The second section leader at three thousand feet was responsible for navigation, such as advising the low man, “Be ready to turn in about a mile” or telling him, “Around the next bend are two reported AAA positions.” The low man would be jinking at 250 to 300 knots below three hundred feet, to both avoid enemy fire and be able to observe the road directly below the Panther’s nose. He had his hands full. After pilot number two had made his attack and expended his ordnance, the flight positions would rotate, number one and two trading positions. After a second attack the formation would rotate again, but this time by sections, with the second section taking the two low positions and the first section with ammunition expended — except for a reserve of 20mm for use in case of a MiG engagement — climbing to three thousand feet for lookout and navigation.
That is how it should work, but circumstances seldom were ideal. Weather could make it difficult to keep the low section in sight, often resulting in all four planes down on the deck looking out for targets and maneuvering to avoid a collision with a wingman. When flak was encountered, as it usually was, the situation became more complicated and the tactics more exciting. The Communists would often move overnight in tactical vehicles mounting 37-mm automatic weapons or multiple heavycaliber machine guns. These would be camouflaged and placed in a draw or around a bend. Then a vehicle would be placed in the road. If the spotter did not recognize, at a mile or so, that the target was a decoy — no people, not moving, or obviously a derelict — the whole flight would be drawn through the shooting gallery. With a little experience most pilots got to recognize a flak trap. They could “smell it.”
All of this activity would take place at less than one thousand feet above the ground at a speed of 250 to 300 knots — in a narrow valley with the mountains rising to six thousand feet on both sides. In spite of the difficulties, most jet pilots preferred armed reconnaissance over other missions. Route recces offered the best chances for visible targets, moving vehicles, and real people. Route recce also demanded, with the exception of air-to-air combat, the highest level of pilot skill and gave pilots the opportunity to demonstrate their flying ability, marksmanship, and daring. Spotter pilots would often turn off their planes pressurization system (which produces a noisy rush of air in the cockpit) so that the sound of gunfire from the ground could be heard clearly. This could sometimes be the best indication of enemy activity along the route, troops taking cover along the side of the road and firing their rifles. The heavier flak showed up as tracers, which were clearly visible in the shadow of the valleys. It was difficult, though, to follow the tracers to their source and actually spot the gun positions. This had to be done by looking for muzzle flashes.
Typical of the rugged character of the road recce routes on the east coast of Korea — TF 77’s area of responsibility — was Recce Route Red Five. The entry point for a division of jets — four fighters deployed in the recce formation — was at the island of Kojo on the coast just south of Wonsan. The route initially ran south for four miles through the village of Tongychon, passing a 37mm AAA site about a mile east of the road. From there, the route turned southwest for four miles through a deep valley to Sinjon-ni, with the thirty-three-hundred-foot mountain, Udongsan, a mile to the west. Then there was a hard jog to the west for a mile through Chingon-ni and past a 37mm installation on the slopes of four-thousand-foot Koyun-san, a mile to the east. Three miles and another sharp turn to the southwest. The valley widened slightly and there was a prominent lake — a useful landmark — to the west. The trail made a turn to the south again for a five-mile straightaway down a deep narrow valley between two four-thousand-foot mountains, Koyum-san and Paegaw-san, to the town of Hwachon-ni, with two camouflaged 37mms. Then there was a four-mile stretch of road along a streambed with precipitous banks. Another 37mm position marked the sharp turn to the south following the valley between Koyum-san and Hill 2699. From there the trail ran south-southeast for ten miles in a valley between hills of twenty-six hundred to three thousand feet. The recce route jogged around to avoid Sinamoung-ri, a medium-sized village with three or four 37mms. The MSR was picked up again at the entry of a steep canyon running south between 2,923- and 2,549-foot hills and went on for ten miles before hooking hard right over a bridge crossing a river feeding into the Kunsang-ni River. The next five miles were through an open valley to Changdo-ri, just east of the mountain Platok-san, a steep 3,600-foot rise. The gloomy valley had at least one 37mm and opened up to pass through the large village of Changdo-ri, which contained a 57mm, several 37mms, and a number of machine guns arrayed near the road to protect a small factory building. After running the gauntlet here, the road ran for thirteen miles through less-mountainous country without permanent AAA installations before ending at Changyong-ni in the no-man’s-land of the Iron Triangle. This was the end of the route, and here the planes could pull up over friendly territory. If the aircraft had any ammo left, the leader would check into “Heat Stroke,” the Chorwon sector TADC, which usually could provide an enemy position nearby, upon which the flight could dump any onboard ordnance.
Considering that the low man was flying at four to five miles per minute at an altitude between one hundred and three hundred feet, these missions could be very physical for the pilot, who was constantly pulling Gs while turning in a forty- to sixty-degree bank, jinking, and changing course. There was, on average, a turn in the road once every minute. It was important that navigation be accurate. Missing a turn might mean flying directly over a 37mm at two hundred feet.
Yet it was not uncommon to get lost on a route recce mission. Maps were not entirely accurate, weather could hide navigational checkpoints, or flak evasion could disorient the flight. The spotter had his hands full, looking for targets, watching for flak, avoiding the terrain, communicating with his high element, and checking his navigation chart. The danger was to fly down the wrong road, entering unknown territory for which the flight had not been briefed by the air intelligence officer and possibly encountering unexpected AAA positions. The MSRs that carried the heaviest traffic and fed into ammunition dumps and troop staging areas were heavily defended by multiple AAA positions and would normally only be attacked by a large, coordinated strike with preplanned and dedicated flak suppression aircraft. More often, complications arose from the rapidity with which the tactical situation could develop. All could be routine until, rounding a bend, the flight would come suddenly upon a convoy of trucks, so close that there was barely time to arm the weapons and get the pipper on a target.
In April 1953 I was leading a four-plane recce mission on Recce Route Red Twelve, which ran north from Hamhung through the mountains to the Chosin Reservoir. It had been a 0615 launch, and ours was the first flight off the deck. With a light north wind, our carrier was well north of Point Option, and with a running rendezvous and going “feet dry” at Hungnam, we arrived at the initial point of the route in such a short time that my wingtip tanks were not empty. I had to blow them clear before starting the letdown because it was standard operating procedure in the Panther not to have a partial load of aviation gas in the external tanks when exposed to enemy fire. The fuel-air mix would cause a much more severe explosion if the tank was hit by flak. The jet squadrons on the Boxer were using the more-volatile aviation gas instead of a safer jet fuel, such as JP-3, because the Boxer’s fuel system had not been modified when it was taken out of mothballs, and the props could use only AvGas.