Combat Reckoning, page 4
part #2 of Jock Miles-Moon Brothers Korean War Story Series
The commander of the bomber formation was on the radio, calling Tommy: “Padlock Leader from Hellfire Four-Six, be advised we’re one minute from IP.”
The IP: the initial point where the bombers would begin their approach to the target. Once they made the slight turn to the bomb run heading, a stable flight path would be imperative if the bombardiers were to have the best chance of an accurate drop. It wouldn’t be a good time to have to deal with enemy interceptors.
So far, so good, Tommy told himself as the weaving escorts altered course to match the Superforts. The bombers drop their eggs and then we all make a beeline back across the Korean peninsula for the Tsushima Strait…and home.
He clamped the control stick between his thighs for a moment to stretch his back, arms, and shoulders. The act was more precautionary than curative; small in stature, Tommy Moon hadn’t met an airplane he didn’t fit into easily. A little room to move around was a great help in keeping muscle cramps and soreness away on a long mission, and he had plenty in the cockpit of Moon’s Menace IV. Staying comfortable was a much harder struggle for taller and beefier pilots.
While ground troops—like his older brother, tanker NCO Sean—still puzzled over what MacArthur’s big thing would be, the pilots were forming a fairly clear picture. With each briefing, the target selections on that big wall map made it more and more obvious: American forces would be making an amphibious landing on the west coast of South Korea, very close to Seoul. The USAF was focusing the might of its bomber force on the road and rail network leading to that city. Carrier-based Navy and Marine Corps aircraft were reportedly attacking the port of Inchon, the harbor that served Seoul.
Then there’d been the aerial sightings that had put the icing on the cake: a fleet of warships and troop transports—from Japan, Pusan, and across the Pacific—had been observed skirting the southern tip of the Korean peninsula, cruising north into the Yellow Sea. The pilots estimated the flotilla would reach Inchon within forty-eight hours.
They were hard to see at first, silvery specks against the mottled browns and fading greens of the September landscape far below. But Tommy first noticed them as the 500-pounders began to cascade from the B-29s’ yawning bomb bays. “We’ve got bandits at one o’clock low and climbing,” he announced. “I count six. Let’s discourage them before they get close. Able Flight, break on my mark…”
Then they came screaming down, the four jets of Padlock Able Flight, with Tommy in the lead. Padlock Baker Flight—the other four F-84s—remained on station above the bombers. Rapidly closing the distance to the North Korean aircraft, Tommy confirmed the count: six Lavochkins, in echelon right formation. He wouldn’t bother guessing what model the Lavs were; whether they were -9 or -11 types, it mattered little to the Americans. The two looked and performed roughly the same, except the -11 could climb faster due to being of much lighter construction. Both types were similarly armed with formidable 23-millimeter cannon.
It doesn’t pay to be too specific at the debriefings, either, he knew from experience, unless you want to be patronized by staff officers. Flying the F-51s, we used to think we were tangling with the older model Lavs—La-7s—until those smirking groundlings in intel got around to telling us the Russians had never given the gooks any of that model. Just report them simply as Lavs and be done with it.
He told Baker Leader, “Six is a strange number for the gooks, Johnny. It’s usually either just a couple…or a whole bunch more. Keep an eye out for the whole bunch more.”
A split-S maneuver put the jets on the Koreans’ tails, first rolling inverted and then pulling down through a half loop that brought them upright and closing fast on the tails of the enemy ships. There’d be time for only a quick burst before the F-84s flashed through the Lavs’ formation. Tommy had the ship on the left end of the echelon centered in his gunsight; the leader, he presumed. He squeezed the trigger button, spraying rounds from six .50-caliber machine guns just as his quarry broke hard left.
Shit. I didn’t see any bullet strikes at all. Either that guy’s no rookie or he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the Gook Air Force.
Then the Lavs were left to buffet in the wake turbulence of the American jets.
