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INTRODUCTION

From 1953 through the 1970s, the United States Air Force Aerospace Defense Command’s

(ADC) 552nd Airborne Early Warning and Control Wing was located at McClellan Air Force

Base in Sacramento, California. They flew the then ultra-sophisticated, electronic-laden

Lockheed EC-121D prop-driven aircraft. The EC-121D was an airborne radar and control

platform with the APS-95 search radar, APS-45 height finder, IFF/SIF (Identification Friend or

Foe - Selective Identification Feature), interrogation equipment and a multitude of navigation

and communication gear.

Their primary mission was to provide early warning of enemy aircraft trying to penetrate the

U.S. Western Coast Air Defense Identification Zone (ADIZ). As a secondary mission they were

responsible for controlling the interception of enemy aircraft by friendly interceptors.

However, in the spring of 1965 two F-105s were shot down over North Vietnam by enemy MIG

aircraft. These were the first two USAF aircraft to be lost in air combat over the North in this

quickly escalating war. Because of this incident, it became clear that early detection of enemy

aircraft was an absolute necessity. Since the most northern land-based radar station at Da Nang

Air Base was inadequate to do the job, the USAF decided to bring in their airborne radar and

control platforms. Thus, a detachment of the 552nd’s EC-121Ds were quickly deployed from

McClellan AFB to South Vietnam.

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The main support base was established in Tainan, Taiwan, but their in-theater operations were

flown from Tan Son Nhut Air Base, South Vietnam. Later the operations were moved to Ubon,

Udorn, and finally Korat, Air Base, Thailand. The operations were originally code named ‘Big

Eye’, but were re-designated ‘College Eye’ in 1967.

The following is a personal account by Donald E. Born (then a USAF Captain) of a typical

EC-121D radar mission flown in the Gulf of Tonkin, 35 miles off the coast of Haiphong Harbor,

North Vietnam.

EC-121 MISSION 12 July 1968

Our mission begins with the shattering sound of an alarm clock going off at 2 am. Seems as if

we just crawled into the sack, surely it can’t be time to get up already! But it is, and a 2 am

wake-up is necessary for a 5 am take-off. Slowly, and in some cases with a little nudging, six

sets of feet hit the wooden planked floor and begrudgingly make their way to the head. Here the

painful chore of shaving is done with the minimum amount of effort and the maximum amount of

complaining.

The six of us officers, myself as aircraft commander,

my co-pilot, two navigators and two weapons

controllers bunk together in a reasonable

comfortable hootch with a window air conditioner,

which works only some of the time. The rest of our

crew is made up of twelve enlisted men - two flight

engineers, a radioman, two radar technicians and

seven radar operators. They are bunked in the

enlisted men’s barracks with no air conditioner, on

the other side of the base.

One by one the six of us slowly begin to take shape

as aviators. We slip into our flight suits, pull on our

jungle boots, strap on our 38 caliber revolvers, sling

our survival vests over our shoulders and prod off at

half speed to breakfast.

Now, breakfast here at Kaboom (Korat Air Base

Officers’ Open Mess), is usually the same every day,

powdered scrambled eggs made with powdered milk,

dry toast and bitter coffee. Or, if you like, cereal

with powdered milk, dry toast and bitter coffee.

Once in a while, we get lucky and have the treat of

real milk and real eggs flown in from Australia. It is

now 3 am and our van is out front to take us to

College Eye Operations where we will meet the rest

of our enlisted crew for our pre-flight briefing.

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“Scarf it down,” I said, “and let’s get moving ---- we don’t want to hold up the war.”

With this incentive, what’s left of the powdered eggs are dropped and we head out for the Op’s

van. The ride to operations is broken with some small talk, but no one is really awake enough to

take on any great philosophical conversations. For the most part, we ride in silence. Upon

arrival we are handed today’s classified ‘canned’ mission profile folder. ‘Canned’ meaning that

our 5 am take-off is SOP or Standard Operating Procedure, our route of flight -- SOP, station

assumption at 7am -- SOP and of course, our return route -- SOP. But what does make each

mission ‘un-canned’ are those variables over which we have no direct control, such as enroute

and on-station weather, early morning B-52 bomber strikes, naval ship-to-shore artillery firings,

and a host of on-station emergencies ranging from an excited appeal from a fighter jock for a

tanker hook-up to the dreaded sound of ‘Mayday, Mayday.’

