Sometime in late 67 I pulled into my new assignment at Englnd AFB, La., I couldnt miss the big sign saying "1st Air Commando Wing." And below that was the motto something like "Anytime, Anyplace."
After they changed the name to Special Operating Forces, nothing changed, they kept us always on the go and it was usually nothing spectacular that you would hear about or read in the newpapers. And of course, some of it you were not allowed to talk about, but most of it was simply doing what the rest of the Air Force did which was fix and fly airplanes.
We had an odd collection of odd ball airplanes and some said, an odd collection of odd ball people.:clsoedeyes: This is a story about one of those little "sudden" jobs. The link gives some background:
http://www.af.mil/news/airman/0397/comando.htm
At the time of this happening, I was a maintenance supervisor in an AT-37 squadron. The little "tweety" bird was really a cute and lovable little bird. Carried two 7.62 gatlin guns and a wing full of bombs, rockets, etc. and had in-flight refueling. It was small. You could stand flat footed and reach over into the cockpit. Im trying to find a photo of the version we had.
At a prior time, I had worked with C-123 Provider cargo airplanes. Since this story concerns both airplanes, my assignment to this project was a natural.
I got a phone call to go to LtCol Brewers office. On that trip, I always cut thru on a narrow grass strip between the flightline fence and the backside of the maintenance operation building because thats were our squadron mascot, a stinking goat, was staked out.
That goat didnt like me and could recognize me from a block away and go into his fighting stance. I juked him left and then did a Jim Brown swivel hipped swerve to the right and he missed me and got cut a flip as he hit the end of his chain. He came charging back in the other direction just as I ran past his chain limit again and he cut another flip. Just out of his reach, I got down on hands and knees and pawed and bellered and the goat went nuts, cutting all kinds of cartwheels on the end of his chain. That sucker never learned.
I dusted my knees off, thoroughly pleased with the days work so far. and proceeded on to Brewers office. Colonel Brewer said I had got "tasked" for a little task. I asked when and he said now. I asked where and he said all he knew was somewhere in Central America.
He told me all he knew which was that a few months previous to then, a little country down there had caught one of our C-123 airplanes dropping supplies to some guerillas which we favored over the countries communist leaning government. The C-123 had been shot up, had some fifty caliber rounds thru its rear fuselage and had been forced to land in that country by an enemy fighter escort of WW11 type P-51 fighters.
This stirred up a big stink and allowed this little country and some of its central american neighbors to huff and puff and say nasty things to big bad America. They let our aircrew go but had kept the airplane all this time just to show they could. But our Noble Diplomats from Foggy Bottom had triumphed in negotiations and now we were going to be allowed to go pick up our airplane.
A Diplomatic team and a Pentagon team were being dispatched to that little country (lets call it El Sombrero). My job was to put together the right group of maintenance men required to patch as necessary and make flyable the C-123. We were to fly down in a nice Executive type airplane that was being borrowed from the Air Force Logistics Command at Kelly AFB, San Antonio, Texas. To show "strength", we were being escorted down thru central America by four of out little tweety bird fighters.
We were to get all this ready within the next hour.....sooner if possible because we might have to be in San Antonio by that night. Colonel Brewer loaned me a phone while he worked on another. He was getting 4 pilots, 4 crew chiefs, and 4 tweety birds lined up plus a C-123 standing by to take us to San Antonio.
I wanted a particular reciprocating engine technician, a TSGT Riley, for this job really bad. I had taken him to a job in the mideast with me the prior year and he was absolutely the best. He was onery as hell, slightly unstable and short tempered. He seemed to stay mad at everything and everybody except his wife and kids and a sweet running reciprocating engine. Those he loved dearly.
Riley was not what you could call politically correct and others highly exalted military rank meant nothing to him. How he managed to attain 5 stripes and hold on to them was a mystery to everyone. He was my kind of guy.