Unable to see the Koreans now, Tommy called Baker Leader and asked, “Hey, Johnny…I know we broke their formation up, but where’d they go?”
“They’re all there, boss, coming around to form up again. And they’re still way down low…I put them at angels two-zero, maybe a little less. But it doesn’t look like they’re going away. Can we have a crack at them now?”
Tommy replied, “Are you sure there’s nobody else on the horizon?”
“Affirmative, boss. They look like the only game in town.”
“Roger. Stand by.”
The bombers had unloaded their deadly cargo. They were turning to the southeast now, a wide, leisurely maneuver that would put them on a heading back to Japan. Tommy led his Able Flight into a tight climbing turn that would pass in front of the B-29s. When that turn was done, they’d be back on top of the bombers.
But halfway through it, they saw the specks in the eastern sky a few thousand feet above them. Those specks quickly sprouted wings; more North Korean interceptors were headed straight for the bombers. They were strung out in a line formation and closing the distance rapidly. Tommy counted ten. There’d be no time to maneuver onto their tails.
“Engage them head-on,” he told Able Flight. Then he told Baker Leader, “Stay put with the Twenty-Nines unless those Lavs downstairs make a move.”
Hellfire Leader announced that his bombers would be taking evasive action by dog-legging to the left. A good move, Tommy thought. It’ll be hard enough for the gooks to engage them head-to-head. Jogging left will cut the time they’ve got to line up on the bombers and give them an even worse firing solution…if they get past me and my boys, that is.
The head-on confrontation was unfolding at blinding speed. Tommy and his pilots could now identify this new wave of attackers as Yak-9s; the long, slender nose sections that enclosed their inline engines distinguished them from the round-nosed, radial-engined Lavochkins.
With a closing speed of nearly seven hundred miles per hour, they converged in one rapid beat of a pounding heart. The F-84s cast a curtain of .50-caliber bullets into the path of the Yaks before slicing beneath them. Intent only on avoiding head-to-head collisions with their targets, they had no idea if any of those bullets had found their mark.
And then Able Flight was alone in the sky, the Yaks and the Superforts slipping farther behind them with each passing second. They couldn’t see the disruption they’d caused to the Korean formation: the two ships at the right end of the Yaks’ line had collided as they attempted to avoid the Americans’ guns. They were locked together in a death grip, wings and fuselages intertwined into a hurtling, revolving projectile more resembling a boomerang than an aircraft. The twirling mass drifted down as it swerved to the right…
And directly into the path of the B-29 on the edge of the bombers’ formation. There would be no avoiding it. For all the Superfort’s attributes, being quick and agile on the controls were not among them.
Tommy had turned Moon’s Menace IV just enough to witness the impact. What had been two conjoined, spinning Yaks was now part of a much larger mass: three doomed ships burning and tumbling to the ground as one.
Crewmen on the other bombers watched in vain for parachutes.
But there was no time for reflection or grief. The fight wasn’t over yet.
Calling Baker Leader, Tommy said, “Okay, you guys break on the nearest bandits. We’ll take over on top.” His voice was calm, without a hint of the horror that comes with witnessing a dozen men perish in a plummeting funeral pyre.
That didn’t mean he didn’t feel that horror. He’d just experienced it too many times not to know that if you let it take you over, you’d be the next to die.
Every other pilot in Padlock Able and Baker Flights knew it, too.
Baker Flight pounced on the Yaks as they regrouped for another attack on the bombers. Two more of the North Korean ships fell to their guns.
The Lavs, still thousands of feet below the fray, showed no inclination to join it.
Switching roles once more, Tommy’s Able Flight streaked down from above the bombers and broke up the Yaks’ formation just as they were turning onto the tails of the B-29s.
“Can I chase?” Able Three asked Tommy. “I’ve got one of these bastards dead to rights.”
“Negative,” Tommy replied. “Stay with me and the bombers.”
“Roger, boss, but I was all set to buy the beer tonight.”
Who’d buy the beer was the last thing on Tommy’s mind right now.
