The Ravens: The True Story of a Secret War by Christopher Robbins Page A
Authors: Christopher Robbins
Ads: Link
badly shaken, but undeterred in his resolve to fly in combat as soon as possible.
In the circumstances, the air attaché’s office thought it wise to remove him temporarily from the picture. The Air Force had agreed to give the program another O-1, and Deichelman was chosen to return to South Vietnam and ferry it to Laos. In September he left for Bien Hoa, where his younger brother was stationed. He planned to spend a few days of leave with him and then bring the O-1 back.
Deichelman reached Vietnam without incident, and the brothers enjoyed a pleasant reunion. He mentioned a desire to see the great Cambodian lake of Tonle Sap, an illegal but easy detour on the journey back. He boarded the new Bird Dog and took off from Bien Hoa and beaded back toward Laos. He was never seen again. [21]
Sam Deichelman’s disappearance was deeply mourned at Long Tieng and cast a pall over everyone who knew him. Among those it affected most was Art Cornelius, who had regarded the blond surfer with such skepticism when they had met. That first impression had soon changed, and an easy, respectful friendship had followed.
Cornelius admired the man as a first-rate pilot and FAC, but especially for his humanity. He had seen his friend’s genuine compassion as he played with the village children, and his anguish as he sat with Vong Chou, the wounded Backseater. It was difficult not to be attracted to Deichelman’s obvious honesty, good-hearted openness, and warmth.
Cornelius first heard the news of his friend’s disappearance at the embassy in Vientiane while he was writing his end of tour report before returning home. The war was over for both of them. But Cornelius could not accept that Sam was dead, convinced that he had been forced to make an emergency landing somewhere in Cambodia. One day he would show up, give his lop-sided grin and a deprecating account of yet another escape from death. Cornelius had assumed he had made a friend for life in Sam, not someone who would disappear within a few short months.
But Sam never returned and Cornelius was forced to accept the fact that his great friend was lost forever. (The tragedy was compounded when Sam’s younger brother was later killed in a midair collision in Vietnam. The general had paid a terrible price to see his sons follow in his footsteps).
In his role as go-between, Tom Richards fought the war at the front and in staff meetings at the embassy in Vientiane, and at 7/13th Air Force HQ in Udorn, Thailand. A chasm yawned between the different worlds of the Downtowners and the Air Force REMFs, and the Ravens at the edge of battle. While the Ravens’ experience of the war might be narrow and parochial, the staff officers’ was remote. Richards spent considerable time on the impossible job of bridging the gap, a frustrating and unrewarding task, but he occasionally scored a point for the men in the war.
In his position as Head Raven he sat in on staff meetings at both the embassy and Air Force HQ in Udorn, flying down to 7/13th HQ in the embassy C-47 to bring back the commander, Maj. Gen. Louis T. Seith. On the return flight to Vientiane he sat in the back of the plane briefing the general on the real picture of the war in Laos, ‘before he got to the embassy and got their version,’ Tom Richards explained. ‘Nobody seemed to understand how the enemy thought.’
Air Force intelligence was mulish and painfully slow to learn the most basic lessons. The Trail had been bombed regularly since 1965 (with great effect by the Air Commandos and their outdated aircraft; with much waste and noise by the jets and B-52s of the regular Air Force), but the enemy’s resilience continued to puzzle Air Force intelligence. At one meeting an exasperated intelligence officer wondered aloud that, as much as they bombed the fords, the enemy still kept coming.
‘I can’t believe you guys are doing that,’ Richards said, who had seen the results firsthand. ‘You’re just making gravel for them.
In the circumstances, the air attaché’s office thought it wise to remove him temporarily from the picture. The Air Force had agreed to give the program another O-1, and Deichelman was chosen to return to South Vietnam and ferry it to Laos. In September he left for Bien Hoa, where his younger brother was stationed. He planned to spend a few days of leave with him and then bring the O-1 back.
Deichelman reached Vietnam without incident, and the brothers enjoyed a pleasant reunion. He mentioned a desire to see the great Cambodian lake of Tonle Sap, an illegal but easy detour on the journey back. He boarded the new Bird Dog and took off from Bien Hoa and beaded back toward Laos. He was never seen again. [21]
Sam Deichelman’s disappearance was deeply mourned at Long Tieng and cast a pall over everyone who knew him. Among those it affected most was Art Cornelius, who had regarded the blond surfer with such skepticism when they had met. That first impression had soon changed, and an easy, respectful friendship had followed.
Cornelius admired the man as a first-rate pilot and FAC, but especially for his humanity. He had seen his friend’s genuine compassion as he played with the village children, and his anguish as he sat with Vong Chou, the wounded Backseater. It was difficult not to be attracted to Deichelman’s obvious honesty, good-hearted openness, and warmth.
Cornelius first heard the news of his friend’s disappearance at the embassy in Vientiane while he was writing his end of tour report before returning home. The war was over for both of them. But Cornelius could not accept that Sam was dead, convinced that he had been forced to make an emergency landing somewhere in Cambodia. One day he would show up, give his lop-sided grin and a deprecating account of yet another escape from death. Cornelius had assumed he had made a friend for life in Sam, not someone who would disappear within a few short months.
But Sam never returned and Cornelius was forced to accept the fact that his great friend was lost forever. (The tragedy was compounded when Sam’s younger brother was later killed in a midair collision in Vietnam. The general had paid a terrible price to see his sons follow in his footsteps).
In his role as go-between, Tom Richards fought the war at the front and in staff meetings at the embassy in Vientiane, and at 7/13th Air Force HQ in Udorn, Thailand. A chasm yawned between the different worlds of the Downtowners and the Air Force REMFs, and the Ravens at the edge of battle. While the Ravens’ experience of the war might be narrow and parochial, the staff officers’ was remote. Richards spent considerable time on the impossible job of bridging the gap, a frustrating and unrewarding task, but he occasionally scored a point for the men in the war.
In his position as Head Raven he sat in on staff meetings at both the embassy and Air Force HQ in Udorn, flying down to 7/13th HQ in the embassy C-47 to bring back the commander, Maj. Gen. Louis T. Seith. On the return flight to Vientiane he sat in the back of the plane briefing the general on the real picture of the war in Laos, ‘before he got to the embassy and got their version,’ Tom Richards explained. ‘Nobody seemed to understand how the enemy thought.’
Air Force intelligence was mulish and painfully slow to learn the most basic lessons. The Trail had been bombed regularly since 1965 (with great effect by the Air Commandos and their outdated aircraft; with much waste and noise by the jets and B-52s of the regular Air Force), but the enemy’s resilience continued to puzzle Air Force intelligence. At one meeting an exasperated intelligence officer wondered aloud that, as much as they bombed the fords, the enemy still kept coming.
‘I can’t believe you guys are doing that,’ Richards said, who had seen the results firsthand. ‘You’re just making gravel for them.
Similar Books
