Several layers of heavy broken clouds were the norm.  That was the weather on 5 September ‘66 when Randy flew Air Force exchange pilot Will Abbott’s wing as the TARCAP covering an A4 Skyhawk attack against railroad cars near Phy Ly.  Cloud layers resulted in the A4s being in the target area longer than desired.

Adhering to the unspoken TARCAP principle of remaining on the scene until the Skyhawks were safe, the Crusaders made several orbits of the hot area waiting for the last A4 to call “feet wet.”  Unfortunately, as was proven later by charts provided by shipboard radars monitoring the situation, that delay allowed two MiG-17s from Phuc Yen to make a ground controlled intercept upon them.  On the first intercept, Nguyen Van Bay and his wingman of the 923rd FR did not see Abbott or Rime, but the Crusaders’ orbiting flight path allowed the MiGs to execute a successful second pass.

The cloud coverage forced Rime to fly much closer to Abbott than desired, which resulted in severely limiting the distance they could see behind each other.  The lead MiG was vectored into a perfect firing position behind Randy and open fire, scoring 23MM and 37MM hits.  Abbott attempted a high G, nose high, reversal in an attempt to save Randy, but NVN Ace Nguyen Van Bay switched targets and blew Will out of the sky with a difficult high deflection shot.  Although he took direct hits in the cockpit, Captain Abbott managed to eject.  His leg was broken; he was immediately captured and spent 7 years in captivity.  After the NVN finally operated on his leg, he spent 4 months in a cast.  He credits fellow POWs with helping him recover use of his leg.

With his canopy shot away, and shards of Plexiglas in his arms, Iceman escaped the MiGs and headed for the Oriskany, some 120 miles away.  Evaluating the damage to his Crusader, he discovered he was losing fuel, his starboard wing leading edge droop was shot away, he could not raise the wing for the proper landing configuration, and he had no radio.

When he finally saw Oriskany, he had enough fuel for only one landing approach.  With the wing down, his approach speed would be 20 knots above safe carrier landing speed.  Emergency procedures called for a barrier recovery under such circumstances, but he had no radio to make that request.  He was the last aircraft in the recovery.  His fuel state approaching the ramp was 300 pounds; he could flame out at any moment!  Fully committed, Iceman saw the dreaded wave-off lights just as he crossed the ramp.

The LSO was rightfully concerned about the faster than normal approach speed, but Randy had no other choice.  The right wheel broke as the combat-damaged Crusader hit the flight deck, but the hook snagged the last wire for a successful arrested landing.  The Flight Surgeon patched up his lacerated arms, and he joined us later in the search for Captain Abbott.

As then Assistant Maintenance Officer, I remember standing on the aft end of that Crusader’s fuselage when it was safely in the hangar bay.  The combat damage was consistent with the location of the cannons on the MiG-17B’s nose.  The lower mounted 37MM had taken out Randy’s wing droop; the upper mounted 23MM on the opposite side had taken out his canopy, with the round passing less than an inch from his head; and the lower mounted 23MM had taken out his radio package.  In that moment, I was very proud to have made the transition from the safety of the Med to Yankee Station with that Navy Fighter Pilot.  I already knew Iceman was a great pilot: (1) He was one of the few first-cruise Crusader pilots who went 6 for 6 when initially qualifying for night carrier landings; (2) during pre-cruise night ops off Southern California, part of his nose gear came broke off during an attempted carrier landing and, with not enough fuel to make NAS Miramar, he greased it into the foam at LAX International with minimum damage, at three in the morning; and finally, (3) he defied all the punishment that could be handed out by the ace of the NVN Air Force.   In the old Navy tradition: “BRAVO ZULU, Iceman!”

Rolling Thunder was also known as the “Dr. Pepper war,” with multi-plane Alpha Strikes launched against major targets at ten, two, and four o’clock daily.  Earlier on the day of Abbott’s loss, my Sundowner wingman Bill McWilliams and I flew the TARCAP for an Alpha against Nam Dinh.  We were anchored between the target and Hanoi when we heard the warning “Four Red Bandits, airborne from Bullseye.”  That meant four MiG-17s had taken off from Phuc Yen.  Unfortunately, at that phase of the war in ‘66, we received no further calls on where they were heading, and certainly nothing about their relative position from us.

While it made Bill and I alert, and very uneasy, later that day it resulted in Will Abbott being knocked down.  It took almost a year for our radar coverage over North Vietnam to improve to the point where we received enough information to make it a fair fight.

Respectfully submitted, Dick (Brown Bear) Schaffert