“What is courage without risk... It wouldn’t really be courage, would it?” *

This post is an update of a post from 2016. That post describes the heroism of a Forward Air Controller (FAC) during the Vietnam war.  Back when this was originally posted, I had had the opportunity to visit Lackland AFB and walk the parade field, the edge of which has a representation of many USAF airplanes.  It also has a monument listing all Air Force Medal of Honor Recipients.  

 

As I studied the list, I realized that, while I knew the stories of several and recognized the names of a few more, there were many of whom I had no knowledge.  These men had received our Nation's Highest Award for Valor, for "acts of Valor above and beyond the call of Duty." and I didn't know them?  Unacceptable.  I resolved to rectify that situation.

Today's post will describe the actions of Captain Hilliard Almond Wilbanks.  Capt. Wilbanks was born in Cornelia GA.  He  enlisted in the USAF in 1950 serving 4 years as an Air Policeman in SAC before being accepted into the Aviation Cadet program.  I suspect 4 years guarding Bombers in the Northern Tier would be strenuous for a Southern Gentleman.  Anyhow, in June of 1955 (a personally excellent month), he received his wings and was commissioned.

 

His first assignment was as an IP (First Assignment Instructor Pilot (FAIP) to be precise).  Completing that assignment, he flew F-86s before being assigned to Vietnam as a Forward Air Controller.  Assigned to the 21st Tactical Air Support Squadron, he flew the O-1A Bird Dog.  From April 1966 to Feb 1967, he flew 488 combat mission earning the Air Medal 19 times (technically 1 Air Medal and 18 Oak Leaf Clusters) as well as a Distinguished Flying Cross.

Ok,  He's flying a single engine Cessna with a takeoff speed of about 90K, a cruise speed of 90K and a landing speed of 90K.  It is not armored, nor strengthened from the civilian variant.  It is armed, sort of, with 4 White Phosphorus Rockets.  Yes, they will hurt you if they hit you, but they're primarily used for marking targets. 

Capt. Wilbanks flew this aircraft in combat 488 times.  He clanked when he walked.


In February a few weeks before he was scheduled to DEROS (Date estimated to return from overseas AKA get to come home), Capt. Wilbanks' primary AOR is moved further north into the highlands.  On 22 February, an NVA Battalion captures a tea plantation in Capt Wilbanks old AOR and sets up an ambush.  The next morning a South Vietnamese company walks into the ambush and is entirely killed or captured.  No report is made as the radio operator threw the radio into a well to prevent its capture.  The next day a South Vietnamese Ranger battalion is sent to figure out what happened.  

Capt. Wilbanks replacement flies 3 missions but is unable to find the destroyed unit or recognize the ambush site.  Capt. Wilbanks is diverted from his current area to return and help with the search.  Based on his extensive experience, he is able to detect the ambush site.  As he radios a warning to the Rangers, the NVA recognize that they have been detected and spring the ambush, even though the Rangers are not fully in the ambush crossfire.

 

Capt. Wilbanks begins doing the FAC thing directing the fire of three helicopter gunships while evading 50 caliber machine gun rounds and extensive small arms fire.  Two flights of F-4s are diverted toward the area. 

As the helicopters make a pass, one takes a 50 cal hit in the hydraulic system.  He radios Capt Wilbanks that he will "probably' make it back to base.  Capt Wilbanks clears the other helicopters off to escort him back to base.

On seeing the helicopters leave, the NVA launch a new attack on the Rangers.  Capt Wilbanks checks the F-4s ETA, but they won't arrive in time.  Capt Wilbanks rolls in and launches a rocket at the attacking force which stops them momentarily and diverts their fire towards him.  

He is now out of rockets, but has an M-16 on board as a personal survival weapon in the event of a crash landing.  He sets up for a pass, dropping the side window and holding the M-16 in the slipstream. 