*****
They were halfway across the Korean peninsula—nearly thirty minutes of flight time since bombs away—and the North Korean aircraft still dogged them. Now they’d taken to splitting their numbers and performing simultaneous multiple feints toward the American formation. They never went through with the attacks, but it was obvious what they were up to:
“They’re trying to sucker all of us away from the bombers at the same time,” Tommy told his pilots. “We’re not falling for that.”
The Yaks were down to five now; besides the four that had been destroyed in combat, one had dropped out of the fight and was headed north.
Mechanical squawks, probably, Tommy thought. Let him run.
The six Lavs still lurked at a much lower altitude. They had yet to make a move against the bombers.
These gooks are looking for that one moment when neither Able nor Baker Flight will be able to cut off an attack on the Twenty-Nines. It could happen, too, in that little bit of time when we switch off from top cover to pursuit. Then those Lavs just might pop up and have the bombers to themselves.
It would take less than a minute…and they could do a whole world of damage to the Superforts.
But suppose we change our tactics a little? What would happen if we went after both groups simultaneously? The odds aren’t bad—there are only a few more of them than there are of us. The way the Koreans scatter every time we come down on them, our bombers wouldn’t have too much to worry about…
And I’m not real worried about any other gooks showing up. Hell, we must have half the serviceable aircraft in the North Korean Air Force up here with us right now. The way they’re hanging around, they’re not worried much about fuel, so they must be from nearby bases, like Kimpo and Kaesong. The rest of their ships must be at bases much farther north…
So let’s do it.
He didn’t get any opposition from his pilots when he told them the new plan. In fact, they seemed positively eager, each wanting to be the guy buying the beer to celebrate his kill.
Hellfire Leader didn’t sound enthusiastic about the idea, but he was getting tired of these Yaks and Lavochkins tagging along. Like Tommy, he wasn’t worried about any more Korean aircraft joining the party, either.
Able Flight took on the Yaks.
Baker Flight dove down to deal with the Lavs.
The gunners on board the bombers watched anxiously, wary of any stray Korean ships that might slip away from the impending melee and take a shot at them.
A Lav quickly fell to the guns of an F-84. The remaining five dove for the deck and headed west at full throttle, quitting the fight.
The American jets finally had numerical superiority: eight of them to five Yaks. Able Flight attacked and scattered those Yaks once again. Two of them were trailing smoke; like the Lavs, they dove for a lower altitude and fled to the west.
The remaining three Koreans regrouped, using their ability to turn well inside the jets. In a ragged line formation, they made another run at the B-29s.
But they had too much distance to cover before they’d be on the tails of the bombers. Using their speed, both flights of F-84s circled behind the Yaks, catching them well before they were within striking range of the Twenty-Nines.
One Yak promptly disintegrated in a hail of bullets from Baker Two.
The next Yak to fall met her fate when, trying to turn away from Able Two, she flew directly into Tommy Moon’s gunsight reticle. It only took a quick burst from his .50 calibers to knock her down.
There was one Yak left. She managed to slip unscathed through a hail of bullets from the jets and crawl up on the tail of a B-29. There, she flew into streams of gunfire from the bomber’s tail gunner and lower aft turret. It was an especially easy shot for the tail gunner; there was practically no deflection to consider.
His bullets mortally wounded the Yak. She fell away like a piece of refuse discarded from the bomber stream.
The battle was over. The eastern coast of Korea was in sight. In a little over an hour, they’d be on the ground in Kyushu.
Despite their victory, the fight had still taken a toll on Tommy and his pilots. Baker Two was losing fuel; a tank had been ruptured by gunfire or the flying debris of a shattered enemy aircraft. She’d never have enough left to make it across the wide Tsushima Strait. Afraid she wouldn’t make it to K-9 at Pusan, the pilot turned her south for an emergency landing at Taegu’s K-2 airfield.
For Tommy Moon, the toll manifested itself as a nagging worry. He found the F-84 to be a good aircraft, very smooth on the controls, a stable and reliable gun platform.
