A remembrance of two fighter pilots who never came back.
Born to Fly and Fight
After 48 years memories tend to fade and many just dissolve away. But some memories of the Vietnam war remain, however dim. I recently spoke with one of my buddies from back then. His call reminded me of two of our flyers who did not come back. They were Capts. Chambless Chesnutt and Michael Chwan.
Our outfit consisted of 145 highly trained ground crew and pilots all focused on the 18 F-4C Phantoms in our care. The pilots' job was to “fly and fight,” while ours was to keep their planes in top flying and fighting form. I was the weapons control guy. I kept their radar and missile control systems in good working order. These systems were essential for finding their air refueling tankers, for avoiding surface-to-air (SAM) missiles, for spotting and killing unfriendly MiG aircraft, for finding their ground targets, and for getting out and returning home. Along the way the flyers had to dodge some 4,400 anti aircraft sites, and about 70 SAM sites—if they could. Any flyer who had tackled this obstacle course 100 times was considered to have beaten the odds and done his duty. He could return home with the thanks of a grateful nation. Some went home after 100 missions, while others did not.
It was late September 1965. We worked from huts that were a little stronger than tents, but not by much. Our avionics operation was near the end of the runway where we could see virtually everyone and everything going on from bomb loaders, to refuelers, to communications, to air traffic controllers. A call came in telling us that flight 608 was at the end of the runway with no radar. The crew needed immediate assistance. Two of us grabbed our tool bags and headed straight for the aircraft. We arrived there in less than one minute.
The Phantom was a two-seater with a guy-in-front (the “Gif”), and a guy-in-back (the “Gib”). These were terms the flyers themselves used, and it was no insult to refer to them that way. Incidentally, fighter pilots were exceptional in many ways, not least of which was their disdain for military protocol. To a man they would say “My job is to fly and fight.” Saluting and wearing shiny shoes was not part of their repertoire of things that were important.
The canopy was up as I climbed up to the Gif. I recognized him but did not know his name. I later learned he was Chamb Chesnutt, one of our best flyers. He was all business. “My damned radar is blank, and I need it.” I replied “I'm pretty sure I know what the problem is. It will take about 3 to 5 minutes to fix.” He simply said “Go for it.”
We opened the radome, I tapped the waveguide switch and heard a “clunk” as it opened. I looked up and Chamb was giving me the “thumbs up.” It took another minute to close up and return to the cockpit. I wanted to make sure it was a fix that was likely to hold. As Chamb was testing it out, he mentioned that he didn't have to take this flight. He already had completed his 100 missions. I said “Oh, in that case, we can abort this flight. I'll ground it.” He didn't look up. He just said “No way. This one is too important. We're going.”
A few hours later word came back to us. Flight 608 was hit by ground fire on a bomb run over its target somewhere near Hanoi. The plane exploded on impact. No parachutes were seen deployed. We had lost Chamb Chesnutt and Michael Chwan.
I can still remember my thoughts on that day. Would I have taken that flight after completing 100 missions, and I didn't have to take it? The answer to that question then was “no way.” The answer today is still “no way.” We lost 4 flyers and 14 planes in just 90 days. They logged more than 2,000 missions. Eventually, all air crews flew more than 5 million sorties, while 8,000 US Air Force aviators lost their lives in that war. Most of us still do not know why.
Fighter pilots are fun guys who are smart as hell, and who love to look danger in the face and laugh at it. All of them love to fly and fight. Secretly, nearly every ground crew member would take their place in the cockpit if they could. Flat feet, a slight hearing problem, and any small physical issue is what separated us from them. We always had each other's back.
But the true air heroes are those who were born to fly and fight. They don't count missions or medals. They are absolutely fearless. You know them when you see them. Strap them in the cockpit seat and they become determined warriors, who will complete the mission—or die trying.
I remember two of them: Chamb Chesnutt and Michael Chwan.
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Reviewed by DM Yates
12/17/2013
Brought back many memories of that era. So many heroes who to this day go unnoticed.
Remind me not to join your squadron if my name begins with "Ch."
You probably heard this story before. I wanted to be an architect, but my finances and architectural school in Wisconsin, except Frank Lloyd Wright's, sent me off to state college to study industrial technology. Even though I was getting good grades, I was a bit disheartened with my study program so I took the Strong Interest Profile. I found out later that this test was very reliable for long-term interests. Anyway, I scored highest as aviator, project manager, and chemist. My score as a teacher was quite low and proved to be true later on although I took great satisfaction in my teaching and tutoring graduate students.
My rival for grades in our college class was Bernie Schmidt. I beat him In almost everything except calculus. I'm not sure what happened to him because I've been unable to find out searching the net, but he did become commissioned and a pilot.
I bought back my father's 57 Ford Fairlane from a schoolteacher he sold it to and drove it in the few months before my surgery and could no longer drive the car. During that time I ferried my brother and others back-and-forth between our home town and college for a dollar or $.01 a mile… Customary in those days. One of the guys that rode home with us on weekends was Paul Derby, the son of the owner of the local Derby Bar. Paul went to the Catholic high school so I didn't know him very well. Later, I learned that he also got commissioned as a Marine pilot. While my myopia might've kept me out, I'm sure if I had been hadn't been paralyzed, I would've been there in a cockpit.
Paul was shot down in 1969, I believe, and died. He left a wife and two children. If I did send it to you, I will send you a picture of his wife as he and others were honored on a newly formed "wall of remembrance" for those that served from our university.
This was no mere illusion. Colin Chase Rand, pulled through a magical portal, landed in 1935 where the dust bowl and the Great Depression was destroying lives, and a serial killer was in their midst
Born to Fly and Fight
