!

I asked her if they had ever noticed any shingles missing from their roof. When she looked at me rather strangely before saying that they hadn't, I replied that it couldn't have been me as I always prided myself in my take-off-shingle-stripping ability. I don't think Cathy was quite sure whether I was joking or not, but Andy laughed uproariously.

Soon it was starting to get dark and little Buzzy was getting cranky, so Mae said she was going to put him to bed and Cathy decided to go along with her. As they left, Andy said, "Let's go down to the basement now and I'll show you my gun collection."

We entered the house and he led me down the stairs into the basement. It contained the usual junk people normally stored in a basement, but in one corner he had built a concrete-block room about six feet deep and eight feet wide. At the end was a thick steel door secured with a combination lock.