“Will everyone please take their seats,” I announced. “We’ve got a lot to cover this morning.”

With everyone accounted for, we begin with a general overview of our mission objectives.

Today we will be flying an elliptical orbit over the Gulf of Tonkin about 35 miles off the coast of

Haiphong Harbor. Here we will undertake a variety of duties aimed at assisting all USAF

operations over North Vietnam.

We will monitor the morning and afternoon F-105 strike forces while they are on target, warning

them of enemy MIG aircraft and when they stray too close to the Chinese border. As they come

off target, we will then serve as a relay center through which they can transmit their strike

results to the 7th Air Force Headquarters.

We will also advise the F-4 fighter escorts (MIG Cap Patrol), who will be flying protective cover

for the strike forces, of any enemy MIG aircraft in their vicinity and then vector them into an

intercept position. And, we will directly control two other F-4 fighter escorts, who will be flying

high cover for us, as well as any other unarmed support aircraft operations in the Gulf. Lastly,

when necessary, we will help in arranging for in-flight refueling, assistance to crippled aircraft,

and help in locating downed crew members.

With the general overview behind us we move on to the weather, where we get our briefing via

closed circuit TV from the base weather station. The weather in Vietnam is always the same, in

fact it is more ‘SOP’ than our missions - hot and humid, with scattered thunderstorms building

to 30,000 feet, and rain squalls likely in the Gulf!

Following the weather, the navigator gives us today’s station fix and our initial outbound

heading. As with state-side missions, the pilots will do all of their own navigation over land

using VORs, VORTACs, and DMEs. The navigator will control our positioning from land out-

bound to station, turns and headings on station, and then our return to landfall. Most of this is

done using LORAN (Long Range Navigation), which cross fixes our location off of two land-

based stations.

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Last, but not least, the weapons controller briefs us on his portion of the mission. Here he

announces the times of the morning and afternoon strike forces (which vary from day to day), the

number of sorties per strike, and if there are other additional operations for which we are

responsible. All in all, it is his mission, we are only putting his radar platform in a position

where he and his crew can give the best possible assistance to all aircraft involved.

With the briefing over, we hustle outside and into our blue Air Force school bus for the short

ride down to the flight line. By this time everyone is awake and the conversation is more vivid

than it was earlier this morning. The talk has already turned toward ‘What are we going to do

tonight after we get back?’ But before that question gets an answer, the bus lurches to a stop

alongside of our aircraft.

“Looks like we got ‘Triple Nickel’ today, Sir,” one of the flight engineers says to me.

‘Triple Nickel’ is the nickname of aircraft number 53-555 and is the only ‘Connie’ on the flight

line to have a personality of her own. In reality, she is probably no better or no worse than any

of the other aircraft we fly, but we always feel a little more at home when we fly her.

As I begin to climb up the ramp, I can’t help but take a long look at this graceful lady called

‘Connie.’ She is loving, she is forgiving, she is truly a lady, yet she is also rugged. Rough

landings are somewhat common after 10 to 12 hour-long missions, since pilots are tired, sweaty

and bored, but never-the-less, she takes all of our abuse and she never complains. Suddenly a

nudge from behind reminds me, that I’m now the one who is ‘Holding up the war.’ Bringing

myself back to reality, I continue the climb up to the rear crew door.

The aircraft’s 781 log book looks clean except for a few minor discrepancies that really won’t

affect our mission. Putting the log book aside, I head back down the ramp to do the ‘outside pre-

flight’ inspection while the co-pilot does the inside. I’ve always liked the ‘outside pre-flight’

because it gets me outside into the fresh air, and for the fact that we are going to be cooped-up

inside for several hours anyway.

Starting at the trailing edge of the left wing, I inspect the Fowler flaps, ailerons and the tip tank

perched precariously out on the tip of the wing. Sometimes I wonder what keeps it up there,

what keeps it from making the wing droop? ‘Oh well,’ I sigh, as I move on to the huge 18

cylinder Curtiss-Wright R3350 Turbo-Compound engines.

