Project Night Lark-Chapter VIII
“Radio to pilot.” One of the operators said over the intercom. “Just received a coded message that our MIGCAP package is not in place. Heavy weather. No other assets available due to tasking in the south. They suggest exit east and try for Hong Kong.”
“We’d never stand a chance! Every North Vietnamese and Chinese Mig would come hunting for us!” Retorted the copilot.
The Pilot glanced over his shoulder at the Navigator who was busily starting at his charts and working his whiz wheel. “Any suggestions Nav?” The Pilot inquired.
“Working on a possible option. Give me just a few seconds.” He replied feverishly working his flight computer.
“We don’t have a few seconds, the sun is starting to illuminate us and there are Migs uncomfortably close. Not to mention about a hundred thousand gun emplacements all looking for an early morning kill.” Chimed the Co Pilot.
“Radar, fire up the beast. I need to have a clear picture of what’s around us. Nav you got a plot yet?” The Pilot stated.
The Navigator did have solution, the only one he could come up within the short time he had. If they turned west and flew low and fast, zig zagging their way through the mountains and valleys they hopefully could reach the Laotian border quicker than they could the safety of the Navy’s weather delayed fighter protection. A call on the radio could alert any aircraft enroute to their vicinity asking them to render assistance. That is if anyone would believe that this wasn’t an enemy rouse. After all the Night Lark was a highly classified aircraft.
The Navy knew were at least somewhat in the know about Night Lark. That’s to say that there was someone who knew who they were. But what that really meant was that some agent probably ex-navy was assigned to the Task Force patrolling Yankee Station, who knew who they were and would identify them as friendly should the need arise.
“Hard right! Steer, two four five degrees, don’t spare the coals either!” The Nav shouted.
The Pilot rolled the big EC-97 into a hard right descending turn, his right hand pushed the throttles to their stops. The Copilot was conversing with the radar operator, so he could see what the big scope was seeing, in the cockpit. The radar was painting a 360 degree view of any object at or above the current altitude of the Night Lark. The Migs they had spotted earlier were now on a coarse opposite of theirs and still traveling away from them.
Of course when the powerful radar powered up it also let the North Vietnamese fighters know of its presence as it painted them with radiation. Inside their cockpits the Mig pilots were listening to warning tones and seeing indicator lights that they were being tracked. They immediately altered course and altitude, thinking an enemy fighter had snuck in behind them.
The radio operators aboard the Night Lark were monitoring the chatter between the North Vietnamese ground radar stations and their assigned fighters. They too were looking for the Yankee fighter aircraft on their scopes. The second aircraft previously seen approaching the airport was gone. The assumption was it landed just before the special envoy plane did. Now it appears that the Yankee bastards were trying to shoot it down or attack it on the ground. The Migs were recalled to patrol around the airport.
The radar controllers were directing the Migs aloft to begin a search for the fighters. In the air the Mig pilots were eagerly awaiting the sun to crest over the horizon to make sighting the enemy fighters easier. As disciplined and well trained as they were at flying guided by ground radar to intercept enemy aircraft, they preferred to see their enemy as well.
The Night Lark was shaking and vibrating as the four big Pratt & Whitney engines screamed spinning their propellers biting as much air as they could to pull the aircraft through the air as fast as possible. The engine temperature gauges were at the upper range of the “safe” operating temp zone, but if the aircraft didn’t get higher and into cooler air soon that would change.
As the sun’s rays broke over the eastern horizon it illuminated more and more of the terrain the Night Lark was trying to fly over or otherwise around without hitting it. The navigation radar wasn’t painting a constant picture of the terrain ahead. For some reason the radar was being temperamental, it kept cycling offline. The Navigator as well as the radar techs were doing everything they could to remedy the problem. But it wasn’t until one of the techs unbuckled his seatbelt and walked up to the equipment rack that held the radars electronic drawers and kicked it with his size eleven boot did it start to work properly.
