"The North Vietnamese 1968 Tet offensive was the most decisive battle of the war. It put an end to the illusion that U.S. intervention could result in an independent South Vietnam . . . and was the beginning of the end of U.S. involvement, despite the fact that the United States and its [South] Vietnamese ally won decisively on the battlefield."

Thus did Vietnam war historian Col. Harry G. Summers describe the communist offensive that became known as 'Tet of '68'. Beginning on January 31, NVA and Viet Cong forces launched a series of coordinated attacks across South Vietnam which, they believed, would culminate in a general uprising by the 'oppressed' southerners. That of course failed to occur and ultimately the communist forces took such heavy losses that the VC was effectively eliminated as a fighting force.

Whether Tet should be considered an American victory has long since become a moot point. A more important question is this: Was MACV caught off guard ? In an interview some months later, a 6994th spokesman admitted that, while ARDF had pointed to an upcoming operation, no one had made an outright prediction of the Tet offensive.

The 360th at Tan Son Nhut had almost a third of its aircraft temporarily put out of action the first night, with 3 others receiving minor damage. Despite enemy attacks all three TEWS continued to provide coverage throughout the offensive, although at least one enemy unit bluffed ARDF by leaving his transmitters close to the Cambodian border while the main force was actually advancing on Saigon.

Beginning with a view of Viet Cong sappers sprawled dead on the lawn of the U.S. embassy in downtown Saigon, the American public was treated to a close up look at the aftermath of Tet. The bitter fighting around the old imperial capital of Hue received nightly coverage on the television news, and the three-month siege of the Marine combat base at Khe Sanh evoked memories of the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu.

Thanks to American airpower, Khe Sanh did not become another Dien Bien Phu. Some 3 weeks before the Tet offensive began, MACV commander Gen. William C. Westmoreland ordered a massive and continuous bombing campaign—thus the name 'Niagara'— designed to annihilate the communist forces building up around Khe Sanh.

The first order of business was to locate the enemy forces. In many respects, Khe Sanh became the first 'electronic battlefield.' Various types of sensors dropped into the nearby forests revealed troop movements, and ground and airborne communications intercepts helped determine the enemy order of battle. The 'Drill Press' aircraft were again cited for their efforts and the ARDF birds no doubt made a significant contribution although most details, unhappily, remain classified.

In the end, the attackers suffered horrific losses from the unending cascade of bombs, but they made life at Khe Sanh a living hell for the better pat of 3 months. The only way in or out was by air, and the pilots of the cargo aircraft that provided the lifeline deserved every bit of the credit, and then some, they received for their remarkable efforts.

Throughout the war, one of the primary missions of the TEWS was to track enemy movements along the Ho Chi Minh trail. By the time of the Tet offensive, anti-aircraft defenses along the route were becoming formidable, and before long the Electric Goon would be among the victims.

In at least one case, the story had a happy ending. The following narrative was copied from the 361st TEWS history.

At 0545 hours, 11 Mar 68, Brew 41 took off from an RVN base [Nha Trang] on a classified combat mission. The EC-47 reached the target area on time, flying at 9,500 MSL. Fifty minutes later the crew heard a loud metallic crack, the aircraft lurched and immediately filled with dense blue smoke. A quick damage assessment revealed shrapnel holes in the left engine nacelle and wing, loss of all hydraulic systems and a rough running right engine.

The terrain was rough and mountainous, covered with forests, and no friendlies [were] in the area. Lt Col [Robert E.] Dobyns immediately set course for Pleiku, approximately 100 miles away. The [landing] gear had fallen free and there was a loss of power on both engines. After a few minutes the number two prop began to overspeed and for awhile it was controlled by the feathering button. The feathering system soon failed and so the engine was shut down. The propeller windmilled to a stop and the engine froze. The aircraft began losing altitude, 200 to 500 feet per minute.

In the meantime rescue had been alerted and Crown [airborne command post] advised that two Jolly Greens and fighters were on the way and that four army choppers were already in the area. Mighty comfortable [comforting] words. About 15 minutes after the hit a Forward Air Controller (FAC) in an O-2 joined up to escort the crippled Gooney Bird to a safe area.

To lessen the load the crew began to jettison everything [that was] loose. The oil temperature on the left engine read zero and oil pressure was down to 30 psi. Twenty-three hundred was the maximum rpm obtainable. It was already apparent the aircraft could never make Pleiku. The FAC then advised that clearing one range of hills would put the crew in friendly territory. This range was cleared. The FAC then said there was an emergency strip eight miles ahead but he recommended bail-out because of two intervening ridges.

After checking with his navigator [Maj. John J.,Polites] who had been giving him fixes during the entire route, Lt Col Dobyns elected to circumnavigate the ridge crests. This was successful, leaving one last small hill about 500 feet high, two miles short of the intended landing point. This hill was circumnavigated about 200 feet below its crest and for the first time the strip came into sight. Fifteen hundred wonderful feet of aluminum planking [at the Ben Het Special Forces camp.]

The landing could best be described as an arrival. No flaps, no brakes, a left fire blown by shrapnel, and no differential power. It touched down 300 feet down the runway, veered to the left and left the runway and the 2/3 point, and veering further around to the 160 degree point it came to a stop even with the end of the runway. The flight engineer summed it up pretty well when he said, "That was the best landing I had ever seen in my life." Of note, the four Army choppers were sitting on the runway by the time the aircraft came to a halt.

This flight demonstrated superior airmanship by Lt Col Dobyns and his entire crew, superb crew discipline and performance by professionals who knew their job and weren't about to panic. It also points up the magnificent search and rescue effort in Vietnam. This was a case of a crippled aircraft being led, almost by the hand, across 60 miles of hostile territory to a safe haven, with Army helicopters in attendance to take care of any eventuality.

