Thunder in the Night

I originally arrived in Okinawa on November 5th, 1968. My first two weeks on the rock (as we referred to the island) was spent trying to process through the base personnel office maze and to get settled into the medical squadron barracks.

Okinawa was a major staging area for the Army, Navy and Air Force in their operations against the much ballyhooed commie threat in Nam and in the late ‘60’s there were over one hundred separate military installations on the island. You couldn’t go AWOL because there was virtually no where to go where you weren’t either on a U.S. base or standing just outside a base.

I was assigned to the 1824^th USA Dispensary at Kadena, AFB. Kadena was home for a large Strategic Air Command (SAC) component with a shit load of B-52 bombers making daily runs to bomb the Viet Cong out of existence. The usual bombing sortie consisted of about 12 B-52’s; each loaded with around sixty-three tons of 500 lb. and 750 lb. bombs. Despite the fact that there was a very long runway at Kadena, the bombers were unable to take off with a full bomb load and full fuel tanks. Consequently, there would be one KC-135 (the military version of the 707) tanker taking off for each set of three B-52’s. Once the B-52’s reached altitude they joined up with a tanker to take on fuel to make the run to Nam.

When I first arrived on Okinawa, the planes in the bombing sorties took off in what was termed close order runs. That meant that as soon as one aircraft started its take-off run, the next plane in line turned onto the runway and began accelerating with only seconds between one plane and the next. It was fascinating to watch.

In earlier times the Air Force originally implemented close order take-offs to get the maximum number of planes into the air in a hurry in case of a foreign attack on the base. We weren’t being attacked by anything at Kadena other than some very vicious mosquitoes, but SAC was a one trick pony. Close order take-offs were the rule, that’s the way they had done it forever and no one could see any reason to change the process. There was a reason to do things differently and SAC was about to learn a hard lesson.

On the night of November 19^th, before I had officially completed clearing in to the base, I was asleep in the barracks when a low rumble awakened me. Somebody was shouting that it was an earthquake, but being from California and an old hand with earthquakes, I knew that wasn’t what was happening. While I sat there trying to clear the sleep haze from my brain and make sense out of what was going on, a tremendous explosion blew the glass out of the windows and knocked everything on the shelves to the floor. No matter what had happened, it was obvious that we were going to be needed in the dispensary. Chaos ruled in the barracks as we all scrambled for the doors, trying to pull on our uniforms while stumbling down the halls. All over the base alarms were sounding.

The dispensary was about a five-minute sprint from the medical squadron barracks. On the run over to the dispensary, we were assaulted by sirens and warning lights from emergency vehicles careening past us, and, off in the distance, the thunder of large explosions. Could the unthinkable have happened? Was the base under attack from some foreign source? It didn’t seem likely but the explosions gave birth to wild speculation.

The dispensary, when we got there, was sheer insanity, people running everywhere, and no one seemed to know what was really going on. I worked my way through the crowded hallway, back towards the emergency room where I knew the action would be. What I found there stopped me in my tracks while my mind tried to register what I was seeing. Lying on the gurneys were several severely burned aircrew members surrounding by a horde of medics, nurses and doctors working frantically. Several less severely injured, dazed crewmembers were sitting in chairs outside the ER or in the back hallway while the ER team worked feverishly on the burn victims.

When my brain finally kicked back into gear, I realized that what was needed was for someone to start caring for the less severely injured. I piled supplies on a cart, recruited a couple of other medics and together we herded the other crewmembers back to the inpatient area of the dispensary where we were able to start tending to their injuries.

The crewmembers were able to give us some details about what had happened. As the plane was accelerating down the runway, a series of engine warning lights came on indicating that there were serious problems with at least one of the engines and maybe more than one. The co-pilot, who was actually at the controls, attempted to abort the takeoff. But even with the drag-chute deployed and the brakes fully engaged it was obvious that the B-52, as heavy as it was, was not going to stop without crashing. The plane had already lost too much momentum for any hope of getting airborne. The pilot gave the order for everyone to evacuate and each of the crewmembers scrambled for the escape hatches while the plane careened out of control. Amazingly, despite the unlikely conditions, all of the aircrew made it out of the plane.

Renovated B-52’s use radar to control the tail guns but on older model B-52’s, a gunner lying in the back of the plane manually sighted the weapons. In order for the gunner to get out he had to crawl backwards toward the front of the plane until he came to a point where he could turn and move toward the escape hatch, not an easy trick with the plane jerking one direction and then another. And to further complicate his escape, the hatch he needed was located in the belly of the plane, not the best place to try to escape from when the plane was sliding on the runway! The gunner actually made it out of the plane, but no one knew what had happened to him until late the next day but we’ll get to that later in the story.

Once the aircrew members were clear of the aircraft they began running away from the behemoth. By this time the overheated brakes had set the tires and undercarriage on fire and flames were crawling up towards the wings with the bombs and fuel on board. It was only a matter of time before the heat from the flames detonated one of the explosives.