Now, if the ‘Connie’ does have a drawback it would be her engines. They have to be treated like

a lady! They have to be pampered and nursed and flown by the charts. Yet, if you take good

care of them, they will take good care of you. Her engine-out performance is legendary. She

will fly on three engines just as easy as she will fly on four, as most ‘Connie’ pilots will tell you.

After visually inspecting engines #1 and #2, I make my way back to the left main landing gear

where I literally climb up inside the wheel well. Now, in the tropics the sun comes up early, but

not this early; I still need a flashlight up here to look for hydraulic oil leaks, fuel leaks and to

check two of the four bottles of BromoTri-Fluoromethane fire extinguishing agents.

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Carefully climbing down off the dual tires so as not to break my neck or ego, I continue on

toward the center of the aircraft. Hanging down from its belly is the enormous swimming-pool

shaped fiberglass radome. In it is housed the APS-95 search radar antenna which is the

backbone and mainstay of the EC-121D's mission. Without an operational antenna, we might

just as well scrub the entire mission and go back to bed.

In the nose of the aircraft is yet another radar antenna. It is the pilot’s weather radar, which

comes in handy for picking our way through those towering late afternoon thunderstorms that

are so common to this part of the world.

Moving down the right side and around to the rear, I inspect the horizontal stabilizer and the

three large vertical fins. The ‘Connie’ has many trademarks which make her unique and the

three large vertical fins are one of them. They give the pilot good directional control on

landings, especially during those late afternoon thunderstorms or engine-out approaches. They

might take a lot of leg power, but I always feel like I’m in control.

During this same time, the other crew members are also doing their own ‘pre-flight’ inspections.

From the flight engineers to the radar technicians, they all have a role to play in making sure

that the aircraft and its equipment are ready and capable of performing its mission. When all of

these inspections are completed, the rear crew door is closed, the ramp taken away and the

‘Before Starting Engines’ checklist is begun.

“Turning Number 3,” calls the Flight Engineer.

In order to clear the lower cylinders of overnight oil seepage, we count six turns of the prop

before the overhead mag switch is turned ‘On.’ With contact now being made, the mighty

Wright groans for a few more turns and then belches a cloud of smoke which engulfs the entire

wing as the engine finally catches. After repeating the same procedure on the other three

engines and receiving

basically the same

response, we have all four

engines running smoothly.

With four running and taxi

clearance, we venture

slowly forward, weaving

our 140,000 pounds of

aircraft around the other

‘Connies’ parked on the

apron. Once clear, we

proceed down the taxiway

and notice that we are not

the only ones who are up

at this early morning

hour.

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The F-105’s armament people are up loading bombs on their birds, preparing them for the

morning strike force. They give us the universal ‘Thumbs-Up’ as we roll on past them toward

the run-up area.

Pulling into the run-up area, we slowly apply the brakes and smoothly advance the power in

order to let the aircraft pivot forward on the landing gear till it is ‘up on the step.’ This is yet

another trademark of the ‘Connie’ - its main gear actually pivots during landing, thereby

absorbing some of the initial touchdown shock. The reason we put her ‘up on the step’ during

engine run-up is because, if we don’t, she will suddenly ‘lurch’ up on the step by herself as

power is applied for the mag checks.

With the mag checks completed, we pull back the throttles, ease the ‘Connie’ down off the step

and continue with the ‘Before Take-off’ checklist.

“Trim Tabs ---- ?”

“Checked and set for takeoff.”

“Flight controls ---- ?”

“Free and clear.”

And on through the checklist with the co-pilot calling out each item by item from the scroll

mounted to the top of the instrument panel.

“Mixture ---- ?”

“Full Rich.”

“Before Takeoff checklist completed, sir.”

With the checklist completed, the panel clock at 4:55 am and the crew in their seats, we are now

ready for take-off.

“Korat Tower, this is College Eye 53-555 ready for takeoff.”

“Roger, College Eye 555, you are cleared for an immediate take off. Have a good day,”

replies the tower.

With a short PA announcement to the crew that we are rolling, all four throttles are moved

simultaneously forward to their stops. The four engines slowly begin to roar. We are asking

these engines to put forth every ounce of horsepower that they have in their 18 cylinders. They

strain hard as they pull us forward, faster and faster down the runway, spewing blue fire back

over the wings.

