Excerpt #1 from the MISTY FAC Book

   I am approaching the age at which one begins losing faculties.  I know that.  I can't run.  I creak when I walk.  Hair grows in all the wrong places.  My eyesight, once sharp as an eagle, is hopelessly blurred without bifocals and I am useless for almost all things after 9 PM.  I am probably also boring (except to my grandchildren when I do magic tricks) and may already be at the point when I am becoming a legend in my own mind.  If all that is so, I need to deal with it - but others must indulge me one memory - one memory in my life that persists in vivid detail as clearly as the day it happened - it is the day of the "The Great Risinger raid of 1968" - the absolute dumbest, goddamned thing I have ever been involved with in my life, and this is how it happened.

   We were the fourth generation of Misty; misfits all; brave beyond all rights and yet incredibly serious and professional.  We were also frustrated; frustrated by a war we were clearly losing.  We were sent to North Vietnam in obsolete equipment to do an impossible job - stop the flow of men and materials from North to South Vietnam through Route Pack I, because we couldn't bomb where we should - Hanoi and Haiphong.

   1967 was a "build-up" year for us, the VC and the NVA.  Late in 1967, Intelligence reported the movement of four NVA divisions, two artillery regiments and armor - yes armor! - to a place called Khe Sahn in Quang Tri province, I Corps.  Huge movements of U. S. and NVA troops and equipment ensued in early 1968 under our very eyes, but as usual, we saw very little - no trucks, no troops, no movement, no nothing.  Then, on 31 January 1968, all hell broke loose all over South Vietnam with the Tet offensive.  Cities, towns, villages and compounds burned all along the coast as we went "wheels-up" from Phu Cat and headed north on daily missions.

   From high altitude we observed the huge Marine build-up at Khe Sanh, saw the NVA trenches creep towards our runway, and watched enroute to and from the North as B-52s and TAC Air pummeled the surrounding hills.  Coming home from "the Pack" we dropped to low-level trying to find something north of Khe Sanh - anything!  It was the damnedest thing - 40,000 people and their equipment - big equipment - was being moved under our very noses, and despite the fact that we were the world's greatest, smartest, bravest, best-looking and most experienced fighter pilots - we couldn't find shit - not one tank, truck, artillery piece, troop, trail or dust cloud - those damned NVA were better at camouflage than we were at flying!

   We couldn't find shit.  That is, no one except Ed Risinger could find it, and he didn't find "it" at Khe Sanh, but rather during a break in the weather north of Mu Ghia Pass.  Since we flew alone, our rules were very simple.  In fact we had only one - DON'T GO BELOW 4500' IN NORTH VIETNAM! - a rule we ignored regularly at great peril if weather required or if a lucrative target demanded.  And when Ed saw "it" - IT DEMANDED!  "It" was an SA-2 missile on a launcher in broad daylight!  Ed was on the morning mission.  The coast was socked-in, so he had proceed to Laos and up Mu Ghia Pass, which was also covered by low clouds.  At the top of the pass, the weather broke suddenly and unexpectedly, catching both Ed and the NVA by surprise.  Ed screamed instructions to the backseater, Howie Williams, who was new to Misty and whom we lost on a subsequent mission, "Now, don't screw this up!  Get the camera ready!  I'm going to put it out the left side!"  Ed dove to treetop level.  "Now get ready out the left - here it comes,  Ready!  Ready!  Oh, shit I mean the right!!!"

   Howie quickly flipped the camera to the right and came back with a beautiful picture of an SA-2 on a Guideline transporter with a wide-eyed NVA soldier trying to pull the cover on the missile.  I still have the picture.  It is one of the most amazing pictures of the war.  So much for the 4500' rule - Ed was only slightly above the height of the launcher.

   Normally the story would stop there, but if you think it should, you don't know Ed Risinger.  Most people would have pasted the picture carefully in a war scrapbook to show to the grandkids - not Ed.  He landed, de-briefed and searched for our commander, Don Jones, who was flying on the midday mission.  He then searched for the Wing Commander, who was also flying, and the base commander, who was in Hawaii on R&R.  He looked for the DO who was at a briefing in Da Nang.  Since none were available, he picked up the phone and called Saigon, 7th Air Force Command Post.  The voice on the other end was a previous Misty.  "YAHOO!!!  Go get the SONSABITCHES!" said the voice on the other end, and Ed commandeered three single-seat F-100Ds off the Phu Cat alert pad.

   Common sense would tell a person to take the time to carefully plan this very risky attack, upload the proper ordnance, and select your best and most experienced pilots.  Ed was out of time.  The weather was breaking and the targets would be moving.  He turned around, and the only two pilots in sight were me and Elmer Slavey.  "Come here you two bastards!" shouted Ed.  "We're gonna go kill us a SAM!"