The technician sitting next to him gave him a wary smile as he strapped back in and said. “As per the Dash One, kick the son of a bitch if it doesn’t work!”
The two observers were leaning into their observation blisters looking from the Night Lark’s wings aft towards its tail. From the ground up as high as they could, watching for any indication that the Migs had returned.
One of the observers, the assistant crew chief who was the starboard observer commented. “I wish I hadn’t drank so much coffee, I really got to pee right about now.” Everyone hearing his comment gave a slight grin, which did little to break the tension but did serve as a reminder to the condition of their own bladders.
It was critical that the Night Lark maintain radio silence. Even though their radar was emitting radiation, their radio would serve to pinpoint their location easier for the enemy. “I have multiple bogy’s at our ten o’clock, flying a heading of zero three two degrees, five hundred knots. Possible Migs!” The Radar operator shouted over the intercom.
The Pilot replied in a calm voice and tone. “It might be a strike package out of Thailand. Sensors, are you getting any ECM jamming from them?”
“No sir!” The Sensor operator reported.
The course they were flying meant they only had to cover approximately one hundred miles to reach the Laos border, yet it seemed like it was a thousand miles. Breaking radio silence added another opportunity for the enemy to pinpoint their location and reduce their chances of getting safely across into Laos and subsequently Thailand.
“Crown. This is Shadow Rider on Guard.” The pilot had keyed his microphone and was broadcasting a signal over the International emergency frequency of 242.0 MHz. There was no response. “CROWN this is SHADOW RIDER on Guard. Acknowledge! The pilot reiterated.
A long pause before a voice could be heard in response. It wasn’t Crown, the airborne early warning radar aircraft that assisted aircraft transitioning to and from their targets. It was instead one of the bogeys the Night Larks radar operator had just reported.
“Shadow Rider this is Milkshake nine, what’s seems to be your problem?” A voice asked.
“Milkshake we’re westbound out of Indian country, need a little backup if possible.” The pilot of the Night Lark said.
“Err Roger, Shadow Rider standby.” Milkshake Nine replied.
The Night Lark continued her escape southwest towards Laos, the approaching aircraft on the radar passed abeam of them. Neither saw the other, but it was obvious from the instrumentation in the EC-97, Milkshake Nine was one of the “bogies” on the scope.
“Milkshake, we just passed each other.” The pilot radioed.
“We did?” Asked a confused Milkshake Nine. Milkshake Nine was part of a flight of aircraft bound to strike a target, specifically a SAM site that was thought to be a serious threat to the Night Lark’s original course of departure. The crews of Milkshake Flight had no idea that they had just met Night Lark, they were just going about their business of bombing targets they had been assigned to destroy. They too were late to the party. Milkshake Nine gave a call to Crown on another frequency to report the contact he had had with Shadow Rider. Onboard Crown the information was disseminated to the appropriate agencies.
“The border is just over that ridge.” Stated the Navigator whose comment was followed by a violent explosion under the right wing, just under the and aft of the number three engine. An alert anti aircraft emplacement heard the Night Lark’s radio conversation as well as the roar of its engines as it approached up the valley. One carefully aimed shot found its mark. As the gun crew reload and aimed again the EC-97 flew almost directly over their emplacement along a stream. Unfortunately for the gun crew their second shot was too late getting off, the aircraft drifted right towards the side where the first round had struck.
Inside the Night Lark the crew was busy. Some of the flak from the exploding round had found its way into the crew compartment. These fragments embedded themselves into the consoles lining the right side of the inside of the fuselage. A few units quit functioning as they shorted out. Some caught fire from the white hot flak. The technicians quickly reacted to put out the fires. Some grabbed fire extinguishers, others shut off circuit breakers and one did what he could…emptied his full bladder onto the fire.
