Bright Lights At Tan Son Nhut

Bright Lights at Tan Son Nhut

During, my 30 day stints in Vietnam, I generally carried a 38 revolver in a shoulder holster every where I went, particularly traveling back and forth by bus or cab to Tan Son Nhut Airbase, in Saigon. One morning when I got off duty, as Operations Officer for in-country C-130 flights, I was advised that there would be a dusk to dawn curfew, so I decided to return to work early that afternoon, to relieve my counterpart while it was still light. Since I would be traveling both ways during daylight hours, I decided not to take the 38. Bad decision.

C-130

About midnight things got unusually quiet. Normally, it was quite noisy inside of our trailer, on the ramp next to the runway, because of the constant roar of 130 engines and the sound of their loud high pitched ground power units. However, at this time we had five 130s shut down on the ramp, while loading, and another had just taxied away towards the runway. Suddenly, there was a sound of "whump" and the trailer shook. I thought someone had bumped into the trailer. This happened frequently. Then there was another whump and shake, and I looked over at Sgt. Langston, a good ole boy from Punta Gorda, FL,who was my helper, and said, "Langston, that sounded just like---" I was cut off by a loud explosion and violent rocking of the trailer. Langston and I looked at each other for a second, then he said, "It was." I immediately regretted not having the 38 and knew Langston didn't have a weapon. I told him to check the back of the trailer for one, while I went to the door and looked out. It was bright as day, because the large (five story) fuel tank located a couple hundred yards away, had been hit with a rocket, and there was a stream of burning fuel arching downward from the hole. About that time, the 130 that had just left the ramp radioed in and said that they were ready for take off but couldn't contact the tower for clearance to take off. (The people in the tower had wisely bailed out at the first shot.) I asked the pilot if he had seen any rounds hit the runway and he said “negative”. Then I told the pilot he was cleared to take off, recommend lights out. He said “roger taking off, lights out” then thanked me and was gone. I worried a little that he might get hit on take off, but felt he was a sitting duck out there, with engines running. Langston came back up front with a M16 carbine, and we headed for a sandbagged shelter about 100 yards behind the trailer. Just as we rounded the back of the trailer, a mortar round went off in front of the bunker. Two GI's, watching the show, were hit, and others dragged them into the bunker. Langston said, "Wrong way", did a 180 and headed for the pallets of cargo on the ramp in front of the trailer. As I was following him another mortar round hit some distance away, but I could see sparks from the shrapnel skipping across the concrete ramp. One small piece caught me in the leg. I knew it wasn't serious because I didn't even break stride. When we "hunkered down" among the pallets I checked and there was only a puncture wound. When I pulled the hot four inch sliver of shrapnel out, Langston was elated and said, "Hey, you get the purple heart". I was very lucky because that piece of metal could have done serious damage, if I had been closer to the burst.

For a while, we sat there and watched the show, thankful that the little guys in black pajamas were not over-running the base.

Viet Cong

Pretty soon, "Puff the Magic Dragon" appeared. Puff was a C-47 with three Gatling Guns mounted on the left side of the plane. The pilot would bank the aircraft and point the wing at the target, then pull the trigger. All three guns would fire simultaneously. Tracer bullets made it looked like a river of fire, or a dragon's tongue reaching from the plane to the ground.

Puff the magic dragon AC-47

Most of the activity appeared to be at the other end of the airfield where the fighter aircraft were, but there didn't appear to be much damage. After about 15 minutes the firing tapered off.

One of the 130 pilots, who had taken shelter in the bunker, came to check on us and his plane. I told him that I was concerned about the five 130s parked on the ramp because of the burning fuel still pouring out of the damaged fuel tank. Three months earlier we had to clear the ramp because that tank was leaking, but not on fire. He agreed we had a problem and returned to the bunker to get some more help. He found three more pilots and crew chief. Each of the pilots and the crew chief took a plane and I took the fifth plane (after the crew chief started it for me) across the runway to the bomb dump. It was fortunate that we were able to move the planes, because the burning fuel did eventually reach the area where two of them had been parked.

We were quite lucky that night. It turned out that three fourths of the mortar rounds that had been fired that night were duds, one. The VC had apparently buried the ammunition in caches, for years, and then dug them up for the attack. One of the mortar sites was within 100 yards of the front gate of the base. The Vietnamese QCs (guards) were immediately and permanently replaced by Air Force MP's. That was the first attack on Tan Son Nhut. I got to watch the second one a year later from the top of our villa, 3 miles away. Taking it easy while sipping martinis!

I will never forget how very fortunate I was, to be able to come home from Vietnam,----------------and will always remember the 58,000 heros—that didn't.

God Bless America