into the lion's den

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Into the Lion’s Den By Admiral James L. Holloway III, U.S. Navy (Retired) Naval History, August 2004 Pages: 1 2 Next Page>> The Commander of the Seventh Fleet 32 years ago during the Vietnam War —pictured here at the time—recounts an operation at the entrance to Haiphong Harbor that was, as he was quoted in The New York Times, “a daring raid into strongly defended enemy territory . . . the enemy has once again been reminded of the mobility of the fleet.” On 30 March 1972, North Vietnamese Minister of Defense Vo Nguyen Giap launched three infantry divisions, 200 tanks, and a corps of heavy artillery—guns up to 130 millimeters—across the provisional borders into South Vietnam in a headlong attack against the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN). Caught off guard by the surprise and the ferocity of the attack, the defenders were sent reeling. President Richard Nixon responded immediately by directing a dramatic increase in U.S. air support of the ARVN as well as ordering the resumption of bombing in North Vietnam. As the U.S. air offensive gained momentum with the deployment of additional carriers and reinforcing land-based air units, a new air campaign evolved, nicknamed “Linebacker,” an offensive more comprehensive and less restrictive than the previous “Rolling Thunder.” COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR

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Page 1: Into the Lion's Den

Into the Lion’s Den

By Admiral James L. Holloway III, U.S. Navy (Retired)

Naval History, August 2004

Pages: 1 2 Next Page>>

The Commander of the Seventh Fleet 32 years ago during the Vietnam War—pictured here at the time—recounts an operation at the entrance to Haiphong Harbor that was, as he was quoted in The New York Times, “a daring raid into strongly defended enemy territory . . . the enemy has once again been reminded of the mobility of the fleet.”

On 30 March 1972, North Vietnamese Minister of Defense Vo Nguyen Giap launched three infantry divisions, 200 tanks, and a corps of heavy artillery—guns up to 130 millimeters—across the provisional borders into South Vietnam in a headlong attack against the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN). Caught off guard by the surprise and the ferocity of the attack, the defenders were sent reeling.

President Richard Nixon responded immediately by directing a dramatic increase in U.S. air support of the ARVN as well as ordering the resumption of bombing in North Vietnam. As the U.S. air offensive gained momentum with the deployment of additional carriers and reinforcing land-based air units, a new air campaign evolved, nicknamed “Linebacker,” an offensive more comprehensive and less restrictive than the previous “Rolling Thunder.”

It commenced on 10 May 1972, coincident with the mining of Haiphong Harbor by carrier aircraft and incorporating Air Force tactical fighters, Navy carrier aircraft, and Strategic Air Command B-52s. Commander Seventh Fleet—a position I happened to hold at the time—was directed to commit a substantial segment of the cruiser and destroyer force to Linebacker I with shore bombardment missions. In many situations the warships were able to take the North Vietnamese forces under direct fire, as troops moved down coastal roads. Other naval gunfire units provided the South Vietnamese army with around-the-clock artillery support where geography permitted. This became especially important in Quang-Tri Province, where ARVN forces eventually stiffened and slowed the advance.

COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR

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In mid-August, the Joint Chiefs of Staff directed us to plan for a naval gunfire strike, identified as “Lion’s Den,” against military facilities in the Haiphong-Cat Bi area. Since the mining of channels and approaches to the port, the North Vietnamese had strengthened the Haiphong defenses, which included search and detection radars, coastwatcher networks, coastal-defense guns, gun-control radar, surface-to-air missile (SAM) sites, and fire-control direction centers.

The Seventh Fleet staff intelligence officer advised that Vietnamese aircraft in the area were day fighters with no ability to attack ship targets at night. And all intelligence sources seemed to agree that torpedo- or missile-equipped high-speed patrol craft would not be problems, either. No fast patrol boats had been detected from overhead photography or communication intercept in several months. Coastal defense artillery constituted the only real threat.

But I had some concerns. Most of the guns and ammunition for shore bombardment were the same as those employed in World War II: the 5-inch/38, 6-inch/47, and 8-inch/55. At that time in Vietnam, all gun-equipped major combatants were taking their turns on the gun line. Even the Seventh Fleet flagship, the guided-missile cruiser USS Oklahoma City (CLG-5), was providing shore fire support every three or four days with her abbreviated six-inch battery. Although many hostile rounds had been fired, enemy counter batteries had inflicted no disabling hits and only minor casualties to Seventh Fleet cruisers and destroyers. During the Seventh Fleet change of command, however, when I relieved Vice Admiral Bill Mack, the flagship had to maneuver smartly to move out of range when several shots fell in our vicinity.