   We briefed in 15 minutes and were airborne in 30.  In retrospect I think we did have a plan. First - locate the target.  Howie Williams was so new, he had no idea where the hell he had been, much less where the target was, and Ed wasn't sure, but thought he could find it again.  Our plan was to recce the area north of Mu Ghia.  We knew an SA-2 would be surrounded by both 57MM and several 37mm sites.  If we found the guns - the SA-2 would likely be in the middle - what a plan.  Oh yes, and RWR gear - ours didn't work, and besides, we didn't know how to use it, and "chaff" was for sissies.  We considered putting chaff in our speedbrakes, but no one could find any on base.  Our tactics were: our stuff doesn't work to warn us, so let's hope their missiles don't work to hit us!  WHAT A PLAN! - we couldn't fail!  I believe this mission coined the phrase "Goat rope".

   Enroute to the high threat target (wherever it was) I looked out at my load - two MK-82 high drags and two cans of CBU-2 - formidable!  "Bet the NVA is shaking in their boots," I thought.  Ed had wall-to-wall napalm and I believe Elmer was wall-to-wall high drags.  We were somebody - a flying wedge - big cojones - small brains!

   The weather was solid over Laos and North Vietnam, so Ed diverted the flight of three out over the water.  We descended below the clouds and a 2500' ceiling.  Ed swung us into a left hand turn.  We dropped into a staggered trail formation and followed the railroad that led to the north end of Mu Ghia.  The visibility was good and we passed a train being pulled by a steam engine.  I mentally noted how much I would like to find that engine in good weather and blow it up just like the WW II combat gun film.  I envisioned a huge steam cloud shooting vertically into the air.  I was jolted back to reality by a .50 cal shooting from the back car, which was an open flat car.  The tracers fell harmlessly behind me - new gunner, poor lead - never make it as a duck hunter.  We took lots of gunfire (mostly small arms and .50 cal).  Ed and Elmer's aircraft alerted the ground gunners and I soaked up lots of rounds.  Ed had briefed strict radio silence, so I said nothing and enjoyed the scenery.

   As we proceeded further inland, the ceiling decreased.  We were now at 1500', then 1,000', then 500', approaching the target area.  It was apparent we weren't going to be able to stay under the weather.  Ed's voice came over the radio, depressed, "Arm 'em up.  Take spacing.  The weather's too bad.  Let's abort and drop in the target area.  I'm in the clouds!  Pickle!  They're shooting!  I'm off to the east, climbing on top.  Watch it!  There's lots of fire coming out of there."

   Elmer dropped next and called off to the east. He was also taking lots of fire through the clouds.  It was my turn.  The gunners opened up through the clouds with 37mm.  They heard me, but didn't see me.  I also saw, felt and heard what every Misty pilot has seen, felt and heard - lots of 37mm shells passing close to my aircraft.  "Damn! Bullshit weather!"  I said to myself.  I came off east, climbed on top through the weather and rejoined Ed and Elmer with a battle damage check.  The flight home was silent and uneventful.

   It was silent and uneventful, that is, until we got home. Taxiing-in there was a crowd to meet us.  The crowd included our commander, Don Jones, who was not smiling.  As the crew chief loosed the panel for the before-shutdown saddleback check, I noticed Col Jones' dour expression and made a mental note this day was not going well.  I shut the engine down.  The crew chief warned, "Stand-by for in-coming.  The boss is pissed."

   "All Mistys into the briefing room!", Col. Jones demanded.  Ed, Elmer and I slouched in three chairs in front of our commander while the remaining Mistys formed a semi-circle behind us.

   "Just what in the hell did you three think you were doing?" Don asked, not expecting an answer.  "Did you think you were going to win this war all by yourselves?  Do you realize that we rescue guys who are shot down everyday doing things much less dumb than what you just did?  What in the hell were you thinking about, carrying nape, high drags and CBUs against an SA-2?  Have you lost your minds?  Do you know you violated every rule, every guideline, every regulation?  You are experienced pilots.  Do any of you have any common sense?"

   Ed, Elmer and I spent a lot of time looking at our boots.  No one said anything.  It was a masterful and well-deserved ass-chewing by a very good commander who cared deeply for all of us.  Ed could have explained that he sought and received permission; that he tried to find commanders at all levels to approve the mission, and none were available; that he actually got permission from Saigon for the mission.  It's a good thing he didn't.  Don Jones would have simply reminded him that he was a flimflam man, selling a pig in a poke.  No one knew North Vietnam and the rules and reasons behind them better than the Mistys.  No one had a better understanding of the risks than us, and we launched anyway.  Our testosterone overcame our judgment, and it was now apparent to all.  We were guilty as hell; not heroes - dumbshits!

   We showered, dressed and went to the club.  I walked over with Ed.  He looked at me, smiled and said, "Shep, every now and then you just gotta' say - what the f...!"  We had three martinis, a steak and went to bed.  We were grounded for three days, then Don Jones put us back on the flying schedule and never mentioned the incident again.  He was a good guy.

 I hadn't prayed in a long while.  That night I talked to the Lord, "God, I'm no better than anyone else in this war on either side, but I'm no worse either.  So, I would appreciate it if you could just see fit to get me out of here alive.  Please save me from myself and Ed Risinger.  Amen.  Oh yes, and another thing, Lord.  Thanks for today's bad weather."

               Don Shepperd, Misty 34