Chapter 8: Where the Hell is Pingtung?

Once we settled in, the real work began. All of our pilots were cycled through F-104 Interceptor Training at Luke and within a few months our squadron had successfully completed our first ORI (Operational Ready Inspection) with the new F-104s. As to be expected when transitioning to any new technology, it had not been an easy task; engine problems, armament problems, and maintenance problems to name only a few.

As we were among the first Air Defense Command units to fly the 104's, I guess that was only to be expected. However Lockheed, anxious to maintain their credibility with the one of their most lucrative customers, threw all their resources into resolving these difficulties. The 20mm Vulcan revolving-barrel Gatling guns had developed a nasty habit of either jamming or blowing the panel off the gun bay when fired, the new J79 engines had been reported to have a tendency to shed turbine blades in cold weather operations, and hydraulic problems abounded. In order to head off bad publicity, Lockheed flooded us with tech reps of all types. We even had a midget tech rep whose job it was to slither into the engine intakes each morning to inspect the turbine blades before first engine start. It was such a tight fit he had to postpone breakfast until after he had completed the task! In spite of these problems, we still managed to keep enough aircraft in- commission to fly our schedules and maintain our alert commitments.

The first week after we returned from California, I'd tried to call Marge in Boston, but was informed that her number was no longer in service. I checked with Duke, who checked with Ann, who said she didn't know and frankly didn't give a shit. I didn't know why, but I guessed that she was still pissed off with Marge's conduct the night I met her the first time. It was just as well, I was far too busy at the moment to worry about it.

One morning, about eight months or so after our return, I had just landed from a maintenance test hop when I was told that Colonel Wilson was looking for me. I stowed my flight gear, then went to the orderly room to report in. Entering his office, he told me to close the door and take a seat.

Opening his desk drawer, he said, "Orders for these came down this morning," and handed me a set of Captain's bars. I was dumbfounded! I knew a promotion cycle was due but I didn't think I had a chance of making it this time around. After I thanked him, I suddenly noticed his collar ... he was wearing the silver eagles of a full Colonel! Seeing the expression on my face he said, "I knew you stood a good chance of getting your 'railroad tracks' this cycle, but these 'Eagles' came as a complete surprise to me." Pushing back from his desk, he stood and said, "I know it's still early, but I think this calls for a drink. Care to join me?"

Twenty minutes later at the club, we were sitting at the bar sipping cold beers when he said, "Oh yes, there's something else I need to tell you, Buzz."

Expecting some sarcastic remark, I asked, "What's that, sir?"

"Have you ever thought about where you'd like to go when you leave Westover?" he asked.

"No, I can't say that I've given it much thought, sir." I replied, taking another sip of beer.

"Well, for someone who doesn't seem to give a shit, you sure drew a sweet assignment," he replied with a chuckle. With that, he pulled a folded document from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to me.

I unfolded it and tried to read it, but in the dimly lit bar all I could make out was, "Military Assistance Advisory Group" and "Republic of China". "What's this all about, sir?" I asked.

"Those are your orders to Taiwan. The Chinese Air force has purchased three wings of F-104A's and they've requested that three USAF pilots, qualified in the 104, be assigned to the island. I was tasked to nominate my best pilot for the position, and except for me, you're it. It's as simple as that," the Colonel said with a grin. "The only hitch is that the Chinese are extremely rank conscious, and insisted the pilots be at least Majors."

Puzzled, I responded, "But when you submitted my name, I was a First Lieutenant ... and even with my latest promotion, I'm still only a Captain, not a Major!"

"Ever hear of a 'Brevet' promotion, Buzz?" the Colonel grinned.

I had heard of them while studying histories of the Civil War and the Indian Wars in school, but I didn't know much about what they were. When I said "No, sir," he continued.

"In the U.S. military, a "Brevet" refers to a warrant from Washington, authorizing a commissioned officer to hold a higher rank temporarily, usually without receiving the pay of that rank. It's a seldom used regulation any more, but it's still on the books. In your case, you'll still draw your Captain's pay, but will have the title, insignia, and privileges of a Major for as long as you're on this assignment. Since you're overdue for an overseas tour anyway, this is a plum!"

I was completely floored. This whole thing had come sailing in at me from out of left field and I didn't know what to say. I knew the Colonel must have stuck his neck out a mile to arrange this and I was grateful for his confidence in my ability, but I doubted I'd even be able to pick out Taiwan on a map of the world!

