In 1972, destroyers and cruisers raided along Tonkin Gulf in the Navy’s final sustained ship vs. shore gunnery duels of the 20th century.
Late in the Vietnam War, on 30 March 1972, North Vietnam attempted a transition to conventional warfare—known to Americans as the Easter Offensive, and to the North Vietnamese as the Nguyen Hue Offensive. By that stage of the war most U.S. combat troops had been withdrawn and the ground fighting largely had been left to South Vietnamese army and marine forces. The American contribution to the defense of South Vietnam remained vital, however, consisting of on-site advisers, logistics re-supply and evacuations, and massive naval gunfire and air support. While the offensive was being countered in the South, the United States revived and revised its naval and air campaign against the North.
The campaign in the North started just above the demilitarized zone (DMZ) at the 17th parallel, and worked its way northward over time. This phase was called Operation Freedom Train and lasted until 9 May 1972, when the port of Haiphong and other targets were seeded with naval mines. Thereafter the operation became known as Linebacker and took on increased intensity. The contribution of Navy air has been documented in numerous books and articles, and the contribution of naval gunfire support in South Vietnam has been properly credited.1 However, the role of the cruisers and destroyers in the Freedom Train/Linebacker raids on North Vietnam rarely has been mentioned. One ship’s experience—that of the USS Berkeley (DDG-15)—may be considered representative of those surface-force contributions. I relate it here in hopes of filling a gap in the historical narrative, broadening awareness of those actions and preserving them in our national memory.
The Berkeley received emergency orders to deploy from Long Beach, california, to Southeast Asia on Thursday evening, 6 April 1972. After rearming and taking on stores we were under way by the following Monday, along with the Somers (DDG-34). I was a lieutenant (junior grade) at the time and served as gunnery assistant during the first half of the deployment. My general-quarters station was the Mk-68 gun director. During the transit we learned that we would probably be engaging North Vietnamese shore batteries. We practiced quick responses to incoming fire by shooting at airbursts provided by the accompanying ship. One ship in column would fire a timed round out to port or starboard. The other ship had to spot the resulting burst, get the director and the guns pointed at the rapidly dissipating puff, and put a round on it.
Nighttime Raiders
After stopping at Subic Bay, the Philippines, to pick up stores, .50-caliber machine guns, charts, night-vision devices, and other equipment, the Berkeley steamed directly to the Tonkin Gulf. Arriving on 3 May 1972, we went straight into ac-tion the first night. We were assigned to commander, Task Unit 77.1.1 in company with the Larson (DD-830) and Richard S. Edwards (DD-950). Not long into that very first mission I was startled when the Larson seemed to hit a mine and blow up. In fact she had just commenced fire. I quickly learned she had expended all of her flashless propellant charges prior to our arrival and was reduced to firing smokeless powder at night. I also learned not to look in her direction in order to preserve my night vision.
Most of the Freedom Train/Linebacker raids were nighttime affairs. A typical night would consist of three or four raids, conducted at high speed with the ships fully darkened. We would approach the coastline in a line-of-bearing formation, turn to port or starboard roughly parallel to the beach in a line-ahead formation, fire the mission, then turn away and leave the area.
If we received return fire, we would spot the muzzle flashes of the shore guns before we got any splashes around us. At night they looked like strobe lights. Any one of the director officers of the ships in the raid could declare “counterbattery,” at which the raid would be aborted. All the ships, on command, would turn away from the beach and make high speed out to sea, usually at 28 to 32 knots. (Night raids often were conducted at 28 knots, but daylight raids got the higher speeds.)
In those situations, with the ship moving away from shore, we of course used only the aft gun mount. I would get the director on target, and the director operator—whose optics were better than mine—would fine-tune the bearing to the muzzle flashes. The idea was to silence their guns, whether we hit them or not, and sometimes we did. I had the firing key and would fire when batteries were released. Theoretically I could have just held the key down and let the autoloader pump out as many rounds as possible. But I paced the firing so that the gun would not be overstressed. The Mk-42 5-inch/54-caliber gun could be a maintenance nightmare; I preferred to coddle it just a little bit.
We learned how to distinguish what caliber of gun whas shooting at us from the shell splashes. Mostly the enemy used 90-mm, 130-mm, and 152-mm guns. (For comparison, our 5-inch gun is 127-mm.) Many of their guns could out-range us, so at some point we had to cease firing and hope our speed would protect us until we were out of their ranges.
Three or four raids often took all night, and it was not uncommon for dawn to be breaking at the conclusion of our last run. Sometimes the last raid of the night actually became a daylight operation. That allowed the coastal defense sites better aim and made their muzzle flashes more difficult for us to spot.
At dawn regular watches would be set, which would be either high-alert condition 3 or “port and starboard,” depend-ing on the manning level of the division in question. During daylight hours we would refuel, or perhaps rearm, or take on stores. The next 24 hours would repeat the cycle: general quarters, raid the beach several times, replenish, and stand watches. Combat has never been a time to catch up on sleep.