He makes several passes, causing the NVA to stop their attack each time, but he's taking hits from small arms and machine gun fire.  Finally, he takes an incapacitating hit and crashes near enough to the Rangers that they pull him from the wreckage.  He's alive, but perishes shortly thereafter.  

About this time the Phantoms arrive, and the attack is defeated.

As I read this, I wondered why a Battalion (easily several hundred men) would stop an attack based on the fire from a single M-16.   This gave me an insight.  Evidently the only way a North Vietnamese soldier could get leave to go home was to shoot down an aircraft.  It didn't matter how well he did on the ground, he was stuck for the duration.  If he shot down an airplane though, he would get transported back to North Vietnam for some leave.  I don't know whether Capt. Wilbanks knew that or if it would have mattered. 

This site has more details of the battle for those interested.  One caveat, the site's author has, shall we say, some baggage. The section on Capt. Wilbanks is well done though.  Do a Ctrl+F and search on Wilbanks and you'll save yourself a lot of stress.  

Capt. Wilbanks Medal of Honor Citation.

"For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. As a forward air controller Capt. Wilbanks was pilot of an unarmed, light aircraft flying visual reconnaissance ahead of a South Vietnam Army Ranger Battalion. His intensive search revealed a well-concealed and numerically superior hostile force poised to ambush the advancing rangers. The Viet Cong, realizing that Capt. Wilbanks' discovery had compromised their position and ability to launch a surprise attack, immediately fired on the small aircraft with all available firepower. The enemy then began advancing against the exposed forward elements of the ranger force which were pinned down by devastating fire. Capt. Wilbanks recognized that close support aircraft could not arrive in time to enable the rangers to withstand the advancing enemy, onslaught. With full knowledge of the limitations of his unarmed, unarmored, light reconnaissance aircraft, and the great danger imposed by the enemy's vast firepower, he unhesitatingly assumed a covering, close support role. Flying through a hail of withering fire at treetop level, Capt. Wilbanks passed directly over the advancing enemy and inflicted many casualties by firing his rifle out of the side window of his aircraft. Despite increasingly intense antiaircraft fire, Capt. Wilbanks continued to completely disregard his own safety and made repeated low passes over the enemy to divert their fire away from the rangers. His daring tactics successfully interrupted the enemy advance, allowing the rangers to withdraw to safety from their perilous position. During his final courageous attack to protect the withdrawing forces, Capt. Wilbanks was mortally wounded and his bullet-riddled aircraft crashed between the opposing forces. Capt. Wilbanks' magnificent action saved numerous friendly personnel from certain injury or death. His unparalleled concern for his fellow man and his extraordinary heroism were in the highest traditions of the military service, and have reflected great credit upon himself and the U.S. Air Force."

Warrior!
I thought it interesting to do a little research on how many members of USAF and its predecessor organizations had received the Medal of Honor.  My intent is to read the story of each of them.  Many I recognize the name, I'll start with the ones I don't.

Here’s the list: (I haven't checked , but it looks like it's in order of either action or awarding.)