“85 . . . 95 . . . 105 …,” the co-pilot calls out. “Vee-One!”

Silence is uttered by the flight engineer on the console, indicating all systems are ‘GO.’ We

continue to accelerate.

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We are now past the point of no return -- ‘V-One,’ that point at which we can still stop in the

remaining runway should we have trouble -- we are committed to a take-off!

“115 . . . 120 . . . lift off,” the co-pilot proclaims!

With this proclamation, I instinctively begin to pull the yoke back to physically fly the aircraft off

the ground, but before I have a chance, ‘Connie’ gracefully lifts herself off the runway as if she

had a mind of her own. Taken back somewhat, I finally call for ‘Gear Up’ and the co-pilot, who

has been waiting for the call, sharply moves the gear handle to the ‘Up’ position.

“Gear up and locked,” he returns.

With the end of the runway passing beneath us and the airspeed climbing to 130 knots, the call

for METO power (Maximum Continuous Except for Takeoff), signals to the flight engineer that

the throttles and engines are now his.

It is now up to him to make all power

settings and to take total charge of

those four Curtiss-Wrights until we

once again entered the landing

pattern. After reaching 500 feet, we

retract the flaps, allow the aircraft to

accelerate to 165 knots and then set

climb power.

As we level off at our cruise altitude,

the sun is beginning to emerge in the

eastern sky and we can just begin to

make out the countryside below. One

of the several ironies of this war is

the awesome beauty of the

countryside below. The mountains

and valleys are lush with greenery and give the appearance that all is at peace. But one has only

to look ahead and see the stark contrast of the massive destruction laid down by the B-52

bombing strikes. Wherever they have been, there is absolutely nothing left but a few spindly

sticks of what was once this same beautiful countryside.

Another irony is the enticing white sandy beaches that now stretch beneath our aircraft as far as

the eye can see. White beaches with warm waves gently rolling up and touching the sand, as if

asking for someone to come out and play. Yet, there is no one, no one in sight – no one has the

time to play in war and no one can trust in war to play!

“Navigator to Pilot ---- Navigator to Pilot, we are passing the coastline outbound, turn left to a

heading of 350 and descend to 5000 feet.”

“Roger left to 350 and descending.”

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The sun has been up for almost an hour now and is quickly bringing the new day alive. The

radios are also coming alive as more and more traffic starts to fill the sky. We are not the only

aircraft heading up into the Gulf this morning. On any given morning there may be several

reconnaissance aircraft going into North Vietnam for a pre-strike photo run, ECM aircraft, or

swarms of Navy helicopters hopping from one ship to another like grasshoppers.

The radar crew has been monitoring this air and voice traffic for some time now, even though we

aren’t officially on station yet. As we get closer, however, they will come up to full strength and

officially sign on.

There are three different radar stations that can be flown. Depending on the daily mission

requirements of Headquarters, 7th Air Force, one, two or all three stations can be flown by

individual aircraft. Alpha and Bravo stations are located in the Gulf of Tonkin approximately 35

miles east of Haiphong Harbor. Charlie station is located over the Plain of Jars in Laos.

Alpha station is flown between 50 and 300 feet above the water depending on where we can get

the best radar returns. We fly at this low altitude in order to bounce the radar signals off the

water at an upward angle to clear the mountains along the coast. This gives us a better radar

return with the least amount of ground clutter.

Bravo station is flown at a higher altitude between 5,000 and 11,000 feet. This allows a longer

look into North Vietnam, but it also picks up more ground clutter to interfere with the radar’s

raw returns

Charlie station is flown over Laos

west of North Vietnam at

approximately 14,000 feet. Between

the two stations in the Gulf on the

east side and Charlie on the west

side, we can cover almost the entire

North Vietnam up to and including

the Chinese boarder.

This morning we will be flying the

Alpha low station, so we will continue

our slow decent all the way down to

50 feet above the water. Now, 50 feet

above the water may be great for the

radar crew, but it does have its

drawbacks for the flight crew! There

are Navy ships in the gulf and we

literally have to climb up and over

them. At times I feel like we are

making a broadside torpedo run upon

them and I would imagine that a good

many sailors have the same feeling.