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COURTESY OF WWW.USS-NEWPORT-NEWS.COM

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Captain Charles Farnham, then-commanding officer of the USS Providence, composed this chart of the Lion’s Den operation.

Seventh Fleet cruisers and destroyers generally had a low regard for the danger posed by the North Vietnamese shore batteries. The guns being used were field artillery pieces and not designed to track a moving target. Against fixed targets, however, they proved deadly. The bombardment of the Marine base during the siege of Khe Sanh was convincing evidence. The technique of field artillery was to fire a few rounds at a fixed point, observe the fall of shot, and then adjust the fire in range and azimuth until the rounds consistently hit the desired point. If one of our ships were to become immobilized within range of a shore battery, it would take only a few minutes before the artillery would be hitting consistently. This was the heart of my concern.

To reach the targets at Haiphong and Cat Bi, the bombardment group would have to close the shoreline to well within range of the enemy’s coastal artillery. The sheer volume of fire from the large number of coastal defense sites identified in our intelligence photos made up for their inaccuracy against moving ships. If a projectile were to penetrate a vital area, such as a magazine or an engineering space, the ship could lose power and become a sitting duck. And World War II-style towing of the damaged ship in Haiphong Harbor, at night, under an intense artillery barrage, and with no air cover would be difficult. Chances also were good of losing the towing ship, too. And other than the bombardment group, the rest of the fleet would be at least 100 miles away.

If a U.S. destroyer were sunk in Haiphong Harbor within range of shore batteries, the survivors in the crew probably could be evacuated minutes after sinking but at considerable risk to the rescuing vessel. In the worst case, even if we could execute the rescue, we probably would not be able to salvage the stricken warship. The bombardment force would be making its run on a seven-mile leg in water 40 to 50 feet deep. A destroyer sunk at this depth would be salvageable but unfortunately not by friendly forces. The compromise would be very damaging.

My paramount worry was nuclear weapons. At that time, U.S. national policy was neither to confirm nor deny its warships carried nuclear weapons, and its effectiveness was essential to the U.S. nuclear deterrent posture. It allowed nuclear-capable warships to enter foreign ports, both neutrals and those of our Cold War allies. At the same time, our actual level of nuclear readiness remained elusive to the Soviets. If an enemy were able to examine the internal spaces of one of our deployed warships, the policy would be weakened, regardless of what was found in the ship’s magazines.

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We expressed this concern in secure phone discussions between our staff members and their counterparts at CinCPacFlt (Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet). The response indicated the Pentagon was very keen on this operation and the threat from shore-battery fire was judged to be minimal, considering the record of the North Vietnamese coastal defenses. The mission planning would go ahead.

COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR

As the Providence fires a 6-inch gun salvo during a Lion’s Den gunfire mission, Gunner’s Mate Lloyd A. Smith prepares to pull the trigger to fire a salvo from 8-inch turret number one on board the Newport News against predesignated targets in the Haiphong area.

On 25 August we received a message from the Joint Chiefs of Staff, directing that a force of surface combatants attack selected targets in the Haiphong-Cat Bi airfield complex with naval gunfire on the 27th. The directive immediately went to Commander Task Group (CTG) 77.1, Seventh Fleet surface warfare group commander. The only guidance to be passed to CTG 77.1 was to include the USS Newport News (CA-148), our only 8-inch gunned cruiser, and not to use the Oklahoma City. There was no point in risking the flagship’s sophisticated but fragile command-and-control electronics suite to stray shrapnel.

Four ships had been selected for Lion’s Den, and the force was designated Task Unit 77.1.2. The officer in tactical command was Captain John Renn, commander of Destroyer Squadron 25, riding in the guided-missile destroyer USS Robison (DDG-12). That ship was to team with the 6-inch-gunned guided-missile cruiser USS Providence (CLG-6) as one task element, and the World War II-era Gearing-class destroyer USS Rowan (DD-782) would join the Newport News as a second task element. The Rowan had been selected because of her one-of-a-kind field modification, an antisubmarine warfare rocket launcher that had been converted to a Shrike antiradiation missile launcher. The Shrike had been designed as an air-to-ground missile and was being used widely by Task Force 77 carrier aircraft against North Vietnamese

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gun- and missile-control radars. The Rowan installation was experimental and was to get its first test as a surface ship installation against coastal defense warning and fire control radars in Operation Lion’s Den.

The elements of Task Unit 77.1.2 were pulled from the gun-line off Quang Tri Province and dispatched immediately to the underway replenishment group in the Gulf of Tonkin to top off magazines and bunkers from the fleet oilers and ammunition ships. The Newport News loaded more than 1,000 rounds of 8-inch ammunition from the USS Mount Katmai (AE-16), a record replenishment for the cruiser. Then all ships were to steam north independently at 25 knots to rendezvous about 70 miles southeast of Haiphong.