1st Lt. Edward   V. Rickenbacker
2nd Lt. Frank Luke Jr.
1st Lt. Harold E. Goettler
2nd Lt. Erwin R. Bleckley
Brig. Gen. James H. Doolittle
Capt. Harl Pease Jr.
Lt. Col. Pierpont M. Hamilton
Col. Demas T. Craw
Brig. Gen. Kenneth N. Walker
1st Lt. Jack W. Mathis
Sgt. Maynard H. Smith
2nd Lt. Joseph R. Sarnoski
Maj. Jay Zeamer Jr.
2nd Lt. John C. Morgan
2nd Lt. Lloyd H. Hughes
Lt. Col. Addison E. Baker
Maj. John L. Jerstad
Col. Leon W. Johnson
Col. John R. Kane
Maj. Ralph Cheli
Col. Neel E. Kearby
Maj. Raymond H. Wilkins
Tech. Sgt. Forrest L. Vosler
Lt. Col. James H. Howard
Sgt. Archibald Mathies
2nd Lt. Walter E. Truemper
1st Lt. William R. Lawley Jr.
1st Lt. Edward S. Michael
Lt. Col. Leon R. Vance Jr.
2nd Lt. David R. Kingsley
1st Lt. Donald D. Pucket
Capt. Darrell R. Lindsey
Maj. Richard I. Bong
Maj. Horace S. Carswell Jr.
2nd Lt. Robert E. Femoyer
1st Lt. Donald J. Gott
2nd Lt. William E. Metzger Jr.
Brig. Gen. Frederick W. Castle
Maj. Thomas B. McGuire
Maj. William A. Shomo
Staff Sgt. Henry E. Erwin
1st Lt. Raymond L. Knight
Maj. Louis J. Sebille
Capt. John S. Walmsley Jr.
Maj. George A. Davis Jr.
Maj. Charles J. Loring Jr.
Maj. Bernard F. Fisher
Capt. Hilliard A. Wilbanks
Maj. Merlyn H. Dethlefsen
Lt. Col. Leo K. Thorsness
Capt. Gerald O. Young
Lt. Col. Joe M. Jackson
Lt. Col. William A. Jones III
Capt. James P. Fleming
Sgt. John L. Levitow
Capt. Steven L. Bennett
Col. George E. Day
Capt. Lance P. Sijan
Airman 1st Class William H. Pitsenbarger
Chief Master Sgt. Richard Etchberger
Tech. Sgt. John A. Chapman

*Jocelyn Murray, Corfe Castle

The Tank is Empty

Source

Bit of a pun that, the title and the photo.

That tank in the photo, it's still there, in La Gleize, Belgium. I've been there ...

OAFS Photo

Wrote about it here. For the moment, I've got nothing, my creative urge is nowhere to be found. The Muse is missing in action and didn't even leave a note.

But I had a fine meal on Friday with The Missus Herself at a local eatery and ...

Well, I just figured it out. I've got the pre-vacation anticipatory jitters, or something. In a few weeks I'll be here ...

OAFS Photo

This will be the third year in a row we've vacationed on Virginia's Eastern Shore. I can't tell you how much I love it there. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to being there.

Grandkids love it too.

Relaxing time approaches, just not fast enough.

Oh well ...

We'll get there when we get there. In the meantime, I'll try and scrape something together for Sunday. The cupboard is pretty bare right now.

Wait, What?

OAFS Photo

Had a lazy day Wednesday, thought seriously about another one on Thursday, but dontcha know, that front lawn needed cutting, needed it bad.

So I did that, after a brief pause to let said lawn dry off after a wee passing shower.

OAFS Photo

Now when I finally got off my ass resolved to cut the grass I noticed a lot of sketchy looking clouds hanging about. Checked my weather app, which said rain likely at 1600 and 1700. Note, it was 1530 when I was set to go mow.

OAFS Photo

I decided, after a little voice in my head yelled "Hey Sarge, they're called weather guessers for a reason," that I would head out and if it started raining, well, then I'd get wet. Unlike past days where I would keep going unless it started up with lightning and thunder, I'd have to call it off if it started raining again. Hey, water wouldn't stall my mower, just clog it. These days though, the electric mower might actually sustain damage.

Well, I'd do what I could, if it rained, well, like Little Orphan Annie sang, "there's always tomorrow." I mean, what the hey, I'm retired, ain't I? I've got the time, don't I?

Anyhoo. Got it done. Then thought about blogging. Took some photos outside, did some reading inside, was looking for inspiration. Couldn't find it.

Life has been passing strange lately. Losing a buddy at 55 still freaks me out. It shouldn't, after all, I've lost friends and colleagues in the military at much younger ages, but still, when you can see the end of things not that far off, it's rattling to see someone else get there first.

I've seen death up close and personal, not a fan, I can tell you, but ...

Enough of that. Miss you, Doug.

Anyhoo. Had an exceptionally bizarre dream the other day, I mean really bizarre.