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It is also one thing to pop-up and over

them in clear weather, but quite a

different story during a rain squall. And

there are always rain squalls in the gulf!

Not only do we fly over Navy ships, but

from time to time we come upon foreign

freighters heading for Haiphong Harbor,

as well as fleets of North Vietnamese

fishing junks. I’m sure there have been

times that we came close to capsizing a

few of those junks with our prop wash.

While flying at this low altitude both

pilots remain in their seats at all times.

We do not even leave our seats for a

restroom break. By the time we pull off

station, we can literally wring water of one type or another out of our flight suits. We also use

the autopilot while on station, because it is more reliable and can hold altitude more accurately

than we human pilots. It also has quicker reaction time, especially in rough air. Even though

we do use the auto-pilot, we still rest both hands on the control wheel with our forefinger

covering the cutoff switch in case of a malfunction.

These missions are also very hard on the maintenance crews. The aircraft returns from a

mission caked with salt water residue and has to be completely washed down from nose to tail.

The salt spray is not only corrosive to the aircraft fuselage, but it’s even worse on the engines.

Because of this low altitude, we burn an abnormal amount of fuel per hour. Therefore, in order

to remain on station through the afternoon strike, we have to fly back down to Dan Nang Air

Base to refuel after the

morning strike. This is always

a welcome break in the action

and a chance for everyone to

stretch their legs. We are

only on the ground long

enough to refuel, however,

and then it’s back up on

station to be ready for the

afternoon fireworks.

Unfortunately, the flight

engineers do not get to share

in this enjoyment, as it is their

lot to supervise the refueling

and to make a final hand-dip

of all the tanks.

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Several weeks ago, as we were making an approach to Da Nang from the south, we took several

rounds of small arms fire in the starboard wing, tip tank and rear tail section. Fortunately no

one was hit and no major damage was done. The Huey helicopters immediately came out and

scoured the area, but could find nothing, the Viet Cong had already disappeared. We had to

abort the afternoon mission, however, and return home somewhat crippled.

This afternoon’s mission hasn’t been aborted though and having been refueled, we have been

back up on station for several hours now, flying round and round, boring endless holes in the

sky. The strike force is already in on target and should be returning soon. As soon as they are

all out and accounted for, we can then turn south and head for home.

“Weapons Controller to Pilot ---- Weapons Controller to Pilot, would you come up on our

frequency? We have a lot of action going on and I think you should listen in!”

“Roger, we’re switching now,” I respond

as I reach up and twirl the knobs

overhead.

Almost immediately the cockpit is filled

with tense, rapid fire radio chatter.

“Break hard right, there’s a MIG on

your tail!”

“Where the H ---- did he come from?”

“Hang on, I’m coming to help.”

“There’s three more at nine o’clock ----

they’re coming straight in!”

“Thud Flight to MIG Cap, we’ve been

jumped by a flight of four MIGs ----

where are you? MIG Cap Patrol, do you read?”

Silence.....

“Thud Flight ---- this is College Eye, MIG Cap Patrol is twenty miles due south, we’re

vectoring them up.”

“Well tell ‘em to put it in afterburner, College Eye!”

“Roger Thud Flight ---- MIG Cap is five miles due south and has you in sight ---- good luck.”

Silence.....

Silence.....

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“College Eye, College Eye, this is Phantom Flight, we’re low on fuel and number two is

crippled. Can you find us a gas station?”

“Roger Phantom Flight, we’ll call the tankers and tell them to head north, pronto. Can your

crip make it home?”

“If he gets a quick hook up!”

Pause.....

“Phantom Flight ---- tankers two-three-zero degrees at 130 nautical miles, 17,000 feet and

heading your way.”

“Roger College Eye, we’re on our way.”

Pause.....

Pause.....

“Phantom Flight ---- tankers

now 190 degrees at 10, turning

south for a straight in hook-up.”

“Tally-ho on the tankers, College

Eye ---- thanks for the help.”

Silence.....

Silence.....

“College Eye ---- this is Helio 57,

we’re heading inland with two

A-1 escorts. We’re homing in on

a beeper of a downed pilot. Any

enemy traffic in the area?”