During the night of 26 August, the Oklahoma City also had left the gun line off Quang Tri Province and headed north to join the four carriers in Task Force 77, the carrier striking force of the Seventh Fleet, which was engaged in around-the-clock aircraft strike operations into North Vietnam as part of the Linebacker I operation. The surface combatants were rotated regularly between the gun line and escort duties with the other Seventh Fleet task units as a matter of operating routine. Steady gunfire was wearing out gun barrels, requiring replacement of barrel liners, which had to be accomplished in a shipyard. So equalizing gun barrel wear was an important consideration in scheduling for the gun line.

At about 1400 on 27 August, I embarked in a hurry with my faithful aide, Lieutenant Tom Althouse, in a helicopter for the Newport News, some 100 miles to the north. Soon after landing, I met with Captain Walter F. Zartman, the ship’s skipper, who went over pertinent message traffic and briefed me on the plans for the operation. I was there to observe the operation, but I would not exercise tactical command.

COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR

The plotting room in the Newport News gets busier, as positions of advancing enemy PT boats are

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entered into the fire-control plotter and the ship’s 8-inch guns respond.

The four ships would arrive individually in the rendezvous area and maneuver independently on random courses until after dark, when they would be unobservable by any local fishing craft. Then at 2000 they would form a column with the Rowan in the van and proceed at 25 knots on a course that headed for the seemingly indestructible Point Do Son light, some 70 miles away, marking the entrance to the Haiphong Channel. About ten miles off the coast, the Providence and Robison were to peel off to close their assigned targets, generally southwest of Cat Bi. The Rowan and Newport News would continue on a north-northeast course to the entrance of the Haiphong Channel and conduct a firing run on an easterly course just outside the five-fathom curve.

As the heavy hitter of the force, the Newport News had nine targets, including the fuel dump and vehicle storage at Cat Bi airfield, the Do Son radar, Haiphong SAM sites, the Cat Bi military supply dump, fire-control radars, and coastal gun batteries. Several targets were at the extreme range of her 8-inch guns, and this required the cruiser to penetrate Haiphong Harbor approaches as far as her 27-foot draft would allow.

The Rowan’s primary mission was to screen the Newport News, but she had two preassigned targets for her 5-inch guns, both coastal defense sites. It was hoped the presence of a significant force of U.S. warships in such close proximity to Haiphong would stimulate the coastal defense radar network to provide targets for the Rowan’s Shrike anti-radiation missiles. The designated targets were from the Commander-in-Chief Pacific-Joint Chiefs of Staff target list, but all the ships were authorized to respond to active coastal defense artillery with counter-battery fire without constraint. The ammunition allocation for the Newport News’s preplanned targets was 285 rounds of 8-inch high-capacity and 191 rounds of 5-inch.

Once within detection range of the coastal radars during the approach, the column would make random changes in course and speed to avoid presenting the enemy a clear picture of intentions while still making good the scheduled arrival time. The four warships met on schedule, and the approach to the objective area went as planned, with no evidence of detection. At 2200, the Newport News went to general quarters. This was a prudent move, providing time to check all gunnery and engineering systems and to conduct a few emergency drills.

For my battle station I joined the captain on the bridge and reassured him I was an observer and would stay out of his hair. The Do Son light appeared on schedule, in its proper place and emitting its prescribed signal. That was

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reassuring, and it would prove to be a valuable navigation aid in these shallow and reef-laden waters.

As we raced north at 26 knots to approach the turn point for the firing leg, the ship’s speed suddenly slowed to 25 knots without change in power settings, and her longitudinal pitch rocked forward several degrees. The ship had crossed the ten-fathom curve and at a depth of less than 50 feet, she was reacting to the bottom effect. This served to remind me that only five miles to the north was the extensive minefield laid by our carrier aircraft nearly four months earlier. But it was too late to worry about a stray mine.

At 2321, the Newport News rang up 25 knots and came to a heading of 070 as the main battery of nine 8-inch guns and the port 5-inch mounts swung out. We were about two-and-a-half miles southeast of Do Son light and on our firing course. Captain Zartman gave the order to commence firing.

With the first impact of the cruiser’s rounds, the shore batteries opened fire in return. Their guns were not using flashless powder as we were, so their muzzle blasts presented aim points for the ship’s counter-battery fire. The number of enemy guns was surprising, their flashes lighting up a full 45° arc off the port bow. Incoming shells were falling in our vicinity. The cruiser had stationed sailors in the rigging as spotters to record and report the enemy’s fall of shot.

