The Last Bombing Show: Marine Air Group 12

The last U.S. unit still engaged in combat in Viet Nam when the cease-fire came was Marine Air Group 12--two squadrons of Sky hawk fighter-bombers flying out of Bien Hoa, 14 miles northeast of Saigon. TIME Saigon Bureau Chief Gavin Scott visited the squadron on its final day in action. His report:

COLONEL DEAN MACHO, veteran Marine flyer and crew-cut C.O. of Air Group 12 greeted the final day of the war with a farewell bombing sortie over the Mekong Delta. Whistling off into the hot pink dawn with three other A-4 Skyhawks, Macho made radio contact with a Vietnamese forward air controller (F.A.C.); he was promptly directed in pidgin English to an enemy target. Except for the language problem, it was business as usual. "At one point I asked the F.A.C. whether the target was east, west, north or south of some smoke rising from the ground," Macho recounted later with a smile. "The answer was, 'Roger.' So we just took another turn and then dropped our ordnance. It's great to hear that Vietnamese F.A.C. say, 'Bootifool.' "

Macho's two squadrons claimed the highest sortie rate of American airmen anywhere in Southeast Asia. Each of their 52 daily "hops" averaged more than an hour, and most pilots lived with an exhausting schedule--between 14 and 16 hours a day, seven days a week. Now, the mood at Bien Hoa resembled early New Year's Eve when everyone is waiting for the boring annual office party to begin. Long lines of Marines stood listlessly on the tarmac waiting to board C-130s for transfer home. Huddled in the shade by the sprawling base terminal building was a curious sight--five North Vietnamese P.O.W.s dressed in the maroon pajamas that are standard issue for prisoners. They were left virtually unguarded because all were amputees. Their first destination was a camp at nearby Long Binh. Within 60 days, they presumably will be back home in North Viet Nam.

On the flight line, ground personnel winched 500-lb, bombs onto the wing racks of Macho's 30-odd Skyhawks, guarded from rocket attacks by steel revetments that were decorated with gaudy graffiti. GOODBYE VIET ALLIES.

IT'S YOURS, said One. V.C., YOU'VE HAD

IT, announced another. "We're still socking it to 'em," reported Captain Steve Sunderman, 29, who had just returned from a sweep along the Cambodian border. "It's good to be a shooter, not the shootee. I hate to leave. It's really been fabulous."

In point of fact, most of America's last combat flyers seemed plenty glad that U.S. involvement was over. "I don't think any of us enjoyed killing," said Captain Bill Peters, 28, as he climbed down from his cockpit. "The high point of my time in Viet Nam will be going home." Added Lieut. David Mowrey, 26: "My personal feelings are mixed on whether it was a success, whether it was worth it. But it's been a hell of an education." Lieut. Mowrey is a George Washington University graduate who has hopes of going into government or becoming a stockbroker--but for him it clearly will never be the same. "The common denominator of the guys here is that we love to fly, but the sad thing is that in terms of quality and quantity, the best flying comes when you're in a war."

By late afternoon, the final four flyers moved out of the ready room and suited up. Colonel Macho drove out on the flight line to watch them take off. Ground personnel had painted the last bombs red, white and blue, inscribing them with labels: 500 POUNDS OF JELLY BEANS, CARE PACKAGE, LAST CHANCE CHARLIE. Read one carefully lettered piece of ordnance: THIS BOMB IS DEDICATED TO THE HOPE THAT ALL MARINES HERE AT BIEN HOA WILL SOON BE ENJOYING A GOOD AND EVERLASTING PIECE. It was not an inadvertent misspelling.

An hour after takeoff, the four were back, passing low in diamond formation in salute to the men on the ground. Last to land was Lieut. Thomas Boykin, 26, who reported that he had encountered enemy ground fire near a target in the Delta and had spotted a secondary explosion on the ground after he had attacked. "I dropped the last one," said Boykin. "I'm glad it's over." Boykin's buddies then dumped a bucket of water over his head.

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