In the lower compartment the Starboard Observer sat slumped over and motionless in his seat. The Port Observer was trying to unfasten his seatbelt and get out of his seat as there was a flak fragment buried in the seat cushion which was smoldering under his tender butt cheeks.
It was then he realized his co-observer was in trouble. The blister had blood splattered all over it and there was a huge hole just under the blister. A fragment, presumably the one that buried into his seat had entered from the starboard side just below the window blister and pierced his partners midsection struck the seats mount and ricocheted off into his seat cushion.
Quickly he grabbed a first aid kit hanging on the bulkhead just forward of their seats. He yelled for help over the intercom but what he didn’t realize was his intercom cable had been severed by a smaller fragment which was buried just under the skin in his back.
“There goes number three!” The copilot reported. Oil pressure dropping as the temperature gauge started to climb.
The pilot corrected for the right drift the Night Lark took after the impact of the explosion induced. Fortunately for the crew, it did as it saved them from the next round entering the aft fuselage dead center which would have been fatal for all on board. The pilot pulled the Night Lark over the ridge that separated North Vietnam from Laos, he turned more southerly hoping to cover the distance to the air field at Xieng Khouang where they could land if necessary.
Having heard nothing from the two observers in the lower compartment two of the technicians whose consoles were ruined went below to investigate. Their arrival was timely as the Port Observer was having a difficult time freeing his injured partner from his restraints to get him out of his seat. The flak fragment had bent the release on the buckle. One of the technicians used his survival knife to cut the harness and together they quickly carried him up to the upper level where there was more room to lay him down on the floor.
Every available hand assisted in applying compress bandages to the wounds and help stabilize his condition. One of them ran to the flight deck to advise the aircraft commander.
On the flight deck the pilot and copilot had secured the number three engine, feathering it and shutting it down. They were also trying to transfer fuel from the ruptured tank in the right wing to one that wasn’t leaking.
“Sir we’ve got a severely injured man in back. The starboard observer took one through the abdomen and has lost a lot of blood. We’ve got him bandaged but we need to get him to a hospital soon.” The technician reported.
The airfield at Xieng Khouang was just coming into sight; over it the pilot immediately saw aircraft circling the field. Only they weren’t landing, they were bombing and strafing it! Several A-1 Skyraiders were taking turns making runs on the field. Off to northeast the copilot spotted a low flying aircraft, a Cessna O-1 Bird Dog, which was the Forward Air Controller directing the strike.
Again on Guard the pilot radioed. “Covey over…” He paused trying to remember the airport ID code. “Covey above Xray Kilo Hotel, do you copy?”
At that moment the previous call to Crown had filtered through the system and the alert was being broadcast to all aircraft to be on the lookout for a camouflaged KC-97 using the call sign of “Shadow Rider.” No sooner had the message been copied by the FAC in the O-1 and the A-1s they spotted the Night Lark who was trailing a little vapor from her number three engine.
Two of the Skyraiders broke off their orbit and swung around to close the distance between themselves and the strangely painted KC-97. Seeing that the two A-1’s were out of external ordinance, the FAC released them to provide escort for the stricken newcomer.
“Greetings, stranger!” This is Cowboy Two Three and Two Six. Can we be of any assistance? The lead Skyraider pilot said.
Cowboy this is Shadow Rider, we took a little flak a while ago, got a serious injured man onboard, losing fuel and one fan out of commission.” Replied the Night Lark’s pilot.
“ROGER that, how bout we just scoot on down to NKP so you can set the big ugly bird down somewhere friendly.” Cowboy Two remarked. “Steer a heading of One Five Zero, it’s about one hundred and fifty miles, and we should be there in a jiffy.
The Night Lark was now being escorted by two A-1E Skyraiders, one taking station of each of her wings. They climbed up to an altitude safe from anti aircraft fire. The crew on board the Night Lark were preparing for their landing at the Royal Thai Navy airbase at Nahkon Phanom aka NKP for short where the US military had a sizeable yet classified presence.
