Fate… The Terrible Hunter(Carl Brooks) While working the midnight shift in the Control tower, at the Marine Corps Air Station, El Toro, California, I was the crew chief, overseeing five other controllers. On June 25th, 1965, a Friday evening, everyone in the tower was busily directing their specific aircraft to and from our ten active runways; issuing taxi instructions, air traffic control clearances, and warnings of other aircraft operating within their vicinities. To a casual observer, the process had been likened to controlled chaos. But there was no panic or even audible stress in the whispered voices of these very professional controllers. Normally, traffic during this time of night would be sparse. But this was a time of war, and everyone was working around the clock, training and preparing for operations within the war zone of Vietnam. My job was to keep things running smoothly and to be alert for any problems that might arise in that fast moving world.

For the third time, a different voice was discernable among the others. The pilot of an Air Force KC-135 Stratolifter was calling for his clearance to Okinawa, Japan. After arriving there, that flight would refuel and continue on to Saigon, South Vietnam. The pilot had received his ATC clearance at least twice before, but mechanical problems dictated that he remain on the ground, pending another thorough search for the cause of the delay. However, this time the pilot sounded confident that the problem had been identified and eliminated. Since our base was generally a tactical training facility for F-4 fighter, A-4 attack, and C-130 air transport aircraft, we were not technically equipped to handle repairs to aircraft that were not included within our normal inventory of operations. It became necessary to import mechanics and inspectors familiar with that type of aircraft. Those men had been working on this Air Force aircraft for several hours. The unusual sight of the much larger KC-135, filled much of the concrete tarmac in front of the operations building. According to the pilot, they were at last ready for taxi instruction to the active runway, and to await take-off clearance from the tower. His flight plan stated that there were 72 Marines onboard, and another 12 Air Force personnel for the flight crew.

I watched as the lumbering jet slowly made its way to runway 34, which meant he would be departing northward into our local “Santa Ana” mountain range. That intended departure route would cause him to have to climb at a steep angle and within a short distance after take-off, in order to get safely above the hills, before proceeding on course. Through many years of reliable service, the KC-135 had proven itself to be a very powerful and sturdy aircraft. But there was now one unknown factor; this particular aircraft had delayed his departure twice before, stating the cause as mechanical difficulties.

There were several reasons the tower controllers chose to watch this particular flight with more scrutiny. There was the fact that this was an Air Force aircraft, with an Air Force pilot at the helm, who was not familiar with our local procedures, or our unusual terrain configuration. We felt that an extra degree of concern was warranted because of his situation. Add to that, he would be operating at night. Most everything looks different at night, especially when viewed through the relatively small windshield of a jet. Then, there was the fact that this particular aircraft had been delayed several times, due to mechanical problem.

At 1:28 A.M. the ground controller issued taxi instructions to the pilot, then cleared away all aircraft that could possibly be obstacles within his taxi route. After a few moments at the end of the runway, the pilot called for take-off clearance, then told the controller to “stand by one.” Several more moments passed, the pilot finally stating that he was ready. The tower controller obtained a release from the RADAR controller, one flight below, then stated;
“Air Transport 21664, El Toro tower, contact departure control within two miles after departure, cleared for take-off runway 34 Right.”
The jet answered, “Roger Tower, here we go.”
As the KC-135 (Boeing 707) broke ground, we all silently wished them a safe flight and wondered what was in store for them in Vietnam. We were told that the men aboard Flight 21664 had been assembled individually, and were not all part of one unit, although they were all members of the 3rd Marine Battalion, based at several locations in Camp Pendleton, California. We knew that some of those men would not be directly exposed to combat during their tours in Vietnam, although other dangers were ever present for Marines within a war zone. Several of our crew would soon follow these men; I knew that very well. My orders had already arrived. I would be leaving on a similar U.S. Air Force transport aircraft in another week.

As I observed his departure with binoculars, everything appeared normal. However, all of the preparations and close scrutiny was simply not enough. At least a million small, unseen things could be at work here, making the safe take-off of this particular aircraft impossible under any circumstances. This flight had to travel nearly 6,000 miles, and over the North Pole. Literally, everything had to be nearly perfect for this flight to be completed as planned. Blame could be placed on any one, or all, of those million unseen factors. But in the end, all of that didn’t matter. Fate, the terrible hunter, was at work here.