The Missus Herself sent me to the store, so I went. When I stepped outside, I was no longer in Little Rhody, but had somehow managed to get transported to Paris, yes, the one in France. And the City of Lights was an awful mess.

All the bridges over the Seine were down, but you could get to the other side via tunnels under the river. As I approached the entrance to one tunnel, I noted that I was wearing naught but my skivvies. Odd that. But no one seemed to care.

Entered the tunnel which, for some reason, was being painted. I complimented the two chaps actually doing the painted. Didn't strike me until much later that the two painters were dressed like Mario and Luigi. Yes, that Mario and Luigi. (Probably because I watched the original Mario Brothers movie, and the second one as well in the theater, a couple of weeks ago with my youngest grandsons. FWIW, I liked the first one better, why is it that sequels always seem to fall short?)

Just about the time I got to the other side of the Seine, finding myself near the Eifel Tower, I realized that none of the people in the dream were actually, ya know, speaking French. Then I woke up.

What the actual fire truck?

Don't remember what I ate that night.

Like I said, life has been a little strange lately.

It'll get better ...

Right?

I'm binge-listening to Puddle of Mudd as I try to remember where I was in the story I was telling. You know, that war thing. It ain't helping, but damn, that's an excellent band.

I shall return, most likely.

Hopefully far less pensive and a lot more motivated

Fun and Games

OAFS Photo

I've always been something of a believer in "bigger is better." Especially when it comes to games. Even though the space to set up and play one of the so-called "monster" games is at a premium these days. Oh, I have the space, but I also have a wife who doesn't want maps and cardboard counters strewn all over the living room floor.

I mean, I get that.

While on Okinawa I purchased two monster games from Simulations Publications, Inc., or SPI as they were more commonly known. The first was this one ...

Source

Three 22" x 34" map sections, 100 yards per hex, counters represented regiments and artillery batteries. A real monster. A few of us actually played the Little Round Top scenario. Oddly enough the guys controlling the Union forces were actually northerners: New Jersey, Vermont, and Michigan. The guys controlling the Confederate forces were both southerners: Texas and Alabama as I recall.

The North won, just barely, but we had a blast refighting the struggle upon that hill ...

That hill in the middle of the photo is Little Round Top
OAFS Photo

Now the other monster SPI game I had on Okinawa was SPI's Wellington's Victory.

Source

A massive 68" x 34" map, 100 yards per hex, counters represented battalions/squadrons (infantry/cavalry), and artillery batteries. The map was huge. No one other than me was very interested in playing it so I had to go solitaire. Spread that huge map out on the floor of my room in the barracks (no roommates thankfully, I mean I was in the Air Force, right?).

Set it up Friday night and Saturday morning, then started fighting. I'd only leave the room to go get something to eat and the various calls of nature required of we humans. Come Sunday night, the French forces had punched a hole in Wellington's left flank and it looked as though the Prussians weren't going to make it in time.

Now I lived in the barracks, right, and on rare occasions the squadron would come through and inspect our rooms, to make sure we weren't raising vermin, and to ensure the general hygiene and cleanliness of the barracks. (My memory just reminded me that the USAF didn't call them barracks, we called them "dormitories." What were we, college students?)

I was loathe to pack the game away, so I said the heck with it and left it set up. Of course, dontcha know it, the squadron decided to inspect that Monday. I was called in to the commander's office that afternoon. As I walked in, the First Sergeant, whose desk sat outside the commander's office, was giving me the evil eye.

"So, First Sergeant, commander wants to see me?"

"Yes, no doubt he wants to chew your ass for that pig sty of a room of yours, Airman."

He got a "harumph" from me (under my breath of course) just as the CO walked out, a Major as I recall.

"So Airman, what game was that?"

The commander and I had a great discussion of the battle and of gaming in general. I told him the story of us playing Terrible Swift Sword as well. The First Sergeant was not pleased. From that day forth I had a free pass to keep my monster games set up in my room.