Useable items were salvaged and the hulk of EC-47P S/N 44-77016 was consigned to the scrap heap — a testimonial to the durability of the old Goon and to the skill of a veteran pilot and his crew.

Barely a month later (April 24) aircraft 43-15979 of the 362nd, callsign "Rare 08", was also hit by AAA over Laos. The tail section was badly peppered with shrapnel, but all hands were safe after an emergency landing at Nakhom Phanom (NKP) Thailand. The airplane was out of action for almost two months.

On August 23, another 362nd bird, 43-49547, took a hit in the right wing while serving on the 'Laotian highway patrol'. Crewmembers suspected radar directed AAA—probably 23 or 37mm—since the Goon was above the overcast. Fortunately no casualties resulted and the aircraft returned safely to base. By the time the TEWS stood down in 1974, two more EC-47s would be brought down by hostile fire while flying over Laos.

Every EC-47 veteran has his unique memories of what it was like to fly or be a crewmember on the Electric Goon. Operational details varied from unit to unit and tactics underwent minor changes, but fundamentally the 'mission profile' remained the same throughout the war.

The following narrative, written by First Lieutenant James C. Harwood of the 362nd TEWS, was included in the history of the 362nd, Sep-Dec 1968. It is a contemporary account of a typical mission. Only obvious spelling/typographical errors have been corrected.

A normal mission of the 362d begins some time between 0500 and 1400 hours with a crew pickup in the RMK area. Ten minutes later the crew is outfitted in their survival vests and harnesses. Next, they attend a briefing by the Assistant Operations Officer on current operations policies, safety of flight items, artillery fans in the local area which might affect the departure., and current Air Base and area weather. A briefing on AAA threats en route to the target, ground activity, and alternate fields follows. This last briefing is given by the intelligence officer. He also covers non-overfly areas and any directives sent down by MACV or Seventh Air Force.

The Pilot then briefs the altitude, assures that the technical order and emergency procedures are understood in certain critical areas, and assures crew coordination by standardizing the procedures he prefers to use during target acquisition.

Throughout the mission the Flight Engineer and pilots conduct visual reconnaissance. The Engineer also drops leaflets under certain conditions when the aircraft commander deems it necessary for diversionary purposes.

The EC-47 also has the capability to fix the location of the RT-10 Survival Radio in either the voice or beeper phase of operation. Consequently, the 362d is often involved in search and rescue operations. Some of the more important successes of the squadron in this area are annotated in the history itself.

En route to Pleiku, the crew is again occupied with further checks of AN/ALR-34, ALR-35, and Doppler systems.

A thorough debriefing of the Form 781 with the Maintenance Section terminates the mission.

The action began with the 'X' operator announcing over the intercom. "Lock on target [number or letter in a sequence], signal strength [1 to 5, 5 being strongest]". The pilot immediately rolled the aircraft level, and so announced when the maneuver was complete. The signal strength estimate enabled the navigator to make a guess as to the proximity of the target and, after printing out the relevant information furnished by the ARDF system on the initial 'line of position' (LOP), directed the pilot through a series of headings designed to obtain a maximum spread of LOPs in a minimum amount of time.

Three or more LOPs were required to plot a fix. Fixes were reported as the center of the plotted LOPs, with an accompanying radial error; for example 'XT 456 789 with a radius of 500 meters'. Two hundred fifty meters was the minimum reportable radius, that being about the equivalent width of a pencil line on the navigator's charts.

The Doppler was a critical part of the ARDF system and required re-setting every 20 minutes or so to guarantee acceptable accuracy. Gyro-stabilized drift meters were installed fairly early in the program, which made this task much easier and provided more accurate settings. The 'Dop set' was accomplished by overflying a point such as a bridge or intersection and making a printout when the set point passed under the crosshairs of the drift meter. Comparing the known location with the location calculated by the Doppler enabled the navigator to interpolate for Doppler drift and adjust his plot estimates accordingly.

Doppler set points were annotated in each ARDF area and when a re-set was required the navigator would direct the pilot to fly towards one. The pilot would report a 'tally ho' on the set point and call "under the nose" when it passed underneath the aircraft and out of his view. The navigator would acquire the point through the drift meter and direct minor course adjustments until the set was made.

Experienced crews could and did work multiple targets simultaneously. Depending on many factors, the 'bag' for a mission might be anywhere from 4 or 5 fixes to as many as 20 and on some occasions nearly 30. Shutouts were rare but did occur. 'Cuts' estimated by only 2 LOPs could be legitimately reported, but were sometimes ignored unless the target was of known high priority.

During suitable lulls in activity, the 'Y' operator would pass the fix data to the DSU. (Operation of the communication radios interfered with the ARDF system.) By 1968 or so, KY-8 VHF/FM secure voice systems were available for this task. If the KY-8 failed, the information had to be passed 'in the clear' using one-time encryption pads, a prospect universally dreaded by the radio operators. In the 'old days', this was evidently accepted as a matter of course!

New Directions

The writer recalls one occasion when he, by then a very experienced 'X' operator, 'locked on' to a COSVN signal and determined to snare the varmint. A couple of promising LOPs were obtained when, without missing a 'dit', the ARDF needle swung a good 15 or 20 degrees and never broke lock. Several more LOPs were taken before the target 'went down, but the jumble yielded a fix on the order of 1,500 or 2,000 meters, barely good enough to report! COSVN never was caught, by ARDF or anything else.