The rumble that woke everyone in the barracks was one of the bombs exploding. I learned later that there are two ways that bombs can explode. One is a low yield explosion, such as the bomb exploding from the heat, and the other was a high yield explosion where the ordnance exploded in the manner it was designed to do. It’s just a matter of degree when you’re looking at the subsequent damage, but it was an important distinction in the events of that night. The first explosion was a low yield blast. The unfortunate consequence of that explosion was that it ruptured the fuel tanks in the wing above and threw flaming JP4 everywhere. The burning fuel engulfed some of the aircrew members and they were the ones I initially saw when I arrived at the ER. A flight line maintenance worker who had been working near the end of the runway when the bomber crashed transported the aircrew in his truck to the ER. That’s how they happened to be there before many of the medics were able to make it to the dispensary.

By the time of the first explosion, fire department crews had already arrived at the burning aircraft. They made a valiant effort to put out the fire, but there comes a time in such an event when the increasing likelihood of a major explosion dictates that the fire crews pull back from the immediate area. Fire command gave the order for the fire crews to evacuate and most of them responded immediately. There was one truck, however, that didn’t respond right away and was subsequently caught in the ensuing explosions.

Once the fire department abandoned its efforts to put out the fire, it was just a short time later when a series of explosions started as the ordnance began to “cook off” in the inferno. Finally, there came a point when the fire had generated so much heat that much of the remaining ordnance exploded at once and it was that event that blew out the windows in the barracks. To give some measure to how powerful that blast was, it blew out the windows in the dispensary at Naha AFB, twenty-three miles away! It also dug a crater under the aircraft some thirty feet deep and sixty feet across. The remaining parts of the plane were scattered all over the area. Afterwards there was a series of smaller explosions from the remaining ordnance and it was those explosions that we heard as we were running to the dispensary.

While we were treating the aircrew members in back, the severely burned crewmen were loaded into ambulances and transported over to the main Army hospital at Camp Kue for treatment. Eventually they were transferred to the burn center in Japan. One of them survived but two eventually succumbed to their burns.

By the time we had completed our care of the other crewmen, injured from all over the base and from the surrounding communities began arriving at the dispensary. Most of the injuries were superficial, usually lacerations from flying glass. There were a few victims with more serious injuries such as fractured arms or legs, but no one else appeared with life-threatening injuries.

A twelve-foot security fence with occasional guarded gates surrounded Kadena. Okinawan nationals employed as guards by the Air Force manned most of the perimeter gates. One of the injured that I tended to was one of the security guards. His post was at a gate roughly one hundred yards from where the plane exploded. When it became obvious that the plane was in trouble, he picked up the guard shack phone to let someone know what was happening and was still talking on the phone when the plane exploded. Rescue crews searching the area later found the man standing near the remains of his guard shack, still clutching the phone headset in his hand! He had a deep laceration on the back of his hand that they bandaged and then transported him to the dispensary for further treatment.

When the guard arrived, I had just finished treating one the other injured and I waved to him to come on in and lie down on the gurney. After removing the dressing from the laceration on his hand, I cleaned the wound and then began suturing the injury. It was a deep cut but fortunately had not affected any of the tendons on the back of his hand. It took me about an hour to tend to his injury, making certain that he had enough supplies to keep the dressing clean and dry until he could see his own physician. During the whole process, he had not spoken a single word.

After I finished instructing him on wound care, he stood up and unbuckled his holster. He neatly set the holster and gun on the gurney then reached up to his chest and removed his security guard badge and his base ID badge, which he laid on the gurney next to the gun and holster. Then he looked straight at me and bowed and finally he spoke, thanking me for tending to his injury. Then, very solemnly, he said, “Please, doctor-san, you tell them, I quit.” With that, he turned and left the dispensary and I never saw him again. Eventually I found one of the Air Force Security Police and gave him the weapon and badge, explaining how I came into possession of them.

After the excitement died down and the injured had been tended to, those of us who were not on duty that day began drifting back to the barracks. Before I left, though, the first sergeant stopped me. He said that he had decided that I should go along with the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) team that afternoon as they began the process of clearing out the remaining unexploded bombs! Yipe! Last place in the world that I wanted to be was standing near unexploded ordnance.

When afternoon arrived, I was out at the end of the runway staring at the pieces of what used to be a plane and watching as the EOD team gingerly probed through the wreckage. One of the most identifiable pieces of the plane was the tail—it was largely intact. The glass in the gun sights had fractured from the stress, but the most amazing thing to me was that the gun barrels drooped to the ground! They had become so hot during the fire that they had softened and sagged.

The afternoon drifted by while the teams worked. Mostly I had nothing to do but stand by in case something serious occurred. It didn’t take much prompting from the EOD team to convince me that it was not safe to wander around. Even to my inexperienced eye the bright orange color of exposed explosive powder was very evident and it could be seen everywhere!

One tradition at all Air Force bases is that Retreat is sounded every afternoon at 5 pm while the flag is lowered. All outside activity is supposed to stop and you stand at attention while the music is playing. That afternoon at 5 pm I was standing at the end of the runway, near the crater excavated by the explosions when retreat sounded and I was watching a B-52 as it lumbered ever closer to me taking off for a bombing run to Viet Nam. The remains of just such a plane surrounded me and here came one pointed directly at me!