"It's a little early for lunch" he said "but let's go out to the dining room where the light is better so you can read the fine print."

We moved to the dining room, poured ourselves some coffee, and then sat down at a table. I spread the orders out and carefully read their contents. They basically said that in three weeks I was to report to the MATS (Military Air Transport at Travis AFB, California, for transportation to Taiwan. Upon reporting to the US MAAG group headquarters in Taipei, I was to receive an in-country orientation briefing prior to being assigned as liaison officer to the Chinese Air Force at Pingtung.

Still somewhat bewildered by this sudden turn of events, I asked my commander if he knew anything about the island. He said no, he had never actually been there, but he'd had a few friends who had been stationed in Taipei and they couldn't say enough about the great way they'd been treated there. Also, the climate on the southern end of the island was subtropical, which should be a welcome change from New England.

As we were leaving the club, he said, "I know this reassignment caught you by surprise, but don't feel like the Lone Ranger. At the same time I received your orders, I also got a TWX stating that I was being transferred to Selfridge AFB, to assume command of the fighter wing there. I guess I shouldn't have been too surprise though; in my experience, the Air Force doesn't waste Bird Colonels by leaving them in Squadron Commander slots.

The next two weeks passed quickly and before I knew it, it was time to go. I put in for a short leave, packed my meager belongings, and drove home to New Hampshire to leave my car in storage and spend a few days with my folks and friends. Returning to the base by bus, I pinned on my new major's oak leaves, had my picture taken and was issued a new ID card proclaiming I was now Ignatius Johan Donaldson, Major, USAF. Feeling like an imposter, I took a bus to Boston. From there I caught a commercial flight to Sacramento, then a short bus ride out to Travis AFB.

At Travis, I was assigned a seat on a C-121 Lockheed Constellation to Hawaii, where I was transferred to a decrepit C-54 headed for Clarke Field in the Philippines via Midway and Wake Island. Finally, after waiting for a typhoon in the Taiwan Straits to subside, I managed to catch a battered C-47 out of Clark, headed for Taipei.

It wasn't the kind of a trip your friendly neighborhood travel agent might recommend for you but it got the job done ... finally. Once on the ground in Taipei, I placed a call to the MAAG Group and they dispatched a car to retrieve me.

After being greeted by the MAAG Group Commander, I was introduced to my two counterparts; Major Bill Johnson, who was to be assigned to Ching Chaun Kang airbase (locally known as CCK) near the city of Taichung, and Major Sam Burkholtz, who was to be stationed further down the coast at Tainan. I noticed that neither of these men looked to be much older than myself. Later, that day, during a coffee break, Sam looked me up and down, and then said, "You know Buzz, you don't look much like an F-104 pilot. How the hell do you fit into the cockpit?"

As they were both only about five-seven with slight wiry builds, I could understand their skepticism. My six-two, one hundred-ninety pound frame was indeed large for a fighter pilot, especially an F-104 fighter pilot. Smiling, I replied, "I don't have a problem with it, but I'm surprised you two are able to see over the canopy rails without booster seats!"

After a good laugh, we compared our pilot transition training experiences at George and our subsequent ADC assignments. It turned out that I actually had two hundred more hours in the 104 than either of them. Then the subject of time-in-grade came up and surprisingly we all three had the same date of rank. I guess Colonel Wilson wasn't the only one who came up with that "Brevet promotion" idea.

For the next couple of weeks we were immersed in "Cultural Orientation" training covering local history and protocol, as well as the customs and traditions of our hosts. The indigent population were referred to as Taiwanese, while the people who had retreated to this island from the mainland, the military forces and civilians we would be working with, referred to themselves simply as "the Chinese", while the population remaining on the mainland were called either the Communists or just the Rebels. It all seemed quite petty to me, but I guess it was important to them.

By the end of our indoctrination period we had covered food that was safe to eat, local currency conversion rates, taboo subjects of conversation and a multitude of other things we should know in order to do our jobs without insulting our hosts. We were also cautioned about listening to commercial radio broadcast stations. If the authorities overheard us listening to a station whose signal emanated from the mainland, the radio would be confiscated and the owner subjected to long and intense police interrogation.

Finally, after having completed our general orientation and gained at least a rudimentary knowledge of the history and customs of the island, we were driven to the airport and assigned seats on a battered CAF C-119 for transportation to our respective bases.