At 2330 we turned right to a course of 091 to run parallel to the five-fathom curve, which was only a mile or two north. By this time, the battle was fully joined, and all combatants were engaged. The Providence and Robison on our starboard quarter had commenced their firing runs. Ahead of us, the Rowan was banging away with her 5-inch guns in rapid succession against the coastal defenses and had launched two Shrikes at active gun-laying radar sites. Our spotters reported several splashes close aboard, scattering shrapnel on the weather decks. The cruiser increased speed to 30 knots.

Equipped with a steel helmet and earplugs, I stepped outside the pilothouse to the port wing of the bridge, which afforded the full range of sensations and the panorama of the battle. The rush of the wind, the hot blast of the

COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR

Army of the Republic of Vietnam troops examine the results of the operation—a Chinese artillery piece knocked out by strikes on Quang Tri Province from U.S. Navy ships close offshore.

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guns, and the acrid smell of gunsmoke differed little from what I had experienced as a gunnery officer on board the destroyer Bennion (DD-662) during the Battle of Leyte Gulf in World War II. I had a clear view of the North Vietnamese coast, with the muzzle flashes from the shore batteries and the explosions of our projectiles. What really captured my attention were the incredible towering cones of brilliant tracers rising 10,000 feet in the air. They were coming from the antiaircraft batteries at Cat Bi, Haiphong, and Hanoi, firing at Navy planes in the area. At the apex of each cone was a Navy plane attacking its assigned target or transiting in the Haiphong-Hanoi area for an armed reconnaissance of one of the main supply routes from China, northwest of Hanoi. It seemed inconceivable that an aircraft could penetrate those fiery tracers and survive. The pilots, however, did not consider these defenses very effective against night attackers.

At 2333, the Newport News abruptly stopped firing. I could hear the Klaxon’s blare and the loudspeakers in the mounts call “cease fire, cease fire.” The shore gunfire phase of Lion’s Den had been completed. The Rowan had fired her preplanned missions and launched her Shrikes five minutes earlier and had been detached and cleared to depart the objective area. The Providence and Robison also had finished and were retiring to the south.

As I stepped inside the sound-proof air-conditioned atmosphere of the pilothouse, Captain Zartman reported all the Newport News's assigned targets had been covered and several secondary explosions had been noted at Cat Bi airfield and the ammunition dump. As he was speaking, a dungaree-clad sailor with the outsized steel helmet of a battle telephone talker was tugging at the captain’s sleeve. “Captain” he said in the even clear voice of a well-trained general quarters talker, “Combat (Combat Information Center) reports a surface target, designated Skunk Alfa, at 10,000 yards bearing 088, heading for us at high speed.”

Without hesitating, the captain issued a stream of orders, and the bridge reacted with an efficiency and a coolness that belied the sudden and ominous change in the tactical situation. Skunk Alfa was designated a hostile threat, all gun batteries were to take the target under fire, and the Rowan was directed to rejoin the Newport News.

According to the navigation chart on the plotting table, 10,000 yards at 088 degrees put Skunk Alfa—by then identified with night observation devices as a P-6-class Soviet-made fast patrol boat—in the vicinity of Ile de Norway, near a collection of small karst islands extending south of Cat Ba. This little archipelago was well suited for an ambush site. The rocks and pinnacles

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already were making it difficult for the fire-control radars to lock on the patrol boat.

For what seemed an interminable time after the captain gave the order, the cruiser’s guns still were not firing. Then the gunnery officer reported the target’s relative bearing was virtually dead ahead and that the firing circuits for the 8-inch guns cut out at low angles of fire over the bow because of an electronics antenna that had been installed recently on the forecastle.

The ship’s heading was brought hard right to unmask the battery, and all of the cruiser’s portside guns opened up, firing as rapidly as they could be loaded. Within minutes the gunnery officer reported Skunk Alfa appeared to be on fire and seemed to be turning to escape on a northerly course. At almost the same instant, the intercom from Combat rang out with a report of two more skunks 16,000 yards dead ahead, moving from left to right. They apparently were heading to cut across the Newport News’s southerly retirement route. As the cruiser’s guns swung around to take this new threat under fire, again there was the problem of not being able to fire dead ahead. The quickest maneuver to unmask the batteries was a turn back to port, and this would have put the Newport News again on an easterly course, headed for the shoals of Ile de Norway rather than toward the retirement track to the south.