"I don't wanna see any dust on those counters and that map, okay Airman?"

"Sir, yes Sir." Though I didn't like the guy at first, he turned out to be a pretty cool dude.

Now, the two games at the top of the post, both are recent acquisitions, the one on the left is the final (I think) game in the series, a series I mentioned here last year. I waited a couple of years for that one to come out. Worth the wait it was.

Now the one on the right is different, it's a monster game and I saw that one mentioned some time ago. Couldn't find anywhere outside of Australia that had it and I wasn't going to pay the shipping fees and all that (tariff too, no doubt). But Noble Knight Games had it listed and I could get on a waiting list for it. So I pulled the trigger on that. That was over a year ago, I think.

While down in Maryland I got an email from Noble Knight Games that the game was available and would I wish to purchase it?

Why yes, yes I would. So I did. It was pricey but what the heck, why not? FedEx actually delivered it to me at Chez Tuttle et Nuke's house on my birthday. Nice, very nice.

The Nuke took one look at it and said, "Damn, Dad, that's your jam, that's right up your alley."

The Missus Herself just shook her head and mumbled something about "boys and their toys."

Well, she ain't wrong, is she?

The Prussian Cavalry

Heinrich XVII, Prinz Reuß, an der Seite der fünften Eskadron I Garde-Dragoner-Regiments bei Mars-la-Tour, den 16 August 1870¹
Emil Hünten (PD)

The wind was picking up, Kossakowski pulled the lapels of his coat together and looked for a place to get out of the wind. The moving air seemed to slice right through his clothing. As he rounded a corner, he saw the young conscript, what was his name? Ah, yes, Junot, Soldat Junot.

The young man was sitting on a crate up against the wall of a shed. He was drinking something out of a bottle, Kossakowski couldn't tell what it was. He stood in front of the young soldier.

"Mind if I join you?"

Junot looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and he hadn't shaved in a few days, he looked rather scruffy for a soldier.

"Suit yourself, newspaperman." Junot said that with a certain amount of scorn.

Kossakowski didn't say anything, he just sat down next to the man, glad to be out of the wind. He didn't say a word, reaching into his coat, he pulled out a cheroot.

"Got any more of those?" Junot asked.

Kossakowski remained quiet, he simply handed the cheroot over, then reached for another. He lit Junot's for him, then lit his own up. After that the two men sat in companionable silence for quite a while.

Junot pulled his bottle out, the Pole thought it was beer, and Junot took a long pull on it, then set it beside the crate. He sighed as he did so. Kossakowski knew that sound, the sound of a man, who had perhaps drank too much, realizing that he was all out of whatever it was he'd been imbibing.

Junot took a long pull on his cheroot, coughed loudly, then tossed the cheroot aside.

"I'm more of a pipe man myself, but haven't found any tobacco worth smoking here." Junot offered. Kossakowski grunted as if in agreement.

After a few more long moments of silence, Junot slumped back against the barn, then wrapped his arms around himself. The young soldier shook his head, then spat into the snow.

"Horses."

Kossakowski looked at Junot and asked, "What about them?"

"They're big animals."

Kossakowski nodded, "Yes, they can be."

"Those Prussians ride some pretty big horses. Scary animals when there's a lot of them together. Scarier still when the men on their backs want to kill you."

Junot watched as the French cavalry charged. He had been surprised to see the horsemen advance at first a walk, then gradually increase their speed until they were almost upon the enemy. As the trumpet sounded the charge, a volley had crashed out. Powder smoke quickly obscured the field.

"Form up, form ranks you bastards!" It seemed as if all of the sergeants and not a few officers were yelling the same thing. Junot felt someone push him forward into a rough line.

A horse, without a rider, came out of the powder smoke, its eyes were open and rolling wildly, the animal was clearly in distress. Junot saw that the horse's chest and saddle were drenched in blood. He wondered whether it was from the rider, or from he animal itself. Perhaps both.