I called for TSGT Riley at the engine shop and was told he didnt wont to talk to me. I lined up everyone but an engine man and a sheet metal man by phone. Everyones tail was in the wind, gathering tools and heading for home or the barracks to grab clothes and toiletry's. Then I bolted out of Brewers office and drove down to the Field Maintenance shops.
The minute I walked into the engine section, Riley saw me, held out his hands in a placating manner, and starting singing that old country music song, "Oh please, Mr Custer, I dont wont to go."
I said, "Riley, I aint got time to argue. I need you."
"Aw Hell," Riley yelled, "you keep this crap up and you are going to get my wifes favorite husband killed." Riley really knew where to hit me where it hurt and I guess he read the pain in my face because he said, "OK, OK, OK, what where and when."
I gave him what info I had on the C-123. "lots of spark plugs and ignition coils." he mumbled and grumbled. "You expect me to gather all the parts and get ready in an hour?" I told him time was running and as I turned to leave I asked him if he wonted me to call his wife Linda and make excuses for him. "Hell no," he snapped at me, "I stay in enough trouble without any help from you."
I went over to the sheet metal shop and no one there wanted to Volunteer so the shop chief "assigned" an Airman First Class to me and assured me he would make sure the young man had the right tools and some sheetmetal patches for necessary repairs if we had to make them.
When I got back to Light Colonel Brewers office, our young maintenance officer, 1Lt Bond was with him. "You off again, huh" he said. I said yeah and I would sure like for him to go along and he brightened right up. I looked at Col Brewer and he said, "why not, we can clear that when we talk to your "mentor". My mentor, as Col Brewer called him, was a Bird Colonel with a pentagon job. I had worked with him previously for 18 months in southeast Asia and he was now the man at the end of a telephone who was always "tasking" us with these little jobs.
I really liked Lt Bond. I thought he was exactly the kind of young officer the Air Force needed to hang on to and I gave him re-enlistment talks every chance I could. I thought a little trip like this one might affect his decision to re-up.
I cleaned out all the scraps of paper from my fatigue shirt pockets with everyones name, rank, s/n, etc necessary for cutting orders. The Colonel called in the first sargeant and "tasked" him with getting VOCO (Verbal Athority of the Commanding Officer) orders typed up for our little task. Thats a quick way of legalizing a movement when there isnt enough time to go thru normal channels. I brought Lt Bond up to speed on where everything stood. He was grinning like a cheshire cat.
We all went over everything one more time before Col Brewer got on the phone and put me on the other line and called my "mentor". The two of us breifed him in on what we had set up and he said that sounded good. I said just one more thing, that I sure needed to take Lt Bond, my maintenance officer, on the trip. He asked why I needed a maintenance officer and I told him so I could cover my butt if something went wrong, I could blame it all on Lt Bond. He laughed and asked if Bond was there and if so put him on the phone.
I was reminded of why I liked my mentor so much when he got that young lieutenant on the phone and gave him full recognition and responsibility for what was being considered as an important job. Lt Bond was looking a little shocked but was managing to say yes sir and no sir at all the right times. I reminded myself to tell him later on that its not necessary to stand at attention when talking to a higher ranking officer on the phone.
Our departure date was set for the next morning which took some of the strain off Lt Bond who was beginning to fret and worry about all the details.
He and I got on the phones and called all our C-123 people to inform them of a firm departure date. Colonel Brewer was on another line with his tweety bird people plus scheduling us a C-123 to take us over to Kelly AFB the next morning. Lt Bond was bearing up pretty well with all the responsibilities dropped on him. I reminded him that if anything went wrong, it was all his fault, but dont worry, this little job was a piece of cake.
As we were leaving the orderly room, the first sargeant was threatening me what he was going to do to me if I didnt quit messing with the squadron goat and I told him what he could do with his stinking goat.
Early that evening, I was in the barracks packing some stuff when I got a phone call from Riley. He said for me to come on by and have supper with them and If I wasn't too cheap, I could bring the beer. Sounded good to me. I could stand a hug from Linda about then but if something went wrong with this simple little job and I got her husband killed, God help me, I'd never be able to look her in the face again.
