Tanker reunion

We were warriors once and proud. Now we are retired, mostly white-haired and still proud. It has been a gathering of a few of the men that served in the 902nd Air Refueling Squadron during the Vietnam war and our spouses. At that time, we and our young families proudly lived on Clinton Sherman AFB, near Burns Flat in western Oklahoma. We came together again in Tucson, Arizona, to celebrate our forever strong ties of brotherhood, to investigate how each of our lives have meandered throughout the intervening 42+ years and to affirm each other again over a beer or two.

Back in 1967, 1968, and 1969 we were all aircrew members flying the venerable KC-135, SAC's four jet engine "Stratotanker," then and now, the mainstay airborne refueling workhorse for our military. Usually loaded with fuel to the maximum allowed, we flew from bases in Guam, Okinawa, Thailand and Taiwan. We rendezvoused with our bombers over the Pacific Ocean north of the Philippines Islands on their way to drop their humongous bomb loads on targets in Vietnam. We met our fighters over the Gulf of Tonkin, South Vietnam, Thailand and (not admitted at the time) Laos.

Ours was a war conducted at 25,000 feet in air-conditioned comfort. The broad expanse of verdant green jungle below looked serene from our vantage except for an occasional burst of a "Willie Pete" white phosphorus shell. The jungle covered valleys and green topped mountains of Laos were forever shrouded with smoke from slash and burn agriculture. Night brought visage of artillery shells flashing explosions on unseen, to us, targets below. It seemed that every night mission also brought the eerie sight of brilliantly burning parachute flares illuminating some lonely outpost being attacked by a stealthy enemy. Day or night the radio chatter was almost constant from forward air controllers, Red Crown, and other tactical air controllers on UHF and long range HF even though we were monitoring only about half the radio spectrum in use.

We came to tell stories and reminisce of what we saw and experienced back then. We told again of our fellow pilot who collapsed unconscious after taking off from Kadena Air Base and how his copilot dumped fuel to a prescribed maximum weight then returned and landed the aircraft safely. We were proud of squadron mate Al Lewis and crew who went up into North Vietnam to meet an F-105 that stayed too long and flamed out just as he got on the boom to receive fuel. Al dived his tanker down so the gliding (like a rock) Thud could make a hookup and receive enough gas to restart his engine and then take on enough fuel to make it back home to Takhli and fight another day. We rehashed taking off a fully loaded tankers at U-Tapao, Royal Thai Air Base, Thailand on hot 110 degree days, rolling some 10,000+ feet on the 12,000-foot-long runway before breaking ground. We talked of shutting down a failed engine in the Gulf of Tonkin and limping back into Okinawa on the three remaining good engines, could have made it on two, "no problem." We spoke of meeting fuel-starved Navy aircraft, at low altitude near Haiphong in the Gulf of Tonkin, and being credited with saving eight aircraft and their crews while conducting the first ever Air Force/Navy air refueling, all unauthorized at the time.

Memory seems to sort out the bad and all the things we talked about had good outcomes. What we didn't speak of were the indiscretions on both ends and prolonged absences that caused failed marriages after we returned. We didn't talk of our fellow aircraft commander who crashed on Wake Island destroying an aircraft and a dozen lives deploying back home. We came not to bemoan how despite our efforts in the theater of operations the war was lost by cowards and traitors in the streets back home of our beloved America.

Other than flying our main topics for discussions were of sons, daughters and grandchildren that followed in our footsteps and are now flying and fighting in another theater of war. Like yours and mine, most of our offspring are forever civilians pursuing their dreams of working, dancing, selling, acting, lawyering or running businesses and even a few admitting to being politicians. Most of those present had successful civilian careers after leaving the military and just like every other proud parent/grandparent, our children and their children are the focus of our retired lives. None of us are heroes, we never aspired to fame, we simply came together to strengthen forever strong bonds of brotherhood while simply enjoying each other's company. Most present were in good health, slim and trim and our wives looked better than ever. Life even after seventy years of age is good!

Tucson touts itself as a destination to visit and enjoy especially in the years of retirement. Our reunion organizers set up tours of a couple of Tucson's prime attractions, especially for guys like us. We spent time in the Pima Air Museum a collection of primarily military aircraft, several of which I had the privilege of flying.

Next door we toured the military's "bone yard" where worn out obsolete aircraft are taken for cannibalizing, dismemberment and eventual recycling. It was a sad sight for me to gaze on the long rows of parked aerial steeds that are no longer useful to our Air Force, Navy, Army, Marines or Coast Guard. Most are cocooned with material to protect them from the brutal desert sunshine yet sit with dignity awaiting their final disposition. I don't get maudlin in an automobile junkyard but airplanes are another matter. Ah well, guilty as charged. I personally delivered five KC-97s to the bone yard in 1965 and they are all gone now. Aluminum ingots then made into beer cans. Recycle.

That is how I saw it.

Dick Trail