The Misty Pilots
Within seconds, the flames had spread to within 5 feet of the cockpit. Both pilots prepared to eject, pulling down their helmet visors to protect their eyes. Brian could feel the heat on his back. "We better get out now!" he shouted. "Ready?"
"I'll be right behind you!" Howie answered.
Then there was noise, sky, and a rush of cold air. Brian looked toward where he guessed the plane was headed and saw smoke rising up out of the jungle. He also looked for another parachute. He didn't see one.
Brian hit the treetops hard less than a minute after ejecting. He tumbled upside down. His pistol holster snagged on a branch, and he ended up suspended in the tree like a diver, head first. But he was ok. It took about 10 minutes to cut his way out of the tree with a knife, heart pounding. The moment he hit the ground, Brian clawed at the survival radio in his vest and quickly contacted an F-4 pilot. The pilot had heard the emergency beeper that had automatically activated once they ejected. One of the rescue teams, always on alert, was on its way. But instead of waiting patiently, Brian picked up his survival kit and ran—in case anybody on the ground had seen where he came down.
Every movement seemed to create a crashing noise. Then Brian discovered he had left his radio on a stump, back where he had first landed. He had another one but realized he was on the verge of panicking. I've been here only a few minutes, he told himself, and already I've made a goddamn mistake.
He calmed down, and moved more deliberately. As far as Brian could tell, no enemy forces were on his tail. He tried to make voice contact with Howie over the radio. There was no response.
Rescue mission. Don Shepperd and Lanny Lancaster, two other Misty pilots, had taken off earlier in the day and were gassing up on an aerial refueling tanker when they heard Brian's emergency call. "Disconnect now!" Shepperd shouted over the radio to the boom operator. Shepperd banked the F-100 directly toward the Ban Karai Pass area and pushed the throttle forward to attain maximum speed.
They got lucky. Shepperd and Lancaster flew right over Brian on their first pass into the area. "Hey! I'm right under you!" Brian shouted into his survival radio. Lancaster saw the chute immediately.
"Gotcha, buddy!" replied Lancaster. He fixed the location, then they moved off about 4 miles to study the crash site, which was still burning. They buzzed low, peering into the smoldering jungle, but there was no sign of Howie.
When the rescue choppers came into view, Shepperd and Lancaster showed them Brian's location. A couple of A-1 "Sandy" prop planes—suppression aircraft meant to pinpoint survivors and fight off the bad guys who often opened fire on the vulnerable rescue helicopters—began to buzz overhead. They were shooting at some enemy troops on the ground who might pose a problem, but opposition was light. Then a huge "Jolly Green" rescue chopper lumbered into place. Brian talked the chopper in close. A winch lowered a rescue seat into the jungle, and it was a textbook snatch—quick. The helicopter absorbed only a couple of small-arms rounds before hauling Brian to safety, less than two hours after he had ejected.
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