After they changed the name to Special Operating Forces, nothing changed, they kept us always on the go and it was usually nothing spectacular that you would hear about or read in the newpapers. And of course, some of it you were not allowed to talk about, but most of it was simply doing what the rest of the Air Force did which was fix and fly airplanes.
We had an odd collection of odd ball airplanes and some said, an odd collection of odd ball people.:clsoedeyes: This is a story about one of those little "sudden" jobs. The link gives some background:
http://www.af.mil/news/airman/0397/comando.htm
At the time of this happening, I was a maintenance supervisor in an AT-37 squadron. The little "tweety" bird was really a cute and lovable little bird. Carried two 7.62 gatlin guns and a wing full of bombs, rockets, etc. and had in-flight refueling. It was small. You could stand flat footed and reach over into the cockpit. Im trying to find a photo of the version we had.
At a prior time, I had worked with C-123 Provider cargo airplanes. Since this story concerns both airplanes, my assignment to this project was a natural.
I got a phone call to go to LtCol Brewers office. On that trip, I always cut thru on a narrow grass strip between the flightline fence and the backside of the maintenance operation building because thats were our squadron mascot, a stinking goat, was staked out.
That goat didnt like me and could recognize me from a block away and go into his fighting stance. I juked him left and then did a Jim Brown swivel hipped swerve to the right and he missed me and got cut a flip as he hit the end of his chain. He came charging back in the other direction just as I ran past his chain limit again and he cut another flip. Just out of his reach, I got down on hands and knees and pawed and bellered and the goat went nuts, cutting all kinds of cartwheels on the end of his chain. That sucker never learned.
I dusted my knees off, thoroughly pleased with the days work so far. and proceeded on to Brewers office. Colonel Brewer said I had got "tasked" for a little task. I asked when and he said now. I asked where and he said all he knew was somewhere in Central America.
He told me all he knew which was that a few months previous to then, a little country down there had caught one of our C-123 airplanes dropping supplies to some guerillas which we favored over the countries communist leaning government. The C-123 had been shot up, had some fifty caliber rounds thru its rear fuselage and had been forced to land in that country by an enemy fighter escort of WW11 type P-51 fighters.
This stirred up a big stink and allowed this little country and some of its central american neighbors to huff and puff and say nasty things to big bad America. They let our aircrew go but had kept the airplane all this time just to show they could. But our Noble Diplomats from Foggy Bottom had triumphed in negotiations and now we were going to be allowed to go pick up our airplane.
A Diplomatic team and a Pentagon team were being dispatched to that little country (lets call it El Sombrero). My job was to put together the right group of maintenance men required to patch as necessary and make flyable the C-123. We were to fly down in a nice Executive type airplane that was being borrowed from the Air Force Logistics Command at Kelly AFB, San Antonio, Texas. To show "strength", we were being escorted down thru central America by four of out little tweety bird fighters.
We were to get all this ready within the next hour.....sooner if possible because we might have to be in San Antonio by that night. Colonel Brewer loaned me a phone while he worked on another. He was getting 4 pilots, 4 crew chiefs, and 4 tweety birds lined up plus a C-123 standing by to take us to San Antonio.
I wanted a particular reciprocating engine technician, a TSGT Riley, for this job really bad. I had taken him to a job in the mideast with me the prior year and he was absolutely the best. He was onery as hell, slightly unstable and short tempered. He seemed to stay mad at everything and everybody except his wife and kids and a sweet running reciprocating engine. Those he loved dearly.
Riley was not what you could call politically correct and others highly exalted military rank meant nothing to him. How he managed to attain 5 stripes and hold on to them was a mystery to everyone. He was my kind of guy.
I called for TSGT Riley at the engine shop and was told he didnt wont to talk to me. I lined up everyone but an engine man and a sheet metal man by phone. Everyones tail was in the wind, gathering tools and heading for home or the barracks to grab clothes and toiletry's. Then I bolted out of Brewers office and drove down to the Field Maintenance shops.
