Fire at Osan Air Base

Some assignments in the military lead you to a

destination where one of the responsibilities of

your unit is to be present at another

location, and then at a later date, return to

where you were before your life was

uprooted ... this is called going

TDY (temporary duty). The time involved can

range from days to months.

S E C R E T

Once undertaken, the rules concerning the

length of the TDY are subject

to change by the military, and the

Federal Government.

S E C R E T

In February 1968, right after the capture of the USS Pueblo & it's crew, in the waters of North Korea,

I was discharged from the Air Force. Then, after my newly discovered dream of becoming an insurance adjuster collapsed,

and still at a young age of 25, and married, I rejoined the Air Force in September of the same year, and was

sent to Yakota Air Base, Japan, not far from Tokyo. By December, I was in South, Korea, for Christmas!

My new unit, the 347th Tac Fighter Wing, had three squadrons of F-4C Phantom fighter aircraft. The unit had

a permanent agreement with South Korea to maintain a show of force at all times. Our "show"

occurred at Osan Air Base, South, Korea. One of our squadrons was always TDY at Osan. The personnel

were assigned to the squadrons, so when your squadron's turn came to go TDY, the entire squadron went.

At that time, the length of the TDYs were 59 days. Squadron changeover, at Osan, was always a big

occasion. The departing squadron was all packed up and ready to leave, and the incoming squadron had to unpack

and assume the "show." Of course during this joyous event, flying training missions, and the alert commitment was still maintained.

The operation was divided into flying training, and alert aircraft. Approximately 8 aircraft were always on

"alert" with a nuclear bomb attached to the belly of each F-4C. The rest of the aircraft (total of about 30 F-4Cs)

did normal flying training missions. I was a maintenance Crew Chief ... we were divided into two groups; one group

stayed with the aircraft that did the flying training, and the other group stayed with the "alert aircraft."

It was generally a volunteer system, to decide who stayed on "alert." For the three years I was stationed

in Japan, I always volunteered to be on "alert." We had our own dedicated building to live in, along with the aircrews,

and a Combat Alert Center (they received and issued alert and war orders to the aircraft). The building

was called "The Green House." It had an exceptional dining hall, nice two-man rooms, and great recreational

facilities. Of course, if we had not been in the same building as the officers, I'm sure things would

have been different. Our only responsibilities and duties, were to make a quick inspection of our

assigned aircraft (service air systems, tires, fuel, oxygen, etc.) in the morning, and then again in the afternoon.

For the remaining 23 hours, everyone was free to do whatever (eat, sleep, play cards, go to the BX / PX in a group,

go to the base theater at night, driving one of the alert trucks) ... but, traveling was kept to a minimum, in case an

alert was issued. Anywhere we went on the base, our alert badges got us to the front of any line, and got us

reserved seats at the theater. We had frequent "scrambles," which sent all of us, aircrews & maintenance,

to our assigned aircraft. We never knew if it was for real until after we had both engines running, and then

the pilot would be contacted by the Combat Alert Center with an encoded message via the UHF radio.

Aircraft that sit on the ground for long periods of time, are not happy aircraft - they tend to develop problems

for no reason at all. To meet this need, one of the alert aircraft would be switched with one of the flying

aircraft every few days. The alert area was encircled with a large security fence, that housed about eight

single aircraft hangars. The first hangar outside of the alert area was used for uploading and

downloading nuclear weapons. When a switch was to occur, the new aircraft would be uploaded,

and then both aircraft would be towed at the same time, and pass each other on the taxiway.

One fine day, as it seemed, my aircraft was due for a changeover. My assistant and I were with

The aircraft parking areas at Osan were set up in a manner that was called "Diamonds." These areas

were designed somewhat similiar to a bent wagon wheel that had been run over by a herd of

stampeding buffaloes! There was an outer road, and an inner road which had offset hangars

or open parking spots. Every other parking spot had either a two-aircraft open air hangar, or it was just

an open parking spot. Directly across from each "spot" or hangar was an open area. We were located

During our changeover on that day, we had just finished uploading the "bomb," and was waiting

for our aircrew to show up and accept the aircraft. Across the road from us (about 50' away),

one of the flying aircraft was getting ready for a flight. My assistant and I were standing in front

of our hangar watching them do their thing. The aircraft next to the one getting ready to fly was sitting

all alone. There were three maintenance people in the hangar, one operating the starting

unit (electrical power, and high volume air for starting the engines), and the other two were bent over,

underneath the aircraft. The engines were started, and the maintenance people were making their leak checks

and such, under the aircraft. I had just turned away when I heard a very loud explosion ... when I turned back

toward the aircraft, there was a large column of fire coming from the bottom of the aircraft. When it hit the floor,

it just curved around on both sides and circled the aircraft (and eventually the other aircraft too) with a massive fire.