There was little choice. The P-6s were crossing the cruiser’s bow with the bearing drifting to the right. Only a left turn would quickly bring the 8-inch guns to bear. As the ship came left in a tight heeling turn, the cruiser’s guns swung to the right, giving the starboard 5-and 3-inch batteries their first crack at the enemy. Again the cruiser’s guns banged in rapid continuous fire, and the 21,000-ton hull again was shuddering from the recoil and concussion.

In spite of the hail of projectiles, the P-6s continued to come. Their zigzagging approach through the many ship-sized islands had confused the cruiser’s radars. Darkness of night and the many islets hampered tracking by optics. Worst of all, though, was the confusing effect of our own fire.

In the process of rejoining, the Rowan had been remanning battle stations, and some confusion arose in the magazines. Several star shells had been fired by her 5-inch guns and had detonated prematurely at a low altitude between our ships and the enemy. Instead of silhouetting the P-6s, the patrol craft became effectively screened behind the glare from the exploding star shells.

To keep Skunks Bravo and Charlie under continuous fire with all batteries, the Newport News had been maneuvering on easterly and southeasterly courses and was running out of sea room. To the east was the Ile de Norway

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archipelago, to the northeast the coast of Cat Ba, and to the north the shoals and minefields of Haiphong. We did not know if the P-6s had torpedoes or missiles or both. Probably just torpedoes, we thought. But that could be trouble enough, as the North Vietnamese craft continued to track along a course that would intersect our retirement path. The situation could become messy. When a report came from another ship—the Providence, as I recall—that a fourth fast patrol boat had been detected, it became increasingly evident we needed to clear up the tactical situation as quickly as possible.

I told Captain Zartman I was going to call for some help from tactical air. The pillars of antiaircraft fire had reminded me that carrier planes were in the area and would be loaded with flares and weapons. I pulled the UHF (radio) handset from the pilothouse bulkhead, punched the power button, and hit the “Guard” channel switch so every operational Navy unit within a 20-mile radius could hear me: “Attention any Seventh Fleet aircraft in the vicinity of Haiphong. This is Jehovah (radio call for Commander Seventh Fleet) himself aboard USS Newport News with a shore bombardment force in Haiphong Harbor. We are engaged with several enemy surface units and need some illumination to help us sort things out. Any aircraft in the area give me a call on Guard. We especially need high-power flares. Jehovah out.”

Before I could spit out the message a second time, a voice came up loud and clear on the Guard channel: “Jehovah, this is Raven Four Four, inbound with a flight of two Corsairs for an armed recce (reconnaissance) in Route Package Six. We have flares and Rockeye (a weapon that distributed a cluster of lethal bomblets in an oblong pattern over a large area) aboard. I can see all the shooting down there. I wondered what was going on. I am overhead and ready to help.”

Staying on Guard channel so all friendly forces in the area would be aware of our plans—and also to avoid losing communication with the flight—Raven 44 was instructed to light the area with flares, report on what he could see, and stand by. In less than a minute, the entire seascape of the Haiphong Harbor approaches and the Ile de Norway islands was suddenly, and almost blindingly, lit with a million candlepower flare. Raven 44 reported he had the Newport News in sight with an accompanying destroyer, and he could see a cruiser and destroyer to the east. He also had spotted the two motor patrol boats closing the Newport News from the direction of Ile de Norway. I cleared Raven leader to attack the hostile surface targets with Rockeye, with a warning not to get too low because of friendly gunfire.

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By this time, the Newport News’s guns had increased their rate of fire to what had to be the maximum. The gunners could see their targets clearly. While one Corsair dropped a flare, the other attacked with Rockeye. Under the continuing flare illumination, the Rockeye and a barrage of ships’ gunfire finished off Skunks Bravo and Charlie, but not until after the last one had approached to within 3,000 yards of the Newport News.

At 2342, the Newport News and Rowan ceased fire. The action had been intense while it lasted. In the 17-minute firefight, the two warships had fired 294 major-caliber rounds at the P-6s. Skunks Bravo and Charlie had been sunk. Alfa was out of range, on fire, limping north and about to be eliminated by the two Corsairs, which had been led by Lieutenant (junior grade) William W. Pickavance (later rear admiral) of Attack Squadron 93 from the USS Midway (CVA-41). The night was dark again as the last flare hit the ocean. The Newport News, only three miles southwest of Ile de Norway, shaped a southerly course and increased speed to 30 knots to retire from the objective area and rendezvous with the Providence and Robison, all of which were scheduled for naval gunfire support the next morning for the ARVN troops in Quang Tri Province.

Admiral Holloway was Chief of Naval Operations from 1974-78 and served with distinction and valor in World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. He is currently Chairman of the Naval Historical Foundation.