But that stability dooms her as a dogfighter. Every combat turn we did was graceful as hell…but agonizingly wide. It takes too damn long to get back into the fight after making a gun pass. Only our speed advantage and experience allowed us to prevail today.
Flying against other jets, though—more maneuverable ones, maybe faster, too—you might as well kiss your ass goodbye in an F-84.
Chapter Four
As the crow flies, it was only a distance of thirty miles from Masan to 26th Regiment at Miryang. But it had taken Sean Moon more than twenty-four hours—most of that spent waiting around to hitchhike on helicopters—to get back to his old unit once dismissed from advising the Marine Corps tankers.
As Sean walked into the regimental CP, Patchett threw up his hands as if rejoicing and said, “Well, as I live and breathe…the prodigal son returns at long last. I tell you, boy…we figured you hopped a slow boat back to Brooklyn. What the hell took you so damn long, Bubba? You coulda walked faster than that.”
“No shit, Patch,” Sean replied as he threw his kit into a corner. “Nobody—and I mean nobody—was headed directly this way. Not a convoy or a helicopter, not even a padre in a jeep making his rounds of the true believers. I had to grab two rides on the eggbeaters…one to Pusan, and then another one to here, finally. It was typical hurry up and wait bullshit. But something big’s gonna break any second…you can smell it. Every swinging dick in Pusan is jumping through his asshole…and whatever they were busy with didn’t include playing bus driver for some tanker sergeant. But I’m here now, so where do you need me?”
“The tank company’s at the holding area behind Hill Two-Seven-Three,” Patchett said, pointing to the tank park’s goose egg on the wall map. “Colonel Miles is over there right now. I reckon he might want to meet up with you ASAP.”
*****
Jock Miles got right to the point. “We need your expertise, Sergeant Moon. Captain Stokely and I are trying to work out what our tanks’ basic load should consist of. The latest ammo drop gave us some options we haven’t had before.”
“Let me guess, sir,” Sean replied. “We finally got the willy petes and sabot rounds we’ve been begging for?”
“Affirmative, Sergeant.”
“Hallelujah. How many of each?”
Captain Stokely, the tank company commander, read out the breakdown.
“Okay, sir,” Sean said. “A little lighter on the sabots than I’d like to be, but we’re in real good shape on the rest. How about we break it down this way…each tank loads up with forty HE, ten HEAT, fifteen willy petes, and five sabots? That’ll fill up the racks. Put the sabots all the way in back of the rack, because they’re the lightest. Makes it easier for the loaders if the heavier rounds are right up front.”
But he could tell Captain Stokely wasn’t crazy about the idea. “I’d rather have the bulk of our high-explosive anti-tank and sabot rounds in the lead tanks, Sergeant, not evenly divided throughout the company like you say.”
It was Sean’s turn to be unenthusiastic. “Once the shit hits the fan, Captain, there’s no telling which tanks will end up in the lead. Better the ammo loads are balanced out to begin with.”
“I still don’t like it, Sergeant. If we have tanks that use up all their supply of one type, we can always bring up the ammo carrier or transfer rounds tank-to-tank.”
“Negative, sir. Neg-a-tive. It’s better to just move tanks around than be humping rounds from one turret to another. That’s a lot of unnecessary, backbreaking work for our guys. And if the lead’s flying, it’s way too dangerous to be doing shit out in the open if we don’t have to.”
Jock broke the impasse. “Sergeant Moon’s plan makes a lot of sense to me, Captain. I suggest you implement it immediately.”
As the colonel drove off, Stokely said, “I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time, Sergeant Moon. It’s just that some of what you’re suggesting isn’t SOP.”
“SOP’s only good if it keeps you alive, Captain. And whoever wrote the hymnal you’re singing from obviously ain’t been to Korea.”
“Maybe so, Sergeant, but I’ve got a question for you. When do you think is the best time to use a sabot round?”