The B-52 is SAC’s prime strategic bomber workhorse. It was originally designed way back in the fifties but has continued in its lead role despite its age. There have been numerous upgrades and refittings made to the fleet but they keep on flying. One strange characteristics of the B-52 is that the main landing gear is located mid-line on the airframe, unlike most familiar planes with one gear on the nose and the others on the wings. There are two small out-rigger landing gears on the tips of the wings because the wings droop downward significantly and the outriggers keep the wing tips from dragging when the plane isn’t airborne. Once it’s in the air the wings swerve upward in a graceful arch.

Because of the nature of the landing gear arrangement, the B-52 tends to “crab” sideways into the wind as it roars down the runway. Additionally, it rocks back and forth onto one outrigger and then the other, with smoke boiling from the tires each time the outrigger strikes the ground. I knew nothing about those details before that afternoon, and I stood there, transfixed by the sight of this bomber bearing down on me. At what seemed to be the very last possible moment, the plane clawed its way skyward, clearing the wreck site by no more than twenty or thirty feet. I could easily see the pilot and co-pilot as they looked down on us when the plane passed over. And that was just the beginning! There were still eleven more bombers and four KC 135’s in that sortie and for the next twenty minutes we were constantly assaulted by the roar of planes barely clearing our position. It was almost enough to make you want to bolt for some place safer.

In another hour, it got too dark to work safely in the area and we all headed back to our respective organizations. That was the last time that I went out and helped with the EOD teams because by the next day I was assigned to a regular crew in the dispensary and began working with them. But while I was out with the EOD team the medics back at the dispenary discovered what had happened to the tail gunner. All this time crews working at the accident site had looked for some evidence, human remains or anything that suggested his fate. Nothing! It was as if he had vanished and considering the immensity of the explosion that wasn't beyond belief! But, that isn’t what had happened to him. Moreover, in some ways, what had happened was even more bizarre than if he had just vanished.

As I mentioned above, all of the aircrew made it out of the bomber before it exploded. There was initially some confusion about the number of people on board because right after the crash there was a claim that an instructor pilot was part of the crew. That claim was eventually discounted, but for a while a lot of effort was spent looking for him. The gunner, once he cleared the aircraft, took off running just like the rest of the crew. But instead of running towards the main base, he ran towards the perimeter fence. Somehow, in the intensity of the moment, he managed to scale a 12-foot fence, clear the barbed wire on top and make it to the other side. But, he didn't complete that process unscathed. He had numerous cuts and abrasions from the fence and barbed wire and he broke an ankle when he jumped from the top of the fence. Despite his injuries, he started back towards the main gate, which was probably about three miles from the accident site.

He walked all the way back to the main gate, passed through the gate with no one stopping or challenging him and then all the way back to the SAC side of the base. There he decided to stop and rest in the mess hall. That’s where someone finally noticed him later that day! He had sat in the mess hall in shock for all that time and no one had said a thing about him being there! It was amazing. Finally, it dawned on one of the people working there that it seemed strange to have someone sitting in the same spot for so long and he went over to check on him. That’s when it finally became clear that he was the missing tail gunner and then the call came into the dispensary for an ambulance. The ER crew working the shift before mine was the ones who picked him up and brought him in to the dispensary. The damage to his ankles was so severe that he was quickly transferred to Camp Kue for treatment.

In the aftermath of the accident, a lot of finger pointing went on. An investigative team eventually released their report and had these recommendations:

Even if warning lights come on, if the plane is far enough down the runway that there isn’t much chance that it can be stopped in time, fly the plane. Even if it’s only to get it airborne and bring it back around to land, fly the plane. This conclusion obviously dumped most of the blame squarely in the lap of the pilot but he didn’t survive the burns that he received so he wasn’t there to defend himself.

No more close order take-offs. The only thing that averted a major disaster that night was that the plane that exploded was the last one in line to take off. If it had been anywhere else in the sequence, there is reason to believe that one or more of the aircraft following would not have been able to avoid being involved. There could have been major loss of life that night and it was only sheer luck that kept it from being worse.

Where the plane exploded was a stone’s throw away from the Chibana Ammo Dump. The EOD teams were convinced that if the plane had burst through the fence and exploded in the ammo dump that the degree of destruction would have been monumental. There was no easy solution for that problem since there was nowhere convenient to store that much ammunition. But it was something to think about each time one of the B-52’s took off over that end of the runway!

There were a number of near accidents involving planes at Kadena while I was there. I think it’s the nature of the business when so much stress is placed daily on aircraft and aircrews. But there was never another incident like that. And the B-52’s took off with lots of room between each aircraft. Let the attacking mosquitoes be damned, we were finally going to fly the aircraft more sanely!

To give you an incite into what a B-52 crash fireball would look like, here's a video of a B-52 crash at Fairchild AFB in Spokane Washington.    Also keep in mind that after the Kadena AFB crash and fireball, the bomb load then detonated and blew the entire wreckage and burning fuel all over the place...