During the week after the ASP-1 debacle, the MACG-18 briefing team assembled at the MACS-4 site. The dignitary being briefed was Brigadier General Weinstein, Assistant Wing Commander of the Fourth Marine Aircraft Wing. Because 4th MAW is the air component of the Marine Corps reserve, I figured the general was a reservist on a boondoggle. My enthusiasm was down around my ankles as I approached MACS-4, but the day promised to be another ordinary day in a war zone. After the recent ASP-1 episode, ordinary was fine with me. When I arrived, I was guided to a hootch they had named the Southeast Asia Hut. It was the typical plywood structure, but this hootch was set up as a briefing area and looked as if it doubled as a classroom. It was clean, comfortable and air conditioned. It was also perched on the highest point on the mountain and commanded a magnificent view of the South China Sea, Monkey Mountain and the Da Nang area. The view was even better than that at Battery B’s outhouse. The hut was well lighted with the furnishings arranged in a way that made it look spacious. The chairs were comfortable padded arm chairs. The hut’s interior was really plush considering the surroundings. As usual, I was scheduled last to brief. Because the Hawk battalion was in the defense and maintained static positions around Da Nang, there was never anything to report. I gave the same canned spiel to every VIP that I addressed. It was typically boring technical information on the Hawk system, and how the battalion was deployed around the city. My segment was a real groaner, and I knew it. The briefings were stiff and formal. Even though I did not enjoy participating in these briefings, I knew it was good experience for a young lieutenant. Everyone was assembled in the Southeast Asia Hut. The general sat in the front row which was standard procedure, and Colonel Fris sat to his left, which was also standard procedure as I had been made painfully aware weeks earlier by LtCol Drury. Everyone was in his proper position. The duty flip chart that contained all our graphic aids was where it was supposed to be. The briefing commenced. Time dragged on. The briefer that preceded me, a lieutenant from Marine Air Support Squadron Two (MASS-2) was nearing the end of his pitch. Only a few minutes of his presentation remained. Without warning, a loud “BAM!” jarred the hut, followed by a roaring “Whoosh!” I stood dumbfounded not believing what I had heard. The Southeast Asia Hut emptied in rapid fashion. Everyone rushed out to the best vantage point clear of surrounding equipment and buildings to catch a glimpse of the jet that buzzed the hill. They were scanning the sky to the east in the direction of the receding sound, looking for the culprit. As I walked out of the hut, I saw a quickly dissipating contrail. It arced downward. With most of the others, I walked the short distance to the edge of the mountain and peered over the edge. In the brilliant blue-green water of the South China Sea I saw a churning, boiling patch of white froth bubbling up from the sea bottom. Troubled by the sight, I shook my head in disbelief. By this time, others had figured out that it was a Hawk missile they had heard. Being the Hawk guy, I was asked why it had been fired. I shrugged and told them I had not the foggiest idea. Shortly, everyone settled back into the seats they had recently un-assed when the missile had launched. The briefing resumed, the MASS-2 lieutenant finished and it was my turn at bat. Well, if they were wondering why the Hawk had been fired, it was a cinch that the General was wondering the same thing. What to do? I thought it would be best to lighten up the somber scene with a little extemporaneous humor. I marched up to the front of the Hut, took center stage, and greeted the general in the required manner. Exaggerating my movements like an actor, I looked at my watch, then looked the man wearing the star square in the eye and said, “General, that was my attention-getter, but they fired it a little too soon.” The general sat without moving; completely deadpan. There was absolutely no sign that he had heard and understood what I had just said. Colonel Fris blinked; horror creeping onto his face. Well, I knew one of them had heard me, and I was pretty sure the general was not deaf. I thought I had been funny and very creative on the spur of the moment. This was a tough audience. I was not sure what to do, so I pressed on with my briefing in the usual fashion. I was really perplexed that the general had not reacted to my attempt at humor. For reasons I cannot explain, I had a compelling urge to try some more humor. What harm could a little levity do? When I reached the point in my brief where I talked about the dual engagement capability of a Hawk battery, I looked firmly again at the general, smiled and, beaming with pride, said, “For example, General, we could have fired two Hawk missiles simultaneously into the South China Sea.” Again, there was no expression from the general. Colonel Fris rolled his eyes momentarily as he cringed. Neither of them said anything. The room was absolutely still. Well, this was not good. I could tell by then that humor was the wrong tact. I finished my brief with all the efficiency and seriousness I could summon. At the conclusion of the briefing, I made a rapid retrograde back to the battalion compound. The loss of the missile was a serious incident, though. An investigation was launched to determine what had caused it to fire off. I was not privy to the investigation. Later, I heard that after extensive equipment checks, the conjecture was that the connectors in the launcher had corroded in the constant moisture of the salt air and frequent cloud cover that engulfed the Battery B position. Shorting occurred in the connector causing the missile to fire. As with any large organization, there were rumors, speculation and undercurrent as to how the missile was actually launched. Lieutenant Dick Caret, Maintenance Officer at Battery C, explained to me in a later conversation that a missile had inadvertently been fired at Battery C. That particular incident may have been the source of the wild tale of how the missileers of 1st LAAMs had tried to shoot down an airliner. The unintended missile launch took place in September, 1968, during a combat readiness exercise (CRE). A CRE was an unannounced inspection to test battery readiness. One step in the readiness inspection procedures included plugging the umbilical cable into the missile. After a technician had connected the umbilical and cleared away from the launcher, the electrical circuit was closed by the operator looking for he missile ready light on his console in the BCC. The wet, humid climate had caused the umbilical to corrode. Electrical shorting occurred sending a firing pulse to the missile’s initiator. The missile launched. That unplanned event caused serious review of procedures for arming and launching missiles. It was determined that initiators in all missiles would remain unplugged to prevent further accidental launches. Connecting the launch impulse wire to the initiator was authorized only when a hostile in-bound target was detected. According to Dick Caret, the act of connecting the initiator was a simple procedure that could be completed in seconds. It was hypothetically possible to ignite the missile and cause it to launch using the voltage generated by cranking the TA-312 field telephone set. Twenty-eight volts of direct current were all that were required to launch a Hawk. According to the experts, a good hard crank on the TA-312 would easily generate the required voltage. Rumor had it that this was exactly how the Hawk was fired. Determining why it was done and who did it was a different matter. It did cause genuine concern. If the launcher had been pointing about forty-five degrees in azimuth to the right of where it had been aimed, that missile would very likely have hit the Hut with all of us in it. That would have been deadly… VII-4-05-09.html