“Roger Helio 57 ---- we’re painting some traffic north of you at 50 nautical miles. We’ll keep

an eye on them for you.”

Pause.....

“Helio 57, traffic appears to be two enemy MIGs ---- zero-one-five at 35 nautical miles,

heading your way.”

“Roger College Eye, we’ll drop down into this haze layer. I hope it’ll hide us!”

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“Traffic, zero-two-zero at 20.”

“Traffic, zero-two-zero at 10.”

“Traffic, zero-two-zero at 5.”

“Helio 57, you’re all clear. Traffic

has turned and heading back north.”

“Roger College Eye, thanks for the

warning.”

Pause.....

Pause.....

“We’ve made contact with the

downed pilot, we’re going in for the hoist.”

Pause.....

Pause.....

“College Eye, this is Helio 57 ---- we’ve made a clean pick-up, he’s in good shape and we’re

hightailing it to the coast.”

“Roger Helio 57, you’re clear all the way ---- have a good evening.”

“And the same to you College Eye!”

As I sit here and listen to the small part that we have just contributed to today’s effort, I fully

realize that these are the times when the early morning get-ups for the early morning take-offs

and the long hours of going round-and-round in circles are all worthwhile.

“Weapons Controller to Pilot, the last aircraft is out ---- what do you say we go home?”

“Sounds great to me!”

With this we begin our trek back home and thoughts of a hot shower. The flight home always

seems longer than the flight out, maybe it’s because the anticipation is now gone and the fatigue

has set in. Or, maybe it’s the insidious onset of darkness that the setting sun produces. In any

event, the talk always slows down on the way home and we all settle back into ourselves.

The radar crew has signed off station and has closed out all of their logs. They are now quietly

relaxing, just waiting out the trip home. The trip home has been uneventful with the exception

that we have been watching thunderstorms slowly but steadily building in front of us. The sky is

getting darker and darker as the sun begins to set, making the intensity of the approaching

storms seem even worse.

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“Descent Checklist,” I call out

above the sound of the storms!

“Mixtures ---- ?”

“Full Rich.”

“Descent Power ---- ?”

“2400 RPM.”

“Flaps ---- ?”

“60%.”

On down we proceed, skirting

around one thunderstorm cell and

then another, banking first this

way and then that way. Lightning

flashes light up the sky,

silhouetting yet more build-ups

before us. Invariably, thunderstorms always seem to locate themselves right over the approach

end of the runway, daring us to penetrate, and today is no exception. It’s a welcome sight as we

pick up the strobes between the rain drops and the windshield wipers. They are like hands gently

reaching out and guiding us home to a safe landing.

“Flaps full, gear down and locked,” the co-pilot enunciates.

The sun is now gone and the rain is hard, yet the touchdown is smooth. Nose wheel held off ‘til

it wants to fall, then I gently set it down. I reach for the reversing throttles and give a firm

upward and rearward motion, not necessarily looking at any particular instrument, just listening

for a sound, then forward again till the sound is gone. ‘Triple Nickel’ has brought us home

safely one more time.

One more mission for the tally board, one more mission for my log

book and one more mission, that I hope, helped someone else to have

‘one more mission.’

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POST SCRIPT

By the end of the American involvement in Vietnam, College Eye had controlled over 210,000

aircraft, issued 700 MIG warnings, flown 4,713 combat missions for 48,954 combat hours and

perhaps most importantly, assisted in the recovery of 80 downed US aircrew members.

The EC-121D, 53-555 ‘Triple Nickel’ referred to in the above story has found a home in the

permanent collection of The National Museum of the United States Air Force at Wright-

Patterson Air Force Base, Dayton, Ohio.

Note: To view an image of 53-555 ‘Triple Nickel’ and some information about the aircraft, visit

the Air Force Museum site at:

http://www.wpafb.af.mil.

This article was reprinted with the permission of Donald E. Born. Donald has over 4,500 hours

flying EC-121Ds both stateside and in Vietnam and the Museum’s aircraft, EC-121D 53-555

accounts for a good portion of that time.

DONALD E. BORN

6917 Royal Oakland Way

Indianapolis, IN 46235

317-823-6917

don@bornaviation.com

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