That single horse was followed by more, most with riders, all fleeing as if their lives depended on it, which they surely did as a mass of Prussian cavalry burst from the slowly dissipating smoke, pursuing the disordered French heavy cavalry.

Junot felt the ranks waiver, he had an enormous urge to urinate. He didn't know what to do and no one was giving any orders at the moment. That's when a Prussian lancer, they called them uhlans, dashed at Junot and the men to either side of him. That's when he realized that the other men in his company had fled. It was just him and two others.

The lancer thrust his weapon at Junot, who remembered his training and used his rifle to parry the blow. The lance impaled the arm of the man to his right, who screamed in pain and fury. Junot watched as the wounded man drove his bayonet into the horse's belly.

The animal reared, screaming in pain, unseating its rider. The lancer fell heavily, grunting in pain as he hit the ground. Then he too was screaming as Junot and the man to his left drove their bayonets into the young Prussian. The cavalryman arched his back, then tried to wriggle out from under the blades piercing him.

"Cochon!²" Junot bellowed as he pulled his bayonet back and then thrust it again, this time into the Prussian's throat, pinning him to the earth.

"Jesus, Pierre, I think you killed him good, we need to get out of here."

The wounded man, a fellow named Henri, shouted, "That gully, to our left rear, make for that."

Junot followed the two men, looking back to see if there were any more cavalrymen about, yes, there was another. An officer from the look of him, the Prussian spurred his mount and headed directly for the fleeing Frenchmen.

"Pierre! Watch out!"

Henri's warning was unnecessary, Junot took aim and fired. The Prussian officer jerked back in his saddle as Junot's round hit him in the chest. The man's sword dropped from his lifeless grip and the officer's face went blank. But the horse continued on, nearly bowling Junot over as it passed.

"Here, get down!"

Junot scrambled into the depression in the earth as Adolphe Lambert pulled Junot down beside him.

"Henri, are you alright?" Junot saw that Henri Coulomb's injured arm was bleeding profusely.

"It hurts, Pierre."

Lambert was digging through his pack and pulled out his spare shirt. He handed it to Junot and said, "Bind that up, I'll watch for Prussians."

He did so.

"We were there for only a short time before the counterattack swept over us, driving those Prussians away. We fell back and found our unit, Henri went back to the surgeons." Junot sat on slumped upon crate, he shuddered at the memory of that day. "The surgeons took his arm, he died three days later."

"At least the weather was warm," he added as he looked at the snowy street.

Kossakowski simply nodded, then asked, "What was that you were drinking?"

"Drinking? Oh, beer, it was beer. I'm not much of a beer man, I prefer wine, or a good applejack." Junot shook his head again, as if to drive the memory of Mars-la-Tour from his brain.

Kossakowski stood and reached his hand out to Junot, "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry? Sure, I guess."

"Come along, let's get you a meal, perhaps a nice bottle of wine." Kossakowski helped Junot to his feet.

"Will you write about that?"

"About ..."

"What I just told you."

"Maybe. Do you want me to?"

"No. Well, yes ... I don't know. Would your readers like it?"

Kossakowski didn't answer the question. "Do you know that those Prussians were cut to pieces after they overran your unit?"

"No, I did not."

"They were, destroyed a number of regiments, your guns and infantry did."

"Really?"

"Yes, and your little stand allowed Bazaine the time to send up those reinforcements you saw."

Junot heard the name of the French general, then spat in the snow.

"Bazaine, that bastard threw away our victory. We were gaining on our right, the Prussians were falling back in disorder, then we were ordered to halt and defend."

"You don't say?"

Junot nodded, "I do, ask Lieutenant de Caumont. Hell, ask anyone."

Kossakowski nodded, "I will. Now let's get you that meal. I know a place."

¹ Heinrich XVII, Prince Reuss, alongside the 5th Squadron of the 1st Guard Dragoon Regiment at Mars-la-Tour, August 16, 1870.

² Pig!