The pilot, who looked to be about eighteen, bowed slightly at the waist before welcoming us aboard in passable English, and invited us to visit the cockpit once we got airborne. He then returned to the flight deck and when the engines started, what seemed to be a violent argument broke out between the flight crew. I asked a young ROC lieutenant, who was traveling with us and spoke very good English, what the commotion was all about. He replied that apparently some malfunction had been discovered and that they were discussing the problem.

A moment later, the argument seemingly resolved, we pulled out onto the taxiway. I learned later that the fuss had concerned a mag drop that had been noted in one of the two engines and the copilot had wanted to abort the mission. The aircraft commander had overridden him and questioned his courage and manhood. At any rate, we soon took off with much noise and vibration and were soon cruising southward toward CCK at about five thousand feet.

Once things had settled down, I took the pilot up on his invitation and climbed up onto the flight deck. Looking out through the windscreen, I saw the overcast had broken up somewhat, and we were flying a heading of 195 degrees over broken clouds, following the coastline southward. About twenty minutes later, the pilot looked around at me as he pointed down at a small city on the coast, saying proudly, "Taichung!" as though he was pleased with himself to have found it. As he then banked sharply to the east, I could see the runways of a large airfield about ten miles ahead. He pointed again and smugly announced, "CCK!"

Knowing we would be landing soon, I retreated to my seat and strapped in. After a long run in, we made a "missed approach" and went around. Reentering the pattern, we touched down this time, bounced back into the air, and then finally settled to the tarmac. The props were reversed for a moment, jerking us against our seat belts before we veered sharply onto what I hoped was a taxiway. As luck would have it, it was. When we'd taxied what seemed like a mile, we stopped abruptly but the engines remained idling as the pilot loudly proclaimed "CCK!" from the flight deck. Bill gathered up his bags and climbed out, where he was met by an American T/Sgt from the local MAAG detachment. Our pilot waited impatiently for them to toss Bill's baggage into the back of a blue pick-up truck and clear the area, and then prepared to continue his flight southward.

After another quick stop at Tainan to drop Sam off, we flew south about thirty or forty miles to Kaohsiung, before turning eastward and a few moments later entered the landing pattern at Pingtung. Having gotten used to our intrepid pilot's unique landing technique by now, I was pleasantly surprised when he nailed it on the first bounce.

As I gathered my bags and departed the transport, I had a chance to survey the ramp. There seemed to be about twenty C-119s parked there, and beyond them were three squadrons of F-104s. Before I had a chance to look more carefully, a staff car pulled up. A young CAF officer wearing golden pilot's wings stepped out, and saluting me, introduced himself as Captain Yeu. As we shook hands he said in precise but stilted English that he had been assigned as my technical aide.

Opening the trunk, we tossed my luggage in, then he ushered me into the backseat. The windows were darkly tinted and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior. It was then that I looked around and realized I wasn't alone. On the far side of the seat was a beautiful young Chinese lady in her mid-twenties, dressed in an elegant, tight-fitting, ice-blue brocade silk dress that extended to her trim ankles. I found out later the dress was called a Cheongsam.

Smiling, she extended a delicate hand and said in cultured, unaccented English, "Welcome to Pingtung, Major Donaldson. I am Wong Mae Ling and I will be your social and cultural aide for the duration of your stay with us; subject to your approval of course." I knew, from an earlier cultural orientation lecture, that Wong was her family name, while Mae Ling was her given name.

"I'm honored to meet you Miss Wong, but forget about 'Major Donaldson', everyone calls me Buzz," I replied, smiling at her.

"Perhaps in private, sir," she replied, returning my smile, "But in my official capacity, you must remain Major Donaldson."

Captain Yeu interrupted our conversation by opening the front door and slipping into the driver's seat. "I will be your MAAG interpreter, at least until you are familiar with our combat operations," he said. "We'll stop by the office and introduce you to everyone, then show you to your temporary quarters."

As he pulled away, I glanced over at Wong Mae Ling and noticed her ankle-length skirt was actually slit to the knees on both sides, I guess to allow her to walk. Seated as she was, it also allowed me a glimpse of her slim shapely legs. Catching me appraising her charms, she smiled, but made no attempt to readjust her skirt.

Captain Yeu gave me the grand tour of the base, as Wong Mae Ling pointed out the points of interest; first the flight line with its C-119s and F-104s, then the Operations building, the maintenance hangers with their avionics and instrument maintenance facilities, the PMEL (Precision Measurement Equipment Lab) and Photo Lab, and finally the Officers Club and Base Headquarters.