The minute I walked into the engine section, Riley saw me, held out his hands in a placating manner, and starting singing that old country music song, "Oh please, Mr Custer, I dont wont to go."
I said, "Riley, I aint got time to argue. I need you."
"Aw Hell," Riley yelled, "you keep this crap up and you are going to get my wifes favorite husband killed." Riley really knew where to hit me where it hurt and I guess he read the pain in my face because he said, "OK, OK, OK, what where and when."
I gave him what info I had on the C-123. "lots of spark plugs and ignition coils." he mumbled and grumbled. "You expect me to gather all the parts and get ready in an hour?" I told him time was running and as I turned to leave I asked him if he wonted me to call his wife Linda and make excuses for him. "Hell no," he snapped at me, "I stay in enough trouble without any help from you."
I went over to the sheet metal shop and no one there wanted to Volunteer so the shop chief "assigned" an Airman First Class to me and assured me he would make sure the young man had the right tools and some sheetmetal patches for necessary repairs if we had to make them.
When I got back to Light Colonel Brewers office, our young maintenance officer, 1Lt Bond was with him. "You off again, huh" he said. I said yeah and I would sure like for him to go along and he brightened right up. I looked at Col Brewer and he said, "why not, we can clear that when we talk to your "mentor". My mentor, as Col Brewer called him, was a Bird Colonel with a pentagon job. I had worked with him previously for 18 months in southeast Asia and he was now the man at the end of a telephone who was always "tasking" us with these little jobs.
I really liked Lt Bond. I thought he was exactly the kind of young officer the Air Force needed to hang on to and I gave him re-enlistment talks every chance I could. I thought a little trip like this one might affect his decision to re-up.
I cleaned out all the scraps of paper from my fatigue shirt pockets with everyones name, rank, s/n, etc necessary for cutting orders. The Colonel called in the first sargeant and "tasked" him with getting VOCO (Verbal Athority of the Commanding Officer) orders typed up for our little task. Thats a quick way of legalizing a movement when there isnt enough time to go thru normal channels. I brought Lt Bond up to speed on where everything stood. He was grinning like a cheshire cat.
We all went over everything one more time before Col Brewer got on the phone and put me on the other line and called my "mentor". The two of us breifed him in on what we had set up and he said that sounded good. I said just one more thing, that I sure needed to take Lt Bond, my maintenance officer, on the trip. He asked why I needed a maintenance officer and I told him so I could cover my butt if something went wrong, I could blame it all on Lt Bond. He laughed and asked if Bond was there and if so put him on the phone.
I was reminded of why I liked my mentor so much when he got that young lieutenant on the phone and gave him full recognition and responsibility for what was being considered as an important job. Lt Bond was looking a little shocked but was managing to say yes sir and no sir at all the right times. I reminded myself to tell him later on that its not necessary to stand at attention when talking to a higher ranking officer on the phone.
Our departure date was set for the next morning which took some of the strain off Lt Bond who was beginning to fret and worry about all the details.
He and I got on the phones and called all our C-123 people to inform them of a firm departure date. Colonel Brewer was on another line with his tweety bird people plus scheduling us a C-123 to take us over to Kelly AFB the next morning. Lt Bond was bearing up pretty well with all the responsibilities dropped on him. I reminded him that if anything went wrong, it was all his fault, but dont worry, this little job was a piece of cake.As we were leaving the orderly room, the first sargeant was threatening me what he was going to do to me if I didnt quit messing with the squadron goat and I told him what he could do with his stinking goat.
Early that evening, I was in the barracks packing some stuff when I got a phone call from Riley. He said for me to come on by and have supper with them and If I wasn't too cheap, I could bring the beer. Sounded good to me. I could stand a hug from Linda about then but if something went wrong with this simple little job and I got her husband killed, God help me, I'd never be able to look her in the face again.