I couldn't see the maintenance people any more ... then, about 5 seconds later, I saw the front seat pilot

jump straight up in the air, land on the windshield, and then slide off the nose cone of the aircraft. His feet were

headed South the minute he hit the ground, and I never saw him again until we were back in Japan,

and he happened to be the pilot of my aircraft for that day. Back at the fire, the crewmember in the back seat of the

aircraft was struggling to get out - he finally jumped over the side of the aircraft and into the fire, but was being held against

the side of the aircraft by the lanyards of his parachute, or survival kit. His seat pack was equipped with a device to disconnect the lanyards

(thick nylon straps) but in the excitement, he had failed to egress the cockpit propeerly! Now, his clothing was on fire and he was still

standing there pulling on the lanyards, hoping they would break free. He was just barely visible through the flames.

My assistant and I instinctively started running toward the aircraft to help the backseater. By this time,

only about 5 or 10 seconds had passed since the initial explosion. As I was running toward the aircraft, I was

digging my pocket knife out of my pocket, and had it ready to use ... as we entered the hangar, and at about 5 feet or so

from the nose of the aircraft, both of us ran into a brick wall, and ended up back outside, about 15 feet or so from the

nose of the aircraft. I started running in again, and hit the brick wall once more, and dropped my knife. On the third try,

as I started in, the crewmember came running past me. The fire, and his pulling on the lanyards, had finally freed him.

My assistant and I started rolling him on the ground and throwing dirt on him, to put the flames out. After

a short time, his fire was out, but we were only able to move him a short distance from the hangar, because

everywhere we tried to touch him was burned skin, and we immediately decided not to cause more harm to

him by pulling on the skin. The fire in the hangar was going pretty well - ammunition that was in the cannon (detatchable

from the aircraft, in a pod) was exploding, and the ejection seats had exploded and traveled right

through the roof. I don't know how they got there so fast, but an ambulance showed up and took the

crewmember off. All hell was breaking loose in the hangar, and there was a nuclear bomb about 50 feet away

so we took off for the alert area. Just then, all the alert crews came speeding down the road, headed for their

aircraft. We went to our aircraft, and got there just as the pilots were entering. After engine startup,

the Combat Alert Center asked about the fire, and how close it was to us. Our hangar was about 100 feet away

from the one on fire, and from what I reported, looking out the back of the hangar, it was decided to taxi the alert aircraft

to the end of the runway. This was the first time the alert aircraft had ever been taxied, but someone

made a bold decision not to have the aircraft loaded with nuclear bombs end up in the middle

of a gigantic fire. Good decision! A friend of mine, a Sergeant Campbell, was at the end of the runway doing

other duties, when these eight aircraft came taxing towards him. What he said on his handheld radio

cannot be legally repeated here. He actually thought the base had been attacked.

The bodies of the three maintenance people could not be recovered from the melted aircraft and hangar

pieces for two or three days. Their names were: Sgt. Duane W. Roth, Sgt. Robert T. Powell, and A1C John R. Milligan.

I didn't actually see them, but the fire had nearly melted their bodies to nothing.

Duane Roth, a friend of mine, was actually in another squadron and had been sent TDY with us due to a

shortage of personnel. His enlistment had ended prior to this accident, and he was serving on an involuntary extension.

I went back to look at that brick wall, and sure enough, it wasn't there! The heat of burning fuel

is hard to explain. It's not like jumping in and out of flames, like you see on television. As much as I wanted to help

that poor man ... as painful as it was seeing him standing in the fire pulling on those lanyards, my body wouldn't allow me to get close

enough to help him. I felt a lot of guilt for a long time, and fell into a sort of depression, and could barely talk

about what happened for quite a while. Even today, as I proofread this story, I have to cry while I think about that accident.

I'm choked up so bad I can't talk. Crying doesn't help ... nothing will help, not even time.

The rest of the aircraft were taxied by pilots, or towed by maintenance personnel, away from the danger area.

Quite a few people were recognized, officially, for their efforts. I, among others, was awarded the "Airman's Medal."

I felt a little hate for the pilot that had slid down the front of the aircraft and run off. But, what the hell, he couldn't have done

much more than I had, which was nothing! And, he was safe and had cheated death once more.

Like I said, the next time I saw him was back in Japan, when he came out to fly my aircraft, I didn't even talk to him, and all the time the

engines were running, I was at the very end of my ground communications cord. It's like I was blaming him for

what had happened, and I didn't want to get any closer to the aircraft than necessary, in case it

happened again. The feelings finally wore off, and I was back in the thick of it again, running the aircraft,

Flying has always been inherently dangerous, but getting from the parking spot to the sky is also

A few years after I retired, I worked as an aircraft mechanic at Randolph AFB, Texas, for 17 years, in a

civilian depot level maintenance facility, with Lear Siegler, Inc. I worked on T-37, and T-38 aircraft.

During that time, I saw many more incidents, of a lesser nature, but still dangerous.