I watched the jet until he was safely airborne, then lost visual contact with him in the darkness and light fog forming on Loma Ridge. Seconds later, the RADAR controller called on the interphone line, asking if we still had visual contact with the jet. The controller advised that he had lost both RADAR, and radio contact approximately four miles north of the runway. We all searched the departure path with our binoculars, but saw only small pockets of light. I immediately dispatched the Search and Rescue H-53 helicopter to search the departure path, then alerted the base fire department, just in case they would be needed.

The Search and Rescue helicopter notified the tower that the crash site had indeed been found and there were small pockets of fires present. After making several phone calls, we learned that the aircraft had taken on 8,000 gallons of aviation fuel and the crash site could easily become a conflagration, if ignited. The base commander was immediately notified of the accident, and the details surrounding the crash. He immediately closed the airport for further operations until such time as all aspects of the crash could be ascertained.
Needless to say, everyone in the tower was devastated. After discussing most of the aspects of what we knew to be pertinent facts surrounding the aircraft’s operation, from start to finish, I had every controller write out a narrative of those facts, as each had witnessed them. To a man, we all internalized what had happened, knowing full well that this type of accident could happen at any time, and to any one of us. But this was here at home, and right in our own backyard. There was no dangerous war-zone with which to contend, but simply another military flight, transporting Marines from one place to another. The odds of our dying here was more likely to occur on the Santa Ana freeway, on our way into town. We had much thinking to do, and we did just that.

Nothing much could be done at the crash site until daylight, but Marines set up floodlights and guards around the area anyway, as a measure of security. Before anything could be moved, the site had to be inspected and all objects chronicled and photographed. At 8:00 A.M. our tower crew had been relieved. I felt that sleep would be impossible, so I volunteered to go to the crash site and do whatever I could to help that effort. I knew it would be bad, it had to be, but nothing could prepare me for what I discovered at the site.
Approximately 30 Marines, doctors, aircraft mechanical supervisors, fire department personnel, M.P’s and anyone else who could be commandeered to help, were there, and with more were on the way. Officers arrived, en mass, representing every facet of military aviation expertise available. Photographers had discovered the news bonanza and showed up in groups.

When I first arrived, the smell of aviation fuel (kerosene) permeated the damp air. A fog bank had formed on the mountain and around the crash site so thick that we couldn’t see the entire site at once, only parts of it. As I got closer, the kerosene smell mingled with something I had never encountered before; it was the smell of burned human flesh. Body parts had been strewn along the path of the wreckage, along with clothing bags and clothes, (mainly uniforms). I saw boots with legs and feet still in them. The scrub bushes were covered with blood, viscera and dismembered body parts from the victims. Money and papers were gently rocking back and forth in the gentle, almost imperceptible light breeze, some of them being caught in the branches of the stubs of broken bushes.

After a few horrible moments, mild shock set in with just about everyone there. It was a sight previously undreampt of within our experiences. No one talked much; we just picked up and cataloged whatever seemed important enough to gather. Most everyone was crying at one time or another, trying not to see the terrible truth right before their eyes. The how’s and why’s would come later, after some of the shock had worn off and more facts were known. Now, there was only the result remaining; the end of so many lives with so much potential ahead of them. The senselessness of it came slamming back to me. What, if any, was the purpose? What did it solve? These questions would better be asked of someone far smarter than me. Nearly everyone who was participating in picking up the carnage was retching. The entire scene was surreal, as if out of a very bad horror movie. Everyone was covered in blood… someone else’s. I discovered later that most of those present ended up trashing their clothes upon returning to the sane world. No one wanted to wear that remembrance and be reminded of possibly the worst carnage that any of them would ever see.

I stayed for as long as I could be of help, then retreated to the safety of my room in the barracks. My thoughts were mostly of my wife and children, while trying to dislodge those images of horror that were indelibly burned into my brain. That old saying, “once seen, always remembered,” kept repeating in my mind, even though I desperately wanted to erase it all forever.

Two weeks later, I would find myself flying to Japan in another U.S. Air Force KC-135, on my way to Vietnam. Fate, it seems, had previously brushed my arm and moved on to keep its inevitable appointment somewhere else… perhaps in Samarra. I visited Vietnam twice during my time in the Far East, and then, only briefly. That was alright with me, as I had seen all of the carnage I cared to experience in one lifetime. Perhaps yet another force was at work, protecting those who needed it the most. Perhaps I was being shielded from seeing death again in it’s baser forms. Perhaps I had been tested and found wanting. I quietly offered thanks that the wind direction and velocity had not dictated that the aircraft depart any of the other runways, or he would have certainly crashed into one of the numerous housing areas surrounding the base.

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