BAD DAY AT KOON NI
OVER-THE-SHOULDER DELIVERY
VMA-211 were dubbed "the Wake Island Avengers" for their heroic aerial action in
the retaking of Wake Island from the Japanese during World War Two. The
squadron colors were candy stripes of red and white while their patch was a Red
Lion
attacking Wake Island. The squadron deployed intact from NAAS Edenton, NC to
MCAS Iwakuni, Southern Honshu, Japan in October 1958 for an unaccompanied
fifteen month tour of duty with the Western Pacific Fleet Marine Force. Iwakuni
is about 40 miles west of Hiroshima.
Southern Honshu was primitive compared to the United States. The culture and
living conditions required some getting used to by new arrivals. I recall we
left the transport aircraft and walked out of the terminal at our new base. One
officer walked out to the street, looked to the left, and stepped off the curb
WHAM!
only to be run over by a skoshi cab that was coming from his right on the left
side of the street. The Marine suffered a broken leg his first hour in Japan
because he was not used to cars driving on the left side of the street. Sewers
were non-existent. Human defecation was used for fertilizing the gardens,
fields and rice paddies of the Japanese people. Consequently, the smell of
human waste was in the air all the time. Dysentery was a common malady among
the American Marines and Navy support personnel. The air, water, vegetables and
food were polluted with the fecal matter used for fertilizer. Illness also came
from breathing blowing dust and from other bodily contact with human waste.
Benjo ditches, Benjo buckets, Benjo dippers, etc.
Our Squadron was assigned to the Cold War nuclear defense of the United States
and our Allies. This role required our pilots to maintain operational readiness
in nuclear weapons delivery at all times. Training flights were continuously
flown to practice targets in Japan, Korea and Okinawa. Target times were
scheduled months in advance by Navy, Air Force and Marine squadrons with a
nuclear delivery commitment. The Douglas A4A Skyhawk Was a recent
addition to Marine Aviation. The aircraft was small. A six foot, 190
pound pilot, filled the cockpit. There was nothing to accommodate urine, an up-chuck or
fecal waste. The canopy was not designed to be opened in
normal flight conditions. The
bombing ranges were on average about 25 minutes flight time away from Iwakuni.
Divert airfields had no ladders or the special starting probe for the Skyhawk.
The Koon
Ni Range, 40 miles southwest of Seoul, South Korea was one of our primary
practice targets. Koon
Ni Range consisted of a 24-square kilometer area which
served for both nuclear and conventional bombing and firing practice. Denny
Bowen aka, Charlie Brown, recalls,
"
I remember practicing over the shoulder maneuvers in A4s at Koon
Ni, in 1960. It
was a pile of mud with an "X" marking the bullseye, and bomb scavengers on
the range were plentiful. We used a 500 knot, 100 foot run in and pulled up directly
over the bull. At the same time the scavengers would run like hell to the spot
they thought the Mk 76 bomb would hit, and when it arrived, dug it out of the
ground. The puff of smoke was generally surrounded by folks who didn't
complain about jet noise."
It
was in the winter of 1959 when I was loft bombing [LABS] in an A4A at Koon Ni,
South Korea that an unforgettable calamity occurred. When I was pulling four
G's about half way through my Half Cuban Eight loft maneuver, I was beset with a
knuckle whitening stomach cramp. It was not unlike the kind that sometimes
follows a hard night of eating a jar of jalapeno peppers [double-edged razor
blades]. I recognized the cramp as an ominous precursor to the painful
explosive ejection of a high octane mixture of gas, bullets, napalm and crushed
glass from my rectal orifice. I radioed my wingman, "Mofak Two, lead is aborting
this run and departing for Home Plate. Get in trail and keep me in sight. I
have an emergency in the cockpit. We will be balls to the wall all the way back
to Iwakuni!"
While climbing to about 20M , I headed directly southeast for the straits.
Excruciating, cramping contractions were coming about every 5 minutes.
Indicating only making about .78 mach, I shifted to Manual fuel and with the
throttle full forward got another 3 percent engine RPM. It seemed the knots in
my belly were passing faster than the knots on my airspeed indicator. I reached
.85 mach. Passing abeam of Pusan, the violent contractions were down to about
every 60 seconds. I began to realize I might not make it. I tried an in route
let down and got the speed up to .98 INM. I went feet wet--not from defecating
but from crossing the Korean coast into the straits. The horrendous tearing
cramps were down to 30 seconds between attacks. My jaws were locked tight but
my rectum was weakening. Seconds later, my sphincter suddenly was
pulsating
and I knew I was running out of time. I was still over the straits and nearly
to the coast of Japan which put me about 10 minutes from Iwakuni when suddenly,
my ass detonated with what felt like a kiloton blast of shooting malodorous
lava. Hot surges of liquid raced up my back and around my waist and down to
the G-suit thigh point. I could smell rotten fish heads through the sweaty
edges of my 100 percent oxygen mask [rubber Jock Strap].
I radioed my wingman "We didn't make it." Moments later we passed over the snow
covered mountains northwest of Iwakuni and had the field in sight. I wanted to
land and abandon the aircraft on some back flight line far from our troops. The
embarrassment was going to be much worse than the cramps and contractions I had
been experiencing. What a Shit Sandwich!
The
lineman was standing on the taxiway with his hands held straight up. He started
pumping his arms up and down as I approached. When I was abeam of the desired
spot, he dropped his right hand down telling me to hold the left brake and kept
pumping his left arm as I turned left He parked my drooping, disgusted Skyhawk
at the refueling pit. The PC inserted the ten foot ladder and scrambled up to
insert the safety pin into the ejection seat actuator. He let out a howl,
grabbed his nose and hurried back down the ladder. I gingerly stepped out of
the cockpit, climbed down the ladder, said nothing and walked across the infield
and taxiway directly to my hootch about a half mile away. By then, the angry
plane captains were trying to figure out how to flush the cockpit and get the
crappy parachute pack out.
I
walked into the shower with everything on, turned the hot water full on me and
and stripped off the fecal covered flying gear. Torso harness--off. Seat area
full of liquid fecal matter. Boots with socks now squishing with watery
poop--off. G-Suit--off. Waist and thigh area full of steaming crap. Flight
suit peeled off with everything under it in one unzip, swish, jump out
maneuver. Then, washed and rinsed the dripping smeared crap off my entire
body. Ahhhhhh! Relief at last!
What a Crappy way to get new flight gear.
Back to Back We Face the Past
Mofak
Donald Cathcart LtCol USMC Ret.