Daylight Attack in Brandon Bay
On 8 May that pattern was broken. We were assigned a daylight raid into North Vietnam’s Brandon Bay. Its French designation, Baie du Brandon, was still reflected on our navigational charts; to the Vietnamese it was Vung Phu Dien. The bay is about halfway between the DMZ and the North Vietnamese port of Haiphong. On a map it looks like someone took a shallow bite out of the concave coastline. Just north of the major city of Vinh, it has islands to the north and south that effectively deepen the bay. It was a significant—and dangerous—target area throughout the campaign for both surface and air squadrons. Hon Mat Island and nearby locations were part of the defensive ring around Vinh, a major transshipment point for matériel headed south. Actions there continued to the very end of U.S. involvement in the war.2 Vinh was located in what pilots called Route Package 3 and was the southernmost point for significant enemy radar installations. We saw the results of that in the improved accuracy of their defensive fire. Later that year the Hanson (DD-872) was hit by fire from Hon Mat.
Not only was our Brandon Bay raid to be conducted in daylight, we also were ordered to fire our primary mission without regard to incoming fire. No aborting the mission. No counterbattery fire.
Starting from a noon position almost literally in the middle of the Tonkin Gulf, we set a course of 235 degrees to approach the bay. At 1403 we set general quarters, and shortly thereafter picked up what appeared to be a high-speed surface target approaching us. That got our attention; we had been advised that North Vietnam’s navy (NVN) might have komar-class boats armed with Styx antiship missiles. We had recently been given the procedures for using our antiaircraft Tartar missile in surface-to-surface mode. So the weapons officer, Lieutenant Curt Fritsch, selected the Tartar and began tracking the target, much to the chagrin of the gunners. Fortunately we waited until positive identification had been made—for the presumed target was in fact a logistics helicopter from a nearby aircraft carrier delivering a passenger (an ensign) and our mail. Someone joked that the loss of our mail would have been unforgivable.
An Eruption of Shore Batteries
At 1436 the Berkeley changed course to 242 degrees, to enter the bay. As we passed Hon Mat Island to our port side, the entire bay erupted. Batteries on Hon Mat and Hon Nieu islands and numerous coastal defense (CD) batteries took us under fire. On Hon Nieu in particular, I could see caves where the NVN artillery was located. An old technique—wheeling a gun outside to fire, then hauling it back inside to reload—was still being practiced. I can’t be sure when we began receiving fire, but it must have been sometime after 1500. We turned to our firing leg of 175 degrees at 1525, and commenced fire one minute later. After only a couple of minutes we turned to 090 degrees to exit the bay. Firing ceased at 1531.3
During the approach and firing run, I could see the bat-teries on Hon Mat and the beach very clearly, as well as the intense fire landing around us. The director operator, Fire control Technician Second Class W. F. Pavao, had never seen the plumes from incoming fire before because of his limited field of view and the fact that previous raids had been at night. He looked up at me and asked if we shouldn’t return fire. Agreeing with his wise suggestion, I sought out a target in case someone had a change of heart and allowed counterbattery fire after all. It was a CD site, chosen simply because it was the closest and clearest target, and thus most likely to be hit. It was a dark brown dirt wall or embankment on the white sandy beach at the southern end of the bay. It had five embrasures, and I could clearly see the gun barrels (probably 90-mm), firing and recoiling in those openings. I got the director optics onto the target and had Pavao confirm that the target was in his sights.
While carefully tracking the target, the battery suddenly blew up in a single large explosion. While the smoke obscured the target, I popped up and scanned the area. Numerous other targets were being hit, obviously in some kind of air raid. I returned to my target, and the air around it was now clearing. The three embrasures on the right were gone. The fourth gun was dismounted, pointing upward at a crazy angle. But the fifth gun was apparently still serviceable: It fired! Then the gun shot once more, after which it went silent. The gunner must have had a round in the breech and one ready service round available when the battery was hit. The scene at the battery must have been hellish. I was very impressed and have always admired that gunner.
Surprise from Above
All around us, other targets were being hit. It was obvious they were the objects of an intense air attack, although I was busy and did not see the aircraft. I can’t be sure of the planners’ intent, but it appeared to me that we had been sent into the bay to make all the enemy guns “come out to play”—allowing our aircraft to then spot them and attack. That accounted for a daylight raid and a very short firing run. No more was necessary.
It turns out that A-7E corsair IIs from carrier Air Wing (CVW) 9 embarked in the Constellation (CVA-64) had attacked numerous targets in the area, along with us. Their story is still a bit of a mystery. According to the National Archives’ Southeast Asia Data Base, the aircraft were first “fragged” (scheduled) to attack targets in South Vietnam.4 But they were diverted to our area, which had more lucrative targets. CD sites on Hon Mat and on the coastline were hit, as well as some roads farther inland. While their reports note the time on target as 1500, it was probably closer to 1530. Our quartermaster, making his deck-log entries, had the luxury of being able to look at his clock; he was not distracted by having to pilot an A-7 while delivering ordnance.
But just how those A-7Es came to the Berkeley’s aid that day remains a mystery. Further documentation for the raid is lacking, and memories are a bit fogged by time. Investigation has revealed that the A-7Es of CVW-9 came from attack squadrons VA-146 (“Blue Diamonds”) and VA-147 (“Argonauts.”) While some of VA-147’s pilots have been eliminated as participants, those who made the raid remain unidentified.5 Whoever they were, their bombing accuracy was superb.
