[Webmaster note: this article originally appeared in the Phantom Flyer, November 26, 1971. The Phantom Flyer was the official base newspaper at Ubon RTAFB, home of the 16th SOS. Additional notes related to this combat action have been added to the bottom of the document.]
The black of night reached in the past of the aircraft's windshield and halted at the edge of the instrument panel of an AC-130 nicknamed "Prometheus." On that panel, registered on dials and muted red lights, is a continuously unfolding summary of the health of the aircraft.
At the head of this complex nervous system, sits the aircraft commander (AC), serving as an interface between neural and electronic reporting systems. On that panel, also, is captured more than transient evidence of fuel used or of miles covered, for a perfectly flown aircraft is a testament to the skills of an entire wing. When some unexpected deviation occurs, however, it is only the men in the left of right-hand seats who can reestablish equilibrium. The meters merely query and record; the pilots assess and act.
Piloted and crewed by the men of the 16th Special Operations Squadron, "Prometheus" was 40 minutes away from Ubon RTAFB last week when an inflight emergency occurred.
At 1:45 a.m., a loud thump was heard throughout the aircraft. The instrument display before the aircraft commander, Captain Charles Baertl, remained unchanged except for the altimeter: it extravagantly reeled of 2,000 feet of altitude.
The second hand of the instrument panel clock now took on special significance for the crew.
The intercom momentarily erupted in noisy confusion and Captain Baertl invoked strict voice discipline. Composure regained, status reports began to come in: a ball of fire and sparks had been seen whipping past the right side of the aircraft. Baertl, at this point, decided to feather the props on the right hand side. The gauges on the center instrument panel indicated that the engines were still running. Master Sergeant Larry D. Stauty, flight engineer, visually checking the situation over, reported back that the props were gone; the crew was ordered to jettison several tons of excess cargo and equipment. Between damage assessment and the accomplishment of corrective action, the aircraft had lost another 1,000 feet.
But the struggle between dead weight, gravity and available engine power had shifted in favor of the AC-130 and its crew. The aircraft slowly regained some of its lost altitude and headed for home. It was still touch and go.
The disinterested clock's second hand had completed eight revolutions from the time the props had been shattered to the moment equilibrium was frantically restored.
In the rear of the aircraft, Major Jack McDonald's mind played with the unpleasant thought of "spending a night in a tree" and with all the potential inconvenience of it all. "I've got 21 days to my DEROS and this is a hell of a thing to happen, he mused."
Captain Baertl, equally interested in staying out of the trees, could not avoid the ironic thought that he was filling in for the regular aircraft commander, Captain Wilbur W. East, who was sick. He was a "Guest AC" for this flight. A man given to happier thoughts, though, he was grateful that he had flown the AC-130 to two engines beofoe during emergency simulation missions.
Pilot and co-pilot, Captain Dennis A. Carlson, began to plan ahead. They had to deal with ther looming problem of setting a 110,000 pound aircraft down on a runway, for they no longer enjoyed the luxury of slowing their landing roll with reversed props. Nearing home and into their final approach another problem arose: a third engine was starting to act up and it affected available power.
Touching down at last, Captain Baertl gingerly tried reversing the prop on his remaining inboard engine, but the maneuver caused the aircraft to drift 25 feet off the runway. Instead, he increased pressure on the brakes and steered for the center line.
When it finally came to a halt, the crew hurriedly evacuated the aircraft and permitted the fire department to attend to "Prometheus" smoking brakes.
It was left to the flight engineer to sum it all up: "Gentlemen, that was a routine two-engine landing."
In the cockpit, the instrument panel was dark; the indicator needles relaxed; and only the hands of the clock continued their endless rounds.
Following are some notes from a letter I received from Jack McDonald who was on the flight.
"I was flying Instructor BC, checking out a 'new guy' and was sitting on the deck behind the BC position. I was about half asleep, hooked up audio-wise with a Y-cord which had a short in it. I could hear interphone and communications, but I couldn't transmit. I heard 'rolling in' and '40-degree bank angle,' and then heard the TV say 'He's got his lights on.' I tried to yell 'flak trap' but couldn't transmit."
"About that time, BAM! Number 4 got its prop and gearbox blown off and pieces of it hit the #3 gear box and froze it and threw the #3 prop partially through the fuselage."
"Needless to say, we pulled off immediately. We informed 'moonbeam' that we had lost #3 and #4 and had to explain to them that 'no, we can't restart them -- they're still running but no props.'"
"We were just east of the Boloveres plateau, and skirted around the north edge of it, because we kept losing altitude. We threw overboard everything that wasn't tied down and finally managed to nurse it back across the fence, where Chuck made a beautiful two-engine landing. We ran off the runway and made a ground loop to stop -- couldn't reverse on just one side. Anyway, we made it."
1-5-00, Fairfax, VA