Hypersonic Thunder: A Novel of the Jet Age by Walter J. Boyne Page A
Authors: Walter J. Boyne
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anyway. It’s time we were concentrating on some new military projects.”
Both men knew that there was a revolution in management taking place in the United States Air Force. The Strategic Air Command was for many years the fiefdom of the great Curtis LeMay, and he had given SAC its character. But now, seventeen years after LeMay’s departure, an erudite, soft-spoken, four-star general named Russell Dougherty was changing things, imparting a new look to SAC management. He had shocked his wing commanders in one of his early talks by saying, “There’s nothing in your job description or mine that requires either of us to be an unmitigated son of a bitch.” It wasDougherty’s way of moving SAC from the authoritarian style that had been a necessity when LeMay had to whip SAC into shape at the start of the Cold War. Later SAC commanders had abused their authority and Dougherty saw that new methods were needed.
In the Tactical Air Command, the new mover and shaker was General Bill Creech, a perfectionist who demanded the best from everyone—especially himself. Since the Vietnam War, TAC had fallen on hard times, and it was going to take someone with Creech’s drive and determination to make it an effective force again.
Tom continued. “I think we’ll have an in with the Tactical Air Command. I know Bill Creech pretty well. He’s not everybody’s cup of tea—fighter pilots don’t like to be told to shine their shoes and wear neckties all the time—but he’s a hell of a leader and he knows combat. He flew 103 combat missions over Korea and another 177 over Vietnam.”
“You had a lot of combat, too, Tom.”
Harry never stopped trying to build Tom up. His ego, already badly deflated by his long prison stay, had been hurt even worse by his wife taking over the family business and almost destroying it. He was recovering from both shocks, but slowly.
“And that’s why he’ll talk to me. He’s got some great new ideas. He hates the fact that we lost 397 F-105s in Vietnam. Creech is determined never to have losses like that again.”
Harry looked at his brother fondly, wishing that their father could see how much strength he had regained. The more he became engaged in the business, the more he shook off the ravages of his time as a POW in North Vietnam.
Tom went on, visibly wound up, getting up and walking back and forth just as his father used to do when on to a new idea. But where Vance Shannon had walked with long, loping strides until his very last days, Tom’s injuries from his POW days imparted a nautical roll to his walk.
“Creech gave a talk at one of my Air Force Association meetings. He says he is determined to see that we never again try to fight an integrated air defense system like the North Vietnamese had or that the Soviets have now. He says he wants to take away the advantage that radar and surface-to-air missiles give them. He absolutely never wants us to have to go in low to avoid SAMs, then get the shit shot out of usby antiaircraft. And he wants to take away the sanctuary that night gives the enemy. He says we used to fight all day in Vietnam, while the enemy stood down; then at night the enemy would move all their supplies, and we couldn’t do much about it.”
Tom was quiet for a moment, remembering his own time in Vietnamese skies, and the futile bomb runs he and his crews had made on jungle trails, risking a multi-million-dollar F-4 and two lives trying to pick off a three-thousand-dollar truck carrying two hundred dollars’ worth of rice.
Harry spoke, “We’ve been in the antiradar business for a while, Tom, with our jamming equipment.” He knew it was a mistake the minute he said it.
“Yeah, that’s another achievement of our friend, our enemy, Bob Rodriquez. But that’s old hat. We introduce some ECM equipment, the enemy introduces a counter, then we introduce a counter-counter. Creech wants the industry to come up with something entirely different, and the word is that
Both men knew that there was a revolution in management taking place in the United States Air Force. The Strategic Air Command was for many years the fiefdom of the great Curtis LeMay, and he had given SAC its character. But now, seventeen years after LeMay’s departure, an erudite, soft-spoken, four-star general named Russell Dougherty was changing things, imparting a new look to SAC management. He had shocked his wing commanders in one of his early talks by saying, “There’s nothing in your job description or mine that requires either of us to be an unmitigated son of a bitch.” It wasDougherty’s way of moving SAC from the authoritarian style that had been a necessity when LeMay had to whip SAC into shape at the start of the Cold War. Later SAC commanders had abused their authority and Dougherty saw that new methods were needed.
In the Tactical Air Command, the new mover and shaker was General Bill Creech, a perfectionist who demanded the best from everyone—especially himself. Since the Vietnam War, TAC had fallen on hard times, and it was going to take someone with Creech’s drive and determination to make it an effective force again.
Tom continued. “I think we’ll have an in with the Tactical Air Command. I know Bill Creech pretty well. He’s not everybody’s cup of tea—fighter pilots don’t like to be told to shine their shoes and wear neckties all the time—but he’s a hell of a leader and he knows combat. He flew 103 combat missions over Korea and another 177 over Vietnam.”
“You had a lot of combat, too, Tom.”
Harry never stopped trying to build Tom up. His ego, already badly deflated by his long prison stay, had been hurt even worse by his wife taking over the family business and almost destroying it. He was recovering from both shocks, but slowly.
“And that’s why he’ll talk to me. He’s got some great new ideas. He hates the fact that we lost 397 F-105s in Vietnam. Creech is determined never to have losses like that again.”
Harry looked at his brother fondly, wishing that their father could see how much strength he had regained. The more he became engaged in the business, the more he shook off the ravages of his time as a POW in North Vietnam.
Tom went on, visibly wound up, getting up and walking back and forth just as his father used to do when on to a new idea. But where Vance Shannon had walked with long, loping strides until his very last days, Tom’s injuries from his POW days imparted a nautical roll to his walk.
“Creech gave a talk at one of my Air Force Association meetings. He says he is determined to see that we never again try to fight an integrated air defense system like the North Vietnamese had or that the Soviets have now. He says he wants to take away the advantage that radar and surface-to-air missiles give them. He absolutely never wants us to have to go in low to avoid SAMs, then get the shit shot out of usby antiaircraft. And he wants to take away the sanctuary that night gives the enemy. He says we used to fight all day in Vietnam, while the enemy stood down; then at night the enemy would move all their supplies, and we couldn’t do much about it.”
Tom was quiet for a moment, remembering his own time in Vietnamese skies, and the futile bomb runs he and his crews had made on jungle trails, risking a multi-million-dollar F-4 and two lives trying to pick off a three-thousand-dollar truck carrying two hundred dollars’ worth of rice.
Harry spoke, “We’ve been in the antiradar business for a while, Tom, with our jamming equipment.” He knew it was a mistake the minute he said it.
“Yeah, that’s another achievement of our friend, our enemy, Bob Rodriquez. But that’s old hat. We introduce some ECM equipment, the enemy introduces a counter, then we introduce a counter-counter. Creech wants the industry to come up with something entirely different, and the word is that
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