While not completely unheard of, coordinated air-surface raids were quite rare. I have found records of only two others beside this one, though there may be more. Of course, on many occasions surface ships and aircraft worked together on emergent targets. But planned surface-air missions were uncommon, to my knowledge.
Mining Haiphong Harbor
While the raid served its purpose, taking out or damaging a number of targets, especially CD sites, the raid largely has gone unnoted by history. It was lost in the shadow of events of the next day—when Haiphong Harbor was mined and when the Berkeley and other cruisers and destroyers pounded the Do Son peninsula.6
Commander John Robinson’s 2007 article in this magazine provides an overview of the surface raid on Haiphong.7 But a deckplate view of one incident in the action gives additional perspective. On the morning of 9 May the Berkeley, Richard S. Edwards (DD-950), Myles C. Fox (DD-829), and Buchanan (DDG-14) entered Haiphong Harbor in the now-standard line-of-bearing formation. The Berkeley and Edwards split south, while the Buchanan and Fox went north. At some point during the run-in to the attack, the ships broke out their battle ensigns, the largest colors we had. We may not have known the full story of what was happening, but we knew it was important and intended to make an impression.
As we came within range of the coastal defense guns and the shells began landing around us, the chief signalman had an inspiration. He began plotting the relative fall of shot on a “maneuvering board”—a compass rose with one’s own ship representing the center of the plot. The fire was intense, and I could see the board grow darker by the second as the chief tried to keep up with the plumes around us. By the end of the action, it was clear he could have saved himself a great deal of effort by simply dipping the plot into a bowl of ink.
The particular incident that stands out in my memory occurred when a shore battery of two 152-mm guns (152s seemed to work in pairs) got our range. On one firing leg, two plumes landed about 300 yards in our wake. A few moments later, the plumes had halved the distance. The next salvo was directly at our stern. I found myself looking up at the plumes. The next salvo was directly in front of us, plumes again towering overhead. The meaning was clear, as was the defense. We waited. And waited some more. The tension was palpable, but steady nerves were required to time the move: a hard turn to port at 32 knots, the ship heeling like never before. Then two rounds landed in the knuckle of our wake! Our captain, Commander Jerry Dickman, had his timing down perfectly, waiting until the enemy’s rounds were already en route before ordering the turn. It was a classic call that reminded me of the battles of a previous war. And in many ways, our raids on the coast were far more like World War II than a modern war of electronics and missiles. It was a close-up, look-’em-in-the-eye gunfight.
The Berkeley went on to further service in the campaign. She briefly worked in the notification line, warning commercial shipping of the mines in Haiphong; served on the gun line in Military Region I, coming under fire from NVN mobile 130-mm artillery; and acted as escort to the Newport News (CA-148) during many of the Linebacker raids. The Berkeley also stood watch over chinese merchant ships near Hon La Island, which were attempting to avoid mines by offloading cargo onto barges. Although the ships were forbidden targets, the barges were not, and gunfire sank most if not all of the latter.
All naval and air forces were busy during the Easter Offensive, none less so than the cruisers and destroyers of Task Force 77 in their generally unheralded role. And I would be remiss if, in conclusion, I failed to note that the Edwards (DD-950) may have accompanied the Berkeley on the raid into Brandon Bay. I seem to remember her in the vicinity, and the Berkeley’s deck log notes the Edwards in company both before and after the action.
Likewise, an informal ship’s history by the Edwards’ crew asserts she was there.7 In that narrative, the raid is even given a name, Operation Frame Glory, a designation otherwise unreferenced anywhere. However, the Edwards’ deck log for that day has her performing administrative duties at the time of the raid.8 Inquiries to crewmen of that era apparently have not jogged the appropriate memories. Thus that matter remains unresolved.
1. G. H. Turley, The Easter Offensive (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1995); Dale Andradé, America’s Last Vietnam Battle (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1995).
2. LCDR Jim Chester, “The Battle of Brandon Bay,” USS Turner Joy (DD-951), www.ussturnerjoy.com/tjremember.aspx.
3. USS Berkeley (DDG-15) deck log, 8 May 1972, Naval History and Heritage Command, www.history.navy.mil/branches/nhcorg15.htm.
4. Southeast Asia Data Base (SEADAB) at National Archives and Records Administration, http://aad.archives.gov/aad/fielded-search.jsp?dt=1694&cat=WR28&tf=F&bc=,sl.
5. Personal correspondence with Norman Birzer, coauthor, U.S. Navy A-7 Corsair II Units of the Vietnam War (Oxford, Uk: Osprey Publishing, 2004).
6. CDR John Robinson, “Pounding the Do Son Peninsula,” Naval History, August 2007, 50–55.
7. “The 1972 WestPac Cruise of the USS Richard S. Edwards DD-950,” http://dd950.tripod.com/narrative_of_the_1972_westpac.htm.
8. USS Edwards (DD-950) deck log, 8 May 1972, Naval History and Heritage Command, www.history.navy.mil/branches/nhcorg15.htm.